MYRRHINA
Myrrhina’s voice was at all times pitched in a high key; her accents were
very distinct and shrill, admirably adapted for the expression of derision
or the conveyance of sarcastic remarks.
“So I have run you into a corner at last,” she said, “and a pretty hunt
you have given me. ’Tis to draw water, of course, that you come down to
the Tiber‐side, just at sunset; and you met her quite by accident, I
daresay, that slip of a girl in her wisp of black clothes, who flitted
away just now like a ghost going back again to Proserpine. Ah! you gape
like a calf when they put the garland on him for sacrifice, and the poor
thing munches the very flower‐buds that deck him for destruction. Well,
you at least are reserved for a nobler altar, and a worthier fate than to
give your last gasp to a sorceress in the suburbs. Jupiter! how you stare,
and how handsome you look, you great, strong barbarian, when you are
thoroughly surprised!”
She put her face so close up to his, to laugh at him, that the gesture
almost amounted to a caress. Myrrhina had no slight inclination to make
love to the stalwart Briton on her own account, pending the conclusion of
certain negotiations she felt bound to carry out on her mistress’s. These
were the result of a conversation held that morning while the maid was as
usual combing out her lady’s long and beautiful hair.
Valeria’s sleep had been broken and restless. She tossed and turned upon
her pillow, and put back the hair from her fevered cheeks and throbbing
temples in vain. It was weary work to lie gazing with eyes wide open at
the flickering shadows cast by the night‐lamp on the opposite wall. It was
still less productive of sleep to shut them tight and abandon herself to
the vision thus created, which stood out in life‐like colours and refused
to be dispelled. Do what she would to forget him, and conjure up some
other object, there was the young barbarian, towering like a demigod over
the mean effeminate throng; there were the waving linen garments, and the
reeling symbols, and the tossing hands, and the scowling faces of the
priests of Isis; there was the dark‐clad girl with her graceful pliant
form; and there, yes, always there, in his maddening beauty, was the tall
brave figure, gathering itself in act to strike. She could not analyse her
feelings; she believed herself bewitched. Valeria had not reached the
prime of her womanhood, without having sounded, as she thought, every
chord of feeling, tasted of every cup that promised gratification or
excitement. She had been flattered by brave, courted by handsome, and
admired by clever men. Some she fancied, some she liked, some she laughed
at, and some she told herself she loved. But this was a new sensation
altogether. This intense and passionate longing she had never felt before.
But for its novelty it would have been absolutely painful. A timid girl
might have been frightened at it; but Valeria was no timid girl. She was a
woman, on the contrary, who, with all the eagerness and impetuosity of her
sex, possessed the tenacity of purpose and the resolution of a man.
Obviously, as she could not conquer the sentiment, it was her nature to
indulge it.
“I have a message to Licinius,” said she, turning at the same time from
the mirror, and suffering her long brown hair to fall over her face like a
veil; “a message that I do not care to write, lest it should be seen by
other eyes. Tell me, Myrrhina, how can I best convey it to my kinsman?”
The waiting‐maid was far too astute to suggest the obvious arrangement of
a private interview, than which nothing could have been easier, or to
offer her own services, as an emissary who had already proved herself
trustworthy in many a well‐conducted intrigue; for Myrrhina knew her
business too well to hesitate in playing into the hands of her mistress.
So she assumed a look of perplexity and deep reflection while, finger on
forehead, as the result of profound thought, she made the following reply—
“It would be safest, madam, would it not, to trust the matter to some
confidential slave?”
Valeria’s heart was beating fast, and the fair cheek was pale again now,
while she answered, with studied carelessness—
“Perhaps it would, if I could think of one. You know his household,
Myrrhina. Can I safely confide in any of them?”
“Those barbarians are generally faithful,” observed the maid, with the
most unconscious air. “I know Licinius has a British slave in whom he
places considerable trust. You have seen him yourself, madam.”
“Have I?” answered Valeria, moving restlessly into a more comfortable
attitude. “Should I know him again? What is he like?”
The blood had once more mounted to her forehead, beneath the long hair.
Myrrhina, who was behind her, saw the crimson mantling even on her neck.
She was a slave, and a waiting‐maid, but she was also a woman, and she
could not resist the temptation; so she answered maliciously—
“He is a big awkward‐looking youth, of lofty stature, madam, and with
light curly hair. Stupid doubtless, and as trusty, probably, as he is
thick‐witted.”
It is not safe to jest with a tigress unless you are outside the bars of
her cage. Valeria made a quick impatient movement that warned the speaker
she had gone too far. The latter was not wanting in readiness of resource.
“I could bring him here, madam,” she added demurely, “within six hours.”
Her lady smiled pleasantly enough.
“This evening, Myrrhina,” she said; “I shall scarcely be ready before. By
the way, I am tired of those plain gold bracelets. Take them away, and
don’t let me see them again. This evening, you said. I suppose I had
better leave it entirely to you.”
Both maid and mistress knew what this meant well. It implied full powers
and handsome remuneration on one side, successful manœuvring and judicious
blindness on the other. Valeria disposed herself for a long day’s
dreaming: stretched indeed in bodily repose, but agitating her mind with
all the harassing alternations of anticipation, and hope, and doubt, and
fear—not without a considerable leavening of triumph, and a slight tinge
of shame: while Myrrhina set herself energetically to work on the task she
had undertaken; which, indeed, appeared to possess its difficulties, when
she had ascertained at the first place she sought, namely, the house of
Licinius, that Esca was abroad, and no one knew in what direction he was
likely to be found.
A woman’s wit, however, usually derives fresh stimulus from opposition.
Myrrhina was not without a large circle of acquaintances; and amongst
others owned a staunch friend, and occasional admirer, in the person of
Hirpinus, the gladiator. That worthy took a sufficient interest in the
athletic Briton to observe his movements, and was aware that Esca had
spent some two or three hours by the Tiber‐side on the previous evening—a
fact which he imparted to Myrrhina, on cross‐examination by the latter,
readily enough, professing at the same time his own inability to account
for it, inasmuch as there was neither wineshop nor quoit‐ground in the
vicinity. Not so his intriguing little questioner. “A man does not wait
two or three hours in one spot,” thought Myrrhina, “for anything but a
woman. Also, the woman, if she comes at all, is never so far behind her
time. The probability then is, that she disappointed him; and the
conclusion, that he will be there again about sunset the following day.”
Thus arguing, she resolved to attend at the trysting‐place, and make a
third in the interview, whether welcome or not; killing the intervening
time, which might otherwise have hung heavily on her hands, by a series of
experiments on the susceptibility of Hirpinus—an amusing pastime, but
wanting in excitement from its harmlessness; for the gladiator had arrived
at that period of life when outward charms, at least, are esteemed at
their real value, and a woman must possess something more than a merry eye
and a saucy lip if she would hope to rival the attraction of an easy couch
and a flagon of old wine. Nevertheless, she laughed, and jested, and
ogled, keeping her hand in, as it were, for practice against worthier
occasions, till it was time to depart on her errand, when she made her
escape from her sluggish admirer, with an excuse as false and as plausible
as the smile on her lip.
Hirpinus looked after her as she flitted away, laughed, shook his head,
and strode heavily off to the wineshop, with an arch expression of
amusement on his brave, good‐humoured, and somewhat stupid face. Myrrhina,
drawing a veil about her head and shoulders so as effectually to conceal
her features, proceeded to thread her way through the labyrinth of
impoverished streets that led to the riverside, as if familiar with their
intricacies. When she reached her destination at last, she easily hid
herself in a convenient lurking‐place, from which she took care not to
emerge till she had learned all she wished to know about Esca and his
companion.
“What do you want with me?” asked the Briton, a little disturbed by this
saucy apparition, and not much pleased with the waiting‐maid’s familiar
and malicious air.
“I am unwelcome, doubtless,” answered the girl, with another peal of
laughter; “nevertheless you must come with me whether you will or no. We
Roman maidens take no denial, young man; we are not like your tall, pale,
frozen women of the north.”
Subscribing readily to this opinion, Esca felt indignant at the same time
to be so completely taken possession of. “I have no leisure,” said he, “to
attend upon your fancies. I must homeward; it is already nearly supper
time.”
“And you are a slave, I know,” retorted Myrrhina with a gesture of supreme
and provoking contempt. “_A slave!_ You, with your strength, and stature,
and courage, cannot call an hour of this fine cool evening your own.”
“I know it,” said he, bowing his head to conceal the flush of indignation
that had risen to his brow. “I know it. A slave must clean his master’s
platter, and fill his cup to drink.”
She could see that her thrust had pierced home; but with all her
predilections for his handsome person, she cared not how she wounded the
manly heart within.
“And being a slave,” she resumed, “you may be loaded and goaded like a
mule! You may be kicked and beaten like a dog! You cannot even resent it
with hoofs and fangs as the dumb animal does when his treatment is harsher
than he deserves! You are a _man_, you know, though a barbarian! You must
cringe, and whine, and bite your lips, and be patient!”
Every syllable from that sharp tongue seemed to sting him like a wasp: his
whole frame quivered with anger at her taunts; but he scorned to show it,
and putting a strong constraint upon his feelings, he only asked quietly—
“What would you with me? It was not to tell me this that you watched and
tracked me here.”
Myrrhina thought she had now brought the metal to a sufficiently high
temperature for fusion. She proceeded to mould it accordingly.
“I tracked you here,” she said, “because I wanted you. I wanted you,
because it is in my power to render you a great service. Listen, Esca; you
must come with me. It is not every man in Rome would require so much
persuasion to follow the steps of a pretty girl.”
She looked very arch and tempting while she spoke, but her attractions
were sadly wasted on the preoccupied Briton; and if she expected to win
from him any overt act of admiration or encouragement, she was wofully
disappointed.
“I cannot follow yours,” said he; “my way lies in another direction. You
have yourself reminded me that I am not my own master.”
“That is the very reason,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands exultingly.
“I can show you the way to freedom. No one else can help you but Myrrhina;
and if you attend to her directions you can obtain your liberty without
delay.”
“And why should _you_ be disposed to confer on me such a benefit?” he
asked, with instinctive caution, for the impulsive nature that jumps so
hastily to conclusions, and walks open‐eyed into a trap, is rarely born
north of the Alps. “I am a barbarian, a stranger, almost an enemy. What
have you and I in common?”
“Perhaps I have fallen in love with you myself,” she laughed out; “perhaps
you may be able to serve me in return. Come, you are as cold as the icy
climate in which you were bred. You shall take your choice of the two
reasons; only waste no more time, but gird yourself and follow me.”
Though it had never been dormant, the desire for liberty had, within the
last two days, acquired a painful intensity in Esca’s breast. He had not
indeed yet confessed to himself that he cherished an ardent attachment for
Mariamne; but he was conscious that her society possessed for him an
undefinable attraction, and that without her neither liberty nor anything
else would be worth having. This new sensation made his position more
galling than it had ever been before. He could not ignore the fact, that
it was absurd for one whose existence was not his own, to devote that
existence to another; and the degradation of slavery, which his lord’s
kindness had veiled from him as much as possible while in his household,
now appeared in all its naked deformity. He felt that no effort would be
too desperate, no sacrifice too costly, to make for liberty; and that he
would readily risk life itself, and lose it, to be free, if only for a
week.
“You have seen my mistress,” resumed Myrrhina, as they hurried on through
the now darkening streets; “the fairest lady and the most powerful in
Rome; a near kinswoman, too, of your master. It needs but a word from her
to make of you what she pleases. But she is wilful, you must know, and
imperious, and cannot bear to be contradicted. Few women can.”
Esca had yet to learn this peculiarity of the sex; but he heard Myrrhina
mention her mistress with vague misgivings, and forebodings of evil far
different from the unmixed feelings of interest such a communication would
have called forth a while ago.
“Did she send for me expressly?” he asked, with some anxiety of tone. “And
how did you know where to find me in such a town as this?”
“I know a great many things,” replied the laughing damsel; “but I do not
choose everyone to be as wise as myself. I will answer both your
questions, though, if you will answer one of mine in return. Valeria did
not mention you by name, and yet I think there is no other man in Rome
would serve her turn but yourself; and I knew that I should find you by
Tiber‐side, because you cannot keep a goose from the water, nor a fool
from his fate. Will you answer my question as frankly? Do you love the
dark pale girl that fled away so hastily when I discovered you together?”
This was exactly what he had been asking himself the whole evening, with
no very conclusive result; it was not likely, therefore, that Myrrhina
should elicit a satisfactory reply. The Briton coloured a little,
hesitated, and gave an evasive answer.
“Like tends to like,” said he. “What is there in common between two
strangers, from the two farthest extremities of the empire?”
Myrrhina clapped her hands in triumph.
“Like tends to like, say you?” she exclaimed exultingly. “You will tell
another tale ere an hour be past. Hush! be silent now, and step softly;
but follow close behind me. It is very dark in here, under the trees.”
Thus cautioning him, she led Esca through a narrow door out of the by‐
street, into which they had diverged, and stepped briskly on, with a
confidence born of local knowledge that he imitated with difficulty. They
were now in a thickly planted shrubbery which effectually excluded the
rays of a rising moon, and in which it was scarce possible to distinguish
even Myrrhina’s white dress. Presently they emerged upon a smooth and
level lawn, shut in by a black group of cedars, through the lower branches
of which peeped the crescent moon that had not long left the horizon, and
turning the corner of a colonnade, under a ghostly‐looking statue,
traversed another door, which opened softly to Myrrhina’s touch, and
admitted them into a long carpeted passage, with a lamp at the farther
end.
“Stay here while I fetch a light,” whispered the damsel; and, gliding away
for that purpose, returned presently to conduct Esca through a large dark
hall into another passage; where she stopped abruptly, and lifting some
silken hangings, that served for the door of an apartment, simply
observed, “You will find food and wine there,” and pushed him in.
Floods of soft and mellow light dazzled his eyes at first; but he soon
realised the luxurious beauty of the retreat into which he had been
forced. It was obvious that all the resources of wealth had been applied
to its decoration with a lavish hand, guided by a woman’s sensibility and
a woman’s taste. The walls were painted in frescoes of the richest
colouring, and represented the most alluring scenes. Here the three
jealous goddesses flashed upon bewildered Paris, in all the lustre of
their immortal charms. A living envy sat on Juno’s brow; a living scorn
was stamped on Minerva’s pale, proud face; and the living smile that won
her the golden apple, shone in Aphrodité’s winning eyes. There glowed
imperial Circé in her magic splendour; and the very victims of her spell
seemed yet to crave, with fiery glances and with thirsty lips, for one
more draught from the tempting, luscious, and degrading cup. A shapely
Endymion lay stretched in dreams of love. A frightened Leda shrank while
she caressed. Here fair Adonis bled to death, ripped by the monster in the
forest glade; there, where the broad‐leaved lilies lay sleeping on the
shady pool, bent fond Narcissus, to look and long his life away; an infant
Bacchus rolled amongst the grapes, in bronze; a little Cupid mourned his
broken bow, in marble. Around the cornices a circle of nymphs and satyrs,
in bas‐relief, danced hand‐in‐hand—wild woodland creatures, exulting in
all the luxuriance of beauty, all the redundancy of strength; and yonder,
just where the lamp cast its softest light on her attractions, stood the
likeness of Valeria herself, depicted by the cunning painter in a loose
flowing robe that enhanced, without concealing, the stately proportions of
her figure, and in an attitude essentially her own—an attitude expressive
of dormant passion, lulled by the languid insolence of power, and tinged
with an imperious coquetry that she had found to be the most alluring of
her charms.
It was bad enough to sit in that voluptuous room, under that mellow light,
drinking the daintiest produce of Falernian vineyards, and gazing on such
an image as Valeria’s—an image of one who, beyond all women, was
calculated to madden a heated brain, whose beauty could scarcely fail to
captivate the outward senses, and take the heart by storm. It was bad
enough to press the very couch of which the cushions still retained the
print of her form—to see the shawl thrown across it, and trailing on the
floor as though but now flung off—to touch the open bracelet hastily
unclasped, yet warm from its contact with her arm. All this was bad
enough, but worse was still to come.
Esca was in the act of setting down the goblet he had drained, and his eye
was resting with an expression of admiration, not to be mistaken, on the
picture opposite, when the rustling of the hangings caused him to turn his
head. There was no more attraction now in bounding nymph or brilliant
enchantress; haughty Juno, wise Minerva, and laughing Venus with her
sparkling girdle, had passed into the shade. Valeria’s likeness was no
longer the masterpiece of the apartment, for there in the doorway appeared
the figure of Valeria herself. Esca sprang to his feet, and thus they
stood, that noble pair, confronting each other in the radiant light. The
hostess and her guest—the lady and the slave—the assailant and the
assailed.