HERMES
It was customary with the more refined aristocracy of Rome, during the
first century of the Empire, to pay great respect to Mercury, the god of
invention and intrigue. Not that the qualities generally attributed to
that power were calculated to inspire admiration or esteem, but simply
because he had acquired a fortuitous popularity at a period when the
graceful Pantheism of the nation was regulated by general opinion, and
when a deity went in and out of fashion like a dress. At Valeria’s porch,
in common with many other great houses, stood an exquisite statue of the
god, representing him as a youth, of athletic and symmetrical proportions,
poised on a winged foot in the act of running, with the broad‐leaf hat on
his head, and the snake‐turned rod in his hand. The countenance of the
statue was expressive of intellect and vivacity, while the form was
wrought into the highest ideal of activity and strength. It was placed on
a square pedestal of marble immediately opposite the door; and behind this
pedestal, the slave retired in some confusion when a train of maidens
appeared from within, to answer the summons of Julius Placidus in his
chariot.
The tribune did not think it necessary to alight, but producing from the
bosom of his tunic a jewelled casket, leaned one hand on the shoulder of
Automedon, while with the other he proffered his gift to a damsel who
seemed the chief among her fellows, and whose manners partook largely of
the flippancy of the waiting‐maid.
“Commend me to your mistress,” said Placidus, at the same time throwing a
gold chain round her neck on her own account, and bending carelessly down
to take a receipt for the same, in the shape of a caress; “bid her every
good omen from the most faithful of her servants, and ask her at what hour
I may hope to be received on this her birthday, which the trifle you carry
to her from me will prove I have not forgotten.”
The waiting‐maid tried hard to raise a blush, but with all her efforts the
rich Southern colour would not deepen on her cheek; so she thought better
of it, and looked him full in the face with her bold black eyes, while she
replied: “You have forgotten surely, my lord, that this is the feast of
Isis, and no lady that _is_ a lady, at least here in Rome, can have
leisure to‐day for anything but the sacred mysteries of the goddess.”
Placidus laughed outright; and it was strange how his laugh scared those
who watched it. Automedon fairly turned pale, and even the waiting‐maid
seemed disconcerted for a moment.
“I have heard of these mysteries,” said he, “my pretty Myrrhina, and who
has not? The Roman ladies keep them somewhat jealously to themselves; and
by all accounts it is well for our sex that they do so. Nevertheless there
are yet some hours of sunlight to pass before the chaste rites of Egypt
can possibly begin. Will not Valeria see me in the interval?”
A very quick ear might have detected the least possible tremor in the
tribune’s voice as he spoke the last sentence; it was not lost upon
Myrrhina, for she showed all the white teeth in her large well‐formed
mouth, while she enumerated with immense volubility those different
pursuits which filled up the day of a fashionable Roman lady.
“Impossible!” burst out the damsel. “She has not a moment to spare from
now till sunset. There’s her dinner,(1) and her fencing‐lesson, and her
bath, and her dressing, and the sculptor coming for her hand, and the
painter for her face, and the new Greek sandals to be fitted to her feet.
Then she has sent for Philogemon, the augur, to cast her horoscope, and
for Galanthis, who is cleverer than ever Locusta was, and has twice the
practice, to prepare a philtre. Maybe it is for _you_, my lord,” added the
girl roguishly. “I hear the ladies are all using them just now.”
The evil smile crossed the tribune’s face once more; perhaps he too had
been indebted to the potions of Galanthis, for purposes of love or hate,
and he did not care to be reminded of them.
“Nay,” said he meaningly, “there is no need for that. Valeria can do more
with one glance of her bright eyes, than all the potions and poisons of
Galanthis put together. Say, Myrrhina—you are in my interest—does she look
more favourably of late?”
“How can I tell, my lord?” answered the girl, with an arch expression of
amusement and defiance in her face. “My mistress is but a woman after all,
and they say women are more easily mastered by the strong hand, than lured
by the honey lip. She is not to be won by a smooth tongue and a beardless
face, I know, for I heard her say so to Paris myself, in the very spot
where we are now standing. Juno! but the player slunk away somewhat
crestfallen, I can tell you, when she called him ‘a mere girl in her
brother’s clothes’ at the best. No; the man who wins my mistress will be a
man all over, I’ll answer for it! So far, she is like the rest of us for
that matter.”
And Myrrhina sighed, thinking, it may be, of some sunburnt youth the
while, whose rough but not unwelcome wooing had assailed her in her early
girlhood, ere she came to Rome; far away yonder amongst the blushing
vines, in the bright Campanian hills.
“Say you so?” observed the tribune, obviously flattered by the implied
compliment; for he was proud in his secret heart of his bodily strength.
“Nay, there was a fellow standing here when I drove up, who would make an
easy conquest of you, Myrrhina, if, like your Sabine grandams, you must be
borne off to be wed, on your lover’s shoulders. By the body of Hercules!
he would tuck you up under his arm as easily as you carry that casket,
which you seem so afraid to let out of your hand. Ay, there he is! lurking
behind Hermes. Stand forth, my good fellow! What! you are not afraid of
Automedon, are you, and the crack of that young reprobate’s whip?”
While he spoke, the slave stepped forward from his lurking‐place behind
the statue, where the quick eye of Placidus had detected him, and
presented to Myrrhina with a respectful gesture the offering of his lord
to her mistress—a filigree basket of frosted silver, filled with a few
choice fruits and flowers—
“From Caius Licinius, greeting,” said he, “in honour of Valeria’s natal
day. The flowers are scarce yet dry from the spray that brawling Anio
flings upon its banks; the fruits were glowing in yesterday’s sun, on the
brightest slopes of Tibur. My master offers the freshest and fairest of
his fruits and flowers to his kinswoman, who is fresher and fairer than
them all.”
He delivered his message, which he had obviously learned by rote, in
sufficiently pure and fluent Latin, scarcely tinged with the accent of a
barbarian, and bowing low as he placed the basket in Myrrhina’s hand, drew
himself up to his noble height, and looked proudly, almost defiantly, at
the tribune.
The girl started and turned pale—it seemed as if the statue of Hermes had
descended from its pedestal to do her homage. He stood there, that
glorious specimen of manhood, in his majestic strength and symmetry, in
the glow of his youth, and health, and beauty, like an impersonation of
the god. Myrrhina, in common with many of her sex, was easily fascinated
by external advantages, and she laughed nervously, while she accepted with
shaking hands the handsome slave’s offering to his master’s kinswoman.
“Will you not enter?” said she, the colour mantling once more, and this
time without an effort, in her burning cheeks. “It is not the custom to
depart from Valeria’s house without breaking bread and drinking wine.”
But the slave excused himself, abruptly, almost rudely, losing, be sure,
by his refusal, none of the ground he had already gained in Myrrhina’s
good graces. It chafed him to remain even at the porch. The atmosphere of
luxury that pervaded it, seemed to weigh upon his senses, and oppress his
breath. Moreover, the insult he had sustained from Automedon, yet rankled
in his heart. How he wished the boy‐charioteer was nearer his match in
size and strength! He would have hurled him from the chariot where he
stood, turning his curls so insolently round his dainty fingers—hurled him
to earth beyond his horses’ heads, and taught him the strength of a
Briton’s arm and the squeeze of a Briton’s gripe. “Ay! and his master
after him!” thought the slave, for already he experienced towards Placidus
that unaccountable instinct of aversion which seems to warn men of a
future foe, and which, to give him his due, the tribune was not unused to
awaken in a brave and honest breast.
Placidus, however, scanned him once more, as he strode away, with the
critical gaze of a judge of human animals. It was this man’s peculiarity
to look on all he met as possible tools, that might come into use for
various purposes at a future and indefinite time. If he observed more than
usual courage in a soldier, superior acuteness in a freedman, nay, even
uncommon beauty in a woman, he bethought himself that although he might
have no immediate use for these qualities, occasions often arose on which
he could turn them to his profit, and he noted, and made sure of, their
amount accordingly. In the present instance, although somewhat surprised
that he had never before remarked the slave’s stalwart proportions in the
household of Licinius, whose affection for the Briton had excused him from
all menial offices, and consequent contact with visitors, he determined
not to lose sight of one so formed by nature to excel in the gymnasium or
the amphitheatre, while there crept into his heart a cruel cold‐blooded
feeling of satisfaction at the possibility of witnessing so muscular and
shapely a figure in the contortions of a mortal struggle, or the throes of
a painful death.
Besides, there was envy, too, at the bottom—envy in the proud patrician’s
breast, leaning so negligently on the cushions of his gilded chariot, with
all his advantages of rank, reputation, wealth, and influence—envy of the
noble bearing, the personal comeliness, and the free manly step of the
slave.
“Had he struck thee, Automedon,” said his master, unable to resist
taunting the petted youth who held the reins; “had he but laid a finger on
thee, thou hadst never spoken again, and I had been rid of the noisiest
and most useless of my household. Gently with that outside horse; dost see
how he chafes upon the rein? Gently, boy, I say! and drive me back into
the Forum.”
As he settled himself among the cushions and rolled swiftly away, Myrrhina
came forth into the porch once more. She seemed, however, scarcely to
notice the departing chariot, but looked dreamily about her, and then re‐
entered the house with a shake of the head, a smile, and something that
was almost a sigh.