Then, I leaned over and grasped my smelly trophies in both hands, bundled them into the filthy linen, and, abandoning all thoughts of dignity, a moment later was rushing like a war envoy through the streets towards Marcus’s apartment. My head was spinning with my discovery. The quickest route to Marcus’s house lay down the wide central avenue but in spite of my haste I avoided it, not least because the sight of a respectable elderly citizen in a toga rushing wildly through the town – especially when bearing a stinking linen cloth full of items from a waste-heap – is calculated to arouse unwelcome interest. I was already late for my meeting with Marcus, and I had no wish to be further delayed by embarrassing explanations to the town guard. I avoided the attention of the vigiles, by some good fortune, but I was aware of startled faces as I passed. It is difficult to hurry in a toga, and my frantic attempts to keep my drapes together was the subject of great glee among the street urchins, who jeered and pointed mercilessly.
