What Befell at Baiae
I
Cornelia was at Baiae, the famous watering-place, upon the classic
Neapolitan bay,--which was the Brighton or Newport of the Roman. Here
was the haunt of the sybarites, whose gay barks skimmed the shallow
waters of the Lucrine lake; and not far off slumbered in its volcanic
hollow that other lake, Avernus, renowned in legend and poetry,
through whose caverns, fable had it, lay the entrance to the world of
the dead. The whole country about was one city of stately villas, of
cool groves, of bright gardens; a huge pleasure world, where freedom
too often became license; where the dregs of the nectar cup too often
meant physical ruin and moral death.
Cornelia had lost all desire to die now. She no longer thought of
suicide. Lentulus's freedmen held her in close surveillance, but she
was very happy. Drusus lived, was safe, would do great things, would
win a name and a fame in the world of politics and arms. For herself
she had but one ambition--to hear men say, "This woman is the wife of
the great Quintus Drusus." That would have been Elysium indeed.
Cornelia, in fact, was building around her a world of sweet fantasy,
that grew so real, so tangible, that the stern realities of life,
realities that had hitherto worn out her very soul, became less
galling. The reaction following the collapse of the plot against
Drusus had thrown her into an unnatural cheerfulness. For the time the
one thought when she arose in the morning, the one thought when she
fell asleep at night, was, "One day," or "One night more is gone, of
the time that severs me from Quintus." It was a strained, an unhealthy
cheerfulness; but while it lasted it made all the world fair for
Cornelia. Indeed, she had no right--from one way of thinking--not to
enjoy herself, unless it be that she had no congenial companions. The
villa of the Lentuli was one of the newest and finest at Baiae. It
rested on a sort of breakwater built out into the sea, so that the
waves actually beat against the embankment at the foot of Cornelia's
chamber. The building rose in several stories, each smaller than the
one below it, an ornamental cupola highest of all. On the successive
terraces were formally plotted, but luxuriant, gardens. Cornelia, from
her room in the second story, could command a broad vista of the bay.
Puteoli was only two miles distant. Vesuvius was ten times as far; but
the eye swept clear down the verdant coast toward Surrentum to the
southward. At her feet was the sea,--the Italian, Neapolitan
sea,--dancing, sparkling, dimpling from the first flush of morning to
the last glint of the fading western clouds at eve. The azure above
glowed with living brightness, and by night the stars and planets
burned and twinkled down from a crystalline void, through which the
unfettered soul might soar and soar, swimming onward through the sweet
darkness of the infinite.
And there were pleasures enough for Cornelia if she would join
therein. Lentulus had ordered his freedmen not to deny her amusements;
anything, in fact, that would divert her from her morbid infatuation
for Drusus. The consul-designate had indeed reached the conclusion
that his niece was suffering some serious mental derangement, or she
would not thus continue to pursue a profitless passion, obviously
impossible of fulfilment. So Cornelia had every chance to make herself
a centre to those gay pleasure-seekers who were still at Baiae; for the
summer season was a little past, and all but confirmed or fashionable
invalids and professional vacationers were drifting back to Rome. For
a time all went merrily enough. Just sufficient of the Lucius
Ahenobarbus affair had come to the Baiaeans to make Cornelia the object
of a great amount of curiosity. When she invited a select number of
the pleasure-seekers to her dinner parties, she had the adulation and
plaudits of every guest, and plenty of return favours. Lucius
Ahenobarbus soon had a score of hot rivals; and Cornelia's pretty face
was chipped on more than one admirer's seal ring. But presently it
began to be said that the niece of the consul-designate was an
extremely stoical and peculiar woman; she did not enjoy freedom which
the very air of Baiae seemed to render inevitable. She never lacked wit
and vivacity, but there was around her an air of restraint and cold
modesty that was admirable in every way--only it would never do in
Baiae. And so Cornelia, without ceasing to be admired, became less
courted; and presently, quite tiring of the butterfly life, was thrown
back more and more on herself and on her books. This did not disturb
her. A levee or a banquet had never given her perfect pleasure; and it
was no delight to know that half the women of Baiae hated her with a
perfect jealousy. Cornelia read and studied, now Greek, now Latin; and
sometimes caught herself half wishing to be a man and able to expound
a cosmogony, or to decide the fate of empires by words flung down from
the rostrum. Then finally Agias came bringing Artemisia, who, as has
been related, was introduced--by means of some little contriving--into
the familia as a new serving-maid. Such Artemisia was in name; but
Cornelia, whose gratitude to Agias had known no bounds, took the
little thing into her heart, and determined to devote herself to
instructing an innocence that must not continue too long, despite its
charming naivete.
Thus the days had passed for Cornelia. But only a little while after
Agias left for Rome,--with a very large packet of letters for
Drusus,--the pleasant, self-created world of fantasy, that had given
Cornelia some portion of happiness, vanished. Like a clap of thunder
from a cloudless sky Lucius Ahenobarbus suddenly arrived in Baiae. He
was tired of Rome, which was still very hot and uncomfortable. He
loathed politics, they were stupid. He had lost a boon companion when
Publius Gabinius was driven into outlawry. Marcus Laeca was too deeply
in debt to give any more dinners. Pratinas was fled to Egypt. And so
he had come to Baiae, to harass Cornelia by his presence; to gibe at
her; and assure her that her uncle was more determined than ever that
she should marry him--say and do what she might.
Ahenobarbus quartered himself in the Lentulan villa as the prospective
nephew-in-law of its owner. He brought with him his customary train of
underlings, and had travelled in appropriate state, in a litter with
eight picked bearers, lolling on a cushion stuffed with rose-leaves,
and covered with Maltese gauze, one garland on his head, another round
his neck, and holding to his nose a smelling-bag of small-meshed linen
filled with roses.
With all his effeminacy, he was beyond the least doubt desperately
determined to possess himself of Cornelia. His passion was purely
animal and unrefined, but none could doubt it. Cornelia feared to have
him near her, and knew peace neither day nor night. He assumed all a
master's rights over the slaves and freedmen, sending them hither and
yon to do his bidding. He had recovered from the fear Cornelia had
struck into him, in her first defiance, and met her threats and
hauteur with open scorn.
"You are a most adorable actress!" was his constant sneer. And his
every action told that he did not intend to let Cornelia play with him
a second time. With all his profligacy and moral worthlessness, he had
a tenacity of purpose and an energy in this matter that showed that
either Cornelia must in the end bow to his will, or their contest
would end in something very like a tragedy.
And if a tragedy, so be it, was the desperate resolve of Cornelia;
whose eyes were too stern for tears when she saw that Lucius was still
the former creature of appetite; full of intrigue, sweethearts,
seashore revels, carouses, singing, and music parties and water
excursions with creatures of his choice from morning until midnight.
She could not altogether shun him, though she successfully resisted
his half blandishments, half coercion, to make her join in his wild
frivolities. One revenge she found she could take on him--a revenge
that she enjoyed because it proclaimed her own intellectual
superiority, and made Ahenobarbus writhe with impotent vexation--she
had him at her mercy when they played at checkers;[133] and at last
Lucius lost so much money and temper at this game of wit, not chance,
that he would sulkily decline a challenge. But this was poor
consolation to Cornelia. The time was drifting on. Before many days
Lentulus Crus and Caius Clodius Marcellus would be consuls, and the
anti-Caesarians would be ready to work their great opponent's undoing,
or be themselves forever undone. Where was Drusus? What was he doing?
What part would he play in the struggle, perhaps of arms, about to
begin? O for one sight of him, for one word! And the hunger in
Cornelia's breast grew and grew.
[133] _Latrunculi_.
Many are our wishes. Some flit through our hearts like birds darting
under the foliage of trees, then out again, lost in the sunshine;
others linger awhile and we nestle them in our bosoms until we forget
that they are there, and the noble desire, the craving for something
dear, for something that bears for us as it were a divine image, is
gone--we are the poorer that we no longer wish to wish it. But some
things there are--some things too high or too deep for speech, too
secret for really conscious thought, too holy to call from the
innermost shrines of the heart; and there they linger and hover,
demanding to be satisfied, and until they are satisfied there is void
and dreariness within, be the sunshine never so bright without. And so
Cornelia was a-hungered. She could fight against herself to save
Drusus's life no longer; she could build around herself her dream
castles no more; she must see him face to face, must hold his hand in
hers, must feel his breath on her cheek.
Is it but a tale that is told, that soul can communicate to distant
soul? That through two sundered hearts without visible communication
can spring up, unforewarned, a single desire, a single purpose? Is
there no magnetism subtle beyond all thought, that bounds from spirit
to spirit, defying every bond, every space? We may not say; but if
Cornelia longed, she longed not utterly in vain. One morning, as she
was dressing, Cassandra, who was moving around the room aiding her
mistress, let fall a very tiny slip of papyrus into Cornelia's lap,
and with it a whisper, "Don't look; but keep it carefully." The
injunction was needed, for several other serving-women were in the
room, and Cornelia more than suspected that they were ready to spy on
her to prevent unauthorized correspondence with Drusus. When she was
dressed, and could walk alone on the terrace overlooking the sea, she
unrolled the papyrus and read:--
"Delectissima, I have come from Rome to Puteoli. I cannot live longer
without seeing you. Great things are stirring, and it may well be that
ere long, if your uncle and his friends have their way, I may be a
proscribed fugitive from Italy, or a dead man. But I must talk with
your dear self first. Agias was known by the familia, and had no
difficulty in seeing you quietly; but I have no such facility. I
cannot remain long. Plan how we may meet and not be interrupted. I
have taken Cassandra into my pay, and believe that she can be trusted.
_Vale_."
There was no name of the sender; but Cornelia did not need to
question. Cassandra, who evidently knew that her mistress would
require her services, came carelessly strolling out on to the terrace.
"Cassandra," said Cornelia, "the last time I saw Quintus, you betrayed
us to my uncle; will you be more faithful now?"
The woman hung down her head.
"_A!_ domina, your uncle threatened me terribly. I did not
intentionally betray you! Did I not receive my beating? And then
Master Drusus is such a handsome and generous young gentleman."
"I can rely on you alone," replied Cornelia. "You must arrange
everything. If you are untrue, be sure that it is not I who will in
the end punish, but Master Drusus, whose memory is long. You have more
schemes than I, now that Agias is not here to devise for me. You must
make up any stories that are necessary to save us from interruption,
and see that no one discovers anything or grows suspicious. My hands
are tied. I cannot see to plan. I will go to the library, and leave
everything to you."
And with this stoical resolve to bear with equanimity whatever the
Fates flung in her way for good or ill, Cornelia tried to bury herself
in her Lucretius. Vain resolution! What care for the atomic theory
when in a day, an hour, a moment, she might be straining to her heart
another heart that was reaching out toward hers, as hers did toward
it. It was useless to read; useless to try to admire the varying
shades of blue on the sea, tones of green, and tones of deep cerulean,
deepening and deepening, as her eye drifted off toward the horizon,
like the blendings of a chromatic series. And so Cornelia passed the
morning in a mood of joyful discontent. Lucius Ahenobarbus, who came
to have his usual passage of arms with her, found her so extremely
affable, yet half-preoccupied, that he was puzzled, yet on the whole
delighted. "She must be yielding," he mentally commented; and when
they played at draughts, Cornelia actually allowed herself to be
beaten. Ahenobarbus started off for Puteoli in an excellent humour.
His litter had barely swung down the road from the villa before
Cassandra was knocking at her mistress's chamber door.
"_Io!_ domina," was her joyful exclamation, "I think I have got every
eavesdropper out of the way. Ahenobarbus is off for Puteoli. I have
cooked up a story to keep the freedmen and other busybodies off. You
have a desperate headache, and cannot leave the room, nor see any one.
But remember the terrace over the water, where the colonnade shuts it
in on all sides but toward the sea. This afternoon, if a boat with two
strange-looking fishermen passes under the embankment, don't be
surprised."
And having imparted this precious bit of information, the woman was
off. Drusus's gold pieces had made her the most successful of
schemers.
II
Cornelia feigned her headache, and succeeded in making herself so
thoroughly petulant and exacting to all her maids, that when she
ordered them out of the room, and told them on no account to disturb
her in any respect for the rest of the day, they "rejoiced with
trembling," and had no anxiety to thrust their attentions upon so
unreasonable a mistress. And a little while later a visit of a
strolling juggler--whose call had perhaps been prompted by
Cassandra--made their respite from duty doubly welcome.
Cornelia was left to herself, and spent the next hour in a division of
labour before her silver wall-mirror, dressing--something which was
sufficiently troublesome for her, accustomed to the services of a bevy
of maids--and at the window, gazing toward Puteoli for the
fishing-boat that seemed never in sight. At last the toilet was
completed to her satisfaction. Cornelia surveyed herself in her best
silken purple flounced stola, thrust the last pin into her hair, and
confined it all in a net of golden thread. Roman maidens were not as a
rule taught to be modest about their charms, and Cornelia, with
perfect frankness, said aloud to herself, "You are so beautiful that
Drusus can't help loving you;" and with this candid confession, she
was again on the terrace, straining her eyes toward Puteoli. Boats
came, boats went, but there was none that approached the villa; and
Cornelia began to harbour dark thoughts against Cassandra.
"If the wretched woman had played false to her mistress again--" but
the threat was never formulated. There was a chink and click of a pair
of oars moving on their thole-pins. For an instant a skiff was visible
at the foot of the embankment; two occupants were in it. The boat
disappeared under the friendly cover of the protecting sea-wall of the
lower terrace. There was a little landing-place here, with a few steps
leading upward, where now and then a yacht was moored. The embankment
shut off this tiny wharf from view on either side. Cornelia dared not
leave the upper terrace. Her heart beat faster and faster. Below she
heard the slap, slap, of the waves on the sea-wall, and a rattle of
rings and ropes as some skiff was being made fast. An instant more and
Drusus was coming, with quick, athletic bounds, up the stairway to the
second terrace. It was he! she saw him! In her eyes he was everything
in physique and virile beauty that a maiden of the Republic could
desire! The bitterness and waiting of months were worth the
blessedness of the instant. Cornelia never knew what Drusus said to
her, or what she said to him. She only knew that he was holding her in
his strong arms and gazing into her eyes; while the hearts of both
talked to one another so fast that they had neither time nor need for
words. They were happy, happy! Long it was before their utterance
passed beyond the merest words of endearment; longer still before they
were composed enough for Cornelia to listen to Drusus while he gave
his own account of Mamercus's heroic resistance to Dumnorix's gang at
Praeneste; and told of his own visit to Ravenna, of his intense
admiration for the proconsul of the two Gauls; and of how he had come
to Puteoli and opened communications with Cassandra, through Cappadox,
the trusty body-servant who in the guise of a fisherman was waiting in
the boat below.
"And as Homer puts it, so with us," cried Cornelia, at length: "'And
so the pair had joy in happy love, and joyed in talking too, and each
relating; she, the royal lady, what she had endured at home, watching
the wasteful throng of suitors; and he, high-born Odysseus, what
miseries he brought on other men, and bore himself in anguish;--all he
told, and she was glad to hear.'"
So laughed Cornelia when all their stories were finished, likening
their reunion to that of the son of Laertes and the long-faithful
Penelope.
"How long were Penelope and Odysseus asunder?" quoth Drusus.
"Twenty years."
"_Vah!_ We have not been sundered twenty months or one-third as many.
How shall we make the time fly more rapidly?"
"I know not," said Cornelia, for the first time looking down and
sighing, "a lifetime seems very long; but lifetimes will pass. I shall
be an old woman in a few years; and my hair will be all grey, and you
won't love me."
"_Eho_," cried Drusus, "do you think I love you for your hair?"
"I don't know," replied Cornelia, shaking her head, "I am afraid so.
What is there in me more than any other woman that you should love;
except--" and here she raised her face half-seriously, half in
play--"I am very beautiful? Ah! if I were a man, I would have
something else to be loved for; I would have eloquence, or strength,
or power of command, or wisdom in philosophy. But no, I can be loved
for only two things; an ignoble or a poor man would take me if I were
hideous as Atropos, for I am noble, and, if my uncle were an honest
guardian, rich. But you need not regard these at all, so--" and she
brushed her face across Drusus's cheek, touching it with her hair.
"O Cornelia," cried the young man, out of the fulness of his heart,
"we must not waste this precious time asking why we love each other.
Love each other we do as long as we view the sun. O carissima! we
cannot trust ourselves to look too deeply into the whys and wherefores
of things. We men and women are so ignorant! We know nothing. What is
all our philosophy--words! What is all our state religion--empty form!
What is all our life--a dream, mostly evil, that comes out of the
eternal unconscious sleep and into that unconscious sleep will return!
And yet not all a dream; for when I feel your hands in mine I know
that I am not dreaming--for dreamers feel nothing so delicious as
this! Not long ago I recalled what old Artabanus said to King Xerxes
when the millions of Persia passed in review before their lord at
Abydos, 'Short as our time is, death, through the wretchedness of our
life, is the most sweet refuge of our race; and God, who gives us
tastes that we enjoy of pleasant times, is seen, in His very gift, to
be envious.' And I thought, 'How wise was the Persian!' And then I
thought, 'No, though to live were to drag one's days in torture and in
woe, if only love come once into life, an eternity of misery is
endurable; yes, to be chained forever, as Prometheus, on drearest
mountain crag, if only the fire which is stolen be that which kindles
soul by soul.'"
"Ah!" cried Cornelia, "if only these were to be real souls! But what
can we say? See my Lucretius here; read: 'I have shown the soul to be
formed fine and to be of minute bodies and made up of much smaller
first-beginnings than the liquid air, or mist, or smoke. As you see
water, when the vessels are shattered, flow away on every side, and as
mist and smoke vanish away into the air, believe that the soul, too,
is shed abroad, and perishes much more quickly and dissolves sooner
into its first bodies, when once it has been taken out of the limbs of
a man and has withdrawn.' O Quintus, is the thing within me that loves
you lighter, more fragile, than smoke? Shall I blow away, and vanish
into nothingness? It is that which affrights me!"
And Drusus tried as best he might to comfort her, telling her there
was no danger that she or he would be dissipated speedily, and that
she must not fret her dear head with things that set the sagest
greybeards a-wrangling. Then he told her about the political world,
and how in a month at most either every cloud would have cleared away,
and Lentulus be in no position to resist the legal claims which Drusus
had on the hand of his niece; or, if war came, if fortune but favoured
Caesar, Cornelia's waiting for deliverance would not be for long.
Drusus did not dwell on the alternative presented if civic strife came
to arms; he only knew that, come what might, Cornelia could never be
driven to become the bride of Lucius Ahenobarbus; and he had no need
to exact a new pledge of her faithful devotion.
So at last, like everything terrestrial that is sweet and lovely, the
slowly advancing afternoon warned Drusus that for this day, at least,
they must separate.
"I will come again to-morrow, or the next day, if Cassandra can so
arrange," said he, tearing himself away. "But part to-night we must,
nor will it make amends to imitate Carbo, who, when he was being led
to execution, was suddenly seized with a pain in the stomach, and
begged not to be beheaded until he should feel a little better."
He kissed her, strained her to his breast, and stepped toward the
landing-place. Cappadox had taken the boat out from the moorings to
minimize a chance of discovery by some one in the house. Drusus was
just turning for a last embrace, when many voices and the plash of
oars sounded below. Cornelia staggered with dread.
"It's Ahenobarbus," she gasped, in a deathly whisper; "he sometimes
comes back from Puteoli by boat. He will murder you when he finds you
here!"
"Can't I escape through the house?"
The words, however, were no sooner out of Drusus's mouth, than Lucius
Ahenobarbus, dressed in the most fashionably cut scarlet lacerna,
perfumed and coiffured to a nicety, appeared on the terrace. Some evil
genius had led him straight up without the least delay.
It was the first time that the two enemies had met face to face since
Drusus had declined the invitation to Marcus Laeca's supper. Be it said
to Lucius's credit that he sensed the situation with only the minimum
of confusion, and instantly realized all of Cornelia's worst fears.
Drusus had drawn back from the steps to the lower terrace, and stood
with stern brow and knotted fist, trapped by a blunder that could
hardly have been guarded against, no submissive victim to what fate
had in store. Cornelia, for once quite distraught with terror, cowered
on a bench, unable to scream through sheer fright.
"_Salve!_ amice," was the satirical salutation of Ahenobarbus. "How
excellently well met. _Heus!_ Phaon, bring your boatmen, quick! Not an
instant to lose!"
"Pity! mercy!" gasped Cornelia, "I will do anything for you, but spare
him;" and she made as if to fall on her knees before Ahenobarbus.
"Girl!" Drusus had never spoken in that way to her before; his tones
were cold as ice. "Go into the house! Your place is not here. If
Lucius Ahenobarbus intends to murder me--"
The boatmen and two or three other slaves that were always at
Ahenobarbus's heels were crowding up on to the terrace ready to do
their master's bidding.
"Throw me that fellow over the balcony," ordered Lucius, his sense of
triumph and opportunity mastering every fear that Flaccus would
execute his threat of prosecution. "See that he does not float!"
Cornelia found her voice. She screamed, screamed shrilly, and ran into
the house. Already the familia was alarmed. Two or three freedmen of
Lentulus were rushing toward the terrace. They were murdering Quintus!
He was resisting, resisting with all the powers of a wild animal
driven to its last lair. Outside, on the terrace, where but an instant
before she and her lover were cooing in delicious ecstasy, there were
oaths, blows, and the sharp pants and howls of mortal struggle. And
she could do nothing--nothing! And it was through his love for her
that Drusus was to go down to his untimely grave! The seconds of
struggle and anguish moved on leaden feet. Every breath was agony,
every sound maddening. And she could do nothing--nothing. Still they
were fighting. Phaon--she knew his voice--was crying out as if in
grievous pain. And now the voice of Lucius Ahenobarbus sounded again:
"One thousand denarii if you fling him into the sea!" and she could do
nothing--nothing! She tore down the purple tapestries around her bed,
and dashed from its tripod a costly bowl of opal Alexandrian
glass--all in the mere rage of impotence. And still they were
fighting. What was that ornament hanging on the wall, half hid behind
the torn tapestry? A scabbard--a sword, some relic of ancient wars!
And all the combatants were unarmed! The antique weapon was held by
stout thongs to the wall; she plucked it from its fastenings with the
strength of a Titaness. The rusty blade resisted an instant; she
dragged it forth. Then out on to the terrace. Really only a moment had
elapsed since she left it. One of the slaves was lying dead, or
stunned, prone on the turf. Phaon was writhing and howling beside him,
nursing a broken jaw. The other assailants had sunk back in temporary
repulse and were preparing for a second rush. Drusus was still
standing. He half leaned upon the stone pedestal of an heroic-sized
Athena, who seemed to be spreading her protecting aegis above him. His
garments were rent to the veriest shreds. His features were hidden
behind streaming blood, his arms and neck were bruised and bleeding;
but clearly his adversaries could not yet congratulate themselves that
the lion's strength was too sapped to be no longer dreaded.
"Come, you," was his hot challenge to Lucius Ahenobarbus, who stood,
half delighted, half afraid, shivering and laughing spasmodically, as
he surveyed the struggle from a safe distance. "Come, you, and have
your share in the villany!"
And again, for it was all the affair of the veriest moment, the slaves
rushed once more on their indocile victim. "Freedom to the man who
pulls him down!" was the incentive of Ahenobarbus.
But again Drusus, who, to tell the truth, had to contend with only the
flabby, soft-handed, unskilful underlings of Lucius, struck out so
furiously that another of his attackers fell backward with a groan and
a gasp. All this Cornelia saw while, sword in hand, she flew toward
the knot of writhing men. She pushed aside the slaves by sheer force.
She asked no civilities, received none.
"Pull her away!" shouted Lucius, and started himself to accomplish his
purpose. A rude hand smote her in the face; she staggered, fell; but
as she fell a hand snatched the sword out of her grasp. She released
her hold gladly, for did she not know that hand? When she rose to her
feet there were shrieks of fear and pain on every side. The slaves
were cringing in dread before him. Drusus was standing under the
Athena, with the keen steel in his hand--its blade dyed crimson; and
at his feet lay Ahenobarbus's favourite valet--the wretch literally
disembowelled by one deadly stroke.
"Fly, fly!" she implored; "they will bring arms! They will never let
you escape."
"I'll pay you for letting him kill Croesus," howled Lucius, facing
himself resolutely toward his enemy. "How can he fly when the house is
full of servants, and his boat is away from the landing? You give
yourself trouble for no purpose, my lady! Lentulus's people will be
here with swords in a moment!"
But as he spoke a blow of some unseen giant dashed him prostrate, and
upon the terrace from below came Cappadox, foaming with anxious rage,
his brow blacker than night, his brawny arms swinging a heavy paddle
with which he clubbed the cowering slaves right and left.
"Have they killed him! Have the gods spared him!" These two demands
came bounding in a breath from the honest servant's lips. And when he
saw Drusus, bleeding, but still standing, he rushed forward to fling
his arms about his master's neck.
"Fly! fly!" urged Cornelia, and out of the building, armed now with
swords and staves, came flocking the freedmen of the house and as many
slaves as they could muster.
"_Salve!_ carissima," and Drusus, who never at the instant gave
thought to the blood all over him, pressed her in one last kiss. He
gained the terrace steps by a single bound ahead of his armed
attackers. Cappadox smote down the foremost freedman with a buffet of
the oar. Ahenobarbus staggered to his feet as Drusus sprang over him,
and the latter tore a packet of tablets from his hand, never stopping
in his own flight.
Then down on to the little landing-place pursuers and pursued tumbled.
The large six-oared boat of Ahenobarbus was moored close beside
Cappadox's skiff.
Drusus was into the skiff and casting loose before Lucius could
descend from the upper terrace. The young Domitian was in a terrible
distress.
"The letters! The letters! Freedom to you all if you save them! Cast
off! Chase! Sink the skiff!"
But before any of the unskilful assailants could execute the order,
Cappadox had driven the butt of his paddle clean through the bottom
planking of the larger boat, and she was filling rapidly. The paddle
shivered, but it was madness to embark on the stoven craft.
The skiff shot away from the landing as though an intelligent soul,
rising equal to the needs of the crisis. The blue dancing water lapped
between her gunwale and the shore. Drusus stood erect in the boat,
brushed back the blood that was still streaming over his eyes, and
looked landward. The slaves and freedmen were still on the landing,
gazing blankly after their escaped prey. Ahenobarbus was pouring out
upon their inefficiency a torrent of wrathful malediction, that
promised employment for the "whipper" for some time to come. But
Drusus gave heed to none of these things. Standing on the upper
terrace, her hair now dishevelled and blowing in tresses upon the
wind, was Cornelia, and on her all her lover's gaze was fixed.
"Safe?" and the melodious shout drifted out over the widening stretch
of water.
"Safe! to live and to love!" And Drusus thought, with his keen lover's
eye, he could see the dimming face brighten, and the hands go up in a
gesture of thanksgiving.
It was all that was said. Another boat might be procured at any time
by Lucius Ahenobarbus; and with only one paddle Cappadox could make
but slow headway. Stiff and bruised, the young man flung himself on
the bottom of the skiff, and panted and nursed himself after his
mortal struggle. Now that the combat was over he felt weak and sore
enough, and was quite content to let Cappadox adjust such improvised
bandages as were available, and scull him toward Puteoli. Fortunately
none of the bruises was caused by any harder weapons than fists, and,
though his body was black and blue, he had sustained no serious hurt.
And so he rested his head on a wrap, and closed his eyes, and called
up before his mind the vision of Cornelia. How beautiful she had been
when he met her! How much more beautiful when she thrust her way
through the fighting slaves and put the sword in his hand, at that
moment of mortal combat, which he expected to be his last! Did he only
love her because her face was sweet, her voice was sweet, and the
touch of her hair was sweet? Happy was he, her lover;--he could say
"no," and have never a fear that his sincerity would be tested. And
Lucius Ahenobarbus? He hated him with a perfect hatred. A Roman who
was no Roman! A womanish man whom every true woman must despise! A
serpent who had not even the bright scales of a serpent! What would he
do to Cornelia? Drusus's face grew hard. Had he, Drusus, yet done any
injury worth mentioning to his enemy? Why had he not used the moment
when Lucius lay prostrate, and run the sword through his body?
Ill-timed, thoughtless mercy! But the letters, the packet he had
wrenched from Ahenobarbus's hand? Why was it so precious? Drusus had
flung it into the boat. He took up the packet. Doubtless some
_billet-doux_. Why should he degrade his mind by giving an instant's
thought to any of his enemy's foul intrigues? He could only open his
eyes with difficulty, but a curiosity that did not add to his
self-esteem overmastered him. The seal! Could he believe his
senses--the imprint of three trophies of victory? It was the seal of
Pompeius! The instinct of the partisan and politician conquered every
infirmity. He broke the wax, untied the thread, and opened. The
letters were in cipher, and at first sight illegible. But this did not
present any insuperable difficulty. Most classic ciphers were
sufficiently simple to be solved without very much trouble. Drusus
knew that in all Caesar's correspondence a cipher had been used which
consisted merely of substituting for each letter the fourth letter
beyond it, as D for A; and a little examination showed that the
present cryptogram was made on the same rude method. After a few
guesses he struck the proper substitutions, and was able to read.
"Pompeius Magnus, Imperator, to the most excellent Lucius Domitius
Ahenobarbus, Rome, tenth day before the Calends of January. If it is
well with you, it is well; I am well.[134] I write to warn you that we
are told that Quintus Drusus, your personal enemy and the friend of
our own foes, is in Campania. We need not add more, for we trust to
you to see to it that he stirs up no faction in favour of his master
in those parts. Be assured that you will not be long troubled by this
enemy. He is marked out as one of the earliest of those to pay with
their lives for their conspiracy against the Republic. If possible see
that Drusus is seized for some alleged offence, and lodged in prison
until the new consuls come into office. After that time he can work
little or no mischief. Use the uttermost endeavours in this matter;
check him and his schemes at all hazards. I trust your energy and
prudence, which your father and Lentulus Crus assure me will not fail.
_Vale!_"
[134] _Si vales bene est ego valeo_, written commonly simply
S. V. B. E. E. V.
Drusus lay back in the bottom of the boat, and looked up into the blue
dome. It was the same azure as ever, but a strange feeling of
disenchantment seemed to have come over him. For the first time he
realized the deadly stakes for which he and his party were playing
their game. What fate had been treasured up for him in the impending
chaos of civil war? If he perished in battle or by the executioner's
axe, what awaited Cornelia? But he had chosen his road; he would
follow it to the end. The battle spirit mounted in him.
The sky was darkening when the boat drew up to one of the busy quays
of Puteoli. Stars had begun to twinkle. Cappadox aided his bruised and
stiffened master to disembark.
"To-night rest," cried Drusus, forgetting all his wounds. "To-morrow
away to Rome. And at Rome--the war of the Gods and the Giants!"