For the first time in his life Quintus was aware of the presence of

a great danger. Although he felt certain, that the unknown runner

could not possibly have fetched the horsemen, who were now close upon

them, there was an infinity of possibilities, of which the mere

thought seized his heart with a cold grip. Even accident might here

have played an important part. If the riders were really agents of the

slave-takers, or even soldiers of the town-watch, the next few minutes

were fateful indeed. The sinister vision that had passed them had made

him anxious and undecided, and gloomy forebodings weighed on his mind.

The thought flashed through his brain: How if you were now at home,

standing by your own triclinium? Would you now appeal as you did to

Blepyrus, or would you not rather seek some excuse for evading the work

of rescue? But the question left him clear of all doubt; he did not

regret the step he had taken, and let what might await him, he would

persist now in the road on which he had started. This short meditation

restored his peace of mind; he still was anxious, but it was not on his

own account; it was for the task he had undertaken, the fugitive who

lay in silence on the drenched couch, the faithful and brave souls who

crouched with him for shelter. Suddenly he felt a trembling hand clasp

his own, and press it with passionate fervor to quivering lips. It was

Eurymachus, whose heart, in spite of every dread, was overflowing with

exalted feeling. The slave’s grateful kiss fired a sacred glow through

the young man’s veins, and it was with a sense of supreme indifference

to all the sports of fate, that he heard the trample of hoofs coming

nearer and nearer.

Blepyrus and the stalwart Diphilus held themselves in readiness to meet

a possible onslaught. Euterpe sat on a low stone, half paralyzed; her

heart beat audibly, her hands trembled convulsively.

The horses were now close upon them. Quintus leaned forward, and saw

five or six dark forms mounted on small, nimble beasts. They were

riding cautiously, at a short trot. Now they were passing the spot

where the fugitives had turned aside from the high-road--Quintus

fancied he saw them check their pace, and hastily felt for the weapon

in his bosom. But it was a mistake. The riders trotted on, and did not

diminish their pace till at some distance to the south-east, where the

road mounted a hill. The hated sound of hoofs gradually died away in

the distance.

“God be praised!” sighed Euterpe.

Diphilus hastened to reload himself.

“We might have spared ourselves the fright,” he said to Eurymachus. “In

this darkness....”

“It was only on account of your fugitive,” said Blepyrus. “It may be,

that the riders were only merchants or other harmless folk....”

“It is all the same,” interrupted Quintus. “Any man is to be regarded

as suspicious. Do not lose another minute! Off! towards the Praenestian

Way.”

And once more the little procession set forth across bog and briar.

Thus they reached a foot-path, which led them past vineyards and at

length down to the high-road. The Via Praenestina was little frequented

at night, even in fine weather; the main traffic led past the towns

of Toleria and Aricia. So they went on, relieved in mind, towards the

town, which was still at about an hour’s distance. By degrees the

south-westerly gale spent itself and lulled, no longer rushing in

wild blasts across the plain, but blowing softly and steadily, like a

long-drawn sigh of respite. The black clouds rolled away to the east

and north, and the waning moon showed a haze-veiled sickle on the

horizon.

Eurymachus as before lay in total silence; and neither Quintus, whose

spirit was tossed by a thousand new and strange feelings, nor Blepyrus,

who was straining every nerve to conceal his utter exhaustion, uttered

a word as they walked on. Only Diphilus and Euterpe exchanged a few

words in low tones. The flute-player described her terror; never in

her life had she quaked so as on the stone by that fountain. After

passing through such perils, she seemed to feel the need of showing all

her love and good feeling to her worthy mate, and she even wished to

relieve him of the litter straps, as Quintus had relieved Blepyrus, and

harness her own shoulders. But Diphilus laughed shortly, and scorned

the idea.

“Yes,” he growled good humoredly, “that is a good notion! You want

to score your white shoulders with the marks of the strap. Think of

business, child! Why, to-morrow you are to play at the house of the

captain of the body-guard; you need not spoil your beauty to-night. It

was mad enough, that you would not stay at home such a night as this.”

They were now close to the limits of the suburbs of Rome. The buildings

on the Esquiline, dimly lighted by the moon, stood out sharper as they

approached them against the western sky. Passing by the field, where

Philippus, the son of Thrax Barbatus, lay buried, they made their way

through the empty streets to the Caelian Hill, and at last reached the

back entrance of the house inhabited by Caius Aurelius. The narrow

path, which led to it across the hill, was entirely deserted; the

houses stood detached, each in the midst of its garden, and shut off

from the road by high walls.

Quintus went forward and knocked three times at the postern gate. The

bolt was instantly drawn, and Magus, the Gothic slave, came joyfully to

meet the strangers.

“Welcome, my lord,” he said in a whisper. “Your arrival relieves us of

the greatest anxiety. I have been listening here at the gate these two

hours.”

“Yes, yes--” said Quintus equally softly, “we are very late; but it

could not be helped. Come, good people, make no noise--go in front,

Magus.”

They all went into the garden, and the Goth barred the door again.

Then they crossed the xystus[357] to the peristyle, and went along a

carpeted corridor to the atrium. Here they were met by Herodianus, who

with difficulty suppressed an exclamation of joy.

“At last!” he said, bustling to and fro with delight, like a busy

mistress receiving guests. “We had begun to think, that you must have

met with some misfortune. Aurelius, my illustrious friend, is in the

greatest anxiety. But softly, for pity’s sake softly! everyone is sound

asleep, and foresight is the mother of prudence.”

A light was shining in one of the rooms that surrounded the court-yard;

before they could reach it, Aurelius appeared in the doorway and

hurried out to embrace Quintus.

“What a fearful night!” he said with a sigh of relief. “How anxious I

have been for you, my dear Quintus! A hundred possibilities, each more

terrible than the last, have racked my brain. Be quick, Magus, lift the

wounded man from his litter! Come, you must be quite tired out.--Such

torrents of rain! Your cloak is as heavy as lead And here is our sweet

little musician, as tender as a baby.--Come, warm yourselves, refresh

yourselves!”

Herodianus had meanwhile hastened to open a cubiculum farther on in

the corridor, while Magus took the place of Blepyrus, who was utterly

exhausted. Eurymachus was laid in bed and soon fell asleep, after

Euterpe and Diphilus had applied a fresh bandage and given him a cup of

refreshing drink. Blepyrus, incapable of standing even a moment longer,

threw off his cloak and sank at full-length on to one of the cushioned

benches in the colonnade; he begged Herodianus, as he passed, to throw

a coverlet over him. “I am more dead than alive,” he said. “When my

master goes home, wake me.”

The freedman tried to persuade him to go into one of the rooms and lie

on a bed; but Blepyrus heard no more. Deep, blank sleep had overpowered

him at once. So Herodianus fetched a couple of warm rugs, in which

he carefully wrapped the weary slave and then he joined Aurelius and

Quintus.

The Gothic slave stayed to watch Eurymachus. Leaning back in a chair,

resting his feet on a stuffed footstool, he sat gazing in the sleeper’s

face which, faintly lighted by the glimmer of a small bronze lamp, was

the picture of worn-out nature, but at the same time, of contentment

and peaceful rest. Magus knew all the history of the hapless slave.

He knew how Domitia’s steward had for years made life a burthen to

him, and had at last condemned him to a martyr’s death. The immutable

steadfastness of the sufferer had excited the enthusiastic admiration

even of the simple Goth, and strange thoughts were surging in his soul.

“How still he lies there with his eyes tight shut,” thought the

Goth, “quite shut, and yet I could fancy he saw through the lids.

Veleda,[358] the prophetess, had just such eyes! When I was carrying

him across the hall he looked up, and it was like a flash of fire, and

yet soft and mild like the blue sea when the sun shines. If he were

fair, he would be just like the priest in the grove of Nerthus.[359]

He indeed was a favorite of the gods; he knew everything on earth and

above the earth. I feel as if this man too must know all secrets, which

make such men wise above all others. It is written on his forehead.--If

only he were not so pale and feeble--if he had limbs as strong as mine,

and hale northern blood in his veins! Odin should melt us down to make

one man.--There would be a hero!”

So thought the worthy Gothic slave, while his eyes remained fixed on

the features of the sleeper; but before long his own eyes also closed,

and the ideas that had roused him to unwonted excitement remained in

his mind in the realm of dreams. He saw Odin, with his wolves and

raven, rushing down through the woods on the shores of the distant

Baltic. He himself, Magus, was standing in the shadow of a sacred

beech-tree, hand-in-hand with the wounded slave, who had dragged

himself painfully through the underwood. As the god rushed past them,

he lightly touched them with his sword; and they flowed and melted, as

it were, into one, each feeling as though this had been their destiny

from the beginning of things. And now, as the newly-created two-in-one

looked up, behold! the mighty sword of the god hung to a branch of

the beech-tree. He put out his hand, took it down, and with a giant’s

strength, whirled it round his head. A flash of light shone through

the grove, and the newly-formed being felt that he was stronger and

mightier than all mortals, from the rising of the sun to the setting

thereof.

“A foolish dream!” Magus whispered to himself, as he suddenly started

wide awake. He gave his charge, who had begun to stir, a draught of

water, and then fell asleep again.

Euterpe and Diphilus had meanwhile gone away, though the Batavian had

begged them to take a change of clothes and rest under a comfortable

roof for the rest of the night. After Quintus had changed his dress and

refreshed himself with food and drink, he also wished to return home.

But Aurelius detained him.

“Listen,” he said, in a tone of strange timidity: “With regard to our

journey to-morrow to Ostia, I have a proposal to make to you. It is

very true, that the mere fact that I am sending my ship off on her

return to Trajectum is a sufficient reason--still--people might....

To be plain with you, my intimacy with Nerva and Cinna has attracted

notice in certain quarters--I fear I may be watched, and therefore

it would perhaps be better to give the whole affair the aspect of a

pleasure excursion--if you only could persuade your sister, and perhaps

your betrothed to accompany us. I have such a perfect disguise for

Eurymachus, that neither of the young ladies can have the faintest

suspicion. Besides--who troubles himself about a slave? It seems to me

the plan is as admirable as it is simple.”

“It is masterly!” exclaimed Quintus. “Cornelia is crazy about the sea,

and Claudia and Lucilia will have no objections. If only the weather

improves...”

“Oh! the day will be splendid,” said Aurelius, going into the hall.

“The wind has quite gone down, and the clouds are parting. I asked

Magus just now.”

“The idea is delightful. The more openly and boldly we go to work, the

better. About what hour should we start?”

“I thought about three hours after sunrise.”

“Very good. I will let Cornelia and my sisters know; the rest I leave

entirely to you, my dear Caius.”

“You shall not be disappointed,” said Aurelius, radiant with

satisfaction.

“And where shall we meet? Out beyond the tomb of Cestius?”

“It will perhaps be better that you should come here, and we will

proceed all together to the place where vehicles wait; that will look

least suspicious and most natural.”

“So be it: we will go to the gates in a little party. Now farewell--I

am very tired, and wish I had my litter.”

“Shall I...?” Aurelius began.

“I should think so indeed! What! risk all that our exertions have so

far accomplished for the sake of my selfish limbs! Nay, nay. I shall

live through it, never fear. Farewell again, my dear Aurelius.”

The friends embraced. Blepyrus, awakened by Herodianus, who lent him

a dry cloak, came dizzy with sleep, down the corridor and followed

his master with a faint groan. Quintus, in spite of all he had gone

through, walked on fresh and eager, and in five minutes they were at

home.

FOOTNOTES:

[353] THE CLAUDIAN AQUEDUCT (_Aqua Claudia._) Built by the Emperor

Claudius 50 A.D. was twelve miles and a half long, and reached

to Sublaqueum, (now Subiaco.)

[354] AQUA MARCIA. Built 146 B.C. by the Praetor Q. Marcius Rex, was

twelve miles long, and extended to the Sabine Hills. Its water

was considered the best in all Rome. Ruins of it, as well as

of the Aqua Claudia, exist at the present day.

[355] THE LABICANIAN WAY. (_Via Labicana_) led through Toleria,

Ferentinum, Frusino and Fregellae to Teanum (north of Capua)

where it entered the Via Appia.

[356] THE VIA PRAENESTINA was a road for local intercourse. Just

beyond Praeneste (now Palestrina,) it entered (at Toleria) the

Via Labicana.

[357] XYSTUS (Συστός--Hall) the name of the luxuriously-adorned garden

back of the peristyle. See Cic. _Acad._ II, 13.

[358] VELEDA. (Vĕlĕda or Vĕlēda) a German prophetess belonging to the

Bructerian people, took part in the war against Rome under

Civilis (A.D. 69) and afterwards roused her countrymen to another

insurrection, but was captured and dragged to Rome. See Tac.

_Hist._ IV, 61, 65; V, 23, 24, and Tac. _Germ._ 8.

[359] THE GROVE OF NERTHUS. Nerthus, an ancient German divinity,

the personification of mother earth, specially revered in the

north of Germany. Her principal grove was at Rügen.

CHAPTER XXI.

In the house of Cornelius Cinna a slave had just announced that it was

two hours after sunrise.[360] Cinna, though he had slept but badly,

had long been out of bed, he would not, however, receive any of the

numerous visitors, who were enquiring for him in the atrium, but was

pacing the peristyle to and fro with his head sunk on his breast.

Cornelia, who was taking breakfast in the dining-room with Chloe and

one or two slave-girls, sent repeatedly to call her uncle.

“Directly--in a minute,” was all the answer, and Cinna began to walk up

and down the colonnade.

His mind was principally occupied with an incident, which certainly

seemed significant. Shortly before midnight his slave Charicles had

brought him a mysterious note, which had been left with the door-keeper

by a man concealed in a cloak. The paper, which was doubly tied round

for safety, contained but a few words: “You are surrounded by spies; be

on your guard.”

There was no signature, nor did the large thick writing--a feigned

hand no doubt--afford any clew. “Surrounded by spies!” This idea,

stated with such uncompromising plainness, haunted his excited fancy

with urgent persistency. He had long known, that under Domitian’s rule

espionage and underhand reporting everywhere spread their treacherous

snares. And yet it came upon him now, as something impossible and

shocking. In vain he racked his brain to guess who could be the sender

of this mysterious warning, and at last he came to the conclusion, that

the whole thing was perhaps the spiteful jest of some enemy--or a trap

laid by Caesar himself.

While her uncle thus paced the arcade in gloomy displeasure, Cornelia

eat her breakfast in the best of humors. The early day shone so gaily

and invitingly into the room, the air, purified by the night’s rain,

was so sweet! Besides, had not Cornelia, as she thought, the most

particular reasons for seeing the whole world rose-colored to-day? The

soft light in her eyes showed that she had recovered a peace of mind, a

happy confidence, which for some time she had lost entirely.

“Chloe,” she said at last, when the girls had left the room: “Did

you not notice anything yesterday? I mean when I came back into the

sitting-room, after offering sacrifice?”

“Chloe raised her round head on her fat, short neck, and grinned like

a simpleton. Cornelia, who was usually excessively annoyed by this

behavior, seemed on the present occasion to be superior to all petty

vexation. She went on pleasantly enough:

“The faith in the universal Mother has its mysteries. At our third

visit you yourself saw how Barbillus can work by means of his divine

mission. You fell to earth in awe-stricken terror, but the goddess

smiled on you as she did on me, the first time I knelt before her in

the holy of holies. So I venture to tell you, that my heart is full of

unutterable peace and joy. Did you not see yesterday, that I was quite

uplifted with happiness?”

Chloe grinned wider than ever.

“No,” she said with incredible stupidity.

“Then you must be stricken blind. I was almost beside myself; for Isis,

the all-merciful, has bestowed on me the most precious of her gifts.

She promises me protection against every danger, and in proof of her

grace will send her divine brother Osiris to me with a message. He

will lay his hands on my head, and so inspire into me a spark of his

eternal light. Do you comprehend the immensity, the infinitude, of this

celestial mercy? The divine miracle is to be accomplished at the next

new moon, and then no farther penance or sacrifice will be needed. I

shall henceforth be the sealed and adopted daughter of the goddess for

ever.”

Chloe stared blankly in her face. “Yes,” she said, after a few minutes

silence. “Barbillus is a great man! At first there were many things I

thought impossible; but now that I have seen them with my own eyes, I

believe in everything.--Everything, everything! If he were to tell me

he could cut the moon in halves, or bring Berenice’s hair[361] down

from heaven--I should not doubt, I should bow before the magician.”

“Oh! I am so happy!” said Cornelia, while the bright color mounted to

her cheeks. “Only yesterday how sad I was; my heart was darker than the

midnight sky, and the wailing of the storm found an echo in my soul.

Now, to-day, all nature hardly smiles so brightly and happily as my

refreshed and joyful spirit. This excursion to Ostia comes exactly at

the right moment, as if I had planned it myself--it is as if Quintus

had read my inmost soul. I want to be out in the open country by the

everlasting sea, away, far away from this crush of houses.... Ah! and

with him!”

“It is lucky then, that our stern master, your uncle, makes no

difficulties. He is usually averse to all expeditions, which may extend

till nightfall. I almost think he was inclined to say: ‘No.’ It was not

till he heard that Caius Aurelius was to be of the party....”

“It is true,” said Cornelia. “And I myself was surprised to find how he

was silent at once at the name of the Batavian.” She blushed scarlet.

“It almost looks, as if he thought I needed some one to watch my

behavior.”

“It is only that he is anxious,” said Chloe. “And he has a high opinion

of Aurelius.”

“Oh! I know--he has told me often enough. It would be a heaven-sent

boon to him, if I would throw over Quintus and condescend to marry

Aurelius.”

“That would be a bad exchange!” cried Chloe. “The senatorial

purple[362] for the ring of a provincial knight.”

A slave now announced, that Quintus Claudius was waiting in the atrium,

that he sent his greetings, and wished to know whether Cornelia was

ready to start, or whether Claudia and Lucilia should quit their

litters and come into the house. Cornelia started up from her couch and

flew to meet her lover.

“My uncle is in a very bad humor,” she said. “It will be best not to

disturb him. Let us start without any leave-taking.”

“And Chloe?”

“We will leave her at home.”

Quintus smiled; as they stood there in the narrow passage, lighted only

by one small window, he threw his arm round the tall, fine figure and,

unseen by the ostiarius, pressed a burning kiss on her lips--but Chloe

appeared with travelling-cloaks and Tyrian rugs, and the little caravan

set forth at once.

There were four litters, one for each person, followed by a small

escort of slaves. The Numidian guard of the Claudian household, and the

Batavian’s Sicambrians, who were to accompany them into the country,

were awaiting them, mounted on good horses, by the pyramid of Cestius,

where the carriages also were standing.

They first stopped at the house of Aurelius, but here there was no

delay. Hardly had they knocked at the door, when Aurelius came out to

meet his friends, ready to start. He was followed by a litter, in which

lay a fair-haired, weather-beaten, somewhat haggard-looking man.

“This is a seaman, who has brought me news from my native land,” said

Aurelius to the ladies. “In all the wind and rain last night, he came

up from Ostia, and as his ship sails to-day for Parthenope and Greece,

he wants to return to the port as quickly as possible.”

“A fellow-countryman!” exclaimed Quintus. “You Batavians are not too

numerous in Rome, and I can imagine that the meeting must have given

you keen pleasure.”

“Great pleasure!” said Aurelius, as he got into another litter, “though

the worthy Chamavus has found but ill-luck under my roof. Only think,

as he came into the court-yard he slipped on the wet marble flags and

injured his ankle. I begged him to remain and rest, but he assures me

his voyage to Hellas admits of no delay....”

“Poor fellow!” said Lucilia glancing back at the litter. “He does

certainly look very suffering.”

The flaxen-haired German bowed silently to the ladies, and then turned

to Aurelius with a resigned shrug, as though to say, what could not be

cured must be borne.

Meanwhile a crowd of idlers had, as usual, collected round the litters,

and Aurelius felt his anxiety rising at every instant; he spoke almost

angrily to one of the bearers, who could not settle the fastenings of

his scarlet tunic to his satisfaction.

However, they were now fairly off. Past the temple of the Bona Dea[363]

they turned into the Delphian Way,[364] as it was called, and on the

farther side of the Aventine reached the huge monument--then already

a century and a half old--which has survived the storms of so many

historical cataclysms to the present day. At that time the pyramid of

Cestius, cased from top to bottom in white marble, did not present the

dismal aspect it now wears--a pile of weather-stained basalt--standing

in silent dignity on the cemetery-like desert of the Campagna. A busy

population stirred at its foot, and the morning sun shone brightly

on the gilt inscription, which recorded that the deceased had been

Praetor, Tribune, and member of the body of High Priests.

On the eastern side was a second inscription, less monumental and

imposing than that on the north, but to Quintus and Aurelius of the

most pressing interest. There was there an “_album_,” as it was

called, one of the large square stones on which public announcements

or notices were written, and here, in tall, red letters, the following

advertisement might be read:

“Stephanus, the Empress’ steward, advertises for his escaped slave,

Eurymachus. Whoever brings back the fugitive, dead or alive, will

receive a reward of five hundred thousand sesterces. Eurymachus is tall

and slight, lean and pale, with dark eyes and black hair. His back

bears the scars of many floggings. In escaping, he is reported to have

injured his foot.”

The statement of the reward stood out bright and fresh, while the rest

was somewhat washed out; the sum was increased every day, and had been

doubled since the previous evening. Magus and Blepyrus made every

conceivable effort to clear a way through the mass of people[365] that

crowded round this notice, and almost blocked the whole width of the

road, shouting and gesticulating. In vain; the mob were so possessed by

the one idea, that they had neither eyes nor ears for anything else.

“Five hundred thousand sesterces!”

“More than a knight’s portion!”[366]

“And how long ago did it happen?”

“Four days.”

“Impossible!”

“He must be above ground.”

“Bah--he has some patron who hides him.”

_Pros_ and _cons_ were discussed in loud confusion; the cries of the

two slaves were lost in the storm of voices, and the procession came to

a stand-still in the midst of the chaos.

“Use your elbows,” said Aurelius in Gothic. Magus faced about with a

shrug, as much as to say there was indeed nothing else to be done.

Then, with a contemptuous glance at the mob, above which he towered,

with slow but irresistible force he elbowed his way.

“He works like a flail!” cried one, and “Oh! my ribs!” wailed another.

“They are the daughters of Titus Claudius.”

“What do I care? the road is for every one.”

“Certainly--for all alike. Let those who want to go on, get out and

walk if the crowd is too great; it is only a hundred steps to the

chariots.”

“Aye, get out!” cried a chorus. “We have as good a right to be here as

our betters. Get out! Get out!”

The mob closed upon them threateningly from both sides; Quintus

Claudius turned pale. If he could not succeed in scaring off the

people, and if this irresponsible populace insisted on having their

own way, all must be lost. The lame foot of the pretended seaman

must inevitably attract the attention and rouse the suspicion of a

rabble, whose heads were full of the notice and description before

them--discovery was inevitable.

With a leap Quintus Claudius was standing on his feet, and went forward

with calm dignity to face the tumult.

“What do you want?” he asked sternly. “Why do you dare to stop the

public way?”

His cool self-possession worked wonders--their noisy audacity was

quelled.

“Make way,” continued Claudius, while a faint flush rose to his brow.

“I, Quintus Claudius, the friend of Caesar, command you.”

“Not Caesar himself would let our ribs be battered,” shrieked a

croaking voice.

But the excuse came too late. Whether it was Caesar’s name, or the

imposing and attractive presence of the young patrician, who stood

unapproachable as an avenging Apollo, looking calmly on the tumult of

his antagonists--the crowd parted with a dull murmur, and the road was

free. Quintus and Aurelius had some difficulty in dissembling their joy.

“Stupid creatures!” said Lucilia. “What queer fancies men take.”

Cornelia smiled with an expression of supreme contempt. Nothing should

have induced her to walk, she said, and she would have liked to see any

one try to make her.

They safely reached the spot on the road to Ostia, where the chariots

awaited them. Here again they found an excited crowd. Driving inside

the city walls was prohibited by day, and they here found not only the

carriages of the wealthier citizens, but vehicles for hire in numbers,

from the lightest chariots to the heaviest conveyances for travelling

or pleasure parties. The drivers noisily and vehemently offered their

services to the passers-by, while sellers of eatables and cooling

drinks carried their baskets round with monotonous cries, and eating

and drinking went on in the arbors by the roadside. Laughter and song,

scolding and cursing were audible in a variety of tones.

The party of excursionists got into a large four-wheeled chariot[367]

belonging to Caius Aurelius. The fugitive was helped by Blepyrus and

Magus into a two-wheeled vehicle, known as a cisium,[368] which stood

somewhat apart loaded with provisions,[369] but which had room on its

back-seat not only for Eurymachus, but for his two faithful assistants.

“He insisted on it,” said the Batavian to Lucilia; “the worthy man was

anxious not to intrude on our party.”

“That was very wise of him,” replied Lucilia. “He is better off in a

provision wagon with Magus and Blepyrus, than in the most splendid

chariot--and really, here with us there is scarcely room for

him.--Besides, it would seem he brought no slaves with him from Ostia?”

“All the crew were indispensable on board,” replied Aurelius coloring

slightly.

Quintus felt that Aurelius could not carry on the deception any

farther, without involving himself in inextricable discrepancies. He

tried to divert the conversation into a less dangerous channel, and

soon succeeded in so completely engaging the gay Lucilia’s talent

for repartee, that the second vehicle and the traveller in it seemed

entirely forgotten.

With eight Numidians as outriders, the little party made their way

smoothly and unhindered along the fine high-road. The Sicambrians

followed as a rear-guard. That valiant equestrian, Herodianus, who had

been quite upset by his deeds of prowess the night before, remained at

home against his usual custom.

Now again Quintus glanced back at Eurymachus, who had maintained a

quite marvellous composure during the scene at the pyramid of Cestius.

His disguise was, in fact, most successful. None but the most practised

eye, or the scrutiny of the most suspicious, could have detected the

pale, enfeebled fugitive under the fair, curling hair and tanned,

weather-beaten face of the mariner.

The Cappadocian horses made a good pace. In an hour and a quarter they

had reached the little town of Ficana,[370] and as soon as they had

passed it they saw the marshes, which here border the coast of Latium

and the distant houses of the seaport.

During their rapid drive they had overtaken several carriages and

horsemen, and now the Numidian vanguard galloped past a man, whose

light travelling-cloak hung carelessly over his shoulders, while a

broad Thessalian hat[371] shaded his face from the sun, and who sat

his horse comfortably rather than rigidly. Two slaves trotted by his

side on mules. As the carriage gained upon him he turned his head, and

Lucilia exclaimed:

“See, Quintus! there is Cneius Afranius!”

Quintus was unpleasantly startled, for he knew how keen the eye of the

lawyer was, and how great his skill in solving the riddle of the most

involved mystery. But a glance at Caius Aurelius reassured him.

“You know,” said Aurelius, “that his mother lives at Ostia. Besides,”

he added in a whisper, “even if he were to notice ... I pledge my word,

that Afranius will not betray us.”

The carriage had now overtaken the rider. Afranius, surprised and

delighted, waved a well-shaped, though rather large hand, and set spurs

in his horse in order to keep up with the carriage. His horse jibbed

and resisted a little, but then fell into a steady canter.

“What an unexpected meeting!” cried Afranius. “Are you going to Ostia?”

“As you see,” replied Quintus.

“My trireme sails to-night,” said the Batavian gaily. “I am staying

longer in Rome than I had intended, so I am sending it back--home to

Trajectum. Our friends here have come with me for the sake of the

delightful expedition. What a splendid day it is!”

Afranius nodded the Thessalian hat.

“Quite delightful!” said Lucilia.

“And you, my worthy friend Cneius,” continued the Batavian, “what

brings you here to Ostia? Do you suffer from your old longing to

embrace your mother? Are you--escaping the noise of the city? Or have

you business to attend to.”

“Something of all three. I am riding out as much from duty as for

pleasure. You know of my proceedings against Stephanus, Domitia’s

steward. All I have hitherto been able to do has been in vain; but now,

at last, a person whose name I will for the present keep to myself,

has revealed to me certain facts which very probably--well, I will say

no more. But at any rate I propose this very day to hear what certain

citizens of Ostia have to say. If only I could get at all the witnesses

equally easily, then indeed--or at any rate one, the most important of

all. Unfortunately I see no hope for it.”

“Why!” asked Quintus.

“Because he has vanished and left no trace.”

“Then have him hunted up,” said Lucilia.

“Others are doing that already. Perhaps there were never before so

many persons in search of one escaped slave, as there are after this

wretched Eurymachus.”

Quintus turned pale, and even Aurelius felt a certain embarrassment at

the sound of that name.

“But how is it,” asked Quintus, “that Eurymachus did not long since

deliver his testimony? What can have induced him to spare his

prosecutor?”

“Eurymachus did not learn the facts he now knows, till within a few

days of his flight, and it was his highly inconvenient knowledge which

gave cause for his sentence of death.”

“But he might have spoken some days before his escape.”

“Nay, but he could not; he lay in chains with a gag in his mouth, that

might have smothered the voice of Stentor.”

“And are you certain,” persisted Aurelius, “that your informant did not

deceive you?”

“Perfectly certain. So certain, that I would pay down five hundred

thousand sesterces on the spot in hard cash--only unfortunately I do

not own so much--if only I could have that daring rascal under my hand

for five minutes. It is humiliating! Bah! Why need I lose my temper

for nothing? He is safe on shore, by this time, at Utica[372] or

Nicopolis[373] and I am heartily glad to think so. I only hope, that at

the critical moment Stephanus may not follow his example. I am afraid,

that model of all the civic virtues knows his way too, to foreign

shores!”

And he set spurs into his horse, as if suddenly pressed by some

urgent business. His thoughts had involuntarily reverted to that

greater Stephanus, whose misdeeds had filled an empire with horror. He

reflected on the boldly-planned conspiracy, of which the failure would

clear the way for Domitia’s minion, since it must inevitably lead to

the death, or at least the banishment, of his accuser. All the more

prompt and resolute then must their immediate action be against the

steward. Perhaps some combination might be devised which, come what

might, would be fatal to that criminal, whatever the issue might be

as regarded Domitian, and such a plot and attack on Stephanus would

have this additional advantage: that his foes would appear politically

guiltless. Every one must confess, that a man who could fight so

vigorously for distinction in the forum, could not at the same time be

forging plots, which might risk his whole career.

The lawyer’s last words had greatly disturbed and agitated Aurelius,

and he appeared to be on the point of whispering something to Quintus.

He thought better of it, however, and asked Cneius Afranius how it

happened that Fabulla, his respected mother, still remained in Ostia in

spite of the advanced season.

“It is strange, is it not?” answered Afranius. “With the metropolis of

the world so near, to be so indifferent to it! Quite like Diogenes!”

“Has she never been to Rome?”

“Never once. She is accustomed to the quiet of Rodumna, and devoted to

a country life, and she holds the City of the Seven Hills in invincible

aversion. Ostia appeared to offer a suitable suburban residence; a

cousin of hers, who has been staying in Egypt since March, has a small

estate there, which she is taking care of in his absence, and is as

happy doing it as Diana on the hill-tops; all the more so, as she

fancies she would be a hindrance to my advancement, if she lived with

me in Rome. However, when I am fairly launched and settled, I shall

insist on her coming.”

“I understand,” said Aurelius; and he thought to himself: “You are

waiting till our plot succeeds--or fails.”

Quintus, who was still very anxious lest Afranius might ride too

near to the disguised slave, and ask him unpleasant questions--though

there was nothing to fear from the advocate--did his best to engage

his friend’s attention. He alluded to the last speech he had delivered

before the centumvirate, paying him many polite compliments, which the

other laughingly disclaimed; then the cause itself was discussed, and

their debate became eager and almost business-like.

Cornelia had been unusually talkative; not long before Afranius had

joined them she had, with considerable humor, given an account of an

excursion to Pandataria,[374] that she had made not long since from

Sinuessa,[375] with her uncle and the Senator Sextus Furius. Claudia

and Lucilia too had chatted and laughed; only the two young men had

been silent. Now the parts had suddenly changed, and Lucilia was almost

cross, particularly as the lawyer, on his bony grey steed, would

persist in talking to Quintus and Aurelius, instead of addressing

Cornelia and Claudia as politeness required--not to mention herself;

though even she, as it seemed to her, did not look so very badly

to-day; for Baucis had coiled her hair with unprecedented skill and

precision, and her new gold pin, with a handsome ruby head, suited her

dark hair to admiration. To be sure, it was a pity that the careful

folds in which she had arranged her stola to fall over her ankles could

not be appreciated, while she sat in the carriage half covered by

Cornelia’s fuller draperies...!

“Listen, Quintus,” she began, as her brother was again on the point

of addressing Afranius: “You are frightfully uninteresting to-day. For

the whole way you have hardly spoken a hundred words, and now, when

Afranius has at last roused you from your drowsy dulness, you can talk

of nothing but lawsuits.”

“You cannot imagine,” said Claudia with a sly glance at Lucilia, “what

a sworn foe she is to all that concerns lawsuits. The mere name of the

Centumvirate cuts her to the heart, and if she hears of a speech being

made which lasts more than two, or at the outside three hours by the

water-clock,[376] she faints outright.”

Lucilia had colored scarlet.

“You are quite mistaken,” she cried eagerly. “But everything at the

proper time! On the contrary, I am devoted to the pursuit of law and

justice, but not under this glorious sun and within sight of the sea.

The sins and strife of men belong to the Forum, to the Basilica, to the

Senate-house. Here, where all is bright and beautiful, I expect gay

conversation and happy laughter.”

“She is right,” said Cornelia.

Afranius drew himself up to a rigid and military bearing.

“I crave your forgiveness, stern judge!” he said with mock gravity.

“I am greatly grieved to have offended against so wise a clause in

your code of social morals. I have justly merited your lecture, and

could do no less than take myself off, if I were not humbly resolved

to earn your forgiveness by proving my sincere penitence--how sincere

you will see by my entertaining and amiable behavior for the future.

I only crave that you will grant me the opportunity of showing my

repentance.... Do me the favor then of allowing me to invite you, one

and all, to pay a visit to my mother’s little country-house. I can

promise you, that you will be charmed, enchanted, inspired! It is a

tiny villa, but in the loveliest garden--quiet, rural, idyllic. The

muraena and Lucrine oyster are unknown there, to be sure, but as for

salads--lettuces as big as....” and with a flourish of his hand he

described a vast circle in the air--“true Cappadocians, though grown

at Ostia; and fresh eggs, pears as yellow as wax, and mighty loaves of

country bread. A few pigeons or chickens are soon cooked.... You spoilt

town’s-folk will positively revel in this rural simplicity! Then there

are the alleys, where vines hang in wreaths from the trellis...!”

“It is heavenly!” cried Claudia, again glancing knowingly at Lucilia.

“Quintus, we must really accept so tempting an invitation.”

“With pleasure; but first....”

“I understand,” interrupted Afranius. “I too must first attend to

business here. But listen to what I propose. I will first conduct these

ladies to my mother’s house, and then I will fly on the wings of the

wind to speak to the good citizens of Ostia. You meanwhile....”

“Nay, that will not do,” interrupted Aurelius. “Before my trireme

weighs anchor, I have a communication to make to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes, to you. A communication of the greatest importance, in connection

with your action against Stephanus. Allow me, therefore, to amend your

proposal. Write a few words of explanation to your mother on your wax

tablets, and give it to your slave to deliver; he may then conduct the

ladies. The men on horseback can escort them to her house, and then put

up at the nearest tavern. You, meanwhile, accompany us to the ship.

And,” he added after a pause for reflection as to what fiction he might

put forward to the three girls, “we will, at the same time, see my

fellow-countryman, the seaman from Trajectum, on board his own vessel,

which is to sail to-day for the East.”

“Which seaman?” asked the lawyer looking round.

“That I will explain presently.”

“Well, whatever is agreeable to the ladies, is agreeable to me....”

“Oh! we are in the country here,” said Cornelia, “and may dispense with

ceremony. Only your mother will be startled....”

“Delighted, you mean. She can wish for no more agreeable surprise.”

“So be it then!” cried Aurelius; “and when all is settled, we will join

the festivities.”

The first houses of Ostia were now visible on either hand, and the

bustle and stir in the road grew busier. Seamen of every nation,

fishermen with red worsted caps, porters, and barrowmen, pushed and

crowded each other. In five minutes they had reached the quay; at the

farther end of the mole lay the trireme, gaily dressed with flags, and

towering majestically above the fishing vessels and barges. The young

men got out, and the carriage rolled away, escorted by the Sicambrians

and Numidians, as far as the embowered villa, which it reached in a few

minutes.

FOOTNOTES:

[360] A SLAVE HAD JUST ANNOUNCED, THAT IT WAS TWO HOURS AFTER

SUNRISE. In aristocratic families the hours of the day were

announced by a slave, kept specially for this purpose.

[361] BERENICE’S HAIR. A constellation, so called from the

glittering hair of Berenice, daughter of Magas of Cyrene. See

Cat. 66.

[362] THE SENATORIAL PURPLE. From ancient times the privilege of

wearing a broad purple stripe upon the edge of the toga was

one of the distinctions of the Roman senators. The second

class (_equites_) among other prerogatives, possessed the

right to wear a gold ring on the finger. But at a very early

period abuse of this privilege crept in, until members of the

third class, nay, even freedmen, presumed to assume this badge

of honor. The severest punishments, such as confiscation of

property, etc., could not prevent the misdemeanor. At the time

of my story, the gold ring was actually as common as the use

of the “von” in addressing simple citizens in Austria at the

present day. See Mart. _Ep._ XI, 37, where the freedman Zoilus

ventures to don a huge gold ring. The ring worn by Caius

Aurelius--though legitimately his--must therefore have seemed

all the more contemptible, in comparison with the senatorial

purple. By the way, it may be said, that in the time of

Tiberius the use of the purple was also abused. See Dio Cass.

LVII, 13.

[363] THE BONA DEA. A somewhat mystical divinity, allied with the

Ops, the Fauna, and the Hellenic Demeter. Her temple stood on

the northeastern slope of the Aventine Hill.

[364] THE DELPHIAN WAY, (_Clivus Delphini_), led from the Circus

Maximus to the Porta Raudusculana.

[365] CLEAR A WAY THROUGH THE MASS OF PEOPLE. When people of

distinction went out, this making a way through the crowd was

often done with much ostentation, but it was always the duty

of a few slaves to walk before their masters, and thus smooth

the way for them.

[366] KNIGHT’S PORTION. 400,000 sesterces.

[367] A LARGE FOUR-WHEELED CHARIOT. Allusion is here made to

the _rheda_ (the travelling-coach) or the _carruca_ (a

comfortable, nay, magnificent equipage).

[368] CISIUM. Such two-wheeled cabriolets were principally used when

the greatest speed was desired. (See Cic., _Rosc.: cisiis

pervolavit_)

[369] LOADED WITH PROVISIONS. Aristocratic Romans, even on short

journeys, carried a large quantity of baggage, principally

table furniture and provisions, for the taverns so often

mentioned were intended exclusively for the lower classes.

[370] FICANA..A small town half-way between Ostia and Rome.

[371] THESSALIAN HAT. This was worn principally in travelling.

Thessalia was the name given to the eastern part of northern

Greece.

[372] UTICA. A city on the coast of the province of Africa, north of

Tunis.

[373] NICOPOLIS. A city of Epirus, at the entrance of the Ambracian

Gulf, opposite Actium.

[374] PANDATARIA. An island in the Tyrrhenian sea, opposite to the

Gulf of Gaeta.

[375] SINUESSA. A city on the Gulf of Gaeta.

[376] THE WATER-CLOCK (_clepsydra_) served as a measure of time,

especially in affairs connected with the administration of

justice. A water-clock usually ran about twenty minutes.

CHAPTER XXII.

“Do not be uneasy, Quintus,” Aurelius whispered, as Cneius Afranius

dismounted and threw the bridle to his slave. “By all the gods, this

man is as trustworthy as you and I are! It would be perfect madness,

not to give him an opportunity for an interview with Eurymachus.

His fight with Stephanus is in the interest of common humanity, and

particularly in that of our protégé.”

“It is all the same; I do not like the business at all.”

“Then, so far as you personally are concerned, you can keep altogether

aloof.”

Quintus looked enquiringly at him.

“Why are you so surprised?” Aurelius continued. “It seems to me a very

simple matter. I will put myself forward as his protector, and you can

play the part of entire innocence. You need not frown, as if I had

suggested some cowardly action; if the whole matter ever comes to be

known, it will make wonderfully little difference, whether Afranius is

in possession of the whole or only of half the truth. You will save

yourself nothing but immediate embarrassment. I, for my part, am so

perfectly intimate with Afranius, so completely his friend....”

“If you suppose....”

“Only explain the case to your slave, Blepyrus. He must not be

implicated. Your best way to avoid difficulties will be not to come on

board. I could not even have invited you to come on with me, if I had

not felt it a duty to inform you of my intentions.”

Quintus nodded.

“Very good,” he said thoughtfully. “Then tell our friend, Eurymachus,

not to mention my name. I, meanwhile, will part from Afranius as though

I had business to attend to, and I will wait for you on shore. How long

will you remain on board?”

“Twenty minutes. Afranius must get through his examination as quickly

as possible.”

This brief dialogue had been carried on in haste and in a whisper.

Afranius had been giving instructions to his slave, as to how to treat

his hired nag, which was somewhat overtired, and he now joined Quintus,

while Aurelius hurried off to the two slaves, who carried, rather

than led, Eurymachus. Three words sufficed to explain the situation.

The wounded man cast a look of mournful gratitude at his preserver,

Quintus, who bowed to him with feigned indifference; then he released

Blepyrus, and rested his arm on the Batavian’s shoulder. Blepyrus

turned to follow his master, who went off with long strides landwards

along the high-street.

By every human calculation the perilous work was now happily finished;

all the rest might be considered and carried out at leisure. If

Stephanus could be really unmasked in all his villany, they might yet

succeed in bending the severity of the law in procuring the fugitive’s

return, and in securing him the happiness of a free and independent

existence. Quintus drew a deep breath; that would be a worthy end to

his bold beginning. He felt that Eurymachus, now that he had seen

him again, was far more to him than a high-souled slave. He felt a

spiritual sympathy, a sort of ideal friendship for him, like that of a

disciple for his master. His last struggle to resist the overpowering

urgency of this sentiment had died effete.

After walking about ten minutes, Quintus turned back again, and just as

he reached the strand the boat came to shore with Afranius, Aurelius,

and the Goth. Eurymachus, then, was safe on board, and if the lawyer’s

radiant expression did not belie him, his interview with the fugitive

had yielded a rich harvest. As the men stepped on land, he turned

eagerly to Aurelius and asked him when the trireme was to start.

“Everything was made ready yesterday,” replied Aurelius. “In five

minutes they will be off with all the oars plied.”

He looked across the waters, and raised his right hand to wave a

farewell.

“Good-luck go with you!” he said in a low voice, but loud enough for

Quintus to hear him. “Greet Trajectum fondly from me.”

In a few minutes the trireme began to move. Slowly at first she made

her way through the crowd of merchant and fishing-vessels, which lay at

anchor. But the captain’s hammer-strokes beat faster and faster, and

the oars dipped deeper and more strongly in the dashing waves. Now,

gliding past the jetty at the end of the quay, the trireme was afloat

on the open sea, and rode the broad blue waters like a swan. The men

still stood gazing after the proud and beautiful vessel--Aurelius,

for his part, not altogether without a vague and melancholy homesick

feeling. Although he knew, that within a few hours the trireme would

turn aside from her course and steer for the roads of Antium, still,

the dear north-country and the image of the mother he had left behind

him, suddenly seemed brought nearer to him. He had but spoken the name

of his home--but it had filled his soul with yearning. He thought of

the immediate future.--Ere long he too might be a fugitive, weary

and persecuted like Eurymachus, escaping on board that very ship,

and thanking the gods if he might only flee unrecognized. And then

Rome, and all that it contained of dear and fair, would be closed

against him forever. All--Claudia? the thought sank down on his soul

like lead. Claudia in Rome, and he hundreds of miles away, with the

fearful certainty of never seeing her again! But if she loved him--then

indeed...! If she would follow him, as Peponilla[377] had followed

her banished husband, amid the ice-hills of Scandia, or on the barren

shores of Thule,[378] spring would blossom for him more exquisite

than the rose-gardens of Paestum! But what was there to justify his

hopes of such immeasurable happiness? She had given him proofs of her

friendship, no doubt, and when he was reading the Thebais, or when he

spoke to her of his northern home, she had a way of listening--it had

often brought light and warmth to his soul like a ray of promise--but

then the revulsion had been all the more violent; her greeting would

sound distant and measured, her smile would seem cold and haughty. Oh!

if only he might have time to conquer this indifference.

But a voice was now calling him to the scene of action, and if

that action were to result in failure!--He almost regretted having

so unresistingly yielded to the eloquence of Cinna and to his own

passionate patriotism--though indeed, as he told himself, his eager

passion for Claudia was not the least of the motives that urged him to

action, nay, but for that passion he might still have been hesitating.

As it was, it had dragged him with the force of a possession into the

whirlpool of conspiracy. He longed to stand before her--his chosen

love--as a victor over tyranny, as a liberator of the empire, and say

to her: “Now, noble heart, I may sue for thy love, for I have a grand

advocate in the gratitude of my country.”

All this swept through his mind like a waking dream, as he gazed in

silence at the immeasurable sea. Then, coming to himself, and turning

round, his eyes met those of Quintus. They were the very eyes--those

dear, beautiful, unforgettable eyes--of his loved Claudia, only less

sweetly thoughtful, less tenderly dreamy. Suddenly his resolve was

taken. As soon as it should be possible, this very day if it might be,

he would learn his fate from the woman he loved, and make an end of

this miserable uncertainty.

“Was all prepared?” asked Quintus, as Cneius Afranius withdrew to one

side and wrote some notes on his tablets.

“All quite ready,” replied Aurelius. “He will be cared for, as if he

were my own brother.”

“And what did he tell Afranius?”

“I do not know; they were alone together. Afranius begged to keep it

secret, until he had everything ready to complete his case against

Stephanus.”

Afranius seemed to be entirely absorbed in thinking over what he had

learnt on board the trireme, and Aurelius had to call him twice by

name, before he roused him from his reverie.

They were now walking along the quay in the direction previously taken

by the chariot The two-wheeled cisium, which had been waiting on the

opposite side of the market-place in front of a tavern, followed them

with Magus and Blepyrus, while Afranius’ slave led the grey hack and

his own mule.

“What a tremendous crowd and bustle!” exclaimed the lawyer. “Not such

an emporium as Puteoli, to be sure, but busy enough and not less

noisy! Look at that barge with those gigantic blocks of marble--each

big enough to fill an average store-room! And there--that is really

stupendous!”

He pointed to a spot on the quay, where the crowd was thickest. A

crane there stood up, from which a gigantic rhinoceros was hanging in

mid-air, supported by broad bands and girths.

“A cargo of beasts for the centennial games,”[379] said Quintus.

“There, to the left, are a dozen of iron cages ready to receive them.

Half Asia and Africa have been plundered for the amphitheatres.”

They went nearer, for an interest in wild beasts was a natural

instinct, in all who had ever breathed the air of Rome. The hum and

clatter of the seaport were dully drowned now and again by a hoarse

roar--the growl of one of the lions from Gaetulia, restlessly pacing

up and down behind the bars of their prison, which had just been landed.

“That is something like a cageful!” said the Batavian.

“The freight of two vessels,” remarked Quintus, glancing at the

two large ships, one of which had already unloaded and gone to its

moorings. “Our gladiators may pray for good-luck.”

Another deep roar, as wild and hungry as ever resounded through the

midnight desert, drowned his voice. They were now within a few paces of

the landing-place, and from hence they could command a complete view of

the enormous array of cages, loaded on low trucks, which were waiting

to be transported to their destination by road. Hyrcanian tigers

pressed their glossy striped coats against the iron bars; Cantabrian

bears, standing on their hind legs, poked their sharp muzzles between

the railings; leopards from Mauritania, hyænas, panthers and lynxes

gnashed their blood-thirsty jaws; aurochs and buffaloes whetted their

sheathless horns, or stared in lazy indifference on the strange

surroundings. There were a few rhinoceroses too, a great rarity at

Rome; and some enormous crocodiles, which excited the astonishment and

curiosity of the maritime populace. Farther off, fastened together in

long rows, were numbers of wild asses from the hills of Numidia, wild

horses, giraffes and zebras; for even such beasts as these had their

part in the mighty fights in the Flavian amphitheatre.

Quintus and Aurelius lounged idly towards the cages, while Afranius

studied the movements of the crane, which was now beginning to lower

the grotesque monster. The two young men came to a stand in front of a

lion of unusual size, which was snorting at the bars of its cage, and

standing in a haughty and threatening attitude, its head and tangled

mane held high in the air. It was, in fact, the same beast as had just

now sent out that terrific roar. His keeper, leaning against the corner

of the cage at a respectful distance, had tried to coax and pacify the

brute, and as the two gentlemen approached the cage he respectfully

withdrew to one side. The lion watched him as he moved, and then, as he

turned his head and perceived the two strangers so close to the bars,

he drew back a pace as if startled, bellowed out for the third time his

thundering and appalling roar; and blind with fury, rushed at the iron

railing.

Quintus and Aurelius smiled and looked at each other--but they had both

turned pale at the brute’s unexpected onslaught.

“He seems to have some personal objection to me,” said Quintus. “His

fiery glare is steadily fixed on me. My word! but it increases my

respect for our gladiators; to stand face to face with such a beast in

the arena, must have an unpleasant effect on the nerves. Here we see

nature in all its unmitigated ferocity.”

The lion was, in fact, standing with a burning eye fixed on Quintus, as

though in him he recognized an old enemy.

“Let us go,” said the young man, frowning. “It is only a dumb,

unconscious brute, and I am ashamed to have been so shaken by his mere

roar. Aye, blink away, you hairy old villain. Thirty inches of steel

between your ribs will reduce even you to silence, and that must be

your fate at last, however wildly you may rage and foam over bleeding

men first.”

“That is a thorough bad one,” said the negro keeper, who spoke Latin

with difficulty. “I have tamed more than fifty; but all trouble is

thrown away on this one. He is one of the mountain lions, and his

father was a magician. I saw that at once, when the hunters brought

him, that black tuft on his forehead shows it plainly.”

And, in fact, a tangled lock of black hair hung from the brute’s mane

between his eyes.

“Is it your business to tame lions?” asked Quintus.

“I tame the mildest, and the fierce ones are kept for the fights. I

have brought up three tame ones for the centennial games--as high as

this--and they do the most wonderful things that have ever been shown

in Rome. They take live hares[380] in their jaws and carry them three

times round the arena, without even squeezing them.”

But Quintus was not listening; he had turned away. The brute’s scowl,

as he kept his glaring eyes fixed on him, filled him with an uneasy

feeling. Cneius Afranius appealed to him, too--with a pressing

reminder, that a welcome was awaiting him--not to forget the young

ladies and his mother in favor of rhinoceroses and giraffes; so they

got away from the crowd and back to the high-road, where the chariot

was waiting with the slaves.

The venerable Fabulla had received her guests at the garden gate, and

had conducted them with repeated effusions of delight and gratitude

to her pretty little house, almost hidden among olives and holm oaks,

and bowered in ivy and vines. Here the young girls were seated under

an autumn-tinted arbor-porch, and helped themselves to the grapes

which hung within reach overhead. In front of them, on a round-table

of pine-wood, stood a wicker basket of sweet-smelling wheat-bread, a

half-emptied bowl of milk, and a dish of apples and pears. Near them

lay a distaff, tied round with scarlet ribbons, and a spindle, for

Fabulla was never for an instant idle, and spun her yarn even in the

presence of such illustrious strangers.

“Children,” said Cneius Afranius, “this is the true Elysium.... The

shade, the dull green of the olives, the vine-garlands, the delicious

air, the fresh milk--it is superb! But to feel fully equipped for the

enjoyment of it all, I must first get rid of all my business; for the

present, then, I leave you to your fate. I must drink a cup of this

milk--and then farewell. We shall live to meet again! Within an hour I

shall be here again.” And with the tragic air of an actor playing the

dying Socrates, he took up one of the red clay cups and solemnly lifted

it to his lips.

“Stop, stop!” cried the good mistress. “You are taking mistress

Lucilia’s cup.”

“Ah!” cried Afranius, replacing the cup he had drained on the table

with mock penitence. “Mistress Lucilia will not be too severe, I hope,

to forgive the mistake on the ground of my thirst and absence of

mind.... Mother, your cows are improving, decidedly improving. Never

did this nectar taste so truly Olympian as to-day. Great Pan himself

must bless them.”[381]

And with these words he quitted them.

When Quintus and Aurelius had also refreshed themselves, they all rose

to wander through the garden under Fabulla’s guidance. Quintus and

Cornelia led the way, followed by Aurelius and Claudia. The mistress

of the house came last with Lucilia, who was in the highest spirits,

and never tired of praising the beautiful curly kale and the splendid

heads of lettuce, or of singing fantastical rhapsodies in praise of the

autumn pears and late figs. She had at once detected the happy pride,

with which Fabulla regarded the pretty little estate, a pride which

found an unmistakable echo in Afranius’ jesting praises. A strange

impulse prompted her to humor this natural vanity, and give the worthy

lady, whom she found particularly attractive, a simple and genuine

pleasure. At the bottom of her heart agriculture and horticulture

were as absolutely indifferent to her as any other form of human

industry; but she had a happy gift of throwing herself into sympathy

with every sphere of feeling. She spoke with delight of the charms of

a country-life, and declared quite seriously, that the noise of the

city was irritating and exhausting--an assertion to which her blooming

appearance emphatically gave the lie.

Fabulla was perfectly enchanted with the girl’s ways and manners; she

had never thought it possible, that so fresh, sweet, and unpretending

a creature could come out of Rome--that den of wickedness and

perversion--still less out of the house of a Senator, and under the

very thunder-bolts, so to speak, of the Capitoline Jupiter. She took

the bright, young creature to her heart with all the fervor of a

convert; all the more eagerly because Claudia, though beautiful, was

somewhat taciturn, and Cornelia, with all her graciousness, was still

the unapproachable great lady, mysteriously shut up within an invisible

wall against the advances of strangers.

Lucilia was, in fact, absolutely overflowing with amiability and

graciousness. When, after a quarter of an hour of wandering, Fabulla

explained that she must now go indoors to make some arrangements for

their mid-day meal, Lucilia begged to be allowed to make herself

of use, and to take the opportunity for seeing the kitchen, the

store-rooms, and the slaves’ apartments. Fabulla was enchanted;

she pressed a kiss on her new friend’s brow, and said in a tone of

melancholy:

“You are just like-my sweet Erotion![382] She was not so pretty as you

are, to be sure, nor so elegant, but her eyes were like yours, and

she was just as bright, and had the same love for the garden and for

house-keeping.--Ah! and such a good heart! How often have I dreamed

of future happiness for her when she has come, tired out with play,

and sat on my lap and laid her head on my breast. Then she would go to

sleep, and I would sing some old song, and sit dreaming and hoping till

darkness fell. But the gods would not have it so! A handful of ashes in

a marble urn is all that is left me of my sweet little girl.”

She ceased speaking, and wiped her kind, honest eyes with the back of

her hand. Lucilia gazed thoughtfully at the ground.

“It is a long time since,” Fabulla added presently. “Twenty-two years

next March; but every now and then a feeling comes over me, as if I had

lost the dear child only yesterday.”

“Poor mother!” sighed Lucilia.

Fabulla affectionately stroked her thick, waving hair.

“Do not mind me!” she said; “such dismal reflections do not suit well

with the gaiety of youth.”

“Mirth and sadness dwell side by side,” replied Lucilia, “and to enjoy

what is pleasant and endure what is sorrowful is the only sensible way.”

Then they went on between the box-hedged garden-beds.

The two couples meanwhile had wandered apart. Quintus and Cornelia were

sitting at the farthest side of the orchard, on a rough stone bench

in the deepest shade of the fruit trees, while Aurelius and Claudia

remained meditatively pacing up and down the main walk.

“How happy I feel!” said Cornelia. “Quintus, my dear love, what more

has the world to offer us? If it will only leave us undisturbed, so

that we may enjoy the gifts of the gods in peace! But you are very

silent, my dearest; must I wake you from your dreams with a kiss? Has

happiness struck you dumb? Only think--before the year is out I shall

be your wife! Yes, your wife; and I may call you my own forever. I need

never give you up again, as I must now, when every hour of happiness

ends in a parting.”

She clung fondly to him, and looked into his face with radiant

devotion. Her eyes glowed with feeling, and the fair marble of her

throat and arms gleamed so softly bright, that Quintus, overcome by the

inspiration of the moment, clasped her passionately in his arms, and

their lips met in a long and eager kiss.

“Cornelia--fairest and dearest of mortal creatures!” he whispered

tenderly, as she released herself, “you draw the very soul out of my

body with your perfect, heaven-sent love! Oh! my sweetheart, I too can

picture no purer or more noble delight, than that of living one in

spirit and hope with you. Aye, Cornelia, I am weary of the bustle of

this fevered world, of the vacuous comedy of ambition, of dominion,

of all this parcel-gilt vulgarity. I long for rest and solitude in a

peaceful home. I ask no splendor, no pomp of triumphs, nor lictors with

their fasces. I only want to be at peace with myself--I only seek that

glorious harmony, which reconciles all the discords of life. And that

peace, that respite and rest, I hope to find with you, my sweetest

Cornelia.”

“My whole being, body and soul, are yours,” replied Cornelia. “Do what

you will with me. If love can bring peace, your hopes must certainly be

fulfilled. But tell me, my dearest, do you really so utterly contemn

fame and glory? Will you never make any effort to attain what, merely

as a Claudian, you must desire: the triumph of an immortal name? Are

peace and the joys of love so absolutely antagonistic to the winning of

laurels? Do not yet abandon the post, where the gods have placed you.

Be all they have created you to be: a son of that glorious race, which,

not so long ago, gave us an Emperor! You know me well, my dearest;

you know I would worship you still, even if the Fates deprived you of

all--everything; if you were a fugitive, a beggar, scorned, hated, I

am still and forever yours. But, as it is, you are rich and noble, and

why should I deny, that fame and pomp and splendor have a charm for me?

Even the outward gifts of fortune are bestowed by the gods, and the

best thanks we can offer is to enjoy.”

“Nay, do not misunderstand me, sweet soul! I do not wish to retire

into the desert like an eastern penitent, nor to fling away the last

drinking-cup like the philosopher of Sinope.[383] It is only empty and

fruitless activity that I long to escape, the mad whirl of a life which

swallows men up to the very last fibre, and leaves them not a second

for reflection. It is only from afar, that you know that heart and

brain-consuming turmoil. Cinna is one of those who contemn it, and you

have grown up under his roof. But I see it close, and I shudder at the

sight. Is it worth while to have lived at all, when our last hour only

cuts the thread of a tissue of follies? To what end this hollow, noisy

and bewildering drama? There would be more consolation and refreshment

in studying the inside of an ant-hill.”

“You are so serious,” said Cornelia. “What can be the matter with you?

You used to say things like this, but only as a man out of conceit with

his surroundings. And now you look so strange, so mysterious....”

“You are right, dear heart; I am too grave for so sweet an-hour.

Forgive me, my darling. In time you will know better what it is, that I

... I cannot explain to you at present.”

And he drew her once more to his breast, and kissed her passionately.

Aurelius and Claudia had behaved with far greater coolness and

propriety. Behind this moderation, it is true, lurked an unrest which

now and again betrayed itself in small details. As the Batavian, by way

of opening the conversation, tried to paint the particular beauties

of the autumn season, a faint flush mounted to his brow, and Claudia

made some observations on the noble dimensions of three pumpkins in a

voice that trembled, as though she were craving some favor from Caesar.

Both were in that mood of self-conscious confusion, which is peculiar

to lovers in anticipation of an important explanation. And Claudia was

still more obviously embarrassed, when Caius Aurelius observed that

such gourds grew at Trajectum too.

“It might happen,” he went on after a pause, “that circumstances might

require me to return home sooner, than I at first intended....”

Claudia pulled the leaves off an olive-branch.

“That would be a pity,” she said in a constrained tone. Then she

colored, and went on eagerly: “For, in fact, many interesting features

of our metropolis are still unknown to you.”

“Oh,” replied Aurelius, “I am not particularly devoted to seeing

features of interest. What I far more regret, is taking leave of so

many excellent friends, so many hospitable houses where I have passed

hours of delightful intercourse, and heard so many noble ideas....”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Claudia, breaking the olive-twig into little

pieces. The Batavian sighed.

“Above all,” he went on, “I can never forget how kindly your

illustrious father received me....”

“Oh!” exclaimed Claudia.

“And your mother.... You cannot imagine how deeply I reverence that

noble matron, how grateful I am to her for allowing me daily admission

and intimacy in her house. Ah! sweet mistress, how happy I have been in

that family circle! Your brother, I may venture to believe, has become

my best and truest friend; even Lucilia, who generally is so severely

critical, has not been unkind to me.... You may laugh at me, but I

swear to you, that when I am forced to leave I shall leave a piece of

my heart behind!”

Claudia looked down and walked on in silence, her hand shook.

“Madam,” the young man went on, and his voice trembled with agitation,

“when I am gone--forever, when miles of land and sea divide us--will

you sometimes think with kindness of the stranger....? Will you recall

the hour in which we met, our happy days at Baiae, and this blissful

time in Rome...?”

“Indeed I shall,” Claudia murmured almost inaudibly.

They had now reached the southern end of the broad walk, where a brick

wall was visible through a screen of shrubs; the patches of light,

which the sun cast on the gravel through the leaves, were visibly

aslant to the left, and the observation struck Aurelius to the heart;

from the register afforded by this natural time-keeper, he perceived

that the best of the day had slipped by unused. He was suddenly seized

with a kind of panic: these rays of light symbolized his happiness. It

was escaping him, vanishing fast--he must lose it, if he did not then

and there find some spell to command and keep it.

He stood still.

“Listen!” he said with an effort. “I cannot help it.... Before I go, I

must ask you a question. I almost feel as though I could foresee the

answer.--It is all the same, I must speak. Only one thing I would beg

beforehand: Do not laugh at my blind self-deceit. You know me--I am

neither highly gifted nor of noble birth, but I have a faithful nature

and a heart full of never-failing devotion--and you are the object of

that devotion. Therefore I must ask: could you bear to make up your

mind to be my wife? I ask no promise, Claudia, no binding vows--only a

word to give me hope, a single word of comfort and encouragement. If

you can, oh Claudia, speak it! If you cannot, at any rate I shall be

free from the anguish of uncertainty.”

Claudia had listened to him in rigid silence, but as he ended, she

gave him her hand--looked up in his face--and smiled through her tears.

Aurelius stood in speechless surprise; he tried to speak, but in vain.

This transcendent happiness seemed to have paralyzed his powers.

“You dear, foolish man,” said Claudia with glowing cheeks. “What have I

done, that you should put a poor girl like me to the blush? I, who have

looked up to you in all humility....”

“Claudia!” cried the Batavian, trembling with rapture. “Am I not

cheated by a dream? You--mine? I am delirious--raving.”

“Nay, it is the truth. I am yours now and till death.”

“Quintus, Claudia, Cornelia,” shouted a clear, girlish voice, “are you

playing at hide-and-seek? or has some tricky god turned you all into

trees? Come forth, Fauns[384] and Dryads![385] The couches are ready in

the triclinium, and a banquet is prepared, that is worthy of Olympus.”

Aurelius did not seem particularly interested in the information. How

gladly would he have dreamed away the remainder of the day out here

under the verdurous shade! But society asserts its rights, and love,

particularly when it is a secret, must early learn to take patience.

“Let us be prudent and say nothing of this,” said Claudia as they went

in. “My father has certain schemes in his head, as perhaps you know--he

has not spoken out about them as yet, but Lucilia told me she was sure

of it, and Lucilia has eyes like a Pannonian lynx.[386] Sextus Furius,

the senator--you know him--wants, they say, to make me his wife, and

my father is not averse to it. We shall have a fight for it, dear

Caius....”

“And you say it as calmly....”

“Shall I worry beforehand over things I cannot prevent? But I will do

my utmost to win my father over. He is stern, but he loves me, and for

his daughter’s happiness he would make a sacrifice--a sacrifice I say

advisedly, for you know how strictly he adheres to his principles, and

one of his principles is a prejudice against the class of knights....”

“And if your hopes deceive you--if all is in vain?”

“Then I remember that the old saying: ‘Where you, Caius, are, there

will I, Caia, be’[387] is a pledge no less sacred than obedience to

parents; and I too am of the race of Claudius!”

They had reached the open plot in front of the house, where Cneius

Afranius was standing with Lucilia and his mother, cutting ripe grapes

into a basket with a sharp knife. Dressed in a flowered tunic, the city

lawyer was humming the air of a Gaulish popular song; every now and

then he interrupted himself with a cry of surprise at the huge size of

the grapes, or a jesting word to the young girl, and all the time his

jolly pleasant face, ruddy with the exertion and with the October sun,

shone like a living tribute to Bacchus.

“There!” he exclaimed, as Quintus and Cornelia also appeared upon the

scene, “now, a few leaves, and men Zeuxis[388] himself could not paint

a prettier picture! Aha! here are our peripatetic[389] philosophers!

Come along, our country dining-room is quite ready! Come, Quintus, and

see if Fabulla’s spelt porridge and cabbage sprouts[390] are to your

liking; I am credibly informed too, that there is a fish salad with

chopped eggs and leeks. Such a cybium[391] as my mother makes, you have

never tasted. Even the great Euphemus, with all his art, must yield to

that triumph of culinary skill. Walk in, most worshipful company, walk

in, for here too the gods abide!”

FOOTNOTES:

[377] PEPONILLA, the wife of Julius Sabinus, who had incited an

unsuccessful insurrection in Gaul, lived for nine years with

her husband in a subterranean cave, always hoping the emperor

would pardon the hunted man. But Vespasian was inexorable, and

when Julius Sabinus was discovered, condemned not only him,

but his faithful wife, to death. See Dio Cass. LXIV, 16. In

Tacitus (_Hist._ IV, 67) she is called Epponina, in Plutarch

(_Dial. de amicit_, 25,) Empona.

[378] THULE (Θούλη) an island in the German ocean, was the moat

extreme northern point of the earth known in those days. See

Tac. _Agr._ X., Virg. _Geog._ I. 30. It it supposed to be what

is now called Iceland, or a part of Norway.

[379] A CARGO OF BEASTS FOR THE CENTENNIAL GAMES. A catalogue of

animals, dating from the time of Gordian III, (238 to 244

A.D.) mentions thirty-two elephants, ten tigers, sixty tame

lions, three hundred tame leopards--but only one rhinoceros.

[380] LIVE HARES. See Mart. _Ep._ I, 6, (“the captured hare

returning often in safety from the kindly tooth”) 14 (“and

running at large through the open jaws,”) 22, 104.

[381] GREAT PAN HIMSELF MUST BLESS THEM. Pan, son of Hermes and

a daughter of Dryops, or of Zeus and the Arcadian nymph

Callisto, etc., etc., is a divinity of the fields and

forests. Cneius Afranius here uses the adjective “great” in

the sense of “powerful,” “influential,”--corresponding with

the hyperbolical tone of the rest of his speech. The totally

different expression, “the great Pan,” in the sense of a

symbolical appellation of the universe, originates in a verbal

error, according to which the word Pan is derived from the

Greek πᾶς “all” “the whole” while it really comes from πάω

(I graze.)

[382] MY SWEET EROTION. A child of this name, who died in early

youth, is mentioned by Martial, _Ep._ V, 34, 37, and X, 61.

_Ep._ V, 34.

“Ye parents Fronto and Flaccilla here,

To you do I commend my girl, my dear,

Lest pale Erotion tremble at the shades,

And the foul Dog of Hell’s prodigious heads.

Her age fulfilling just six winters was,

Had she but known so many days to pass.

’Mongst you, old patrons, may she sport and play,

And with her lisping tongue my name oft say.

May the smooth turf her soft bones hide, and be

O earth, as light to her, as she to thee!”

FLETCHER.

_Ep._ X, 61.

“Underneath this greedy stone

Lies little sweet Erotion;

Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold,

Nipp’d away at six years old.

Thou, whoever thou mayst be,

That hast this small field after me,

Let the yearly rites be paid

To her little slender shade;

So shall no disease or jar,

Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar;

But this tomb be here alone

The only melancholy stone.”

LEIGH HUNT.

[383] PHILOSOPHER OF SINOPE. The well-known Cynic philosopher

Diogenes, born at Sinope on the Black Sea, 404. B.C.

[384] FAUN (from _faveo_--to be favorable). A god of the fields and

woods, akin to the Greek woodland deity, Pan.

[385] DRYAD. The embodied life-principle of the tree, a tree-nymph.

[386] PANNONIAN LYNX. Pannonia, now Hungary. Lynxes were also

imported from Gaul.

[387] WHERE YOU, CAIUS, ARE, THERE WILL I, CAIA, BE. An ancient

formula, in which the bride vowed faith and obedience to the

bridegroom.

[388] ZEUXIS of Heracleia in Greece, a famous artist, who lived

about 397 B.C. His contest with Parrhasius, in which he

painted grapes so deceptive, that they lured the birds, is

well known.

[389] PERIPATETICS (wanderers.) A name given to Aristotles’ school

of philosophers, from its founder’s habit of delivering his

lectures, not seated, but walking about.

[390] CABBAGE SPROUTS. In the spring the young cabbage shoots

(_cimae, prototomi_) were eaten, in the summer and autumn the

larger stalks (_caules cauliculi_) see Mart. _Ep._ V. 78.

[391] CYBIUM (κύβιον). A sort of mayonnaise made of salt tunny-fish,

cut into squares. See Mart. _Ep._ V. 78, where the sliced eggs

are not lacking. There were two kinds of leek (porrum:) _porrum

sectile_ (chives) and _porrum capitatum_.

END OF VOL. I

Transcriber’s Note

The following table summarizes the various textual issues

encountered, and their resolution. A number of punctuation errors and

inconsistencies have been corrected. Where the errors seem most likely

to be attributable to printer’s errors, they have been corrected as

noted below.</p>

The name “Friedlander”, mentioned as a source a number of times in

the notes, is variously spelled “Friedlander”, “Friedländer”, and

“Friedlaender”.

p. 7 the commencement of this story[,/.] Corrected.

p. 43 in the wall.[”] Removed.

p. 61 n. 115 amounted to 60[./,]000,000 bushels Corrected.

p. 75 min[i]ature Added.

p. 97 in Caesar’s name[?/.] Corrected.

p. 98 glanced at her significantly[.] Added.

p. 114 dissipation....[”] Added.

p. 129 [‘/“]and I honor and admire it. Corrected.

p. 170 n. 265 the most corrupt in all Rome[,/.] Corrected.

p. 171 pantomi[n/m]e Corrected.

p. 183 n. 278 (Pliny, _Ep._ X, 98.[)] Added.

p. 188 po[in/ni]ard Transposed.

p. 211 n. 295 was often used for writing[,/.] Corrected.

my dear Quintus,[”] he said Added.

p. 214 interrupted his father, [“]and I do Added.

p. 229 [“]If it is ever in my power Added.

p. 246 n. 341 to receive rain-water[,/.] Corrected.

p. 265 It i[t/s] all the same Corrected.

p. 275 [“]Chloe,” she said at last, Added.

[“]Chloe raised her round head Removed.

p. 280 to the present day[,/.] Corrected.

p. 282 discovery was inevitable.[.] Removed.

p. 296 n. 378 Virg. _Geog._ I. 30.[)] Removed.

*

End of Project Gutenberg's Quintus Claudius, Volume 1 of 2, by Ernst Eckstein