RED FALERNIAN
Cæsar’s eye, though dim and sunken, flashed up for a moment with a spark
of enthusiasm.
“The beccaficoes,” said he, “were a thought over‐seasoned, but the capon’s
liver stewed in milk was perfection. Varus, see that it is served again at
the imperial table within the week.”
The freedman took out his tablets and made a note of the royal commands
with a somewhat unsteady hand, while Vitellius, draining his cup to the
dregs, smacked his lips, and let his great chin sink on his breast once
more.
The other guests conversed freely. Licinius and one of the senators were
involved in an argument on military matters, with which the man of peace
seemed almost as conversant as the man of war, and on which he laid down
the law with far more confidence. Placidus was describing certain
incidents of the campaign in Judæa, with an air of unassuming modesty and
a deference to the opinions of others, which won him no little favour from
those who sat near and listened, throwing in, every now and then, a chance
expression or trifling anecdote, derogatory, by implication, to
Vespasian’s military skill, and eulogistic of Vitellius; for this reason
doubly sweet in the ears of him at whose board the tribune sat. Montanus,
whose cup was filled and emptied with startling rapidity, looked about him
for a subject on which to vent some of the sarcasm with which he was
charged, and found it in the woebegone appearance of Spado, who, despite
the influence of food and wine, seemed unusually depressed and ill at
ease. The eunuch on ordinary occasions was a prince of boon‐companions,
skilled in all the niceties of gastronomy, versed in the laws of drinking,
overflowing with mirth and jollity, an adroit flatterer where flattery was
acceptable, and a joyous buffoon who could give and take with equal
readiness and good‐humour, when banter was the order of the day. Now, less
thirsty than usual, the feast seemed to have no enlivening effect on his
disposition. He was silent, preoccupied, and, to all appearance, intent
only on concealing his bruised cheek from the observation of those about
him. He had never been struck in anger, never even stood face to face with
a man before, and it had cowed him. The soft self‐indulgent voluptuary
could neither forget nor overcome his feelings of combined wrath, dismay,
and shame. Montanus turned round and emptied a brimming goblet to his
health.
“You are cheerless to‐night, man!” quoth the senator; “you drink not,
neither do you speak. What, has the red Falernian lost its flavour? or has
some Canidia bewitched you with her evil eye? You used to be a prince of
boon‐companions, Spado, thirsty as a camel in the Libyan desert, insatiate
as the sand on which he travels, and now your eye is dull, your face
dejected, and your cup stands untasted, unnoticed, though bubbling to the
brim. By the spear of Bacchus, ’tis not the fault of the liquor!” and
Montanus emptied his own goblet with the air of a man who thoroughly
appreciated the vintage he extolled.
Vitellius looked up for an instant, roused by the congenial theme.
“There is nothing the matter with the wine,” said Cæsar. “Fill round.”
The imperial hint was not to be disregarded, and Spado, with a forced
smile, put his goblet to his lips and drained it to the last drop. In
doing so the discoloration of his face was very apparent; and the guests,
who had now arrived at that stage of conviviality where candour takes the
place of politeness, proceeded to make their remarks without reserve.
“You have painted too thick,” said one of the freedmen, alluding to an
effeminacy of the times which the male sex were not ashamed to practise.
“You have taken off the paste and the skin with it,” continued the other,
whose own mistress was in the daily habit of spreading a kind of poultice
over her whole countenance, and who might therefore be a good judge of the
process and its results.
“You have been in the wars!” sneered one guest. “Or the amphitheatre!”
echoed another. “’Tis a love‐token from Chloe!” laughed a third. “Or a
remembrance from Lydia!” added a fourth. “Nay,” interposed Montanus, “our
friend is too experienced a campaigner to come off second‐best with a foe
of that description. There must have been a warm encounter to leave such
traces as those. She must have been a very Amazon, Spado, that could maul
thee thus.”
The eunuch looked from one to another of his tormentors with rather an
evil smile. He well knew, however, that any appearance of annoyance would
add tenfold to the ridicule which he must make up his mind to undergo, and
that the best way for a man to turn a jest, even when to his own
disadvantage, is to join in it himself; so he glanced at the Emperor, took
a long draught of red Falernian, and assumed a face of quaint and good‐
humoured self‐commiseration.
“Talk not to me of Amazons,” said he, whereat there was a general laugh.
“Tell me not of Chloes, and Lydias, and Lalages, and the rest. What’s a
Helen of Troy compared to a flask of this red Falernian? Why good wine
gets better the longer you keep it, while woman loses her flavour year by
year. ’Faith, if you only wait till she is old enough, she becomes very
sour vinegar indeed. Even in the first flush of her beauty, I doubt
whether any of you in your hearts think she is worth the trouble of
catching. Still, you know, a man likes to look at a pretty face. Mine had
not otherwise been so disfigured now. I had an adventure on that score but
two nights ago. Would Cæsar like to hear it?”
Cæsar gave a nod and a grunt that signified acquiescence. Thus encouraged,
Spado went on—
“It was the feast of Isis. I was coming from the worship of the goddess,
and the celebration of those sacred rites, which may not be disclosed to
the vulgar and the profane—mysteries too holy to be mentioned, save to
pure and virgin ears.” Here the countenance of Montanus assumed an
expression that made even Cæsar smile, and caused the rest to laugh
outright. “The procession was returning filled with inspiration from the
goddess. The acolytes leaping and dancing in the van, the priests marching
majestically under her symbols, and some of the noblest matrons in Rome
bringing up the rear. The noblest and the fairest,” repeated Spado,
glancing round him complacently. “I name no names; but you all know that
ours is not a vulgar worship, nor an illiberal creed.”
Here Placidus stirred somewhat uneasily on his couch, and buried his face
in his cup.
“The Roman people have ever paid the highest honours to our Egyptian
goddess,” proceeded the eunuch; “we lack the support of the plebeian no
more than the worship of the patrician. Thus we flourish and drain
draughts of plenty from the silver udders of our sacred cow. Well, they
made way for us in the streets, both men and women—all but one slender
girl dressed in black, who, coming quickly round a corner, found herself
in the midst of us, and seemed too frightened to move. In another minute
she would have been trampled to death by the crowd, when I seized hold of
her in order to draw her into a place of safety while they passed.”
“Or to see what sort of a face she hid under her black hood?” interrupted
Montanus.
“Not so,” replied the narrator, though obviously gratified by the
impeachment. “Such follies I leave to senators, and statesmen, and
soldiers. My object was simply to afford her my protection. I had better
have plucked a nettle with my naked hand. The girl screamed and struggled
as if she had never looked in a man’s face before.”
“She was frightened at your beard,” said one of the freedmen, looking at
Spado’s smooth fat face. The latter winced, but affected not to hear.
“Coax a frightened woman,” said he, “and frighten an angry one. I flatter
myself I know how to deal with them all. The girl would have been quiet
enough had I been let alone; when just as she began to look kindly in my
face, up comes an enormous barbarian, a hideous giant with waving yellow
hair, and tries to snatch the maiden by main force from my grasp. I am a
strong man, as you may perhaps have observed, my friends, and a fierce one
when my blood is up. I showed fight. I struck him to the earth. He rose
again with redoubled fury, and taking me at a disadvantage while I was
protecting the girl, inflicted this injury on my face. I was stunned for
an instant, and he seized that opportunity to make his escape. Well for
him that he did so. Let him keep out of the way if he be wise. Should he
cross my path again, he had better be in Euchenor’s hands than mine; I
will show him no mercy;” and Spado quaffed off his wine and squared his
fat shoulders with the air of a gladiator.
“And what became of the girl?” asked Paris, who had hitherto listened to
the recital with utter indifference.
“She was carried off by the barbarian,” replied Spado. “Poor thing! I
believe sorely against her will. Nevertheless, she was borne off by the
Briton.”
“A Briton!” exclaimed Licinius, whose intense contempt for Spado had
hitherto kept him silent, and who had already heard the truth of the story
from his slave.
“A Briton,” repeated the eunuch. “It was impossible he could be otherwise
from his size and ferocity. The Gaul, you see, is bigger than the Roman.
The German than the Gaul. The Briton, by the same argument, must be bigger
than the German; and this hideous giant must consequently have been one of
those savage islanders. I take my logic from the Greeks.”
“But not your boxing, it seems,” observed Montanus, “We must have Euchenor
to give you some lessons, if you run your head into these street brawls
whenever you come across a woman with a veil.”
“Nay,” answered the eunuch, “he took me at a disadvantage; nevertheless he
was a large and powerful athlete—there is no denying it.”
“They are the finest men we have in the empire,” said Licinius, thinking
in his heart that the women were the fairest too.
“Their oysters are better than ours,” observed Cæsar, with an air of
profound and impartial judgment.
“I grant the oysters, but I deny the men,” said Placidus, reflecting that
his patriotism would be acceptable to his audience. “The Roman is the
natural conqueror of the world. They cannot stand against our countrymen
in the arena.” The guests all joined in a cordial assent. Had it not been
so, perhaps Licinius would have scarce thought it worth while to continue
the argument. Now, though half ashamed of his warmth, he took up the
matter with energy.
“There is a Briton in my house at this moment,” said he, “who is a
stronger and finer man than you will produce in Rome.”
“You mean that long‐legged lad with the mop of light hair?” said Placidus
contemptuously. “I have seen him. I call him a boy, not a man.”
Licinius felt somewhat irritated. He did not particularly like his
company; and between two such opposite natures as his own and the
tribune’s there existed a certain hidden repugnance, which was sure sooner
or later to break forth. He answered angrily—
“I will match him against any one you can produce to run, leap, wrestle,
throw the quoit, and swim.”
“Those are a boy’s accomplishments,” retorted the other coolly. “What I
maintain is this, that, whether from want of courage or skill or both,
these islanders are of no use with the steel. I would wish no better sport
than to fight him myself in the arena, with the permission of Cæsar”—and
the tribune bowed gracefully to his imperial host, who looked from one to
the other of the disputants, without the slightest apparent interest in
their discussion.
At this period of the Empire, when, although manners had become utterly
dissolute, something was still left of the old audacity that had made the
Roman a conqueror wherever he planted his foot, it was by no means unusual
for men of patrician rank to appear in their own proper persons, a
spectacle for the vulgar, in the amphitheatre. It was, perhaps, not
unnatural that a desire for imitation should at last be aroused by the
excessive fondness for these games of bloodshed, which pervaded all
classes of the community. We have nothing in modern times that can at all
convey to us the passion of the Roman citizen for the amusements of his
circus. They were as necessary to his existence as daily bread. _Panem et
Circenses_ had passed into a familiar proverb. He would leave his home,
neglect his business, forfeit his bath, to sit for hours on the benches of
the amphitheatre, exposed to heat and crowding, and every sort of
inconvenience, and would bring his food with him rather than run the risk
of losing his place. And all this to see trained gladiators shedding each
other’s blood, wild beasts tearing foreign captives limb from limb, and
imitation battles which differed in no respect from real, save that the
wounded were not spared, and the slaughter consequently far greater in
proportion to the number of combatants engaged. If a statesman wished to
court popularity, if an emperor desired to blot out a whole page of
enormities and crimes, he had but to give the people one of these free
entertainments of blood—the more victims the better—and they were ready to
approve of any measure, and to pardon any atrocity.
Ere long some fierce spirits panted to take part in the sports they so
loved to contemplate; and the disgraceful exhibition ceased to be confined
to hireling gladiators or condemned slaves. Knights and patricians entered
the arena, to contend for the praises of the vulgar; and the noblest blood
in Rome was shed for the gratification of plebeian spectators, who,
sitting at ease munching cakes and sausages, could contemplate with placid
interest the death‐agonies of the Cornelii or the Gracchi.
Julius Placidus, like many other fashionable youths of the period, prided
himself on his skill in the deadly exercises of the circus. He had
appeared before the Roman public at different times, armed with all the
various weapons of the gladiator; but the exercise in which he considered
himself most perfect was that of the trident and the net. The contest
between the _retiarius_ and the _secutor_ was always a favourite spectacle
with the public. The former carried an ample casting‐net upon his
shoulders, a three‐pronged spear in his hand; beyond this he was totally
unarmed either for attack or defence. The latter with a short sword,
vizored helmet, and oblong shield, would at first sight appear to have
fought at great advantage over his opponent. Nevertheless the arts of the
_retiarius_ in entangling his adversary had arrived at such perfection
that he was constantly the conqueror. Once down, and involved in the fatal
meshes, there was no escape for the swordsman; and from some whimsical
reason the populace seldom granted him quarter when vanquished. Great
activity and speed of foot were the principal qualities required by the
_retiarius_, for if he failed in his cast he was compelled to fly from his
adversary while preparing his net for a fresh attempt, and if overtaken
his fate was sealed. Placidus possessed extraordinary personal activity.
His eye was very correct, and his throw generally deadly. It may be, too,
that there was something pleasing to the natural cruelty of his
disposition in the contemplation of an antagonist writhing and helpless on
the sand. It was his delight to figure in the arena with the deadly net
laid in careful festoons upon his shoulder, and the long barbed trident
quivering in his grasp, Licinius fell into the snare, if snare it was,
readily enough.
“I would wager a province on Esca,” said he, “against anyone but a trained
gladiator; and I think he could hold his own with the best of _them_,
after a month’s practice.”
“Then you accept my challenge?” exclaimed Placidus, with a studied
carelessness of manner that dissembled an eagerness he could scarcely
control.
“Let us hear the terms over a fresh flask of Falernian,” observed the
Emperor, glad of such a stimulant with his wine.
“I ask for no weapons but the trident and the net,” said Placidus, looking
fixedly at Licinius. “Esca, if you so call him, may be armed as usual with
sword and helmet.”
“And shield,” interrupted the other; too old a soldier, even in the
excitement of the moment, to throw a chance away.
Placidus affected to demur.
“Well,” said he, after a few moments’ hesitation, “’tis but a young
swordsman, and a barbarian; I give you the shield in.”
A vision crossed the brain of Licinius, that already made him repent of
his rashness. He saw the fine form writhing in those pitiless meshes, like
a beast taken in the toils. He saw the frank blue eyes, looking upward,
brave and kindly even in their despair. He saw the unsparing arm raised to
strike, and the bright curling locks dabbled all in blood. But then he
remembered the Briton’s extraordinary strength and activity, his natural
courage and warlike education—he was irritated, too, by the insolent
malice that gleamed in the tribune’s eyes; and he persuaded himself that
nothing but renown and triumph could accrue to his favourite from such a
contest.
“Be it so,” said he; “_retiarius_ and _secutor_. You will have no child’s
play, I can tell you; and now for the terms of the wager. I stake no man’s
life against a morsel of tinsel or a few polished pebbles, I warn you at
once.”
He glanced while he spoke, somewhat contemptuously, over the costly
ornaments that decorated the tribune’s dress. The latter laughed good‐
humouredly.
“A dozen slaves would scarce fetch the value of my sleeve‐clasps. At
least, a dozen of these islanders, whom you may capture by scores every
time a legion moves its camp. Listen, I will wager two of my white horses
against your picture of Daphne, or the bust of Euphrosyne that stands in
your bath‐room. Nay, I will give you more advantage still. I will stake
the whole team, and the chariot into the bargain, against the British
slave himself!”
Again had the other been watching him narrowly; he must have perceived a
strange suppressed eagerness on the tribune’s face, but he was preoccupied
and annoyed; he had gone too far to retract, and a murmur from the
listening guests denoted their opinion of the generosity displayed in this
last proposal. When a man has placed himself in a false position, his
efforts at extrication generally plunge him deeper than before. Quick as
lightning, Licinius bethought him that the present bargain might probably
save Esca’s life, in the unlikely event of his being conquered, so he
closed with it unhesitatingly, though he regretted doing so a moment
afterwards.
The match was accordingly made upon the following terms: That Esca should
enter the amphitheatre during the approaching games of Ceres, armed with
sword, shield, and helmet, to oppose Placidus, whose only weapons were to
be the trident and the net. That in the event of the latter being worsted,
his four white horses and gilded chariot should become the property of
Licinius; but that if he obtained the victory, and the populace permitted
him to spare the vanquished, then his late antagonist should become his
slave; and how enviable would be that position could only be known to the
tribune himself and one other person from whom he had that day received
kinder looks and smiles than she had ever before granted to an unwelcome
suitor.
The business of drinking, which had been somewhat interrupted by these
complicated discussions, was now resumed with greater energy than before;
Placidus emptying his goblet with the triumphant air of one who has
successfully accomplished a difficult task; Licinius like a man who seeks
to drown anxiety and self‐reproach in wine. The Emperor quaffed and
quaffed again with his habitual greediness; and the remainder of the
guests acted studiously in imitation of the Emperor.