At these words Caius Aurelius seemed quite delighted—he evidently thought that the speaker had hit the turning-point of the whole discussion.
“You know,” Ulpius Trajanus went on, “that one of the three legions stationed here was under my command, in the campaign on the Rhine against the Germans.[119]My men were blindly devoted to me, and if I were to stand before them to-day and say: Soldiers, behold your general an exile, persecuted, hunted down, because he defends the cause of truth, justice and freedom.—I am convinced, especially after what our worthy centurion has told us, that they would rise as one man to resist the tyrant. The only question is, whether the adherence of one legion is enough as a beginning of the revolt; whether on the contrary so small a spark might not be at once trodden out. Ah! my friends, had I only guessed, when I led my army out of Hispania across the endless wastes of southern Gaul to the shores of the Rhine—had I only dreamed then, that the real enemy of our country dwelt in the Palatium! had I known that the eternal city was more gravely menaced by the canker at her heart, than by the wild hordes of the Teutobergian and Hercynian forests! But I was no more than a soldier, thinking of nothing but the task in hand, and never troubling my head about anything beyond the field of battle. At that time I could easily have overthrown the reign of terror, have set the Senate free to act, and so have obtained a legal verdict against the archtraitor, who now treads our sacred rights under foot with impunity. Why did I not then understand your misery and evil plight! I almost feel as if that were my own fault, which is, in fact, only the ordering of fate. Just lately, when I have been endeavoring to prepare the soil for our plans, the curse of delay has stared me in the face with heart-breaking clearness. Of all the thousands I then had at my disposal, so few remain with me, that I doubt, as I said, whether it is safe to reckon on such a handful. I await your counsel.”
Nerva, who had been Trajan’s constant companion during the last few weeks, had nothing to add to this speech, and Cinna’s report was but a meagre one.
“So long as we stick at the preparatory stage,” hesaid, discontentedly, “I am nobody. I have seen and observed many things. With all the precautions I could take, I have found out old connections and, as I will tell you presently, I have found a few persons of distinction, that are won over to our cause, and who may be of the greatest service to us. But with all this I fail to see how you propose to go on. Either one thing or the other.... All now depends on a hazard; it is a game in which everything hangs on a throw of the die.”
“The die is cast,” said Caius Aurelius.
Every face was turned in astonishment to gaze at the excited young man, who went on as follows in great agitation:
“Yes, my dear friends and colleagues, if I am not greatly deceived, our cause is as good as won. How should I, an unknown nobody, have achieved so great a success? I can quite understand your being dumb with astonishment.—But the success is not mine, but yours—yours, generous Cinna; yours, noble Nerva, and, above all, yours, Ulpius Trajanus. Listen and perpend: After we parted on the coast of Narbonensis, I was crushed by the consciousness of being the least capable of all of doing anything to promote your prospects. All the circumstances were new to me; I had no connection with any great man; I had no glorious past in my own life. So for some weeks, accompanied by one of my galley-slaves, I wandered aimlessly about the province doing no good whatever. Then accident inspired me with a brilliant idea. I was at no great distance from the Rhodanus; I was tired with a long ride, and we had dismounted in the middle of a wood, tied the horses by their bridles to the trunk of a holm-oak, and had lain down ourselves a little way off, where a clear spot offered us a comfortable couch. Presently we heard voices—the Propraetor of Lugdunum,[120]as I subsequently discovered, who had a house in the neighborhood, and his eldest son. The two men, who had no servants with them, had been hunting, and were now resting awhile. We kept quiet, for silence and patience are the first virtues of a refugee. Thus I involuntarily overheard a conversation, which in a few minutes was of the greatest importance to our purpose and plans. I learnt, in short, that the Propraetor highly disapproves of the latest edicts from the Palatium, and is anything rather than blind to the crimes of the man, whose representative he is. I discovered that he esteems many of the proscribed, and you especially, my respected colleagues, as brave and upright men, and that he regards Trajan’s hostility, especially to the present government, as a highly important feature—as a sign, that Caesar is treading a most dangerous road. The son, who is a military tribune, agreed with the father in every particular, especially with regard to Ulpius Trajanus.[121]He spoke of his distinguished services in the campaigns against the Northmen; he particularly remarked that at that time—at the head of your legions, when you had the power entirely in your own hands—you never laid any ambitious plans, and he wondered how it could have come to pass, that so moderate a man, after achieving such splendid deeds, should be now placed in the position of a Catiline. All this was said in broken phrases and a low conversational tone, and then they went on to speak of the games and races in the circus of Lugdunum. However, it was enough for me. The whole tone and style of their speech had convinced me, that I was listening to people of position and influence; I therefore determined to keep my men in sight, and when they rose and set out I followed them, leaving the horses in the copse. Before long I observed a villa, and meeting some slaves returning from labor in the fields, I learnt, in answer to my questions, that the noble personage who walked on so unpretentiously was the Imperial Propraetor, and had been stopping for a few days in his country-house, as he was particularly devoted to sport. Indeed, as I approached the house, I saw a number of soldiers and a guard of honor,[122]which left no doubt as to the rank of the owner. Then I felt as if the gods themselves hadinspired me.—My resolution was taken at once. I wrote a few lines on my wax-tablet, gave it to my rower, and desired him, in case I should not return from the Propraetor’s villa, to carry them to Herodianus, that he might give you all due warning. Still, I had every hope that the immortals would crown my rashness with success. My slave left me; I went forward, and had myself announced to the Propraetor with the notice that I had a most important communication to make to him. Ten minutes later I was standing face to face with the governor of the province.—My lord, said I, as calmly and steadily as if I had arrived to announce some imperial fiat—I come in the name of Cinna, of Nerva, and of Trajan, to inform you, that they have determined to accuse Domitian before the Senate,[123]charging him with high-treason, and to depose him, and to this end to lead the legions of this province against Rome....”
“What madness!” cried Cinna, horrified.
“Yes, noble Cinna,” said Aurelius, frankly; “now, when I calmly think it over, I am astonished at my own audacity. And yet—what was I risking after all? My life! And my freedman would have had ample time to warn you.—This occurred the day before yesterday.”
Cinna changed color from red to white, and from white to red again.
“Go on, go on!” urged the others; and Aurelius proceeded:
“The Propraetor was thunderstruck. For a moment I fancied he feared for his own safety; that he thought that his legions had already been secretly instigated to rebellion, and that at a given signal the revolt would break out. He seemed to breathe more freely, when I told him that the friends of freedom had addressed themselves to him, hoping to precipitate some prompt decision; counting on his knowledge of affairs, his rectitude, and his time-tested patriotism to guide them to an issue from the situation. I painted in glowing colors the fermenting discontent, the smothered disaffection and hatred of the populace, the tyranny of the capricious and detested despot, his crimes and foul deeds that cry to Heaven, and the inevitable pressure from within towards some complete change. Then I reminded him once more of your names, you who are here to defend the cause of our country: Nerva, Cinna, Trajan.—What else I may have said I forget, but the gods willed, that I should touch some chord which roused a threatening echo in the old warrior’s breast. It may be, that some personal motives weighed with him—be that as it may, the Propraetor is on our side, and as soon as you please you can go to take counsel and lay schemes with him.”
“If the whole thing is not a trap on his part?” said Afranius.
“No, no,” cried Trajan. “I remember now. Clodianus told me last summer, that after the death of his first wife the Propraetor had wished to marry Julia.... Did he not know how Julia had died?”
“He knew it only by vague report. I told him the facts as they were commonly current in Rome; and he did, certainly, seem very much shocked....”
The sudden appearance of Herodianus at the doorinterrupted Caius Aurelius in his speech. Behind the freedman they could see the ragged figure of a beggar.
“A messenger from Rome,” said Herodianus mysteriously. “He has brought important news, if he speaks the truth.”
The beggar came forward, and asked if Cornelius Cinna were present, and when Cinna acknowledged his identity, the man handed him a much-crumpled letter. Cinna broke the tie and seal with eager haste, and the eyes of the party were fixed in anxious expectation on his face, which first turned deadly pale, and then flushed with rising color.
“A new ally!” he said, as his hand fell on to the table. “And a powerful one too! This note is from the adjutant, Clodianus.... Like the wolf in the fable.—You had but just spoken of him, Trajan.”
“What? Clodianus! impossible!” cried Trajan.
“Not so impossible,” said Caius Aurelius. “Only a short time before our flight I met him at the house of Norbanus. The things he said—the questions he asked—I remember it all now.”
“By Hercules! but let us hear,” said Afranius.
When Herodianus and the messenger had withdrawn, Cornelius Cinna read the letter aloud. It contained, in the first place, the information that it was Clodianus, who had given the mysterious warning of the projected arrests, and to confirm this, the words were quoted of the note that Cinna had received—a proof which all the hearers were satisfied to regard as conclusive. Clodianus then sketched, with great judgment, a project for their joint action. He told them how for some time, he had been working on the minds of the praetorian guard, and assured them that the only difficulty here would arise from the character of Norbanus, who clung to Caesar with considerable obstinacy, who was wholly and solely a soldier, and never troubled himself at all about questions of State. Still, he was not altogether without hope of gaining over this important officer to the side of freedom for Rome; if it came to the worst, ways and means might be found to keep him out of the way, without hurting his feelings. Then he added some valuable hints with regard to military operations, and the opening of rapid and reliable means of communication between Clodianus and the conspirators. Finally he wrote as follows:
“If, as I imagine, Caius Aurelius, the Batavian, is with you, tell him that his betrothed came to my house a few days after the ides of November. She is well. She came to entreat my intercession in favor of her brother Quintus who, as you may chance to have heard, was arrested soon after your escape, and cast into the Tullianum on a charge of having joined the Nazarenes. I promised to do my best, in the certainty, however, that so long as Domitian wields the sceptre there is no hope of justice even, and much less of mercy.”
This sentence took a surprising effect on Caius Aurelius.
“My friends,” he exclaimed, “you see, the gods themselves have opened a way for us! Why do we hesitate? What better guarantees can we expect for the success of our plans? Even if the Propraetor has begun to waver, this letter from Clodianus will open his eyes—he must see that it is vain to struggle against Fate. I would propose that you should at once enter into negotiations with the Propraetor, and start as soon as possible for Lugdunum. There, we will proclaim tothe legions that Caesar is deposed, and that the noble old republic of Cincinnatus and Regulus is reëstablished!”[124]“To Lugdunum without delay!” they exclaimed unanimously.
April, the sweetest month in the south, had decked the land in all its wealth of beauty. The City of the Seven Hills, with its endless gardens and plantations, wore a really enchanting aspect. It seemed to have put on its freshest and gayest attire in honor of the secular games, which had already begun on the previous day with magnificent races in the Circus Maximus. To-day, the sixth after the calends,[125]at two hours after sunrise, gladiators and ships were to fight in the Flavian Amphitheatre, and men were to fight with beasts.
It was still nearly an hour to the time, but in the Forum and all the neighboring streets the slanting lightof morning fell on a crowd so dense as to defy all description. Long files of litters, gorgeous in purple and gold, pushed their slow way through the surging masses of men struggling along the Via Sacra towards the entrance to the amphitheatre.
Three hundred lions[126]and as many panthers, fifty Cantabrian bears, forty elephants and other beasts, six hundred gladiators and boxers—among them some women and dwarfs—a dozen of highwaymen from the Appian Way, and about ninety Christians, were to shed their blood, some in single combat, others in larger or smaller divisions, and all in the course of the next three days, for the evening of the fourth saw the end of the great festival.[127]Indeed, the herald who invited the populace in the Emperor’s name, spoke the truth in more senses than one, as he shouted the usual proclamation: “Come hither to see what none of you has ever yet seen, or ever will see again!”[128]To-day, the second day, the interest and excitement seemed even greater than yesterday. The number of strangers, gathered together from all parts of the Empire, was certainly swelled and, although the amphitheatre could accommodate above eighty thousand spectators, the crowd was so enormous, that many visitors were doubtful of succeeding in fighting their way to places.
In the stream of litters, which were moving towards the Arena, not from the Forum only but from the Cyprian Way, was one of conspicuous elegance and splendor. The curtains were drawn open, and two handsome but over-dressed and painted girls sat chattering among the billowy cushions. These were Lycoris and one of her friends, Leaina, a native of Asia Minor, who had spent the winter in Athens as companion to an Egyptian lady of rank, and had arrived only yesterday evening in Rome, the sea-passage being only just considered as open for the season. Lycoris had a sort of sisterly kindness for Leaina—all the more because she was well aware, that the oriental could not compare with her in beauty; and Leaina, who had originally filled a very humble position as a dancer in a low tavern at Capua, had been introduced into society by Lycoris, and felt for her a feeble reflection of the feeling, which in a deeper nature might have risen togratitude. As they sat together in the litter, splendidly dressed, their eyebrows darkened with stibium,[129]and the veins in their temples outlined with blue color, they seemed to be of one heart and one mind.
“It is delightful,” cooed Lycoris, “to have you at least—to enjoy the fights in the amphitheatre with me. That stupid ship to be so late—particularly when I think of your love for races. They were splendid, my dear, positively splendid! First there was the great procession from the Capitol to the Circus Maximus;[130]all the finest young men in Rome on milk-white horses—a lovely sight! Then the two-wheeled and four-wheeled chariots, the dancers, flute-players and cithara-players, the priests in full dress, and last of all the judges, with crowns of golden oak-leaves and robes of ceremony, like the hero of a triumph. That was enough to show what the greatness of Rome means! As a rule, all that people say of the glory of the Roman name and such speech-making, is to me simply laughable; but when I see a sight like that, it gives me a shiver down my back, and I feel a sense of—what shall I call it?—the sublime—of—I do not know whether you understand the feeling?”
“Yes, yes,” said Leaina, vaguely. “But you mentioned the priests; was Titus Claudius present, thehigh-priest of Jupiter? You wrote to me, a few weeks since, that his son Quintus had been charged before the Senate with having joined the Nazarenes, and was condemned to the beasts. I should think his father would hardly care to take part in a festival....”
“My dear child!” interrupted the Massilian. “I see that Athens is indeed out of the world. You do not know what has been the talk of Rome for some days; ever since the ides of March Titus Claudius has been lying at death’s door. He has a violent fever, is quite delirious and, indeed, out of his mind. His hair, they say, has grown white in these few months like that of a very old man. Rome does not generally find time to think of the misfortunes of individuals, but the sympathy in this case has been universal. At first every one blamed Quintus Claudius, but now he is only pitied, and hundreds of the most influential men in Rome are exerting themselves to save him. Even I, who am indolence itself, have appeared as a suppliant at the consulate. Seriously, Leaina, I feel for him deeply; it is a pity, he is so young and so handsome. Wherever I had a chance I tried—with the chamberlain, whom I can generally twist round my little finger—at last even with the Empress—I forget, whether I told you when I wrote, that even the Empress had done me the honor to smile upon me.... All in vain, Caesar is inexorable. Even when the father offered in sheer despair to be a victim to the law in his son’s stead, and to kill himself in expiation, Domitian would not hear of mercy. Now the only hope is, that even in the Arena the people will demand his release.”
“And Cornelia, his betrothed? She too was arrested?”
“She is to share his fate. Indeed she is guilty of a double crime: she is a Nazarene, and she tried to murder Caesar. To ask pardon for her would be tantamount to high-treason.”
“It is a strange story altogether,” said Leaina, with a little sigh. “And after all, tell me, what is the particular crime of being a Nazarene? What is it that they do?”
“Indeed, my dear, you ask me more than I can answer. It would appear, that they carry on all sorts of idolatrous worship, and concoct schemes of rebellion. Norbanus told me that they want to turn the world upside down, and make the masters slaves, and the slaves masters. I told him, that did not sound to me at all a likely story; for, if it were so, only slaves would have anything to do with them. And now, besides Quintus, the consul Flavius Clemens,[131]a relative of Caesar, has been caught and converted; so there must be something more in it than that.”
“Of course!” said Leaina.
“Very likely the whole business is somehow connected with the disturbances, that have been reported lately from the Rhaetian frontier. It is said that the conspirators—you know, Cornelius Cinna, Ulpius Trajanus and the rest—have formed an alliance with some Germanic princes, and are marching on Rome!”
“But that would be frightful! Just now too, when the best season of the year is coming on!”
“Oh! do not be alarmed. Clodianus discovered itall in good time. And to make sure, he is bringing troops out of the provinces—out of Gallia Lugdunensis I rather fancy—down into the peninsula. If it comes to the worst, they will give the rebels a lesson. But, as you see, the feast is the only thing in men’s minds. If they had the remotest idea even....”
“Well, by Cypris! I do not know what I should do. Only think of it, a conflagration like that under Nero perhaps! The whole season would be ruined.”
“You silly child!” laughed Lycoris. “But what is the matter again, Philemon? Every minute we come to a stand-still.”
“Mistress,” said the bearer, “the city-watch have got a man in charge, and the people are crowding round them and have stopped the way.”
Lycoris leaned as far as she could out of the litter. To the left, not far from the entrance to the baths of Titus, two stalwart officials had rushed at a pale young man, who defended himself desperately at first, but was overpowered after a short struggle.
“I surely know that face,” said Lycoris. “And yet I cannot be sure.... Philemon, find out what that man has done to be arrested.”
The bearer sent one of the slaves, who went in front of the litter, across to the spot where the two men-at-arms were now binding their prisoner’s hands behind his back. In a few minutes the messenger returned.
“It is Eurymachus, the slave of Stephanus, who was hunted for through all Latium only last autumn.”
“To be sure, it is he!” cried Lycoris. “Do you remember, Leaina? It was just before you left Rome. Of course; now I recognize his pale, determined face. Only he has cut off his beard, which made him lookeven paler then. My dear, do you know I shudder when I think of that scene! Since Quintus has been condemned to the beasts, I have grown quite nervous. That Eurymachus was his evil genius. Only see how desperately he looks about him—and then he was perfectly calm, even when he was led to the foot of the cross.”
“It would seem, that the last few months had taken down his spirit a little.”
“No, no—he must have some other reason, that you may depend upon. Besides—as he certainly was involved in this business of Quintus—oh! perhaps there may be some new aspect of the question! He ought to be heard.—Philemon, ask those men to come this way, to me.”
The two men, extremely astonished, came up to the splendid litter, dragging their prisoner between them.
“Listen,” said Lycoris, in condescending tones. “You have caught a prize this time. I know the fellow, and I know that Stephanus has set a great reward on his head. Now, if you wish to find special favor in his master’s eyes, just do as I advise you. Take my tablets, on which I will write two lines, and carry them instantly, with your prisoner, to Stephanus. You will still find him at home—for he is very busy, and will not come to the Arena before noon. Will you do as I desire you?”
“Mistress,” said one of the men, “it is all the same, whether we take the prisoner to the city-prefect or to his owner’s house. If you wish it....”
Lycoris signed to the slave, who had called the men to speak to her, and the servant took out of his robe twogold pieces, which he gave to them, while Lycoris wrote on her tablets:
“Lycoris to the illustrious Stephanus, greeting:“With these lines you will receive your slave, Eurymachus, whom you have so long sought in vain. Keep him in safety, but do him no hurt, till you have taken counsel with me. Why, I will tell you when we meet. I would go to you at once if it were not so late, but I am afraid of missing the beginning of the games. I am writing in my litter—in the Cyprian Way, where your slave was taken. Expect me to dinner. Farewell!”
“Lycoris to the illustrious Stephanus, greeting:
“With these lines you will receive your slave, Eurymachus, whom you have so long sought in vain. Keep him in safety, but do him no hurt, till you have taken counsel with me. Why, I will tell you when we meet. I would go to you at once if it were not so late, but I am afraid of missing the beginning of the games. I am writing in my litter—in the Cyprian Way, where your slave was taken. Expect me to dinner. Farewell!”
She gave the tablets to the man, and bid him take the greatest care of them. Once more she glanced at the pale and sadly-handsome face of the prisoner, and a strange feeling stole into her heart, a stirring of pity and of confusion. Most assuredly—so she thought—if, that evening, she had seen the victim’s face so close, she would have spoken a good word for him! Those grave, drooping lids veiled a wonderful glow in the eyes! and the mouth, with its expression of silent suffering and self-suppression, was a curious contradiction to that fiery glance! It was altogether a fascinating riddle for the Massilian’s mobile fancy. It was only a pity, that the problem should offer itself under so unattractive a guise! A young officer, a Roman knight, a senator’s son, with such a mysterious countenance, would have captivated her.—It was disappointing, by Cypris! positively vexatious! There was something bewitching in the man, as he raised his eyes to her face—she could well understand, that it must have had a great effect on a nature so impressionable as Quintus’.
The more she thought about it the more determinedshe became; she must find out how it all had come about. The man, Eurymachus, to be sure, looked by no means incapable of refusing point-blank to give her any information. But did not his fate depend upon her? His death was inevitable, and she alone could save him; so if she said: “Speak, tell me all, or I leave you to your fate, which will be certain death.”—Absurd! of course he would speak. And it must be a wonderful secret indeed, that could induce a youth like Quintus....
And then it suddenly struck her, that Eurymachus was not exposed to the vengeance of the steward only. As a Christian he was condemned by law—and she could not interfere with the course of the law. The chief point still remained open: she would examine him closely, if indeed Stephanus agreed to her request. And he must, positively must. Only the other day she had had him in leading-strings, but the child had suddenly outgrown her management. Since she had become so intimate with Parthenius—Parthenius! And might not this prime favorite of Caesar’s be of some service? If Parthenius spoke the word, Eurymachus would be set at liberty, in spite of any sentence passed upon him.
Lycoris passed her hand across her forehead; her head was burning. What strange ideas were these, that had taken possession of her? What a concatenation of foolish fancies and wild, confused ideas! She hardly perceived, that meanwhile the litter had reached the entrance to the Flavian Amphitheatre. Leaina had to rouse her from her dreamy mood.
“What is the matter with you, golden-haired maid?” she said in a low voice. “You seem depressed, and just now you were all in the mood for enjoyment! Tell me—the sight of that refractory fugitive has reminded you of the performance, which ended so unfortunately?—Oh! but your vanity as a hostess makes you too sensitive. Smile again, enchantress! Consider, half Rome is looking at us.”
“You are very right, child,” replied Lycoris. “Our part is to look beautiful, and we may leave grave thoughts to the vestal virgins.”
They got out of the litter, while one of the slaves obtained at an office on the right hand of the door-way, thetesserae, ivory tickets of admission,[132]on which the numbers of the seats were marked in Latin and in Greek. The two girls took their tickets and slowly made their way through the crush, to the places pointed out to them by an attendant in a gaily-colored holiday tunic.[133]They gave him a small gratuity in silver, dropped on to the cushions, which a slave had carried in for them,[134]and drew a deep breath, quite tired out with standing, climbing and struggling.
The amphitheatre was a magnificent spectacle. The fighting was not to begin for half an hour yet, but the rows of seats, particularly the higher and cheaper ones, were already crammed. Every part was as gay as a flower-garden with gorgeous dresses,[135]eager eyes, and faces flushed with expectation. Even the poorest haddonned a newly-cleaned and bleached toga. The gentler sex, decorated with gold pins and diadems, was particularly strongly represented, from the matron of senatorial rank to the artisan’s wife, and the gay Syrian of more than doubtful origin.
Now the gaudily-giltpodium, kept for the senators,[136]began to fill. They took their seats deliberately, with an air of affected dignity; the Fathers of the State, as they were called, who were now little more than tools in the hand of a despot. And there was many a gap in their ranks, for Caesar’s suspected and proscribed foes still languished in prison, vainly awaiting a judicial trial, much less a verdict of acquittal.
Immediately after, the vestal maidens came in, in long white robes; for them too law and custom reserved a place of honor. Ah! and the boldness of Quintus Claudius in an audacious moment, in addressing one of these priestesses as his ladylove, was not so outrageous as his father had represented it, for those sacred robes were a cloak for more than one broken vow,[137]and theirony of Lycoris’ remark was not altogether undeserved.
More and more crowds of spectators kept pouring up the stairs and corridors; a hum of voices, like the surges of the Tyrrhenian sea, rose from every part of the vast oval. At last the place was filled to the very last corner. Only the purple and gold pulvinar,[138]prepared for the Emperor, and the seats of honor immediately near to it now remained unoccupied. All eyes were fixed on the shining gates, through which the sovereign and his suite were to enter. The velarium too—the enormous canvas awning,[139]which was stretched across the whole oval of the amphitheatre and supported by fifty masts—bellied and flapped, as though it shared the impatience of the audience. Any one, seeing it for the first time, would have been tempted to think that the sky was about to fall in on the earth.
“Ave Caesar!”[144]shouted the mob to hail the tyrant, and he graciously bowed, and with theatrical exaggeration raised his hand to greet his faithful Romans.
“A quarter of an hour yet,” said a fruit-seller, who passed in front of Lycoris and Leaina. “Fresh oranges from Tauromenium![140]Take some, mistress.”
“Bye-and-by, my little friend! Look, Leaina, there, in the fourth row—do you know him?”
“I am too short-sighted.”
“It is Martial, our famous wit; and there, in the same row, the tenth or twelfth seat from you[141]—he is stooping forward now....”
“The priest of Isis!” said Leaina. “Oh! his amulet was invaluable. Close to Rhegium[142]we had such a storm....”
“He is looking uncommonly grave over it, is Barbillus.”
“Perhaps he is thinking, that the same fate may overtake him and his Isis-creed, as has fallen on the Nazarenes.”
“Nonsense,” laughed Lycoris. “He is in high favor with the chamberlain.”
“Do you see any more acquaintances near us?”
“Acquaintances, oh yes! But no one I care about. There sits that most ridiculous creature—do you know her, the silly Gaditanian, Melinno?—I think I wrote to you about her. A Hispanian knight—she is his freedman’s wife—brought her here a few weeks since, and now the simpleton tries to ape me and my way of living, thinking to put me out of fashion. Why, she even attempted to get up a recitation; Statius was to do her the honor.—Oh! she is exquisitely funny with her affectation of culture; and all the time she cannot even read.”
Leaina colored, for she was conscious of being equally ignorant, and to change the subject she hastily enquired as to the order of the games and fights. Lycoris could not give her much information on the subject. She only knew, that the master of the festival hadpaid particular attention to the variety and due alternation of the different entertainments, so that, on each of the three days, every kind of fight should be represented, and in typical completeness.
“You may be sure of good entertainment, ladies,” said a well-dressed young man with an ingratiating smile; he was sitting a row above them, and had heard their last words. “Women even are to fight with knives—indeed the condemned Nazarenes are more than half of them women.”
“And are they supposed to be able to defend themselves?” asked Lycoris. “Against lions and tigers?”
“As well as they may,” said the lad, shrugging his shoulders. “Some of the men are to have swords. I do not know whether the women are to be so armed.”
“What can it matter?” said Leaina. “They are bound to die as criminals.”
“Very true; and a few inches of steel cannot make much difference. Even Quintus Claudius, who is one of the strongest and best fighters in Rome, will find out the difference between a fight with a lion, and a wrestling-match in the ring at the baths.”
“I fancy the people will demand a pardon for him,” said Lycoris.
“Then Caesar will refuse it. If ever all means and ways were tried to save a man, they have been in his case. All he would concede was, that the criminal should be let off after conquering three beasts, and what that means no Roman needs be told.”
“True indeed!” sighed Lycoris. “A Gaetulian lion, and a little, short knife! It is as if I were to try to pull these walls down with my own hands.”
“A very good simile.—How often have we seen itfrom this very spot. The cleverest stroke—the knife to the hilt in the brute’s breast—never saves the man from being torn to pieces at last. And even if what seems impossible should happen once, how can we hope that the impossible should happen twice?”
A rattling roll of drums interrupted this dialogue. The roar of voices in the amphitheatre was suddenly hushed. The gates behind the gorgeous couch of state slowly opened, and Domitian, the awe-inspiring Emperor, who—as his flatterers expressed it—moved the world by a wink of his eyelash,[143]came forward in magnificent array, and took his seat on the decorated throne.
Domitia took her place on the Emperor’s right hand; the seat to the left remained vacant.[145]It had been intended for Titus Claudius Mucianus, the miserable man, who—but a few hundred paces distant from the scene of these hideous combats—was lying on a bed of anguish in a dark struggle with madness and death.
Among the suite, that followed Domitian, was Parthenius, as ever the perfect courtier and man of the world, smiling graciously, a very Sun of condescension and affability. Clodianus, too, upright and soldierly, only a little paler than usual; but perhaps his paleness was only a reflection from the velarium which, now that Caesar had taken his place, hung in a long curve over the arena, as though stricken with reverence.
The herald’s drum rattled once more. Horns and trumpets struck up, shrill, loud and exciting, as if the legions of the Republic were marching to meet Hannibal. Then, down in the arena, the doors were opened for the gladiators. Slowly and solemnly the combatants came out from their cells on to the scene of action; tall and powerful forms, mostly fair-haired, for the greater number were northerners by birth. They marched round the arena with defiant looks, and pausing in front of the imperial couch, they bowed and shouted in loud chorus: “Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutant!”[146]When they had all passed by, the manager of the ceremonies came forward, bowed to the sovereign, and said in a distinct voice:
“Marcus the Suevian will fight with Tumelicus the Cheruscan.” Wild, noisy music began to play, and the rest of the gladiators retired into the lairs, the master of the fights described with a staff the circle within which the struggle was to take place. The two gladiators were armed by slaves; they had helmets given them, and round shields, and short broadswords. Then again a drum gave the signal to begin.
There was breathless silence. Often as the Roman populace had seen the bloody games of the arena, they never failed of their absorbing interest. The matrons and maidens, with their golden ornaments, forgot even the vicinity of their flattering gallants,[147]who till this moment had done their utmost to fulfil to the letter Ovid’s advice as to availing themselves of favorable opportunities.
Stealthily, like panthers waiting to spring, the combatants went towards each other; each was watching for an unprotected spot in his antagonist, while trying to expose himself as little as possible. They probably had known each other for some time; they had most likely lived for some months in the same barrack and been in daily intercourse; they perhaps had made friends—if the occupation of a gladiator could leave room for the feeling of friendship—and now they had but one idea: To kill, in order not to be killed.
There was a loud ring of metal; Marcus had dealt the Cheruscan a fearful blow on the helmet. Tumelicus nearly lost his balance; he withdrew a step or two, anxiously screening himself with his shield. Thus he recovered from the shock of the onslaught. He rushed forward, and retorted with a still more tremendous stroke. His attack was better than that of his opponent. The Suevian turned pale; the blow had shattered his sword and so severely wounded his right-hand, that it seemed impossible that he should defend himself any longer; he flung away his shield without more ado. A roar ofmocking laughter from eighty thousand throats rent the air. He stretched out his arm and held up his thumb, in token that he acknowledged himself beaten and implored for mercy.
Fresh shouts of laughter! What, a man, whose clumsiness had so shamefully shortened their entertainment, could hope for mercy! How little he knew the Roman mob.
All the spectators’ thumbs were turned down,[148]as if at a preconcerted signal; there was not a single exception, and Leaina even put out both her fat little hands glittering with rings, to give emphasis to her demonstration.
Thumbs downwards, that meant death.
The hapless gladiator glanced despairingly upwards, as though to call on Heaven and the future to avenge his miserable fate. He panted for breath, and terrible anguish was depicted in his face. His thoughts flashed back perhaps, in that instant, far away to his German home, where a yellow-haired maiden sat sadly by the hearth, and his blind old mother wept for his return; away to the hills of the Black Forest, where in the happy days of his freedom, he had hunted the chamois and the wild goat, or gathered the alpine rose for a wreath for that golden head. He clenched his fist and his lips quivered. Then suddenly his expression settled into dull resignation; he bent his head and silently awaited his death-blow. He was too well schooled as a gladiator, not to know that, by all the rules of the art, he must yield and die.
Tumelicus came up to do the office of executioner; he drove his knife in just below the shoulder blade, intohis antagonist’s heart. The Suevian fell on his knees, gazing fixedly at the ground. The Cheruscan slowly drew out his weapon, and a gush of blood sprinkled the victor with its red flood.
The air shook with the storm of applause; the Emperor himself approved. But it was especially the fairer portion of the spectators, who seemed beside themselves with delight. Leaina clapped so indefatigably, that it seemed doubtful whether she did it out of sheer pleasure, or rather to display her round, plump arms. Lycoris too, naturally swam with the stream, though less eagerly than her companion. She seemed somewhat languid and indifferent to-day.
When the storm of plaudits had somewhat subsided, a handsome youth, dressed as Mercury, appeared on the scene. He had silver sandals with wings; he carried an iron staff, red-hot at one end. It was his duty to touch the body of the fallen gladiator with the hot iron, to make sure that life was extinct. The Suevian, however, seemed still to breathe, though he had lost consciousness.
Mercury signed to a servant, who stood in the doorway with a shining axe in his hand, ready to give the ‘coup de grace’ to the victim. One mighty stroke—as a butcher might fell an ox—and all was over. Immediately a second ruffian came forward with a harpoon in his hand. He struck it into the bleeding corpse, with brutal force, and the remains of the hapless Marcus were dragged away to the Porta Libitinensis—the gate of the dead.
The whole scene was repeated twice more, and in neither case did the people respite the conquered victim. They seemed possessed with a special blood-thirstiness.It was not till the fourth scene, a tilting-match, when a rider, who was a favorite with the women, happened to be unhorsed, that their thumbs were turned up, so that the admired and splendid champion, who had so often proved victorious and the hero of many a gallant adventure, should be respited to achieve future deeds of valor. His antagonist’s lance had pierced his thigh; cries of “Habet,”[149]resounded from the upper galleries, and when the women had pronounced in his favor, three slaves came forward and carried him away with the utmost care.
These single combats on foot and horseback were only introductory. The fights with wild beasts were now to begin. When the servants had strewn the arena with sand[150]and, so far as possible, hidden the traces of blood, the master of the ceremonies appeared once more, and proclaimed: “The criminal, Calenus, condemned as a Nazarene, will fight with a mountain lion from Gaetulia.”
“Calenus, a wretch—one of the brood of traitors,[151]and a contemner of the gods!” said the stranger behind Lycoris.
The door opened, and two slaves led forward the tall, solemn figure of the sightless man, with his long snow-white hair. He held in his hands a wooden cross,the symbol of his faith, the only weapon that the tyrant’s ferocity had vouchsafed him.
“He was a soldier,” their unknown informant whispered, “and often punished for his insubordination. Let us see how he will behave himself now!”
“How can he fight?” said Lycoris, “he is blind. Only see how helplessly he stands there; he does not know which way to turn.”
“Blindness cannot save a criminal from punishment.”
“Punishment, by all means; but the master of the ceremonies said a fight!”
“Well, and why not?” said the young man scornfully. “The Nazarenes declare, that their cross is a mighty weapon, and that their God shows them a path even in darkness.”
Lycoris turned away; her eye fell on Barbillus. The handsome and expressive head of the oriental priest had a strange, fixed and lifeless look. And, in truth, the scene, which was now going forward in the arena, was well calculated to excite and impress such a man as Barbillus. He, absolutely bereft of convictions, felt the power of faith come home to his soul as a strange phenomenon. Brought up in his early youth by priests, and then trained at Athens in philosophy and sophistry, he had always been accustomed to regard everything supernatural from the vantage ground of mere self-interested trickery. The more devoutly and zealously his credulous followers gave themselves up to this jugglery, the more convinced he felt, that all faith was the result of a sickly hallucination—particularly in women, a disorder of the system, which must be dissipated like mist by the rough breath of reality. And that this ecstatic frenzyshould carry grave and ripe men so far, that they could cling to it in defiance of the law of the land, and sacrifice their lives to a death of excruciating torment—this to the sensitive physique of the Asiatic was astounding, shocking! It was incomprehensible; a man—to all appearance a well-educated man, while his lofty brow indicated superior capacity—and that man believed! That man was at the point of death in witness of his belief—and he did not even tremble.
Barbillus pressed his hand to his heart, which seemed to be rising into his throat, and his breath rattled as he drew it.
The door, which barred the egress of the wild beasts from the dens, now opened. A lion came bounding into the arena, paused, looked round him, licked his fangs, and gave a mighty roar. Suddenly he started back a step or two. Calenus, who till this minute had stood upright, had dropped on to his knees; and clasping his cross with both hands, he held it up towards heaven, praying audibly:
“Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour! behold me about to die for Thy sake. And in dying I declare before all men: Thou alone art the Light and the Truth. O God, my God, have mercy upon me, for Thy Son’s sake, who died upon the cross for the redemption of the world.”
Dull murmurs, jeering laughter, and a few words of pity were heard as the blind man ended his prayer. The priest of Isis had turned paler than ever and perfectly rigid; he leaned forward; the veins in his forehead swelled, and his lips quivered. A thousand dancing flashes mocked his sight. His whole spirit was in torment under a fearful and paralyzing vision.
The cross, which the blind-man raised skywards, seemed to grow till it was four, five times as tall as the kneeling man. The galleries of the amphitheatre were deserted. The senators and vestal virgins vanished in smoke; the Sovereign of the World and his court were lost in thin air; every living creature was swallowed up in the yawning depths of a vast gulf. The splendid arcades were empty and silent, the marble and stucco facings dropped away from the pillars, clinking as they fell, till the rough masonry and brickwork of the main structure stood unadorned and bare. Nettles, darnel and ferns sprouted from every seam. Crows and daws fluttered in flocks from arch to arch, filling the air with melancholy croaking—but still, down there in the arena, the cross stood up on its stone plinth, the triumphant emblem of a despised faith, whose adherents were torn to pieces to feast lions and tigers by Caesar’s commands.
Barbillus sat gazing at the awful picture, that his brain had raised, his eyes almost starting out of his head. He wanted to shriek, but he was speechless; only a choked rattle came from his lips, a groan of torture and terror. Utterly overpowered and bewildered, he covered his face with his robe. A roar of applause roused him from his trance, and he looked up once more. The hideous vision was gone. There sat Caesar on his purple throne, and the wind still flapped the waving screen. A hoarse growl resounded through the arena, the lion crouched for his spring, and in a moment was standing victorious over the body of his defenceless prey. Calenus was no more than a bleeding and lifeless mass.
Barbillus rose from his seat, tottering and half-stunned; the ground seemed to burn under his feet. Hehastily made his way out. “When, when is this vision to be fulfilled?”[152]he asked in his trembling soul. Then he rushed home, bolted himself up in his room, and wrote:
“I, Barbillus, the priest of Isis, saw on the second day of the secular games, in the sixteenth year of Domitian, a wonderful vision—whether sent me by the gods (if gods there be), or a trick played me by somedaemon. I thought I saw with these eyes things which were not there to be seen....” So he wrote, and told his story.
In the Flavian Amphitheatre meanwhile—the Coliseum as it is now called—the bloody festival goes on—only interrupted for a while by the dinner-hour—till supper-time puts an end to it for to-day.[153]Tired and exhausted, but not yet satiated with blood, the Roman people withdraw to the triclinium, to discuss the incidents of the day over sparkling Falernian or the muddy liquor of Veii. All are looking forward to the morrow, for each day of this glorious festival is to be more delightful than the last.
Lycoris and her friend went to Stephanus. Parthenius, Clodianus, and the colonel of the body-guard, supped with Caesar. Rome was quiet, Rome was happy. So, at least, said Clodianus in the speech in which he proposed health to Caesar, the glorious president over these unequalled centennial games, and drank it in Opimian wine.
The sudden reappearance of Eurymachus had been extremely agitating to the steward. Satisfaction, alarm, hatred and surprise, struggled in his mind for the upper-hand. He at once gave up all idea of going to the Amphitheatre, and, with his own hand he locked the slave, heavily fettered, into the remotest and securest hiding-place in his house. He was devoured by a feverish anxiety to know what Lycoris could have to say in the matter, and, having neglected, in his surprise, to question the two men-at-arms, he supposed the accidental meeting to have been planned beforehand, and thought that it was Lycoris, who had herself recognized the escaped slave and given him in charge. The whole day he tormented himself with trying to guess how it had all happened, and in his morbid restlessness he did nothing but walk about from one room to another. At last, as the supper-hour drew near, he began to wonder whether it would not be better to put the man, whose existence was a standing threat to him, out of the world at once, without waiting for the Massilian’s arrival. In pursuance of this idea he opened a case of weaponsand took out a dagger. He slowly polished the keen blade, which had been the costly gift of a Parthian chief, whom he had been able to oblige. One blow with this blue, gleaming steel, and the incubus would be removed for ever.
He set his lips firmly; the idea gained ground as he thought it over. As a persecuted slave, who must have lived in the fear of being at any moment recognized and seized, Eurymachus could hardly, up to the present hour, have revealed the secret that incriminated his master, to any one but his fellow Nazarenes and accomplices; and they, under the ban of the law and threatened with the same punishment as himself, had the most urgent reasons for keeping it and themselves dark. But what if Eurymachus, even now, were to find an opportunity?—Perhaps even the men who had taken him?—But no; such sharp practitioners would have taken advantage of it ere this, in the hope of extracting a splendid bribe. But Lycoris? some bold hint from the wretch might have betrayed the secret to her, and then Stephanus would be as completely at the mercy of this woman, as she had, ere this, been at his. For she hated him—on that point he had no doubt whatever. And if she wished to see the slave, on what valid pretence could he, Stephanus, refuse.
He slipped the dagger into its sheath again and hid it in his tunic; then he called a slave and desired him to light a hand-lamp. This he took in his left-hand, and went to the room where Eurymachus lay, half-stunned as it seemed, on the stone floor.
“At last I have you in my power,” muttered the steward, setting the lamp down on the ledge. “And this time, by the gods, you do not escape me!”
Eurymachus did not reply; he looked up with dull indifference.
“Where have you been hiding yourself this last half-year?” Stephanus went on. “Will you speak, or shall I loosen your tongue by the help of this dagger?”
He drew out the weapon and stepped forward. The slave raised his head with a melancholy smile.
“I understand,” he said, “you have come to finish your work. You are afraid of me. After suffering so long from the misery of terror, you want to make away with the witness of your crime. But you are mistaken. That dreaded secret will not die with me. Cneius Afranius knows it, and sooner or later he will make himself heard. But kill me all the same. For me death can hardly hold more terrors than life.”
Stephanus had dropped his arms by his side; a flash of implacable hatred glared in his eyes.
“Wretch! you dared.... But you triumph too soon; Afranius is an exile, banned as a traitor....”
“By Caesar,” added Eurymachus. “But even Caesars are mortal and human. Take my word for it, that exile will see an end. The wrath of God is hanging over the head of the tyrant, who gives the servants of God to be devoured by beasts. Your accuser will return and demand justice of a tribunal, that you cannot bribe as you did the judges to whom Thrax Barbatus appealed for his rights.”
“Mean slave!” cried Stephanus furious. “And what is there to prevent me from having you racked and tortured, till every nerve in your body writhes with anguish like a worm?”
“Well, satisfy your vengeance. Throw me into the lowest depths of your ergastulum, and leave me there torot before I die. Send me to join your father—aye, your father—for I know it, and Afranius knows it—it was not your uncle even, but your own father, who was the victim of your brutal crime.”
“Silence!” roared Stephanus, “or I will murder you!” and he flew at the slave. But something in the man’s lofty indifference again stayed the blow.
“Is it loathing and horror of yourself, that hold you back?” asked Eurymachus. “Aye, shudder, Stephanus, and quail! Yes—I saw him, the hapless wretch, half-mad on his filthy bed of straw. I shuddered at it too, as if hell had shown me its horrors, and I thanked God, even with tears, when I knew that in that very hour the suffering soul was free. For three dreadful years, immured by his own son, bereft of life and hope, fed like a beggar’s dog—and this for the sake of filthy lucre, which you would certainly have had in the course of time! Why, the bloodiest patricide is meritorious, when compared with your crime!”
Then suddenly drawing himself up, he went on:
“Listen to me, and mark well what I say. I was in safety—free, and as afreeman could laugh at your penalties and your threats. Then I learnt that Quintus Claudius, who once did me a great benefit, was cast into prison; I learnt that the Senate had condemned him to die for the faith’s sake. From that moment I had but one idea: to free him at the risk of my own life—as he once freed me. I hastened hither from Germania, where I had found a peaceful though laborious refuge, and across Gaul to the sea. At Massilia I took a place on board a galley that was short-handed, and served as a rower to reach Ostia—thus I got to Rome two days before your bloody sports began. Here indeed I findnews to shake my soul; I heard, that the dearest treasure I possessed on earth had died a most pitiable death. But even this dreadful news could not divert me from the end I had in view. I thought, schemed, considered—all in vain. It was too late for any elaborate plans, and I had no means of effecting a bold stroke. So I determined at least to offer one last consolation to the friend I could not save: the consolation of knowing that one heart on earth beat true. For the glory of our common faith I intended, as soon as Quintus Claudius should appear on the arena, to hasten down to meet him, to thank him once more for the infinite, loving kindness he has shown to a poor slave, and to suffer the same death by his side. Then your spies seized me. Well, who knows whether this disaster, which at first drove me to despair, is not rather the merciful dealing of Providence? You are all-powerful; your wisdom rules the Empress. I swear to you by that God whom we confess, unshaken even in death, that I will not only be silent myself as to your crime, but that I will bind over Afranius to do likewise, if you will use your influence to save Quintus Claudius.”
“Impossible!” said Stephanus with a gasp. “I hate him, he is my enemy, he must die.”
“Does that mean, that you have reason to fear him too if he lives?”
“Precisely,” said Stephanus, scowling.
“Do not be uneasy; a Christian forgives his enemies. Believe me, Cneius Afranius is a far more dangerous foe; and yet, I swear solemnly....”
“Folly!” interrupted the steward. “Even if I took your word for it, so far as you are concerned, who shall warrant me, that Cneius Afranius will listen to you?”
“My solemn oath. Afranius will do what I promise in his name, if I tell him that I pledged his word for the life of Quintus.”
“Stephanus! Stephanus!...” It was the girlish voice of the lad Antinous who, now that his master had given him his freedom, called him quite familiarly by his name.
The steward hastily sheathed and hid the dagger, and hurried out of the room. He locked the door carefully and went to meet the boy, who had come to announce the arrival of Lycoris and Leaina. They came in at the same moment; Leaina with formal politeness, Lycoris almost with vehemence.
“Where is he? where have you put him?” she asked. “I must speak to him, I must question him!”
“I do not understand,” said Stephanus evasively. “Explain yourself.”
“Presently, my good friend, after supper; but, for the present, just take my sweet Leaina into your handsomest parlor and pay her a few compliments on her fine scented hair.[154]You are expecting other guests of course—they may arrive at any moment. Meanwhile, leave me alone with your prisoner—I want to find out from him, how on earth he succeeded in making a Nazarene of Quintus Claudius.”
“What interest can you take in the question?”
“The interest of curiosity—and something more. Do you suppose we women remain quite indifferent, when the handsomest man in Rome is thrown to the lions?”
“He ought to be left to us,” laughed Leaina; “we should demolish him more tenderly.”
“But, I beg of you....” said Stephanus, paying no heed to Leaina. “If it were known—what would people think?”
“Anything they please. Make haste; where is he? I am dying to hear what he has to say.”
“Very well....” said Stephanus, shrugging his shoulders, and with an unsteady hand he unlocked the door again, went into the room, and whispered to the slave. “I will see what can be done for Quintus Claudius—meanwhile, not a word—or....”
He ended with a horribly suggestive gesture. Then he added in a louder tone:
“Here is a lady, who wants some information as to your relations with Quintus Claudius; answer her with due respect and strict regard to truth.”
The bronze lamp was still standing on the shelf. Lycoris went in and closed the door behind her, while Stephanus, with a heavy heart, conducted Leaina to the peristyle where, in a few minutes, they were joined by Martial and a few other guests, who vied with each other in their attentions to the graceful and coquettish Asiatic.
Then they went to table. The first dish had been handed round, the first cup was emptied—Lycoris was still with the prisoner. At last Stephanus sent a messenger, who returned with an indefinite answer. A quarter of an hour slipped by; the steward was growing impatient. He sent a second messenger, who, to his great astonishment, brought back the reply that Lycoris felt ill, and begged to be excused if she did not join them in the triclinium.
Stephanus started to his feet. What nonsense was this? Did this saucy jade take him for a fool? or was she making common cause with the foe? Who could tell whether this private meeting with Eurymachus had not been instigated by Parthenius? After all that Stephanus had heard from Clodianus, there was nothing he might not expect at the hands of the wire-puller at the Palatium....
He excused himself to his guests with a jest, and hastened to the room where he had left Lycoris. What was his astonishment at finding the young Massilian sitting on the floor by the slave, and bathed in tears; while Eurymachus, with a faint flush on his face, was exhorting her in grave and solemn tones, and only ceased speaking as Stephanus appeared in the doorway.
The Massilian rose and dried her eyes and cheeks.
“I thank you heartily,” she said with a deep sigh; “you have lifted a burden from my soul—ah! I never knew till now how intolerable it was.”
“What is going on here?” asked Stephanus, suspiciously. “You are weeping? Will you have the goodness to explain to me...?”
“Not now. No, nor presently! You could never understand what it is that moves me. How pale you are! I verily believe you are afraid of your slave there. You do not know, that his noble soul forgives you? But you, too, must try to overcome the hatred that possesses you. You must grant the slave his freedom, and give him the means of quitting Rome in secret and in safety. Nay, more; you must now, at once, make a last effort to mitigate the fate of Quintus Claudius. I wish it—I demand it—I insist upon it—and, let me tell you, Iam in a position to enforce my commands. Nay, you need not scowl so; I mean it.”
“Lycoris!” exclaimed Stephanus, trembling in every limb, “do not forget to whom you owe everything, and what you rose from.”
“From bog and mire, I know it well—but not to struggle all my life-long in the slough of dependence. You have counted without your host, Stephanus! I am no longer your tool. It is you yourself who, without knowing it, have shown me the path to freedom. One sign from me, and Parthenius will crush you to the earth. I have paid dearly for my power, bought it with sin and disgrace—but I mean to use it. Go, Stephanus, and fulfil the behests of the miserable and despised creature, on whose neck you once could have set your foot.”
Before Stephanus could reply, Antinous, his familiar, was standing before him, offering him a note. “A message from the Empress,” he said, out of breath.
Stephanus opened it and read:
“Domitia to her Steward. I must speak with you at once, this instant”
“I will come,” said Stephanus, with a side glance at Lycoris. “The messenger can say, that I am close behind him. And now, Lycoris—I cannot wait—I promise you....”
“Well, what?”
“All—everything,” he said in utter bewilderment, “only give me time to breathe.”
They went together out of the cell, and Stephanus himself locked the door; then he seized Lycoris by her wrist and his eyes had a sinister roll.
“I beg of you,” he said, “take my place with my guests.”
“Certainly,” she replied. “But you—do not forget.”
“Serpent!” he snarled between his teeth as he hastily quitted the room.
Domitia received him with unwonted ceremony, and in that same rose-colored room into which she had once before admitted him. She was handsomer than ever.
“Stephanus,” she began. “You have carried out your task with a mastery, that almost makes me tremble. I am standing face to face with a splendid triumph, and yet—the gods know! I do not rejoice in it. I am told that Quintus Claudius is as calm and unshaken as a demi-god. To-day, as I saw the beasts standing over their gory prey, I pictured him to myself—him...! Stephanus, even at this last moment, you must stem the current and divert it into some happier channel. You may call me faithless—false; I cannot help it, I refuse you the reward of your cruel services, unless you succeed even now in saving Quintus Claudius.”
“But Madam, you crush me to the earth,” cried Stephanus in accents of unfeigned despair. “You too...! But how can I...? If you yourself have not the power....”
“You must achieve, what your mistress has failed in doing. I have asked his pardon of Caesar, and have been refused—perhaps for no other reason, but that it was I who asked it. I loathe the fate, which thus humiliates me! And you, Stephanus, can you risk your life for your mistress?”
“For the prize of your love? my life a thousand times over.”
“Well then—but come close that I may speak low. I know, that during the last few months you have oftenin secret paid visits to Clodianus; ah! your surprise is in itself a confession. You are compromised, past all escape; but fear nothing! I know all. Now, perhaps, you may understand what has hitherto puzzled you: why I have tried to influence Parthenius through Lycoris.—Now, tell me, how would you like to see Domitia, your sovereign, Empress of the World?”
“Madam—I am bewildered, helpless; too much is coming upon me at once. I confess....”
“Now, consider what you have to do. If the sceptre were in my hand this day, Quintus Claudius would be pardoned. But, as it is, my will is a mere breath beating vainly against the rock of perversity and cruelty. It is all the same, you must save him—I swear it, by my wrath, by my love!”
“Oh! this is torment, martyrdom! What an incredible revulsion; is your revenge already slaked? And supposing I could save him—who knows whether you might not then reproach me, for having yielded to the request you insist on so vehemently to-day? Then, once more, I should be cheated of heaven and plunged deeper than ever into the gulf of despair.”
“I swear to you by Styx, that dark river by which the gods themselves swear: I am yours, as soon as Quintus is saved. You must see, Stephanus, offended pride has gone too far. Have you not heard, that his father is on his death-bed? Pity will have its way, if only for the guiltless father’s sake. I too will claim the privilege of the gods and forgive. Now, leave me, Stephanus—go, set to work at once.”