Domitian had not been present at the meeting of the Senate. He had gone to sleep late, and, not waking till long after sunrise, he remained in bed to receive his chamberlain, Parthenius, who came to announce to him that the plan of campaign against the proscribed sect was fully laid and ratified. This news entirely restored Caesar’s lost composure, and he came to breakfast in the best humor possible.
His spirits rose still higher, when Parthenius reported the results of his overtures to Barbillus. The priest of Isis had expressed himself ready to meet the Emperor’s wishes for a consideration of ninety thousand denarii. His co-operation was not to be had cheaper, since Barbillus had a tender conscience, and could not risk the wrath of Isis, the all-powerful, for less.
Domitian rubbed his hands, and a hideous, leering smile stole over his sallow face. His eyes sparkled scornfully under his lowering brow.
“By Cypris! a sly fox is this Barbillus! And will he pledge his word that the shy nymph...?”
“Do not be uneasy, my lord. Barbillus has planned such a piece of bewildering magic to play, that she will lose her head. You are to appear before her, mysteriously illuminated and with lightning flashing round you, in the form of the hawk-headed god, Osiris.[34]—Allsorts of mystical effects are to be introduced.—Rely upon it, my lord, she is yours, if ever a mortal woman was conquered by an immortal god.”
“You have done well!” cried Caesar, enchanted. “How our noble Cinna would writhe, if he could know.... These conjurors are inexhaustible with their ingenious tricks. The strange thing is, that so much truth creeps in among so many lies. Who was it, that told you that Barbillus is a master of astrology?”
“Sextus Furius, to whom he foretold his brothers’ death.”
“I remember ... and the prophecy was verified?”
“To the very hour. The two men were in Gaul at the time, and no one here knew that they were ill. The elder died on the ides of February, and the younger two days later.”
Caesar’s face clouded, and he cast a sinister glance at Parthenius. Could it, indeed, be that the chamberlain did not know he was speaking treason?—could he so utterly have forgotten, what had happened to the soothsayer Ascletario? Domitian had expected a denial from the courtier, not a confirmation of the facts.Truly, even Parthenius, it would seem, had ceased to care for his sovereign’s favor! Even he was growing audacious and reckless.
Domitian involuntarily felt for the little wooden tablet which lay under his pillow; but Parthenius met his eye with a look of such perfect innocence, that Domitian felt a qualm of remorse. He held out his hand to the chamberlain and said, with an effort to be amiable:
“Thank you, my friend; your information will be useful. I have not yet decided whether I will appear at table, or indeed leave my rooms at all. But, in any case, do you be here in good time for the precious divine comedy in the evening.”
“As my sovereign commands.”
“Listen—stop!” cried Caesar, as Parthenius was going. “To-day, you know, Julia, my late brother’s daughter, is to be buried[35]....”
“I know, my lord!”
“Well ... I forgot to say ... her ashes are to be carried to the temple of the Flavia family;[36]the dignity of our race requires it. I beg of you to omit nothing, that is due to the Manes of the illustrious dead—such as Julia. I would have the people know and tell each other, how Domitian honors the daughter of the divine Titus.”
“I understand.”
And Parthenius went.
“I will watch him,” said Domitian to himself. “If he too.... No torture would be too severe for such abreach of faith.... Folly! His fate is so inseparably bound up with mine, that my fall must bring him down too.”
He slowly raised himself from the pillow, leaning on his right hand, and a slight shudder ran through him; he was cold. “The consequence of yesterday’s excitement,” he said to himself, drawing the coverlet closer round him. By Castor, but it is becoming absurd! Always the same fabric of the brain—that foolish, hideous figure, with its ghastly face and gaping wound!" And he pressed his hand over his eyes.
“It is ridiculous. Must everything on earth repeat itself? Nero, gory shade, I laugh you to scorn! Have I waded in blood? Have I set the immortal city in flames, and struck my lyre while the people howled in anguish? Have I murdered my own mother? Nay—I am a mild and merciful sovereign. Compared with Nero—a child, a lamb, a dove! Away! Why stand grinning at me there, horrid vision? You have long been dust and ashes.—Vanish, go, or I will strangle you!...”
He groaned and sank back on his cushions. His eyes were closed, but his hands were stretched out, stark, as if convulsed; his breath came hard and quickly, and his livid lips never ceased moving.
“It is he, it is he....” he stammered, sitting up again. “I see him, barefoot, his mantle torn, riding towards Phaon’s house.[37]—I hear the shouts of thesoldiers in the camp close by.—They are cursing him.—His horse has shied—he is looking round—the Praetorians know his pale face.—Now he has leaped from his saddle, and is hiding in the bushes.—How he gasps! How thirsty he is—he is stooping over a puddle to drink!—They have reached the villa; there—he is trembling, his knees give way.—Here is a messenger from Rome bringing Phaon the news—the decision of the Senate. Traitors! Treason! Death by the hand of the executioner.—Hark! Horses!—the soldiers are coming out to take him.—Come, more merciful steel, and pierce this throbbing heart. Kill him, murder him, tear him limb from limb!—It is over, there he lies, stiff on his cloak, his eyes starting out of their sockets. His face is as pale as ashes.—Thus dies Nero!—Alas! and woe is me! Thus dies Domitian!”
A loud and piercing shriek; then the silence of the grave.
“Help, help!” cried the boy, who was on guard in the cubiculum. “Help—quick!”
It was Phaeton, Caesar’s favorite slave; he rushed forward to lift up the Emperor, who lay like one dead. His left arm hung helplessly over the edge of the bed; he had pushed aside his pillows, and with them, his wooden tablet which, as Phaeton pulled the cushions into place, fell with a clatter on to the floor. The lad stooped and picked it up, only just in time to save it from being trodden on by the other slaves, who came rushing in from all sides. He instinctively hid the piece of wood in his tunic. A moment later and the physician came in, who at once dismissed all unnecessary attendants, among them Phaeton, who was still tremblingfrom the shock. Caesar, he said, must have absolute rest.
Phaeton, however, lingered; he wanted to know whether Caesar’s life was in danger, and it was not till the leech had reassured him on that point, that he was persuaded to quit the room and remain in the cavaedium close at hand. There he went to the south-western entrance, where two of the praetorian guard were keeping watch in shining armor. He sat down, squatting on the mosaic pavement, near a door which commanded a view over the Aventine. For a time he stared vacantly at the tall, stiff figures with their dazzling helmets and their calm, stern, weather-beaten faces. Then, with a yawn, he idly drew forth the wooden tablet. He could not read, and his eye wandered curiously down the close rows of curling or angular letters, which to him were signs far more mystical than the old Hebrew rolls of manuscripts, which he had seen his mother read. Then he fell to balancing the little board on his fingers, trying to support it on one corner, as he had seen Masthlion, the famous juggler do, out on the Field of Mars.
At this moment the heavy tread of Clodianus was heard approaching.[38]He had been requested by the chamberlain to visit the room where Julia was lying dead. The boy, with a dim sense of wrong-doing in thus playing tricks with the property of his imperial master, hastily hid the tablet in his tunic again. But the very promptness with which he did so attracted the adjutant’s attention.
“What are you hiding there?” he asked, beckoning the lad to him.
“Nothing, my lord—a little board....” stammered Phaeton. “Our lord and god is ill—he fainted; the bit of wood fell on the ground....”
“Show it to me.” The boy obeyed, trembling, for the adjutant’s voice had a growl in it of distant thunder. At the court of the Roman Emperor any one might, at any moment, happen to offend the majesty of Caesar beyond all forgiveness. The quaking youngster fully expected that the next words he should hear would be:
“Go, and be soundly flogged!” or even worse. What then was his surprise when Clodianus, who on first glancing at the tablet had frowned darkly, suddenly lost his expression of angry defiance, and looked anxiously round at the sentinels.
“Have they seen this?” he asked, drawing the lad aside.
“No, my lord.”
“Where did you find this tablet?”
“It was lying under the great sovereign’s pillow.”
“And you stole it?”
“Nay, my lord. It fell out, when Caesar lost consciousness.”
“Caesar is sick, then?”
“I said so before. He screamed as if an asp had stung him; then he fainted. The leech says there is no danger....”
“Let us hope so, let us hope so.—Did any one see you pick up this little tablet?”
“No, my lord.”
“Listen, then, to what I tell you. Replace it as soon as possible, and secretly.—Mark me well, verysecretly—exactly where it was. If any one finds out that you brought it out here, you are a dead man—I mean well by you, Phaeton.”
“Oh! my lord, if I could have dreamed that I was committing a crime....”
“Be silent, and do as I bid you. By our conquering eagle! I am not one of those, who make an outcry about every little stupid thing. An old soldier is not prone to tale-telling—only do not betray yourself.”
“How have I deserved so much kindness?” said the poor boy, kissing the wily courtier’s hand. “Perhaps I could slip into the room again now....”
“You can but try, my boy; and for the future take care what you do. Things that Caesar thinks fit to hide under his pillow, are not meant for the eyes of others, you may be sure. Do not forget that.”
The lad went; Clodianus looked after him, nodding his head as he said to himself: “A most fortunate chance! You write a plain hand, Caesar! I have seen this coming for some time. You insist on having none but foes, great potentate! No confederates! Well—I can but try to play the part.”
Meanwhile Domitian had recovered from his swoon. An overwrought mind, the physician said, and anxiety for the weal of his beloved Romans had reduced the Father of his country to this condition; escape from all business, amusement, and enjoyment of every kind, were the only means of avoiding a recurrence of the attack. Domitian accepted this diagnosis with favor. The external application of Vesuvian wine, and a few mouthfuls of the strongest Samian, which he swallowed eagerly, had entirely restored his vigor; he did not even feel so languid as usual. He spent anotherhour in bed, by the leech’s advice, and then he allowed himself to be dressed, and ordered his litter. Just as he was quitting the room he remembered the tablet; he hastened back and raised the pillow. There it lay—the register of death. He put it in his bosom.
“What are you doing here?” he said, turning sharply on Phaeton, who was standing by, pale and frightened.
“Whatever my lord and god may command.”
“Then order Narcissus to wait in the cubiculum,[39]and do you come with me.”
Phaeton breathed once more. He obeyed with the swiftness of the wind.
The Emperor passed the hours till supper-time in one of the vast pleasaunces on the top of Mons Janiculus, and to Phaeton was vouchsafed the coveted honor of entertaining the ruler of the world, while the rest of the suite stood aside in reverent silence. Domitian was remarkably gracious to-day. He condescended to pinch the boy’s rosy cheeks, and invited him to share the breakfast, which was served in a garden-house with every conceivable luxury. Then Phaeton must sing to him, and tell him once more about his mother, the beautiful, heart-broken Judith, who had been brought to Rome as a young girl from her home in Palestine, and had never ceased weeping till her large, flashing eyes were dim and blind. The boy knew how to talk, sometimes gaily, sometimes sadly—of the holy citadel of Jerusalem[40]which, to him, included all that was sacred onearth—of the horrors of the siege—the Temple of Solomon—the hoary cedars of Lebanon. Then he would relate some reminiscence of his own experience—of the first time he threw the discus on the Field of Mars, and attracted the notice of Parthenius—of the pride and awe with which he had, for the first time, entered the imperial apartments—his delight at Caesar’s approbation, when he returned from an excursion to Albanum.
As he listened to this simple childlike prattle, Domitian was moved to a guileless feeling of affection, which he had long forgotten.
“Tell me, Phaeton,” he said, stroking the boy’s long curls, “if base villains were to attempt your master’s life, or try to hurt him, you would stand by him?”
“So far as I was able, my lord,” said the boy heartily. “But who would dare to commit so monstrous a crime?”
“No one, Phaeton, by the gods! I only asked you to try your love for me.”
When he was weary of Phaeton’s chatter, Caesar had his bearers to carry him about in the gardens for a while, and at last back to the palace—almost exactly at the hour when the assembled Fathers were coming down from the Capitoline, after passing the decree against the Christians. He remained in his room till he went to table, and at the meal he was lively, almost excited, though he eat but little, while, on the other hand, he drank full draughts of Falernian unmixed with water.
When thecoenawas over, he retired to his private business-room. There he rushed up and down the room in loud and vehement soliloquy, fighting the air like a gladiator and exclaiming wildly: “Come on—only come on, you villains! my good sword shall cleave your skulls.” Then he took to catching flies, as he had been wont to do as a boy,[41]impaling them on his writing-stylus.
“Through and through!” he exclaimed in a tone of triumph. “Have I got you now, traitors? Aye, writhe and wriggle—like mad things! you shall not escape me now, till Tartarus yawns to receive your souls.”
By degrees his excitement calmed down; still, when the chamberlain made his appearance, he was so vigorous and eager, that Parthenius allowed himself to make a somewhat broad allusion to the evening’s adventure.
“You are a precious witty fellow!” laughed the Emperor. “But I feel myself that you have, in jest, hit the truth. Up then to deeds of glory! I only hope that Isis, the celestial Egyptian, may be content with her new brother.”
Cornelia, meanwhile, awaited this evening with feverish anxiety. The red-gold shafts of light, thrown by the setting sun on the eastern wall of the peristyle, had never lingered there so long as they mounted to the top. And when at last—at last they had disappeared, how slowly the darkness fell! How long it was before the night-sky had decked itself in its glory of stars.
She gazed eagerly into the blue depths, seeking the constellation of Cassiopeia.[42]From that spot the god, veiled in invisible clouds, was to float eastwards through the air. The stars seem to twinkle and smile at her, as though they were conscious of the favor the immortals were about to grant her. To-night! to-night at two hours before midnight—what an unfathomable mystery. So potent were the prayers of Barbillus, the initiated minister of the gods, Osiris himself, the incomprehensible, had vouchsafed to meet a mortal woman, to appear in all the glory of his divine majesty, splendid and radiant as he once stood, risen from the dead, when the man-headed bird, Amun, had restored him to life. His face, to be sure, must remain hidden from a creature of earthly birth—that divine face of the sun, before whose fires a mortal would melt away as Semele,[43]in the Greek legend, had died in the arms of Zeus. Isis, the all-merciful mother, had made her brother swear never to appear on earth, without hiding the flaming glory of his countenance behind a hawk’s head, which the people believed to be the real head of that inscrutable divinity, but which the initiated knew to be a benevolent mask.
Cornelia sighed—a sigh of longing ecstasy. Her reason was altogether lulled to sleep. A passionatedesire for release from all earthly burdens, a vague but fervent craving for some spiritual rapture wholly possessed her lofty and ardent soul. Barbillus might well congratulate himself; the success of his fantastic arts was beyond all he could have expected.
It grew darker and darker.—“Go to bed, Cornelia,” said her uncle, rising from his seat. “It is late. Come and kiss me, child! I feel strangely this evening, sad at heart! Generally, when I see folly prevailing over truth, it makes me angry, the blood boils in my veins. But to-day it all makes me melancholy; I feel something like pity for the myriad-bodied sufferer we call humanity. Enslaved to all that is base, mean, and common—that is its eternal and pitiable fate!... Sleep well, Cornelia; I am weary of these struggles, weary with this day’s work, weary with the weight of long years.”
He clasped the girl in his arms, and kissed her forehead; then he retired to his own room. What was that light-colored object in front of the iron lamp! A note! Again, at this late hour! It was strange.
“Charicles!” he called into the anteroom. The slave appeared.
“Who brought this letter?”
“The same stranger as before. I did not like to disturb you....”
“It is well; you can leave me,” Cinna undid the fastening and read:
“Fly, Cornelius. To-morrow at nightfall you will be seized. Your death is decided on.... Save yourself, friend of freedom, and save your country.”
The Senator looked closely at the page; the writing was the same as in the first letter. He thought andwondered, but in vain. He did not doubt an instant. The display of force at the Palatium yesterday was in itself suspicious; at certain incidents in the morning’s sitting—particularly one apparently innocent observation made by Titus Claudius—had somewhat startled him; and now this letter.... It was beyond all doubt. He determined to take Nerva and Ulpius Trajanus into counsel the first thing at daybreak, and to have quitted the city by noon. The details could be left for future consideration.
He burned the letter in the lamp, and went to bed, calm, almost cheerful. After so long enduring the torments of uncertainty, the decision which forced him to action was, in spite of danger, far more welcome than a continuance of the suspense he had been living in.
As soon as he was asleep, Cornelia, accompanied by Chloe and the faithful Parmenio, made her way to the temple of Isis. The slave and the freedman were parted from her sooner than on previous occasions; they were left in a ground-floor room, while Cornelia was conducted up-stairs by a servant of Barbillus’.
The priest met her at the door of the antechamber. After putting off her cloak and her shoes, and saying a short prayer, she entered the sanctuary. Here, much had been altered since her last visit; the image of the goddess stood more on one side, and in the place of the black curtain, embroidered with silver, there was a sky-blue one, that fell in light, cloud-like folds. The soft floor was thickly strewn with white roses, which exhaled a delicious scent; and where formerly the altar had stood, a heavy tissue hung from the ceiling to the floor.
“My daughter,” said Barbillus, “you are indeedblessed above other mortals. Fear not, even if the majesty of the divinity should at first appal you; do not tremble, though its glory should dazzle you. All that is sent from heaven is gracious; infinite favor, even though it should seem strange and terrible. If you truly love the all-merciful mother of the universe and her divine brother—if you are in earnest in your efforts to avert the strokes of Fate from the beloved youth, to whom you are about to devote your life, once and forever—be brave and steadfast! Submit to the inscrutable counsels of him, who rules heaven and earth. Give him truthful devotion and childlike obedience, and the wish of your faithful heart shall be triumphantly fulfilled.”
Cornelia stood motionless. Her light dress and snow-white feet—barely covered by the border, the pale roses and her face, paler still—in the dim moonshiny light of the hanging-lamp, made a weird, though beautiful picture. The charm touched even the calculating priest—for a second he forgot to play his part; a ray of ardent admiration flashed from under his lashes. Only for an instant, but long enough for Cornelia to detect it. She started and drew herself up. She tried to persuade herself, that the dim flickering light or her own excited nerves had cheated her into such an impossible fancy. But do what she would, a shade of suspicion, a breath of distrust, lingered in her mind.
“What am I to do?” she whispered.
“Kneel down there,” said Barbillus, pointing to a cushion close to the curtain. “Pour out your soul unceasingly in prayer, and wait till the all-powerful god shall hear you.”
He was quite himself again—the devoted minister, solemn, reverend and dignified in his sublime loftiness.Cornelia was reassured. Still, as if struck by a sudden idea, she went up to him trembling.
“My lord and master,” she said with some agitation, “I do not know what it can be, that so unexpectedly troubles my soul. Am I indeed worthy to behold the infinite and all-merciful one with these sinful eyes? Is it possible? Is it conceivable?”
“What—do you hesitate?”
“Swear to me by all the immortals, by your own life and your hopes of bliss....”
“Well, my daughter,” said Barbillus, raising his right hand to heaven, “I swear by Isis of the thousand names, by the happiness of my life and the future bliss of my soul; the ruler of the world himself will vouchsafe to appear to you, the mighty lord before whom all grovel in the dust, from the rising to the setting of the sun.”
“Oh! I thank thee!” cried Cornelia in a transport. “Let me kneel, holy Father, and wait in all humility till your words are fulfilled.”
The priest left her. Cornelia sank on to the purple cushions with a sigh, and bowed her head; her long hair fell in a waving stream over her face and down to the ground. She clasped her hands and prayed.
Then she heard once more that wonderful music, that seemed to come out of the ceiling and out of the walls, and yet sounded so distant, so appealing, so dream-like. Suddenly the lamp went out; a terrific peal of thunder shook the air, and the room quivered under her feet.[44]At the same instant an intense and intolerablelight, which gradually became milder, filled the room. When Cornelia looked up again, trembling, the curtain in front of her had been drawn back. Not far beyond she saw a magnificentpulvinar,[45]as it was called; a stuffed couch, such as the priests made ready, when they offered the food of the gods to the sacred images of the immortals. Over the head of this couch hung a light cloud, which again flashed into vivid light, then gradually died out, till at last it looked merely like a mist, dim and ghostly. Then an icy breath fanned Cornelia’s burning brow, the mist parted, and the figure of some unknown creature slowly advanced towards the terror-stricken girl—mysteriously, shrouded in some sheeny blue drapery that made the outlines indistinct, like an image in a dream.
“Fear nothing,” said a voice in a whisper.
Cornelia looked upwards; the voice was soft like the murmur of waters, and seemed to come from above.
“Fear nothing,” it repeated. “Thy prayer is heard. Thou shalt be blest above all mortal women.”
The figure came nearer, and Cornelia, with an awe-stricken shudder, recognized the grotesque hawk-head that she had so often seen in images. Yes, it was the same guise that Osiris wore down in the temple, where he stood on his plinth of ivory and sardonyx, an inscrutable combination of hideousness and dignity. A godwith the head of a brute creature! How could she so ignore her sense of beauty! How could she do such violence to the instincts of her nature? By degrees her pious delusions had gained the mastery; but now—now, when the statue seemed to have come to life, when the god himself in the hawk mask had stepped down from his pedestal, what a shiver chilled her blood! She shuddered, as if a snake or a scorpion were creeping towards her.
By this time the shadowy form—which almost seemed to float in the air, so noiselessly had it moved—was standing close before her. A hand was softly laid upon her shoulder.
“Fear nothing,” said the voice above. “The ways of the gods are wonderful.”
But this god, who appeared in such a questionable shape, now threw both arms round the excited girl and clasped her to his breast with a vehemence not usually attributed to the divine beings; at the same time the mysterious Osiris heaved a sigh, almost a gasp, which in the midst of all his grotesque paraphernalia sounded remarkably human. Enough—in the next instant Cornelia had violently flung the god from her with a loud shriek, and, as he staggered backwards, she flew at him and seized him by the throat with the strength of desperation. A thunder-clap even, that broke close over her head, failed of its effect; after a short struggle Cornelia stood free in the middle of the room, with the hideous painted mask crushed and broken in her left hand, her right hand clenched and raised to strike. Before her, with distorted features, his eyes inflamed with rage and terror, was the sneering and repulsively-bloated face of the Emperor. From his cheek, whereCornelia’s nails had torn the flesh, blood was trickling out. He groaned and panted.
For some minutes they stood transfixed, looking at each other.
“Divine girl!” he said at last, in a broken voice. “Nothing but the wildest passion—a soul on fire....”
He came a step nearer, and pressed his hand to his heart.
“Stand back!” shrieked Cornelia wildly. “Is this the field where Caesar, the ruler of the world, seeks a triumph? Are these the glorious deeds of a Flavian?”
“Hold your tongue, girl!” cried Domitian, furious.
“I mock at your contemptible anger! Rome may crawl and whimper at your feet—I, Cornelia, scorn you! You clench your fist—coward! Kill me then, as you killed Julia.”
“How she stands there,” muttered Domitian, “like animated marble! I had expected a different issue to my hour of immortality. You shall pay for this, Barbillus!”
Cornelia had made her way towards the door, her eye still fixed on the enemy, and she now laid her hand on the bolt—but the door was fastened outside. Domitian laughed. He saw that Barbillus had foreseen every contingency, and this restored his spirits. If cunning failed, force might still conquer. He felt for the dagger he wore in his bosom....
“You are wasting your trouble,” he said scornfully. “Here you are mine, fair Cornelia.”
The girl supported herself against a pillar; her head swam, and the dim blue light which shone into the room from the alcove, suddenly grew dark before her eyes. But she soon recovered the use of her wits. Itoccurred to her, that on the other side, where the Emperor had come in, there must be another door. She sprang upon Domitian like a lioness, and he could not stand against the unexpected attack. He tottered on one side, his foot caught in a fold of the curtain, and he fell to the ground.
By the time he had picked himself up again, Cornelia had disappeared.
“Barbillus!” shouted Domitian, in the darkness of the long corridor, which checked his pursuit. “I cannot see my hand before my face—Barbillus!”
The priest came up the stairs with a lantern in his hand.
“You have betrayed me, cheated me!” Caesar yelled, as Barbillus came towards him somewhat doubtfully. “Where is Parthenius?”
“Here, sovereign lord,” said the chamberlain’s voice.
“Wait here in the colonnade with Phaeton,” said Domitian angrily. “And you, Barbillus, divest me this instant of all this foolery.”
When he found himself alone with the priest, and had got fairly rid of the grotesque attributes of the divinity, he hurled furious abuse at Barbillus.
“What?” he snarled. “There is no such thing as a virtuous Roman girl? Liar—answer.”
“I am deeply grieved,” replied the priest. “How was I to guess that she, of all others, would be the girl to disappoint you! Her soft, credulous eyes—I would have risked my head on it.”
“Here you see the traces of her tender submissiveness! She shall die—a wretch, that dared to lift herhand against her sovereign—why, the blood has run down to my shoulder.”
Barbillus dipped a handkerchief in the cool fountain, and bathed Domitian’s face.
“How it stings!” he exclaimed wrathfully. Then his brow suddenly cleared; a gleam of satisfaction dawned on his face.
“Listen, Barbillus; I believe this misadventure is of good omen.”
“No doubt,” said Barbillus, thankful for this diversion. “A wound from so fair a hand....”
“Nay, nay—you do not understand. Did you hear of a scoundrelly astrologer, Ascletario, who paid for his audacity with his life two days since?”
“Yes, my lord; all the world has heard of it, and bewails it.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Caesar, in the gayest spirits. “Do not you see, that the prophecy is already fulfilled? Do not you perceive that henceforth I am safe? What were his words? That, ere long, my blood should be shed by violence, because the immortals were wroth at my love for a woman, who did not belong to me by any law, human or divine. Well—that blood has been shed.”[46]And he pointed with evident delight to his cheek.
“My lord, your wisdom is unequalled,” said the priest. “Certainly, by all the laws of astrology it is beyond a doubt—the prediction is fulfilled.”
Domitian grinned with contentment.
“So that, in fact, I owe a debt of gratitude to sweet Cornelia! By Zeus! I feel all my annoyance entirely vanishing and giving way to the tenderest regret. A girl like Aphrodite! And I, Caesar, the Lord of the universe, invite her, and she refuses to fling herself into my arms with rapture! It is preposterous! Ridiculous.... You must find means, crafty Barbillus, for you see”—and he laughed slyly—“the anger of the gods is brief.”
“My lord, but how am I to find means?” exclaimed Barbillus in despair. “Do you suppose, that Cornelia will ever set foot across this threshold again?”
“You do not understand. I want no repetition of this solemn farce. It is not as a priest, but as a man, that you must find tools for your cunning.”
Barbillus looked at the floor, musing.
“My lord,” he said, “if I know Cornelia, sooner will she perish than break her faith with her lover. Nothing but a trick could give us the smallest chance of success, nothing but the mask of divinity.”
“Curse him!—And is another man to obtain what Caesar cannot win? Is a boy, a maundering lover, to stand in my way?”
“Well, you know he is the son of the Flamen. If he were of any other family—Cornelius or Ulpius....”
“You are right. I owe special consideration to the Claudia family.—So much the worse for you! And do you mean to say that, in all your mystical lore, you know of no charm that can part two turtle-doves? Are there not women, who make it their business to entrap young men—or sapient tongues to wag away a young girl’s reputation? Is not Lycoris a perfect mistress of all the arts of seduction—or Martial a writer, whose epigrams are poisoned shafts? Come, consider the matter;try, plot, scheme. I must clasp that incomparable creature in my arms!—I must—do you understand, Barbillus—or, to speak plainly, I will.”
“Your will rules the world,” replied Barbillus.
“To-morrow for the rest. I will send my chamberlain to you early. Domitian will not be slow to recognize your services.”
He drew the hood of his lacerna over his head and descended the stairs, followed by Barbillus.
The noonday bustle was at its height in the baths of Titus. A constant stream of men, for the most part belonging to the rank of senators or the class of knights, flowed steadily through the wide Corinthian portico to theapodyterium,[47]where a host of slaves were busy in divesting the new-comers of their toga and tunic.
An equally dense crowd filled theelaothesium,[48]where the body was anointed with oil, and pressed through into the gymnasium,[49]where wrestling and discus-throwing were practised. One of the first laws of old Roman hygiene prescribed exercises of this kind before the bath. When the muscles had thus been thoroughly stretched, the bather wrapped himself in a light woollen garment and sat down to cool himself.
This quarter of an hour of cooling on the benches round the wrestling-hall was one of the pleasantest of the day. Nowhere else was the chat so humorous or so gracious; nowhere else were the events of the day discussed with so much wit and acumen. Here, Martial launched his most daring epigrams. Here, Parthenius, the chamberlain, retailed the most flagrant intrigues and richest scandals. Here the last triumph in the circus was discussed, the proceedings of fair Lycoris, the achievement of some great gladiator, the peculations of a provincial governor, the will of a childless senator,[50]the suits pending before the centumvirate, the last recitations, banquets, deaths—but whatever the whims and humors of the loungers might bring uppermost, it was always cast in a form of easy grace, and discussed with a peculiar sparkle of light humor.
On the day in question there was the usual flow of free talk in the luxuriously-furnished hall, and the marble statues, which looked down from their purple niches, might have heard, if they could, many a cutting speech and many a peal of noisy laughter.
One of the most reckless talkers, in a group that had gathered round Martial, was Clodianus; his rubicund face beamed with Dionysiac excitement. The poet, wrapped over his ears in his sheet, had just delivered himself of an epigram, in his most pungent style, on an incident in the life of a certain attorney-at-law.[51]This man, Sabellus by name, a perfect model of incapacity, was never chosen to conduct a case by any but people of the lowest class, and from the beginning of his career had never once been successful. At last he had gained his first cause. The matter in dispute had been a cart-horse belonging to a wagoner. His client had offered the triumphant advocate a honorarium paid in kind, and the worthy Sabellus, in the excess of his joy, was talking of the brilliant success of his efforts in every public place in Rome. The poet described with malicious glee, how Sabellus had already told the story of the great horse case eight times, and at each repetition held his head a little higher. Martial concluded with these improvised lines:
“All these jubilant airs our friend SabellusFounds on half a measure of meal and lentels,Three half-pounds of frankincense and pepper,Falernian chitterlings[52]and a Lucanian sausage,[53]A Syrian jug of black and muddy liquor,A jar of Libyan figs that might be fresher."[54]
“All these jubilant airs our friend SabellusFounds on half a measure of meal and lentels,Three half-pounds of frankincense and pepper,Falernian chitterlings[52]and a Lucanian sausage,[53]A Syrian jug of black and muddy liquor,A jar of Libyan figs that might be fresher."[54]
“All these jubilant airs our friend Sabellus
Founds on half a measure of meal and lentels,
Three half-pounds of frankincense and pepper,
Falernian chitterlings[52]and a Lucanian sausage,[53]
A Syrian jug of black and muddy liquor,
A jar of Libyan figs that might be fresher."[54]
The whole story, told with a mixture of infinite relish and irony, was irresistible; but not one of the party laughed so immoderately, so long, and so loud, as the starch adjutant. He could not get over it; laughter as of a cyclops filled his throat; it was as though the honest clumsiness of the soldier stood revealed in this naive and noisy amusement. His demeanor was so frank and blunt, that it might have satisfied Caesar himself.
Still, this loud joviality was somewhat belied by the glances which Clodianus cast from time to time, when he thought himself unobserved, at a corner of the hall, where a man with piercing eyes and a strong aquiline nose, was beguiling the quarter of an hour spent in cooling himself, by reading. When the loud shout of laughter echoed through the room like the rattle of thunder, the reader raised his reddened eyelids.
“What, Stephanus!” shouted Clodianus, holding his sides. “You are once more to be seen here? You have neglected us too much these last weeks. Martial grows more audacious every day. He is a splendid rascal, this Hispanian bully; by Incitatus! but he makes mince-meat of our Quirites. The story of Sabellus is delicious, a thing to revel in! And what are you studying here, in the intervals of discus-throwing?”
He had slowly gone up to the steward, while thegroup round the witty epigrammatist were already drawn into the current of another story.
“You are too kind,” replied Stephanus. “But an individual can never be missed, where good talk is kept up by so many distinguished men. I am worried and out of spirits, and quite out of place among the gay and cheerful.”
Clodianus expressed his regret in a long-drawn “Ah,” but his eye betrayed no sorrow. He seated himself on the couch by Stephanus.
“It is very true, the air of the city is saturated with anxiety. I have my own little share of it. You know the old saying: ‘A scorpion lurks under every stone.’” Stephanus smiled.
“You carry your politeness—or your irony—too far.—You, the most fortunate man in Rome.”
“I might very well say the same of you. Except the little annoyances that Cneius Afranius can cause you, your life is that of a god on Olympus.—To be sure,” he added in a lower voice, “that man’s tenacity is beginning to look threatening. All the more so since....”
“Well, finish your sentence.”
“Well, then, you know that until now I have found ways and means of parrying his attacks, but now....”
The freedman turned pale.
“But now...?”
“Now certain symptoms are revealing themselves—symptoms which make me suspect, that I shall not be able much longer to elude his thrusts.”
He had spoken these words hardly above his breath. They distilled slowly into the steward’s ear like poisonous adders, and seemed to writhe in his very soul.
“Impossible!” he exclaimed in a choked voice. “You, the influential favorite of Caesar....”
“It is as I say. Why, I cannot myself altogether understand, but I am alive to the fact. The wind is blowing keenly through all the Basilicas, and if you do not keep a bright look-out you may be wrecked.”
“But, by Jupiter! why have I not heard this till to-day?”
“Because I fancied at first that I might be deceiving myself.... Splendid! First rate, Duilius! That is what I call throwing. Look, look now—Io triumphe. A winner at Olympia could not beat that!”
“I implore you,” whispered Stephanus, “tell me at once....”
“Keep calm,” replied Clodianus. “The Baths are not the place for such a discussion. Where do you dine?”
“With Lycoris.”
“Good, I will excuse myself to Furius, and go with you. After supper, in the park, we shall easily secure a few minutes.... Bravo, Septimius! bravo! What wonderful muscles! Praxiteles[55]ought to have had you for a model! By Castor, but you will break every bone in Sempronius’ body, sturdy as he is! Well, then,” he went on, turning to Stephanus again, “we shall meet at the fair Massilian’s table.”
He rose with a friendly nod, and passed through the great door in the inner wall into thefrigidarium.[56]There he tossed his woollen wrapper over the head of a slave, and descended in all the dignity of stalwart corpulence into the vast bath. More than a hundred bathers were already sitting in it, up to their shoulders in the transparent water. Only a few swimmers were disporting themselves at the farther end.
Clodianus sat down too, thinking contentedly, and his gaze wandered round the noble hall. The light, which poured in from above through a circular opening, sparkled and twinkled so gaily on the dancing ripples—the splashing from the shells, through which the pipes were led which constantly renewed the water, sounded so soothing—the graceful forms of the nymphs in the fresco painting, and of the marble goddesses on their tall pedestals smiled so seductively, that any one might have supposed that the radiant expression on the adjutant’s features was nothing more than a reflection from these bright and rosy surroundings.
But Clodianus saw much more with the mind’s eye, than with the eye of the senses. Elaborate schemes were disentangling themselves in his restless, brooding brain; incredible events rose before his fancy in vivid colors.
And Clodianus looked better pleased than ever, when the tall figure of Stephanus appeared on the threshold. Sternly as the wily steward strove to conceal his feelings, Clodianus saw at a glance what an effect his revelation had had upon him, and he laughed, like a hunter who has had good sport in the field.
“You are as radiant as the sun-god!” said a little man, who went down the steps at this instant. “It is horribly cold this morning—pure snow-water.”
His teeth chattered, and he shrugged his shoulders up to his ears.
“Ah! Sextus Furius!” cried Clodianus, a little startled. “I am glad to meet you. I wanted to let you know, as soon as I quitted the bath, that I am prevented dining with you to-day. Important business....”
“That is a pity,” replied the noble Senator, who, here, in the frigidarium, was not by any means an Apollo. “I had a great many things to talk to you about.”
“Business?”
“Concerning the chamberlain. You know we are in treaty over an estate at Baiae?”
“To be sure.—A most delightful residence. Made on purpose for the raptures of the honeymoon.” And he winked significantly. But the little Senator pursed up his mouth and knit his brows in displeasure, and flourished his elbows so vehemently that the water splashed up all round him.
“Furius, you are becoming a perfect Fury!” cried Clodianus. Then he laughed at his own precious wit and stirred his side of the bath into circling wavelets.
“You seem monstrously happy!” remarked Furius biting his lips.
“Monstrously! And if I only had a sweetheart as handsome and as hugely rich as your divine Claudia....”
“Pooh, nonsense, I have not got so far as that yet. Titus Claudius, at the eleventh hour, begged for time for reflection.”
“You are in treaty for the estate all the same?”
“Certainly—what do you think now? If the affair with Claudius falls through, I shall carry my suit nextday to Fannia, who is younger, or to Paula or to old Camilla. My honor is at stake. I have already made every preparation; dramatic and pantomimic performances, sham fights and races. I cannot possibly withdraw; I am compromised on every side.”
And again he shivered and his teeth chattered. An instant later he sprang with one leap out of the bath.
“Good-bye,” he said, “I am fast turning to ice. With regard to the estate.—Well, we can talk of that another time.” He ran as fast as he could across the flags and flung himself into the warm water of thecaldariumin the farther pillared hall. After warming his chilled limbs there for a short time, he submitted himself to the operations of thetractators[57]or shampooers with brushes and strigils, and then, as red as a boiled lobster, betook himself to the dressing-rooms. He presently made his way home, anointed with Egyptian and Phoenician perfumes, and among the cushions of his luxurious dining-couch did his best to forget the chill of thefrigidariumand the coldness of his coy Claudia.
Clodianus finished the processes of the bath with an air of profound satisfaction, that was observed by all the bathers and accepted as undoubted evidence of his security in his office. No doubt the impression that he left behind him, here and elsewhere, must have some effect on Domitian. Caesar’s capricious and vacillating nature was often more easily guided by such trifles, than by well-considered and deliberate action.
From the baths Clodianus went on foot to the residence of Lycoris, talking as he went with the greatest affability to the clients and slaves who accompanied him. Nay, with one of his clients he exchanged blows in sham fight, regardless of the numerous gazers who respectfully made way for him, but who were greatly amazed at this rough jesting.
At the house of the Massilian he met a mixed company. Stephanus had already arrived, and he preserved his usual calm and easy indifference, when the adjutant came in. But he gradually made plans and preparations to involve Clodianus in a tête-à-tête conversation, while Clodianus showed great cleverness in ignoring and evading these attempts. They went to table and were entertained by flute-players and singers. The Lucrine oysters were relished with intolerable deliberateness; the succession of dishes was positively interminable—so, at least, it seemed to the freedman, who was quite exasperated by the soldier’s huge appetite.
At last, at last, they rose, and, after a quarter, another quarter of an hour’s manœuvring, Stephanus gained his point. He was slowly pacing by the gourmand’s side through the splendid avenues, where the light west wind now and again lifted a brown leaf from the bough and wafted it to its rest on the ground.
“You see I am in the greatest agitation,” began Stephanus, as his companion seemed inclined to continue a conversation begun at the supper-table. Clodianus suddenly turned quite solemn.
“To be frank with you,” he said, “you have good reason. Why should I try to conceal it? The situation is most critical Be on your guard, Stephanus; I fear you may need all your keenest wits.—Hark! some one is behind us; even here we are surrounded by listeners.Only one thing I must say. Afranius is attracting Caesar’s liking....”
“That would be my ruin,” gasped the freedman in dismay.
“Not yet—you must not lose all hope. It is true that, if I am not deceived, Caesar will not only allow, but will command Afranius to make the strictest enquiries.—However, you have a crafty brain. I only wanted to let you know the state of affairs; in the first place to warn you, and secondly to show you the reason why my interference is now at an end. Afranius indeed I might outwit, but....” He shrugged his shoulders, and his face expressed the deepest concern. Stephanus gnawed his lips.
“Then Afranius must be got out of the way,” he said, frowning. “I have long thought I was too easy....”
“That would do no good. On the contrary; the sudden disappearance of Afranius would excite comment and remark, and every one would know at once to whom to attribute it. I tell you once more, it is not Afranius, it is Caesar himself.—Silence! to-morrow come and see me in my villa in the Via Praenestina—after sundown.—Nay, hold up your head, Stephanus. If it comes to the worst you can take ship and sail for Africa.”
“I? Leave Rome! I would die first. Rome is the only place where one can breathe. I should die in a province.”
“Well, we can discuss that later. See, Lycoris and the noble Norbanus have found us out—a well-matched pair! The conqueror of Dacian armies, and the conqueror of Latin hearts. Come, fair mistress, and decidethe question; we are disputing as to whether the plane or the elm turns yellow first. Speak the decisive word.”
Lycoris laughed.
“If you put me to torture, I do not know. They both turn yellow too soon to please me.” She drew her cloak more closely round her, for the evening was chilly. They turned and went down the avenue together; Lycoris and the two soldiers in eager chat, Stephanus in the silence of despair.
When, after a short walk, they reëntered the house, Clodianus laid his hand on the steward’s arm and looked meaningly into his eyes. “Hold up your head,” he said with determined emphasis. “You may conquer yet, if you are a man.”
The words seemed to work a miracle. Stephanus inferred from them, that Clodianus had not told him everything. This idea, and yet more the peculiar expression of the adjutant’s manner, restored his confidence.
“To-morrow,” he whispered, as he shook hands with the astute officer. Then the party gave themselves up to enjoyment—a gay party!
It was near midnight, when Stephanus set out homewards. He could now hardly realize how he had so utterly lost heart at a single blow. Had he not sailed with triumphant success round many a rocky shore? Had he not ridden with safety through every storm? The storm that now roared round him was, to be sure, a hurricane. But Clodianus, that stalwart pilot, was standing at the helm.—In short—the much-dreaded Caesar was but a man like other men.—It was folly to run his head against the troubles of the future! “To-day is mine, and I will enjoy the present.”
In his bedroom he found his favorite, Antinous. The slave flew to meet him with eager eyes, and as soon as the others had withdrawn, Stephanus sat down on his couch, and called the lad to him.
“Well?” he said in a low voice.
“The game is ours,” said the slave. “But it has cost much trouble and pains....”
“Ours? Do not sell the lion’s skin, before he is in the net.”
“But he is in the net. I have found out everything, and what I know, my lord, will be the death of him as surely....”
“Do not go too fast; the Claudians are powerful. Nothing but the most terrific stroke will fell him.”
“But hear me, and then judge. Quintus Claudius has joined the Nazarenes.”
“Impossible! A millionaire has thrown in his lot with the beggars! It is a lie, boy.” Antinous laughed.
“It sounds like a fable, does not it? But it is the truth all the same. I pledge my head on it: before the week is out Quintus Claudius is taken and sentenced.”
“Boy, you are a jewel!” cried Stephanus beside himself. “If all this proves true, by the gods, I will have you set in gold.”
“My plan is most simple. To-morrow morning early....”
“That will do,” interrupted Stephanus, who was quite incapacitated by delight, from attending to details. “I trust it all to you, and give you full powers to do whatever you think necessary. As I live, that would be a victory—a triumph such as never was heard of! Come here, lad, that I may kiss you.” He hugged the boy as if he had lost his reason.
“Now go, be off—I must rest.”
“Sleep well!” said Antinous. “You may rest on laurels.” And he ran off.
“Capital, glorious!” murmured his master. “Now—now, fair Domitia....”
In the excitement of his feelings he hid his head in the pillows; a slight shudder shook his meagre frame. He clenched his fists, and closed his lips tightly.—Thus he fell asleep; and his deep and difficult breathing sounded loud in the still, dimly-lighted room.
After the frightful scene in the sanctuary of Barbillus, Cornelia had rushed blindly down the dark corridor, which brought her to a flight of steps in the outer wing of the building. She thus found her way into the courtyard, and from thence into the anteroom, where Parmenio and Chloe were waiting for her. “Fly!” she cried in desperate accents, and hurried on, past the ostiarius and out into the road.
As soon as she reached home, she went to her own room, evading Chloe’s well-intentioned questions with angry retorts. She lay on her bed till morning, unable to sleep. Her whole being was unhinged. All that had, until now, seemed highest and most sacred, all the transcendental dreams of her ecstatic spirit, were suddenly shown to be empty and base, a miserable illusion, a sordid imposture. With her belief in the divine mission of Barbillus, she flung from her all faith in Isis the universal mother, and indeed, in everything supernatural.It was a sudden convulsion of her whole nature, that had rent and upheaved its very foundations.
Through that long and dismal night, when she lay awake and in tears, strange voices seemed to sound in her ears. How often had she listened, only half-attentive, to her uncle, as he and Ulpius Trajanus sat discussing of the Nature of Things, of the great secret of the Universe! She had never been able to understand how Cinna could dare to deny the existence of the gods, but now she recalled all she could remember of these discussions. In fancy she saw that frank face, full of bland and happy excitement, every feature bearing the seal of moral conviction. She reflected on the deep impression, which Cinna’s words made on Ulpius Trajanus—a calm, reflective mind. And then again, she saw the ludicrously grotesque figure with its hawk-head, and the priest’s insidious and hypocritical face. What a flagrant contrast! And if the priest with his debauched Osiris was the incarnation of a lie, then Cinna must be the embodiment of truth. The conclusion was not logical, but Cornelia philosophized from the heart.
The next day she stole about the house, like the youth of Sais after he had lifted the veil. To Chloe she did not speak a word; it was as though she felt her to be an accomplice and was ashamed.
Towards noon Cornelius rode out on horseback, accompanied by Charicles and one of the younger slaves.
“How ill you look, child!” he said, as he took leave of Cornelia; “order your litter, and be carried out to the Field of Mars, the fresh air will do you good. I shall be back as it grows dark.—I have some business to attend to at Aricia. Say so, if by any chance I should be asked for.”
Cornelia dined in a little room opening out of her own, if a little fruit could be called a meal. As it grew dark, her lover came to see her. All day he had felt the same urgent craving for solitude and meditation as Cornelia. The consciousness, that he had crossed the threshold of a new and unknown life, and had sealed, solemnly and forever, a covenant with a new God, possessed him with irresistible force. He felt that he must clearly face and realize the fact, before he could go forth again into the wild turmoil of city life. Rome, which until lately he had considered as the element in which alone he could live, now watched him with the jealous eye of an informer. Every corner-stone, every column cried mockingly: “Quintus, be on your guard!” Every human countenance threatened betrayal and an ignominious death.—Aye, beware, Quintus, and hide your secret as a murderer hides his crime!
By degrees the young man arrived at a clear view of himself and of his position. All that was needful, was calm presence of mind and absolute silence. Not a soul must guess what, on the face of it, was so incredible; no one—if only for his father’s sake. Cornelia alone, that dear one, whose lofty nature had always been marked by what was a truly Nazarene longing for something absolutely divine—Cornelia alone should, by degrees, be admitted to know the great secret, and be won over to the doctrine of Jesus Christ. The idea of not sharing every thought, to the inmost spring of his moral life, with the girl he so devotedly loved, was so intolerable, that he determined to try at once, at least, to sound the depths of her feeling, for some ground where he might, by-and-bye, find anchorage.
The fact, that he found Cornelia alone, seemed to himof happy omen; he could talk with her undisturbed. The evening was too cool to allow of their sitting in the peristyle, and Cornelia received her lover in her uncle’s study. Quintus was struck by her silence and uneasy looks; still, this seemed to him to be the very mood in which to speak to her of matters outside and above ordinary life.
Their surroundings too, suggested an opening. A number of book-rolls, and among them the works of the elder Pliny, lay on the large ebony table. Cinna had for a long time been engaged in writing a work on natural history which, in many respects, went far beyond Pliny; this led Quintus to speak of the wide difference between the views held by the uncle and the niece. How surprised he was then to find Cornelia’s whole nature entirely altered, as it seemed to him, when she shook her head and smiled bitterly over his passionate eloquence, and finally declared, shortly and drily, that she was cured once and forever of the follies of her childhood, and would take every precaution to avoid a relapse.
Quintus was so astonished, that he dropped the subject.
“We will discuss this some time, when we are less fatigued and in better spirits,” he said. “We both need rest; you are looking pale, Cornelia.”
A deep sigh was heard from a corner of the room. It was Chloe filling up the brasier with a shovelful of charcoal broken small.
“That may well be!” she murmured in a melancholy key.
“What time is it?” Cornelia asked her, to stop her talking.
“Half-way into the first vigil.”
“My uncle is very late!” said Cornelia. “He was to return at sundown. Hark! I hear steps....”
Parmenio come into the room announcing Caius Aurelius.
“At this hour!” cried Cornelia in surprise.
“He is in a great hurry,” said the slave. “He must speak to my lord, he said, even if you were gone to bed. I told him my master was gone to Aricia; at first he seemed much pleased to hear it, but then he grew anxious again. Now he begs to be admitted.”
“How very strange! Well, tell him he is welcome.”
Aurelius came in, evidently bewildered and agitated. He greeted Cornelia briefly, and asked whether Cinna was expected to return that evening. Cornelia’s reply made him thoughtful. Still, learning that Cinna, who was usually so punctual, was already nearly two hours behind time, his face beamed with inexplicable satisfaction.
“He may perhaps be detained for several days,” he said emphatically. “Be that as it may, you will allow me to leave two lines for him. If he should happen to come in, give him the note instantly, everything depends upon it.”
“You alarm me!” said Cornelia. “What is happening?”
“Forgive me, dear mistress, if I can tell you nothing more....”
He went to the table, hastily seized the first piece of paper that fell under his hand, and wrote as follows: “The Batavian to the noble Cornelius, greeting. Delay is danger. Remember Rodumna!”
He folded up the leaf.
“As soon as he arrives, before he has taken his cloak off—do you understand me, mistress? And if he should not return, tear the note into fragments, or throw it into the fire.”
“If he should not return?—but what should prevent him?”
“I only mean, if he should not return this night.”
Quintus drew the excited visitor on one side.
“What has happened?” he said.
“The worst, Quintus. Cornelius is watched, followed—but by-and-bye, my friend—just now I am as hard pressed as a stag followed by the hounds. Farewell! Who knows—by the gods! my brain is in a whirl.”
“Must you go?” said Cornelia.
“Indeed I must. Farewell, the gods be with you all.”
He rushed out to the atrium, where Herodianus and Magus were waiting for him in silence and darkness.
“Now, come—as fast as possible, to the high-priest’s house; Claudia is expecting me. If she could dream, that I am about to take leave of her....”
The whole house was wrapped in sleep, when Lucilia cautiously unbolted the side-door. Claudia was standing in the colonnade, and her heart beat high as the Batavian softly went up to her.
“Forgive me,” he said, “for daring to snatch an interview so late at night. Claudia, do you feel strong enough to cling to me faithfully through every change of fate?”
“What a dreadful question, Caius; and I have been so content to-day, so happy—the future looked so rosy.—Caius, my dear love, what has happened? Your hand is trembling—what have you to tell me?”
“I must go away, sweet Claudia—this very night.”
“Impossible! Ah, Caius! say this is a jest.”
“Nay, I will tell you all, only not now, not at this minute. You shall very soon hear from me, Claudia; but as to whether I shall ever return—that lies in the counsels of the Immortals. If you regret your promise, Claudia, if the remote and unknown future terrifies you, say so in time; you shall not be bound. But, if you love me with all your soul, Fate cannot divide us. You will find out the path by which we may meet again, and you will not be mistaken in the man you have chosen, happen what may.”
“Caius, you are breaking my heart! I do not understand it—but you will not allow me to ask.—Well, so be it then, I submit. Come what may, Caius, I am your wife, and when you bid me I will follow you. Oh ye gods! how cruel, how hard—in the midst of so much sunshine.—I cannot bear it!”
“Forgive me, forgive me,” said Aurelius, himself hardly able to check his tears. “It is a shame to spoil your happiness, but I cannot help it.—Farewell, my Claudia. Love me, remember me, and trust to your protecting star!”
“Farewell,” sobbed the girl. “And you will tell me all, everything, will you not?”
“All I can and may,” said Aurelius. “Perhaps,” he added tremulously, “I may be able to tell you that all is well, here, in Rome, in your father’s house. But, if what I am planning and hoping, must fail—-well, even then, I know that one thing will remain dearer and more precious than success—you, my Claudia.”
He clasped her in his arms; then he tore himself away, and hurried off to the little door.
“A thousand thanks, good soul!” he whispered to Lucilia as he passed. The bolt was cautiously pushed back into the rings, and Caius Aurelius flew home, leaning on the arm of Herodianus. It was almost midnight by the time he reached home; the door-keeper was asleep, nor did he wake till they had knocked repeatedly.
“You may go now, Antisthenes,” said Herodianus. “I will shut up the house; you are released for to-night.” The ostiarius went off to his little room.
Herodianus not only bolted the door, but barred it too,[58]with the strong iron stanchion which stood unused in the comer, slipping it into the staples on each side of the door; and it was not till he had made all fast that he followed his master, who had lighted the lamps in one of the large rooms adjoining the peristyle, and opened a brass-plated cupboard in the wall. While Aurelius and Herodianus were busy packing up all their valuables, and particularly large quantities of gold coin, Magus, in the garden behind the house and adjoining the pillared court, was saddling three capital horses.
He had just finished tightening the girths of the second, a fine Cappadocian, when three thundering knocks at the front entrance echoed through the house.