There were even birds, to fill the air with music. All the known world,
and the far-away mysterious lands of which Alexander's followers had
started legends multiplying centuries ago, had contributed to Rome's
adornment; plunder and trade goods drifted through in spite of
distances. The city had become the vortex of the energy, virility and
vice of east and west--a glory of marble and gilded cornices, of domes
and spires, of costumes, habits, faces, languages--of gorgeousness and
squalor--license, privilege and rigid formalism--extravagance--and of
innumerable gods.
There was nobility and love of virtue, cheek by jowl with beastliness,
nor was it always easy to discover which was which; but the birds sang
blithely in the cages in the portico, where the long seat was on which
philosophers discoursed to any one who cared to listen. The baths that
the Emperor Titus built were the supreme, last touch of all. From
furnaces below-ground, where the whipped slaves sweated in the dark, to
domed roof where the doves changed hue amid the gleam of gold and
colored glass, they typified Rome, as the city herself was of the
essence of the world.
The approach to the Thermae of Titus was blocked by litters, some heavy
enough to be borne by eight matched slaves and large enough for company.
Women oftener than men shared litters with friends; then the troupe of
attendants was doubled; slaves were in droves, flocks, hordes around
the building, making a motley sight of it in their liveries, which were
adaptations of the every-day costumes of almost all the countries of the
known world.
Under the entrance portico, between the double row of marble columns,
sat a throng of fortune-tellers of both sexes, privileged because the
aedile of that year had superstitious leanings, but as likely as not to
be driven away, and even whipped, when the next man should succeed to
office. In and out among the crowd ran tipsters, touts for gambling
dens and sellers of charms; most of them found ready customers among
the slaves, who had nothing to do but wait, and stare, and yawn until
their masters came out from the baths. They were raw, inexperienced
slaves who had not a coin or two to spend.
Within the entrance of the Thermae was a marble court, where better
known philosophers discoursed on topics of the day, each to his own
group of admirers. A Christian, dressed like any other Roman, held one
corner with a crowd around him. There was a tremendous undercurrent of
reaction against the prevalent cynical materialism and the vortex of
fashion was also the cauldron of new aspirations and the battle-ground
of wits.
Beyond the inner entrance were the two disrobing rooms--women to the
left, men to the right where slaves, whose insolence had grown into a
cultivated art, exchanged the folded garments for a bracelet with a
number. Thence, stark-naked, through the bronze doors set in green-
veined marble, bathers passed into the vast frigidarium, whose marble
plunge was surrounded by a mosaic promenade beneath a bronze and marble
balcony.
There men and women mingled indiscriminately, watching the divers,
conversing, matching wits, exchanging gossip, some walking briskly
around the promenade while others lounged on the marble seats that were
interspaced against the wall between the statues.
There was not one gesture of indecency. A man who had stared at a woman
would have been thrown out, execrated and forever more refused
admission. But out in the street, where the litter-bearers and
attendants whiled away the time, there were tales told that spread to
the ends of the earth.
On a bench of black marble, between two statues of the Grecian Muses,
Pertinax sat talking with Bultius Livius, sub-prefect of the palace.
They were both pink-skinned from plunging in the pool, and the white
scars, won in frontier wars, showed all the more distinctly. Boltius
Livius was a clean-shaven, sharp-looking man with a thin-lipped air of
keenness.
"This dependence on Marcia can easily be overdone," he remarked. His
eyes moved restlessly left and right. He lowered his voice. "Nobody
knows how long her hold over Caesar will last. She owns him at present
owns him absolutely--owns Rome. He delights in letting her revoke his
orders; it's a form of self-debauchery; he does things purposely to
have her overrule him. But that has already lasted longer than I
thought it would."
"It will last as long as she and her Christians spy for him and make
life pleasant," said Pertinax.
"Exactly. But that is the difficulty," Livius answered, moving his eyes
again restlessly. There was not much risk of informers in the Thermae,
but a man never knew who his enemies were. "Marcia represents the
Christians, and the idiots won't let well enough alone. By Hercules,
they have it all their own way, thanks to Marcia. They are allowed to
hold their meetings. All the statutes against them are ignored. They
even go unpunished if they don't salute Caesar's image! They are
allowed to preach against slavery. It has got so now that if a man
condemned to death pretends he is a Christian they're even allowed to
rescue him out of the carceres! That's Juno's truth: I know of a dozen
instances. But it's the old story: Put a beggar on a horse and he will
demand your house next. There's no satisfying them. I am told they
propose to abolish the gladiatorial combats! Laugh if you like. I have
it from unquestionable sources. They intend to begin by abolishing the
execution of criminals in the arena. Shades of Nero! They keep after
Marcia day and night to dissuade Caesar from taking part in the
spectacles, on the theory that he helps to make them popular."
"What do they propose to substitute in popular esteem?" asked Pertinax.
"I don't know. They're mad enough for anything, and their hold over
Marcia is beyond belief. The next thing you'll know, they'll persuade
her it's against religion to be Caesar's mistress! They're quite
capable of sawing off the branch they're sitting on. By Hercules, I
hope they do it! Some of us might go down in the scramble, but--"
"Does Marcia give Christian reasons to the emperor?" asked Pertinax, his
forehead puzzled.
"No, no. No, by Hercules. No, no. Marcia is as skillful at managing
Commodus as he is at hurling a javelin or driving horses. She talks
about the dignity of Caesar and the glory of Rome--uses truth adroitly
for her own ends--argues that if he continues to keep company with
gladiators and jockeys, and insists on taking part in the combats, Rome
may begin to despise him."
"Rome does!" murmured Pertinax, his eyes and lips suggesting a mere
flicker of a smile. "But only let Commodus once wake up to the fact
and--"
Bultius Livius nodded.
"He will return the compliment and show us how to despise at wholesale,
eh? Marcia's life and yours and mine wouldn't be worth an hour's
purchase. The problem is, who shall warn Marcia? She grows intolerant
of friendly hints. I made her a present the other day of eight matched
German' litter-bearers--beauties--they cost a fortune--and I took the
opportunity to have a chat with her. She told me to go home and try to
manage my own wife! Friendly enough--she laughed--she meant no enmity;
but shrewd though she is, and far-seeing though she is, the wine of
influence is going to her head. You know what that portends. Few men,
and fewer women, can drink deeply of that wine and--"
"She comes," said Pertinax.
There was a stir near the bronze door leading to the women's disrobing
hall. Six women in a group were answering greetings, Marcia in their
midst, but no man in the Thermae looked at them a moment longer than was
necessary to return the wave of the hand with which Marcia greeted every
one before walking down the steps into the plunge. She did not even
wear the customary bracelet with its numbered metal disk; not even the
attendants at the Thermae would presume to lose the clothing of the
mistress of the emperor. Commodus, who at the age of twelve had flung a
slave into the furnace because the water was too hot, would have made
short work of any one who mislaid Marcia's apparel.
She did not belie her reputation. It was no wonder that the sculptors
claimed that every new Venus they turned out was Marcia's portrait. Her
beauty, as her toes touched water, was like that of Aphrodite rising
from the wave. The light from the dome shone golden on her brown hair
and her glossy skin. She was a thing of sensuous delight, incapable of
coarseness, utterly untouched by the suggestion of vulgarity, and yet--
"It is strange she should take up with fancy religions," said Pertinax
under his breath.
She was pagan in every gesture, and not a patrician. That was
indefinable but evident to trained eyes. Neither he, who knew her
intimately, nor the newest, newly shaven son of a provincial for the
first time exploring the wonders of Rome, could have imagined her as
anything except a rich man's mistress.
She plunged into the pool and swam like a mermaid, her companions
following, climbed out at the farther end, where the diving-boards
projected in tiers, one above the other, and passed through a bronze
door into the first of the sweating rooms, evidently conscious of the
murmur of comment that followed her, but taking no overt notice of it.
"Who is to be the next to try to reason with her--you?" asked Boltius
Livius.
"No, not I. I have shot my bolt," said Pertinax and closed his eyes, as
if to shut out something from his memory--or possibly to banish thoughts
he did not relish. There came a definite, hard glint into Livius's
eyes; he had a name for being sharper to detect intrigue and its
ramifications than even the sharp outline of his face would indicate.
"You have heard of her latest indiscretion?" he asked, narrowly watching
Pertinax. "There is a robber at large, named Maternus--you have heard
of him? The man appears and disappears. Some say he is the same
Maternus who was crucified near Antioch at about the time when you were
there; some say he isn't. He is reported to visit Rome in various
disguises, and to be able to conduct himself so well that he can pass
for a patrician. Some say he has a large band; some say, hardly any
followers. Some say it was he who robbed the emperor's own mail a month
ago. He is reported to be here, there, everywhere; but there came at
last reliable information that he lives in a cave in the woods on an
estate that fell to the fiscus (the government department into which all
payments were made, corresponding roughly to a modern treasury
department) at the time when Maximus and his son Sextus were
proscribed."
Pertinax looked bored. He yawned.
"I think I will go in and sweat a while," he remarked.
"Not yet. Let me finish," said Livius. "It was reported to Caesar that
the highwayman Maternus lives in a cave on this Aventine estate, and
that the slaves and tenants on the place, who, of course, all passed to
the new owner when the estate was sold, not only tolerate him but supply
him with victuals and news. Caesar went into one of his usual frenzies,
cursed half the senators by name, and ordered out a cohort from a legion
getting ready to embark at Ostia. He ordered them to lay waste the
estate, burn all the woods and if necessary torture the slaves and
tenants, until they had Maternus. Dead or alive, they were not to dare
to come without him, and meanwhile the rest of the legion was kept
waiting at Ostia, with all the usual nuisance of desertions and
drunkenness and what not else."
"Everybody knows about that," said Pertinax. "As governor of Rome it
was my duty to point out to the emperor the inconvenience of keeping
that legion waiting under arms so near the city. I was snubbed for my
pains, but I did my duty."
"Your duty? There were plenty of people more concerned than you," said
Livius, looking again as if he thought he had detected an intrigue.
"There were the Ostian authorities, for instance, but I did not hear of
their complaining."
"Naturally not," said Pertinax, suppressing irritation. "Every day the
legion lingered there meant money for the enterprising city fathers. I
am opposed to all the petty pouching of commissions that goes on."
"Doubtless. Being governor of Rome, you naturally--"
"I have heard of peculations at the palace," Pertinax interrupted.
"Be that as it may, Commodus ordered out the cohort, sent it marching
and amused himself inventing new ingenious torments for Maternus.
Alternatively, he proposed to himself to have the cohort slaughtered in
the arena, officers and all, if they should fail of their mission; so
it was safe to wager they were going to bring back some one said to be
Maternus, whether or not they caught the right man. Commodus was
indulging in one of his storms of imperial righteousness. He was going
to stamp out lawlessness. He was going to make it safe for any one to
come or go along the Roman roads. Oh, he was in a fine Augustan mood.
It wasn't safe for any one but Marcia to come within a mile of him.
Scowl--you know that scowl of his--it freezes the very sentries on the
wall if he looks at their backs through the window! I don't suppose
there was a woman in Rome just then who would have cared to change
places with Marcia! He sent for her, and half the palace betted she was
ripe for banishment to one of those island retreats where Crispina (the
wife of Commodus who was banished to the isle of Capreae and there
secretly put to death) lived less than a week! But Marcia is fertile of
surprises. She won't surprise me if she outlives Commodus--by Hercules,
she won't surprise me if--"
He stared at Pertinax with impudently keen eyes. Pertinax looked at the
bronze door leading to the sweating room, shrugging himself as if the
frigidarium had grown too cool for comfort.
"Marcia actually persuaded Commodus to countermand the order!" Livius
said, emphasizing each word. "Almighty Jove can only guess what
argument she used, but if Maternus had been one of her pet Christians
she couldn't have saved him more successfully. Commodus sent a messenger
post-haste that night to recall the cohort."
"And a good thing too," Pertinax remarked. "It isn't a legion's
business to supply cohorts to do the work of the district police. There
were five thousand raw men on the verge of mutiny in Ostia--"
"And--wait a minute--and," said Livius, "don't go yet--this is
interesting: Marcia, that same night, sent a messenger of her own to
find Maternus and to warn him."
"How do you know?" Pertinax let a sign of nervousness escape him.
"In the palace, those of us who value our lives and our fortunes make it
a business to know what goes on," Livius answered with a dry laugh,
"just as you take care to know what goes on in the city, Pertinax."
The older man looked worried.
"Do you mean it is common gossip in the palace?" he demanded.
"You are the first man I have spoken with. There are therefore only
three who know, if you count the slave whom Marcia employed; four if you
count Marcia. I had the great good luck not long ago to catch that
slave in flagrante delicto--never mind what he was doing; that is
another story altogether--and he gave me an insight into a number of
useful secrets. The point is, that particular slave takes care not to
run errands nowadays without informing me. There is not much that
Marcia does that I don't know about." Livius' eyes suggested gimlets
boring holes into Pertinax's face. Not a change of the other's
expression escaped him. Pertinax covered his mouth with his hand,
pretending to yawn. He slapped his thighs to suggest that his
involuntary shudder was due to having sat too long. But he did not
deceive Livius. "It is known to me," said Livius, "that you and Marcia
are in each other's confidence."
"That makes me doubt your other information," Pertinax retorted. "No man
can jump to such a ridiculous conclusion and call it knowledge without
making me doubt him on all points. You bore me, Livius. I have
important business waiting; I must make haste into the sweating room
and get that over with."
But Livius' sharp, nervous laugh arrested him.
"Not yet, friend Pertinax! Let Rome wait! Rome's affairs will outlive
both of us. I suspect you intend to tell Marcia to have my name
included in the next proscription list! But I am not quite such a
simpleton as that. Sit down and listen. I have proof that you plotted
with the governor of Antioch to have an unknown criminal executed in
place of a certain Norbanus, who escaped with your connivance and has
since become a follower of the highwayman Maternus. That involves you
rather seriously, doesn't it! You see, I made sure of my facts before
approaching you. And now--admit that I approached you tactfully! Come,
Pertinax, I made no threats until you let me see I was in danger. I
admire you. I regard you as a brave and an honorable Roman. I propose
that you and I shall understand each other. You must take me into
confidence, or I must take steps to protect myself."
There was a long pause while a group of men and women came and chattered
near by, laughing while one of the men tried to win a wager by climbing
a marble pillar. Pertinax frowned. Livius did his best to look
dependable and friendly, but his eyes were not those of a boon
companion.
"You are incapable of loyalty to any one except yourself," said Pertinax
at last. "What pledge do you propose to offer me?"
"A white bull to Jupiter Capitolinus! I am willing to go with you to
the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, and to swear on the altar whatever
solemn oath you wish."
Pertinax smiled cynically.
"The men who slew Julius Caesar were under oath to him," he remarked.
"Most solemn oaths they swore, then turned on one another like a pack of
wolves! Octavian and Anthony were under oath; and how long did that
last? My first claim to renown was based on having rewon the allegiance
of our troops in Britain, who had broken the most solemn oath a man can
take--of loyalty to Rome. An oath binds nobody. It simply is an
emphasis of what a man intends that minute. It expresses an emotion. I
believe the gods smile when they hear men pledge themselves. I
personally, who am far less than a god and far less capable of reading
men's minds, never trust a man unless I like him, or unless he gives me
pledges that make doubt impossible."
"Then you don't like me?" asked Livius.
"I would like you better if I knew that I could trust you."
"You shall, Pertinax! Bring witnesses! I will commit myself before
your witnesses to do my part in--"
His restless eyes glanced right and left. Then he lowered his voice.
"--in bringing about the political change you contemplate."
"Let us go to the sweating room," Pertinax answered. "Keep near me. I
will think this matter over. If I see you holding speech not audible to
me, with any one--"
"I am already pledged. You may depend on me," said Livius. "I trust
you more because you use caution. Come."