his could be had for a few sesterces the amphora. It is the common drink
of the carters at every wine-house on the country roads. I longed for a
glass of my own rich Falernian or the mellow Coan that was bottled in
the year that Titus took Jerusalem. Is it even now too late? Could we
not wash this rasping stuff from our palates?"
"Nay, better come in with me now and take a bitter draught ere you go
upon your way. My Greek physician Stephanos has a rare prescription for
a morning head. What! Your clients await you? Well, I will see you later
at the Senate house."
The Patrician had entered his atrium, bright with rare flowers, and
melodious with strange singing birds. At the jaws of the hall, true to
his morning duties, stood Lebs, the little Nubian slave, with snow-white
tunic and turban, a salver of glasses in one hand, whilst in the other
he held a flask of thin lemon-tinted liquid. The master of the house
filled up a bitter aromatic bumper, and was about to drink it off when
his hand was arrested by a sudden perception that something was much
amiss in his household. It was to be read all around him--in the
frightened eyes of the black boy, in the agitated face of the keeper of
the atrium, in the gloom and silence of the little knot of ordinarii,
the procurator or major-domo at their head, who had assembled to greet
their master. Stephanos the physician, Cleios the Alexandrine reader,
Promus the steward each turned his head away to avoid his master's
questioning gaze.
"What in the name of Pluto is the matter with you all?" cried the amazed
senator, whose night of potations had left him in no mood for patience.
"Why do you stand moping there? Stephanos, Vacculus, is anything amiss?
Here, Promus, you are the head of my household. What is it, then? Why do
you turn your eyes away from me?"
The burly steward, whose fat face was haggard and mottled with anxiety,
laid his hand upon the sleeve of the domestic beside him.
"Sergius is responsible for the atrium, my lord. It is for him to tell
you the terrible thing that has befallen in your absence."
"Nay, it was Datus who did it. Bring him in, and let him explain it
himself," said Sergius in a sulky voice.
The patience of the Patrician was at an end. "Speak this instant, you
rascal!" he shouted angrily. "Another minute, and I will have you
dragged to the ergastulum, where, with your feet in the stocks and the
gyves round your wrists, you may learn quicker obedience. Speak, I say,
and without delay."
"It is the Venus," the man stammered; "the Greek Venus of Praxiteles."
The senator gave a cry of apprehension and rushed to the corner of the
atrium, where a little shrine, curtained off by silken drapery, held the
precious statue, the greatest art treasure of his collection--perhaps of
the whole world. He tore the hangings aside and stood in speechless
anger before the outraged goddess. The red, perfumed lamp which always
burned before her had been spilled and broken; her altar fire had been
quenched, her chaplet had been dashed aside. But worst of
all--insufferable sacrilege!--her own beautiful nude body of glistening
Pentelic marble, as white and fair as when the inspired Greek had hewed
it out five hundred years before, had been most brutally mishandled.
Three fingers of the gracious outstretched hand had been struck off, and
lay upon the pedestal beside her. Above her delicate breast a dark mark
showed, where a blow had disfigured the marble. Emilius Flaccus, the
most delicate and judicious connoisseur in Rome, stood gasping and
croaking, his hand to his throat, as he gazed at his disfigured
masterpiece. Then he turned upon his slaves, his fury in his convulsed
face; but, to his amazement, they were not looking at him, but had all
turned in attitudes of deep respect towards the opening of the
peristyle. As he faced round and saw who had just entered his house, his
own rage fell away from him in an instant, and his manner became as
humble as that of his servants.
The new-comer was a man forty-three years of age, clean shaven, with a
massive head, large engorged eyes, a small clear-cut nose, and the full
bull neck which was the especial mark of his breed. He had entered
through the peristyle with a swaggering, rolling gait, as one who walks
upon his own ground, and now he stood, his hands upon his hips, looking
round him at the bowing slaves, and finally at their master, with a
half-humorous expression upon his flushed and brutal face.
"Why, Emilius," said he, "I had understood that your household was the
best-ordered in Rome. What is amiss with you this morning?"
"Nothing could be amiss with us now that Caesar has deigned to come under
my roof," said the courtier. "This is indeed a most glad surprise which
you have prepared for me."
"It was an afterthought," said Domitian. "When you and the others had
left me, I was in no mood for sleep, and so it came into my mind that I
would have a breath of morning air by coming down to you, and seeing
this Grecian Venus of yours, about which you discoursed so eloquently
between the cups. But, indeed, by your appearance and that of your
servants, I should judge that my visit was an ill-timed one."
"Nay, dear master; say not so. But, indeed, it is truth that I was in
trouble at the moment of your welcome entrance, and this trouble was, as
the Fates have willed it, brought forth by that very statue in which you
have been graciously pleased to show your interest. There it stands, and
you can see for yourself how rudely it has been mishandled."
"By Pluto and all the nether gods, if it were mine some of you should
feed the lampreys," said the Emperor, looking round with his fierce
eyes at the shrinking slaves. "You were always overmerciful, Emilius. It
is the common talk that your catenae are rusted for want of use. But
surely this is beyond all bounds. Let me see how you handle the matter.
Whom do you hold responsible?"
"The slave Sergius is responsible, since it is his place to tend the
atrium," said Flaccus. "Stand forward, Sergius. What have you to say?"
The trembling slave advanced to his master. "If it please you, sir, the
mischief has been done by Datus the Christian."
"Datus! Who is he?"
"The matulator, the scavenger, my lord. I did not know that he belonged
to these horrible people, or I should not have admitted him. He came
with his broom to brush out the litter of the birds. His eyes fell upon
the Venus, and in an instant he had rushed upon her and struck her two
blows with his wooden besom. Then we fell upon him and dragged him away.
But alas! alas! it was too late, for already the wretch had dashed off
the fingers of the goddess."
The Emperor smiled grimly, while the Patrician's thin face grew pale
with anger.
"Where is the fellow?" he asked.
"In the ergastulum, your honour, with the furca on his neck."
"Bring him hither and summon the household."
A few minutes later the whole back of the atrium was thronged by the
motley crowd who ministered to the household needs of a great Roman
nobleman. There was the arcarius, or account keeper, with his stylum
behind his ear; the sleek praegustator, who sampled all foods, so as to
stand between his master and poison, and beside him his predecessor, now
a half-witted idiot through the interception twenty years before of a
datura draught from Canidia; the cellar-man, summoned from amongst his
amphorae; the cook, with his basting-ladle in his hand; the pompous
nomenclator, who ushered the guests; the cubicularius, who saw to their
accommodation; the silentiarius, who kept order in the house; the
structor, who set forth the tables; the carptor, who carved the food;
the cinerarius, who lit the fires--these and many more, half-curious,
half-terrified, came to the judging of Datus. Behind them a chattering,
giggling swarm of Lalages, Marias, Cerusas, and Amaryllides, from the
laundries and the spinning-rooms, stood upon their tiptoes, and extended
their pretty wondering faces over the shoulders of the men. Through this
crowd came two stout varlets leading the culprit between them. He was a
small, dark, rough-headed man, with an unkempt beard and wild eyes which
shone brightly with strong inward emotion. His hands were bound behind
him, and over his neck was the heavy wooden collar or furca which was
placed upon refractory slaves. A smear of blood across his cheek showed
that he had not come uninjured from the preceding scuffle.
"Are you Datus the scavenger?" asked the Patrician.
The man drew himself up proudly. "Yes," said he, "I am Datus."
"Did you do this injury to my statue?"
"Yes, I did."
There was an uncompromising boldness in the man's reply which compelled
respect. The wrath of his master became tinged with interest.
"Why did you do this?" he asked.
"Because it was my duty."
"Why, then, was it your duty to destroy your master's property?"
"Because I am a Christian." His eyes blazed suddenly out of his dark
face. "Because there is no God but the one eternal, and all else are
sticks and stones. What has this naked harlot to do with Him to whom the
great firmament is but a garment and the earth a footstool? It was in
His service that I have broken your statue."
Domitian looked with a smile at the Patrician. "You will make nothing of
him," said he. "They speak even so when they stand before the lions in
the arena. As to argument, not all the philosophers of Rome can break
them down. Before my very face they refuse to sacrifice in my honour.
Never were such impossible people to deal with. I should take a short
way with him if I were you."
"What would Caesar advise?"
"There are the games this afternoon. I am showing the new
hunting-leopard which King Juba has sent from Numidia. This slave may
give us some sport when he finds the hungry beast sniffing at his
heels."
The Patrician considered for a moment. He had always been a father to
his servants. It was hateful to him to think of any injury befalling
them. Perhaps even now, if this strange fanatic would show his sorrow
for what he had done, it might be possible to spare him. At least it was
worth trying.
"Your offence deserves death," he said. "What reasons can you give why
it should not befall you, since you have injured this statue, which is
worth your own price a hundred times over?"
The slave looked steadfastly at his master. "I do not fear death," he
said. "My sister Candida died in the arena, and I am ready to do the
same. It is true that I have injured your statue, but I am able to find
you something of far greater value in exchange. I will give you the
truth and the gospel in exchange for your broken idol."
The Emperor laughed. "You will do nothing with him, Emilius," he said.
"I know his breed of old. He is ready to die; he says so himself. Why
save him, then?"
But the Patrician still hesitated. He would make a last effort.
"Throw off his bonds," he said to the guards. "Now take the furca off
his neck. So! Now, Datus, I have released you to show you that I trust
you. I have no wish to do you any hurt if you will but acknowledge your
error, and so set a better example to my household here assembled."
"How, then, shall I acknowledge my error?" the slave asked.
"Bow your head before the goddess, and entreat her forgiveness for the
violence you have done her. Then perhaps you may gain my pardon as
well."
"Put me, then, before her," said the Christian.
Emilius Flaccus looked triumphantly at Domitian. By kindness and tact he
was effecting that which the Emperor had failed to do by violence. Datus
walked in front of the mutilated Venus. Then with a sudden spring he
tore the baton out of the hand of one of his guardians, leaped upon the
pedestal, and showered his blows upon the lovely marble woman. With a
crack and a dull thud her right arm dropped to the ground. Another
fierce blow and the left had followed. Flaccus danced and screamed with
horror, while his servants dragged the raving iconoclast from his
impassive victim. Domitian's brutal laughter echoed through the hall.
"Well, friend, what think you now?" he cried. "Are you wiser than your
Emperor? Can you indeed tame your Christian with kindness?"
Emilius Flaccus wiped the sweat from his brow. "He is yours, great
Caesar. Do with him as you will."
"Let him be at the gladiators' entrance of the circus an hour before the
games begin," said the Emperor. "Now, Emilius, the night has been a
merry one. My Ligurian galley waits by the river quay. Come, cool your
head with a spin to Ostia ere the business of State calls you to the
Senate."
VIII
GIANT MAXIMIN
I: THE COMING OF GIANT MAXIMIN
Many are the strange vicissitudes of history. Greatness has often sunk
to the dust, and has tempered itself to its new surrounding. Smallness
has risen aloft, has flourished for a time, and then has sunk once more.
Rich monarchs have become poor monks, brave conquerors have lost their
manhood, eunuchs and women have overthrown armies and kingdoms. Surely
there is no situation which the mind of man could invent which has not
taken shape and been played out upon the world stage. But of all the
strange careers and of all the wondrous happenings, stranger than
Charles in his monastery, or Justin on his throne, there stands the case
of Giant Maximin, what he attained, and how he attained it. Let me tell
the sober facts of history, tinged only by that colouring to which the
more austere historians could not condescend. It is a record as well as
a story.
* * * * *
In the heart of Thrace some ten miles north of the Rhodope mountains,
there is a valley which is named Harpessus, after the stream which runs
down it. Through this valley lies the main road from the east to the
west, and along the road, returning from an expedition against the
Alani, there marched, upon the fifth day of the month of June in the
year 210, a small but compact Roman army. It consisted of three
legions--the Jovian, the Cappadocian, and the men of Hercules. Ten turmae
of Gallic cavalry led the van, whilst the rear was covered by a regiment
of Batavian Horse Guards, the immediate attendants of the Emperor
Septimius Severus, who had conducted the campaign in person. The
peasants who lined the low hills which fringed the valley looked with
indifference upon the long files of dusty, heavily-burdened infantry,
but they broke into murmurs of delight at the gold-faced cuirasses and
high brazen horse-hair helmets of the guardsmen, applauding their
stalwart figures, their martial bearing, and the stately black chargers
which they rode. A soldier might know that it was the little weary men
with their short swords, their heavy pikes over their shoulders, and
their square shields slung upon their backs, who were the real terror of
the enemies of the Empire, but to the eyes of the wondering Thracians it
was this troop of glittering Apollos who bore Rome's victory upon their
banners, and upheld the throne of the purple-togaed prince who rode
before them.
Among the scattered groups of peasants who looked on from a respectful
distance at this military pageant, there were two men who attracted much
attention from those who stood immediately around them. The one was
commonplace enough--a little grey-headed man, with uncouth dress and a
frame which was bent and warped by a long life of arduous toil,
goat-driving and wood-chopping, among the mountains. It was the
appearance of his youthful companion which had drawn the amazed
observation of the bystanders. In stature he was such a giant as is seen
but once or twice in each generation of mankind. Eight feet and two
inches was his measure from his sandalled sole to the topmost curls of
his tangled hair. Yet for all his mighty stature there was nothing heavy
or clumsy in the man. His huge shoulders bore no redundant flesh, and
his figure was straight and hard and supple as a young pine tree. A
frayed suit of brown leather clung close to his giant body, and a cloak
of undressed sheep-skin was slung from his shoulder. His bold blue eyes,
shock of yellow hair and fair skin showed that he was of Gothic or
northern blood, and the amazed expression upon his broad frank face as
he stared at the passing troops told of a simple and uneventful life in
some back valley of the Macedonian mountains.
"I fear your mother was right when she advised that we keep you at
home," said the old man anxiously. "Tree-cutting and wood-carrying will
seem but dull work after such a sight as this."
"When I see mother next it will be to put a golden torque round her
neck," said the young giant. "And you, daddy; I will fill your leather
pouch with gold pieces before I have done."
The old man looked at his son with startled eyes. "You would not leave
us, Theckla! What could we do without you?"
"My place is down among yonder men," said the young man. "I was not born
to drive goats and carry logs, but to sell this manhood of mine in the
best market. There is my market in the Emperor's own Guard. Say nothing,
daddy, for my mind is set, and if you weep now it will be to laugh
hereafter. I will to great Rome with the soldiers."
* * * * *
The daily march of the heavily laden Roman legionary was fixed at twenty
miles; but on this afternoon, though only half the distance had been
accomplished, the silver trumpets blared out their welcome news that a
camp was to be formed. As the men broke their ranks, the reason of their
light march was announced by the decurions. It was the birthday of Geta,
the younger son of the Emperor, and in his honour there would be games
and a double ration of wine. But the iron discipline of the Roman army
required that under all circumstances certain duties should be
performed, and foremost among them that the camp should be made secure.
Laying down their arms in the order of their ranks, the soldiers seized
their spades and axes, and worked rapidly and joyously until sloping
vallum and gaping fossa girdled them round, and gave them safe refuge
against a night attack. Then in noisy, laughing, gesticulating crowds
they gathered in their thousands round the grassy arena where the sports
were to be held. A long green hill-side sloped down to a level plain,
and on this gentle incline the army lay watching the strife of the
chosen athletes who contended before them. They stretched themselves in
the glare of the sunshine, their heavy tunics thrown off, and their
naked limbs sprawling, wine-cups and baskets of fruit and cakes circling
amongst them, enjoying rest and peace as only those can to whom it comes
so rarely.
The five-mile race was over, and had been won as usual by Decurion
Brennus, the crack long-distance champion of the Herculians. Amid the
yells of the Jovians, Capellus of the corps had carried off both the
long and the high jump. Big Brebix the Gaul had out-thrown the long
guardsman Serenus with the fifty pound stone. Now, as the sun sank
towards the western ridge, and turned the Harpessus to a riband of
gold, they had come to the final of the wrestling, where the pliant
Greek, whose name is lost in the nickname of "Python," was tried out
against the bull-necked Lictor of the military police, a hairy Hercules,
whose heavy hand had in the way of duty oppressed many of the
spectators.
As the two men, stripped save for their loincloths, approached the
wrestling-ring, cheers and counter-cheers burst from their adherents,
some favouring the Lictor for his Roman blood, some the Greek from their
own private grudge. And then, of a sudden, the cheering died, heads were
turned towards the slope away from the arena, men stood up and peered
and pointed, until finally, in a strange hush, the whole great assembly
had forgotten the athletes, and were watching a single man walking
swiftly towards them down the green curve of the hill. This huge
solitary figure, with the oaken club in his hand, the shaggy fleece
flapping from his great shoulders, and the setting sun gleaming upon a
halo of golden hair, might have been the tutelary god of the fierce and
barren mountains from which he had issued. Even the Emperor rose from
his chair and gazed with open-eyed amazement at the extraordinary being
who approached them.
The man, whom we already know as Theckla the Thracian, paid no heed to
the attention which he had aroused, but strode onwards, stepping as
lightly as a deer, until he reached the fringe of the soldiers. Amid
their open ranks he picked his way, sprang over the ropes which guarded
the arena, and advanced towards the Emperor, until a spear at his breast
warned him that he must go no nearer. Then he sunk upon his right knee
and called out some words in the Gothic speech.
"Great Jupiter! Whoever saw such a body of a man!" cried the Emperor.
"What says he? What is amiss with the fellow? Whence comes he, and what
is his name?"
An interpreter translated the Barbarian's answer. "He says, great Caesar,
that he is of good blood, and sprung by a Gothic father from a woman of
the Alani. He says that his name is Theckla, and that he would fain
carry a sword in Caesar's service."
The Emperor smiled. "Some post could surely be found for such a man,
were it but as janitor at the Palatine Palace," said he to one of the
Prefects. "I would fain see him walk even as he is through the forum. He
would turn the heads of half the women in Rome. Talk to him, Crassus.
You know his speech."
The Roman officer turned to the giant. "Caesar says that you are to come
with him, and he will make you the servant at his door."
The Barbarian rose, and his fair cheeks flushed with resentment.
"I will serve Caesar as a soldier," said he, "but I will be house-servant
to no man--not even to him. If Caesar would see what manner of man I am,
let him put one of his guardsmen up against me."
"By the shade of Milo this is a bold fellow!" cried the Emperor. "How
say you, Crassus? Shall he make good his words?"
"By your leave, Caesar," said the blunt soldier, "good swordsmen are too
rare in these days that we should let them slay each other for sport.
Perhaps if the Barbarian would wrestle a fall----"
"Excellent!" cried the Emperor. "Here is the Python, and here Varus the
Lictor, each stripped for the bout. Have a look at them, Barbarian, and
see which you would choose. What does he say? He would take them both?
Nay then he is either the king of wrestlers or the king of boasters, and
we shall soon see which. Let him have his way, and he has himself to
thank if he comes out with a broken neck."
There was some laughter when the peasant tossed his sheep-skin mantle to
the ground and, without troubling to remove his leathern tunic, advanced
towards the two wrestlers; but it became uproarious when with a quick
spring he seized the Greek under one arm and the Roman under the other,
holding them as in a vice. Then with a terrific effort he tore them both
from the ground, carried them writhing and kicking round the arena, and
finally walking up to the Emperor's throne, threw his two athletes down
in front of him. Then, bowing to Caesar, the huge Barbarian withdrew, and
laid his great bulk down among the ranks of the applauding soldiers,
whence he watched with stolid unconcern the conclusion of the sports.
It was still daylight, when the last event had been decided, and the
soldiers returned to the camp. The Emperor Severus had ordered his
horse, and in the company of Crassus, his favourite prefect, rode down
the winding pathway which skirts the Harpessus, chatting over the future
dispersal of the army. They had ridden for some miles when Severus,
glancing behind him, was surprised to see a huge figure which trotted
lightly along at the very heels of his horse.
"Surely this is Mercury as well as Hercules that we have found among the
Thracian mountains," said he with a smile. "Let us see how soon our
Syrian horses can out-distance him."
The two Romans broke into a gallop, and did not draw rein until a good
mile had been covered at the full pace of their splendid chargers. Then
they turned and looked back; but there, some distance off, still running
with a lightness and a spring which spoke of iron muscles and
inexhaustible endurance, came the great Barbarian. The Roman Emperor
waited until the athlete had come up to them.
"Why do you follow me?" he asked.
"It is my hope, Caesar, that I may always follow you." His flushed face
as he spoke was almost level with that of the mounted Roman.
"By the god of war, I do not know where in all the world I could find
such a servant!" cried the Emperor. "You shall be my own body-guard,
the one nearest to me of all."