In everything but title and security of tenure Marcia was empress of the
world, and she had what empresses most often lack--the common touch.
She had been born in slavery. She had ascended step by step to fortune,
by her own wits, learning by experience. Each layer of society was known
to her--its virtues, prejudices, limitations and peculiar tricks of
thought. Being almost incredibly beautiful, she had learned very early
in life that the desired (not always the desirable) is powerful to sway
men; the possessed begins to lose its sway; the habit of possession
easily succumbs to boredom, and then power ceases. Even Commodus,
accordingly, had never owned her in the sense that men own slaves; she
had reserved to herself self-mastery, which called for cunning, courage
and a certain ruthlessness, albeit tempered by a reckless generosity.
She saw life skeptically, undeceived by the fawning flattery that Rome
served up to her, enjoying it as a cat likes being stroked. They said of
her that she slept with one eye open.
Livius had complained in the Thermae to Pertinax that the wine of
influence was going to Marcia's head, but he merely expressed the
opinion of one man, who would have liked to feel himself superior to her
and to use her for his own ends. She was not deceived by Livius, or by
anybody else. She knew that Livius was keeping watch on her, and how he
did it, having shrewdly guessed that a present of eight matched litter-
bearers was too extravagant not to mask ulterior designs. She watched
him much more artfully than he watched her. Her secret knowledge that
he knew her secret was more dangerous to him than anything that he had
found out could be dangerous to her.
The eight matched litter-bearers waited with the gilded litter near a
flight of marble steps that descended from the door of Marcia's
apartments in the palace to a sunlit garden with a fountain in the
midst. There was a crowd of servants and four Syrian eunuchs, sleek
offensive menials in yellow robes; two lictors besides, with fasces and
the Roman civic uniform--a scandalous abuse of ancient ceremony--ready
to conduct a progress through the city. But they all yawned. Marcia
and her usual companion did not come; there was delay--and gossip,
naturally.
A yawning eunuch rearranged the bowknot of his girdle.
"What does she want with Livius? He usually gets sent for when somebody
needs punishing. Who do you suppose has fallen foul of her?"
"Himself! He sent her messenger back with word he was engaged on palace
business. I heard her tell the slave to go again and not return without
him! Bacchus! But it wouldn't worry me if Livius should lose his head!
For an aristocrat he has more than his share of undignified curiosity--
forever poking his sharp nose into other people's business. Marcia may
have found him out. Let's hope!"
At the foot of the marble stairway, in the hall below Marcia's
apartment, Livius stood remonstrating, growing nervous. Marcia, dressed
in the dignified robes of a Roman matron, that concealed even her ankles
and suggested the demure, self-conscious rectitude of olden times, kept
touching his breast with her ivory fan, he flinching from the touch,
subduing irritation.
"If the question is, what I want with you, Livius, the answer is, that I
invite you. Order your litter brought."
"But Marcia, I am subprefect. I am responsible to--"
"Did you hear?"
"But if you will tell where we are going, I might feel justified in
neglecting the palace business. I assure you I have important work to
do."
"There are plenty who can attend to it," said Marcia. "The most
important thing in your life, Livius, is my good-will. You are delaying
me."
Livius glared at Caia Poppeia, the lady-in-waiting, who was smiling,
standing a little behind Marcia. He hoped she would take the hint and
withdraw out of earshot, but she had had instructions, and came half a
step closer.
"Will you let me go back to my office and--"
"No!" answered Marcia.
He yielded with a nervous gesture, that implored her not to make an
indiscretion. A subprefect, in the nature of his calling, had too many
enemies to relish repetition in the palace precincts of a threat from
Marcia, however baseless it might be. And besides, it might be
something serious that almost had escaped her lips. Untrue or true, it
would be known all over the palace in an hour; within the day all Rome
would know of it. There were two slaves by the front door, two more on
the last step of the stairs.
"I will come, of course," he said. "I am delighted. I am honored. I
am fortunate!"
She nodded. She sent one of her own slaves to order his private litter
brought, while Livius attempted to look comfortable, cudgeling his
brains to know what mischief she had found out. It was nothing unusual
that his litter should follow hers through the streets of Rome; in
fact, it was an honor coveted by all officials of the palace, that fell
to his share rather frequently because of his distinguished air of a
latter-day man of the world and his intimate knowledge of everybody's
business and ancestry. He was often ordered to go with her at a moment's
notice. But this was the first time she had refused to say where they
were going, or why, and there was a hint of malice in her smile that
made his blood run cold. He was a connoisseur of malice.
Marcia leaned on his arm as she went down the steps to her litter. She
permitted him to help her in. But then, while her companion was
following through the silken curtains, she leaned out at the farther
side and whispered to the nearest eunuch. Livius, climbing into his own
gilt vehicle and lifted shoulder-high by eight Numidians, became aware
that Marcia's eunuchs had been told to keep an eye on him; two yellow-
robed, insufferably impudent inquisitors strode in among his own
attendants.
An escort of twenty praetorian guards and a decurion was waiting at the
gate to take its place between the lictors and Marcia's litter, but that
did not in any way increase Livius' sense of security. The praetorian
guard regarded Marcia as the source of its illegal privileges. It
looked to her far more than to the emperor for favors, buying them with
lawless loyalty to her. She ruined discipline by her support of every
plea for increased perquisites. No outraged citizen had any hope of
redress so long as Marcia's ear could be reached (although Commodus got
the blame for it). It was the key to Marcia's system of insurance
against unforeseen contingencies. The only regularly drilled and armed
troops in the city were as loyal to her, secretly and openly, as Livius
himself was to the principle of cynical self-help.
He began to feel thoroughly frightened, as he told himself that the
escort and their decurion would swear to any statement Marcia might
make. If she had learned that he was in the habit of receiving secret
information from her slave, there were a thousand ways she might take to
avenge herself; a very simple way would be to charge him with improper
overtures and have him killed by the praetorians--a way that might
particularly interest her, since it would presumably increase her
reputation for constancy to Commodus.
The eunuchs watched him. The lictors and praetorians cleared the way,
so there were no convenient halts that could enable him to slip
unnoticed through the crowd. His own attendants seemed to have divined
that there was something ominous about the journey, and he was not the
kind of man whose servants are devotedly attached to him. He knew it.
He noticed sullenness already in the answers his servant gave him
through the litter curtains, when he asked whether the man knew their
destination.
"None knows. All I know is, we must follow Marcia."
The slave's voice was almost patronizing. Livius made up his mind, if
he should live the day out, to sell the rascal to some farmer who would
teach him with a whip what service meant. But he said nothing. He
preferred to spring surprises, only hoping he himself might not be
overwhelmed in one.
By the time they reached Cornificia's house he was in such a state of
nervousness, and so blanched, that he had to summon his servant into the
litter to rub cosmetic on his cheeks. He took one of Galen's famous
strychnine pills before he could prevent his limbs from trembling. Even
so, when he rolled out of the litter and advanced with his courtliest
bow to escort Marcia into the house, she recognized his fear and mocked
him:
"You are bilious? Or has some handsomer Adonis won your Venus from you?
Is it jealousy?"
He pretended that the litter-bearers needed whipping for having shaken
him. It made him more than ever ill at ease that she should mock him
before all the slaves who grouped themselves in Cornificia's forecourt.
Hers was one of those houses set back from the street, combining an air
of seclusion with such elegance as could not possibly escape the notice
of the passer-by. The forecourt was adorned with statuary and the gate
left wide, affording a glimpse of sunlit greenery and marble that
entirely changed the aspect of the narrow street. There were never less
than twenty tradesmen at the gate, imploring opportunity to show their
wares, which were in baskets and boxes, with slaves squatting beside
them. All Rome would know within the hour that Marcia had called on
Cornificia, and that Livius, the subprefect, had been mocked by Marcia
in public.
A small crowd gathered to watch the picturesque ceremony of reception--
Cornificia's house steward marshaling his staff, the brightly colored
costumes blending in the sunlight with the hues of flowers and the rich,
soft sheen of marble in the shadow of tall cypresses. The praetorians
had to form a cordon in front of the gate, and the street became choked
by the impeded traffic. Rome loved pageantry; it filled its eyes before
its belly, which was nine-tenths of the secret of the Caesar's power.
Within the house, however, there was almost a stoical calm--a sensation
of cloistered chastity produced by the restraint of ornament and the
subdued light on gloriously painted frescoes representing evening
benediction at a temple altar, a gathering of the Muses, sacrifice
before a shrine of Aesculapius and Jason's voyage to Colchis for the
Golden Fleece. The inner court, where Cornificia received her guests,
was like a sanctuary dedicated to the decencies, its one extravagance
the almost ostentatious restfulness, accentuated by the cooing of white
pigeons and the drip and splash of water in the fountain in the midst.
The dignity of drama was the essence of all Roman ceremony. The
formalities of greeting were observed as elegantly, and with far more
evident sincerity, in Cornificia's house than in Caesar's palace.
Cornificia, dressed in white and wearing very little jewelry, received
her guests more like an old-time patrician matron than a notorious
modern concubine. Her notoriety, in fact, was due to Flavia Titiana,
rather than to any indiscretions of her own. To justify her
infidelities, which were a byword, Pertinax' lawful wife went to
ingenious lengths to blacken Cornificia's reputation, regaling all
society with her invented tales about the lewd attractions Cornificia
staged to keep Pertinax held in her toils.
That Cornificia did exercise a sway over the governor of Rome was
undeniable. He worshiped her and made no secret of it. But she held
him by a method diametrically contrary to that which rumor, stirred by
Flavia Titiana, indicated; Cornificia's house was a place where he
could lay aside the feverish activities of public life and revel in the
intellectual and philosophical amusements that he genuinely loved.
But Livius loathed her. Among other things, he suspected her of being
in league with Marcia to protect the Christians. To him she represented
the idealism that his cynicism bitterly rejected. The mere fact of her
unshakable fidelity to Pertinax was an offense in his eyes; she
presented what he considered an impudent pose of morality, more impudent
because it was sustained. He might have liked her well enough if she
had been a hypocrite, complaisant to himself.
She understood him perfectly--better, in fact, than she understood
Marcia, whose visits usually led to intricate entanglements for
Pertinax. When she had sent the slaves away and they four lay at ease
on couches in the shade of three exotic potted palms, she turned her
back toward Livius, suspecting he would bring his motives to the surface
if she gave him time; whereas Marcia would hide hers and employ a dozen
artifices to make them undiscoverable.
"You have not brought Livius because you think he loves me!" she said,
laughing. "Nor have you come, my Marcia, for nothing, since you might
have sent for me and saved yourself trouble. I anticipate intrigue!
What plot have you discovered now? Is Pertinax its victim? You can
always interest me if you talk of Pertinax."
"We will talk of Livius," said Marcia.
Leaning on his elbows, Livius glared at Caia Poppeia, Marcia's
companion. He coughed, to draw attention to her, but Marcia refused to
take the hint. "Livius has information for us," she remarked.
Livius rose from the couch and came and stood before her, knitting his
fingers together behind his back, compelling himself to smile. His
pallor made the hastily applied cosmetics look ridiculous.
"Marcia," he said, "you make it obvious that you suspect me of some
indiscretion."
"Never!" she retorted, mocking. "You indiscreet? Who would believe it?
Give us an example of discretion; you are Paris in the presence of
three goddesses. Select your destiny!"
He smiled, attempted to regain his normal air of tolerant importance--
glanced about him--saw the sunlight making iridescent pools of fire
within a crystal ball set on the fountain's edge--took up the ball and
brought it to her, holding it in both hands.
"What choice is there than that which Paris made?" he asked, kneeling on
one knee, laughing. "Venus rules men's hearts. She must prevail. So
into your most lovely hands I give my destiny."
"You mean, you leave it there!" said Marcia. "Could you ever afford to
ignore me and intrigue behind my back?"
"I am the least intriguing person of your acquaintance, Marcia," he
answered, rising because the hard mosaic pavement hurt his knee, and the
position made him feel undignified. But more than dignity he loved
discretion; he wished there were eyes in the back of his head, to see
whether slaves were watching from the curtained windows opening on the
inner court. "It is my policy," he went on, "to know much and say
little; to observe much, and do nothing! I am much too lazy for
intrigue, which is hard work, judging by what I have seen of those who
indulge in it."
"Is that why you sacrificed a white bull recently?" asked Marcia.
Livius glanced at Cornificia, but her patrician face gave no hint. Caia
Poppeia's was less under control, for she was younger and had nothing to
conceal; she was inquisitively enjoying the entertainment and evidently
did not know what was coming.
"I sacrificed a white bull to Jupiter Capitolinus, as is customary, to
confirm a sacred oath," he answered.
"Very well, suppose you break the oath!" said Marcia.
He managed to look scandalized--then chuckled foolishly, remembering
what Pertinax had said about the value of an oath; but his own dignity
obliged him to protest.
"I am not one of your Christians," he answered, stiffening himself. "I
am old-fashioned enough to hold that an oath made at the altar of our
Roman Jupiter is sacred and inviolable."
"When you took your oath of office you swore to be in all things true to
Caesar," Marcia retorted. "Do you prefer to tell Caesar how true you
have been to that oath? Which oath holds the first one or the second?"
"I could ask to be released from the second one," said Livius. "If you
will give me time--"
Marcia's laugh interrupted him. It was soft, melodious, like wavelets
on a calm sea, hinting unseen reefs.
"Time," she said, "Is all that death needs! Death does not wait on
oaths; it comes to us. I wish to know just how far I can trust you,
Livius."
Nine Roman nobles out of ten in Livius' position would have recognized
at once the deadliness of the alternatives she offered and, preserving
something of the shreds of pride, would have accepted suicide as
preferable. Livius had no such stamina. He seized the other horn of
the dilemma.
"I perceive Pertinax has betrayed me," he sneered, looking sharply at
Cornificia; but she was watching Marcia and did not seem conscious of
his glance. "If Pertinax has broken his oath, mine no longer binds me.
This is the fact then: I discovered how he helped Sextus, son of
Maximus, to avoid execution by a ruse, making believe to be killed.
Pertinax was also privy to the execution of an unknown thief in place of
Norbanus, a friend of Sextus, also implicated in conspiracy. Pertinax
has been secretly negotiating with Sextus ever since. Sextus now calls
himself Maternus and is notorious as a highwayman."
"What else do you know about Maternus?" Marcia inquired. There was a
trace at last of sharpness in her voice. A hint conveyed itself that
she could summon the praetorians if he did not answer swiftly.
"He plots against Caesar."
"You know too little or too much!" said Marcia. "What else?"