The company of soldiers, who had been sent by the city-prefect in
pursuit of the Batavian and his companions, had given up the chase at a
short distance from Ardea. They rode slowly into the town, and rapped
with their sword-hilts at the door of the little old tavern till the
innkeeper crept grumpily out of his bed, and let them in. A stable boy
unsaddled the horses, while Ciconia, the host’s unprepossessing wife,
brought out a dish of smoked cheese,[69] some loaves, and a jar of red
wine from Veii.
While his men sat round the stone table and burned their parched
throats with coarse liquor, the captain walked up and down the room
reflecting with little satisfaction indeed on the events of the night.
He wondered why the fugitives had selected the road through Ardea.
The Via Appia would have been wider, more convenient, and safer for
strangers unfamiliar with the district, while the road to Ardea, with
its many inequalities and turnings, would seem to give the pursuers,
who were more familiar with them, an appreciable advantage. The more
he thought of it, the more convinced he became that Antium must have
been the goal of their hopes. But, in that case, the refugees must have
intended to sail from Antium and reach one of the neighboring islands,
or perhaps even Sardinia or Corsica. And in that case it would not be
difficult to find out who had undertaken to convey them. Thus all was
not yet lost. He took up a cup of wine and emptied it at a draught.
Then, turning to the hostess, he asked in great excitement:
“Ciconia, have you a horse?”
“No, my lord; what do you want it for?”
“I must get on to Antium immediately, and our beasts are tired to
death.”
Ciconia reflected.
“Well,” she said, “there is a horse, no doubt, in the stable--standing
there since noon. It belongs to a trader out of Metapontum[70]--but I
do not know whether he would allow it.”
“He must; or, better still, why should he ever know it? I shall be
back again in a few hours. I will leave all our horses in pledge with
you, and pay for your nasty verjuice as if it were Falernian. Make no
ceremony.”
In five minutes the Metapontine trader’s steed stood saddled and
bridled at the door. It was a small, square-set brute, but strong. The
soldier mounted, desired his men to await his return, and set off at a
round pace.
Shortly before reaching Antium he met two riderless horses, one of
which he at once recognized as that of his wounded comrade. There could
no longer be a doubt; the fugitives were trusting to the sea. With
renewed energy he struck spurs into his horse, and had soon got over
the few hundred paces, that still lay between him and the harbor. Here,
however, there was nothing to be seen or heard. He rode all round the
bay and back again, keeping a sharp lookout. The ships lay motionless
by the mole--the barges and shore-boats in the middle, farther out the
larger merchant-vessels, and away to the left the imperial trireme,
which through the summer months had cruised in search of pirates about
the coasts of Egypt and Cyrenaica.[71] All was as silent as the dead,
excepting when, now and then, the night-breeze whistled through the
cordage.
Then he stopped awhile, and gazed out to sea--not a speck was to be
seen on the starlit expanse so far as the eye could reach. He was
beginning to think that he had been wrong in his calculations, and was
about to take his way back again in a very provoked frame of mind,
when an unhoped-for incident arrested him in the very act. Was it the
uncertain twilight that cheated his sight? The large barque at the
farthest end of the harbor seemed to be slowly moving, and then he
heard the distant stroke of oars. At the same moment he sprang from his
saddle, and thundered with a powerful fist at the door of the nearest
house.
“A boat!” he shouted as the bewildered door-keeper opened to him.
“In the name of the city-prefect I must row at once to the imperial
guard-ship.”
“My lord, you are under a mistake,” said the slave not very civilly.
“We are neither boat-keepers nor oarsmen. Euterpius lives here, the
harbor-master.”
“So much the better. Take me to your master immediately, if you want to
keep your head on your shoulders, fellow.”
Such a mode of address admitted of no denial; the harbor-master himself
understood that the case was no common one, and in ten minutes he and
the soldier were seated side by side in a light boat. They soon reached
the imperial trireme, which at once took them on board, and the soldier
explained in breathless haste how matters stood. The captain of the
ship, a man of prompt determination, at once gave orders for sailing
after the fugitives. While the soldiers made ready for a fight, the
sailors weighed anchor and hauled in the chains. The oarsmen took their
seats, the coxswain’s hammer gave the stroke, and they were off in
chase.
The Batavian’s trireme had a good start; it was now but a speck,
motionless as it seemed, on the north-western horizon.
It was not till nearly an hour later, that any one discovered on board
the Batavia that they were being chased, and it was Magus' eagle eye
that made the unpleasant discovery. Keeping a bright lookout landward
from the stern, he perceived that a dark object, which he at first
thought to be part of the buildings above the harbor, was a vessel
in motion. Its starting at so unusual an hour, and still more, the
direction it was taking, roused his suspicions. Magus confessed his
fears to Caius Aurelius, and, in the dawn which was now breaking, his
master saw clearly the danger of their position. The conspirators--who
after exchanging greetings had separated, some to rest, and some,
wrapped in cloaks, like Aurelius himself, to pace the deck--were soon
assembled to hold council in that centre-cabin, which, to Aurelius, had
a peculiar sanctity, as having been the scene of his first meeting with
Claudia. The steersman was called in, and Magus remained on deck to
find out what more he might.
“Forgive me,” the Batavian began, “for having, under stress of
circumstances, disturbed your slumbers. You have heard of the new
danger which threatens us. It is a trireme, and, to judge from the
speed she is making, well manned.”
“Then we must pull for our lives,” said Ulpius Trajanus. “A fight would
be useless.”
“I know the ship,” said Cornelius Cinna, addressing the Hispanian. “It
is the Charybdis, which has been in chase of pirates all the summer,
off the coast of Cyrenaica. It was the only imperial vessel lying off
Antium. She is well manned--no doubt of that; but only when she is on
service. At the end of the season the soldiers go on shore to do other
duty, or take leave of absence. There are very few left on board during
the winter.”
“If I understand Aurelius rightly, he spoke of the rowers, not of
the fighting men,” replied Trajanus. “And as the oarsmen are in full
numbers, leave has probably not yet begun.”
“Nay, you are mistaken. The oarsmen work at day in the harbor, but the
law compels them to pass the night on board. I do not wish to fight!
I only meant to say that, if it came to the worst, the battle is not
so hopeless as you think, particularly as Caius Aurelius has arms on
board for half a cohort of soldiers. So, if Fate will have it that we
are not to escape scot-free, we can, at any rate, give the foe a warm
reception.”
“Of course, of course,” cried Trajanus. "None but a coward yields
without a struggle. However, our surest hope, I believe, is founded on
the strength of the oarsmen. We must not forget the sheathed rostrum!
Our Batavia is a splendid ship, and, Aurelius assures me, has a
three-fold coating of timber, but how often has it happened that the
strongest vessels have been pierced and sunk by a well-directed thrust
from the prow of the enemy--and the imperial guard-ships are admirably
armed. What will the most splendid courage avail us then? I would
propose, therefore, that the rowers' seats are at once manned by the
very best of your oarsmen."
“That has already been done, my lord!” said the steersman. “And as
regards the foe’s rostrum, I confess I do not share your fears. If
we fail to escape, we can but turn round. Then, prow to prow--two
can play at that game, and we shall see who is sunk first. We are
not accustomed, it is true, to manoeuvre like a man-of-war, but the
Batavia answers her helm as a fish turns with its tail, and that is the
great thing.”
He had hardly spoken, when Magus appeared.
“They are gaining on us. As I reckon, they have twenty oars more than
the Batavia.”
“You hear!” exclaimed Cinna, springing from his seat “There is no
farther time for deliberation. Let each man be assigned his part at
once.”
“You then must be general of the forces,” said Nerva quietly. “Many are
better at laying plans than you are, but in carrying them out you are
unequalled.”
“Agreed,” said Cneius Afranius. “Our new Rome, met here on board the
Batavia, invests Cinna with the dignity of Dictator.”
“I accept your jest as of good augury,” replied Nerva. “Our new Rome
is indeed in the hour of its birth, and it is our part to see that it
shall thrive and grow. Good! Now, Dictator, summon the troops.”
Cinna’s orders were soon issued. All the oarsmen were armed; those
who were rowing, as well as those who were resting below till their
turn came at the oars. Nor did the trireme lose ground while these
preparations were being made; a sword and a small round shield were
laid at the feet of each rower, without stopping him in his pull; they
could not yet give up all hope of escape. If it became hopeless, the
rowers were to cease at the word of command, to rest till the enemy
was close upon them, and then pull again till the Charybdis was within
grappling range. At the instant when the enemy’s boarding-planks were
thrust across over the grappling-hooks,[72] the men were to seize
their arms and await the commands of Ulpius Trajanus, who would lead
them on deck.
Nerva himself, stepping from bench to bench, issued these instructions
to the rowers. Dimly lighted by the ruddy gleam of a flickering lamp
and by the twilight of dawn, the tall, majestic figure, with long
silver hair, made a singular impression on the crew.
These men, who sat and steadily dipped their oars, were for the
most part of Teutonic origin, natives of the Rhine provinces and
the north-east of Germany--rough and primitive creatures, hardly
understanding the Latin tongue--indeed Magus had to interpret to them
their illustrious commander’s orders. But one thing they perfectly
understood, their beloved master, Caius Aurelius, was in the utmost
peril, and the proud but gentle old man, who passed down their ranks,
was a friend of Aurelius and a partner in his danger. This was enough.
They glanced down at the weapons, and were almost glad to think their
strength would be tested at some other toil than pulling their oars.
And then it was for Caius Aurelius! Was there in all the Roman Empire
a knight, who treated his people with so much kindness--nay, with so
much friendliness? What a jolly time they had just spent at Ostia! The
long voyage from Trajectum, to be sure, had been a severe pull, but
how handsomely he had rewarded them, and what perfect liberty they
had enjoyed while the Batavia lay at anchor. Well, he took after his
worthy father--stern when duty was to be attended to, but, though
strict, never hard; open-handed, and never without a kind thought for
the humblest of his slaves. That was what the old merchant had been,
and his son was the same....
While the rowers were indulging in these reflections and expressing
their views in whispers, the men off duty were posted ready for action
on the forepart of the deck, with Cornelius Cinna himself at their
head. He desired the Batavian to remain with the ship’s servants in
the cabins till the moment of attack. Nerva--and this was unanimously
agreed to by all the conspirators--in consideration of his advanced
age--was entreated to remain in the hold of the vessel, till the battle
was decided. But the old man stoutly refused; he still had vigor
enough, he said, to wield a blade, and a man was never too old to die
for freedom by the side of brave comrades. So Cocceius Nerva was told
off to the division under Aurelius--only as a private soldier, for he
positively refused to command. Cneius Afranius and the old, one-armed
centurion took their places by Cinna, somewhat as his adjutants or
lieutenants.
All this time they had rowed steadily ahead. To the east, over Latium,
it grew lighter every minute. The elaborate rigging of the imperial
trireme was now distinctly visible, for its sails, like those of the
Batavia, were close-reefed, the wind being contrary. The three ranks
of oars on each side rose and fell like broad black wings. There was
no longer any doubt. She was gaining on them. Her oarsmen outnumbered
those of the Batavia, not by twenty only, but by thirty or more.
Aurelius measured with his eye the fast diminishing distance between
them, not without a feeling of apprehension. On board both vessels
there was absolute silence; nothing broke the stillness of the dawn
but the splash of the oars' blades in the water and the hammer-strokes
of the time-keepers. Not another vessel was to be seen on the calm
lead-colored waste. In all this vast and desert expanse the only living
thing was that embodiment of stealthy and vindictive hatred!...
It was a ghastly thought, and he shivered.
Another quarter of an hour went by, and the most persistently hopeful
could no longer dream of escape. Cornelius Cinna gave the word; the
Batavia turned round and the oars ceased to lash the waves. The
Charybdis immediately slackened her tremendous speed, evidently in
order to put on a final spurt for a killing thrust She came nearer and
nearer, till within about three hundred paces. Then the rowers suddenly
fell to with all their force; the ship made a half-turn and rushed with
furious might on the Batavia, which was lying still. But Chrysostomus,
her steersman, was an experienced seaman. With five or six strokes she
turned sharply round, and the Charybdis shot by, close to along-side
but harmless.
She turned back at once; the Batavia was again lying to in watchful
expectation, her gleaming rostrum threatening the foe, and the
Charybdis was not far enough off to repeat her attack with any effect.
She now took another line of action. She pulled slowly and peacefully
to within a speaking distance of the Batavia. The city-prefect's
captain came to the bulwarks with the ship’s commander and roared
out to them, in the tone of a conqueror, to give up their useless
resistance and return to Antium.
“And who are you?” asked Cinna contemptuously.
“A servant of Caesar’s and a guardian of the insulted majesty of the
law.”
“Or else a pirate[73]....”
“A foolish subterfuge!--You know the sovereign’s guard-ship; aye, as
well as I know the face of a rebel. Are not you Cinna, the eloquent
advocate of the Nazarenes?”
Cinna did not fail to observe that, during this colloquy, the
Charybdis, stealthily, worked only by the stern-most oars, was creeping
nearer and nearer. This was exactly what he had hoped for. If only
they would grapple! If only they would board. A fight on the decks
of the Batavia was, of all the chances open to them, by far the most
promising; their knowledge of the vessel, and particularly of its
trap-doors and ladders would be a precious advantage. Cinna therefore
judged it wise to parley a little longer with the enemy, that he
might be deluded into believing that his scheme was not perceived or
understood.
“Aye--that is my name!” he shouted back. “And who in the world has any
right to dog my movements and detain me here?”
“Caesar and the law,” replied the soldier. “Do not resist, but trust
rather to Caesar’s clemency than to the issue of an unequal battle.”
“I do not understand your meaning. Cornelius Cinna sails for
Liguria.[74]--What spite is this, that dares to hinder his doing so?”
The warrior exchanged a few words with the ship’s captain.
“Is not Caius Aurelius Menapius on board?” he asked after a short pause.
“Not to my knowledge. Now, make an end of this insolent catechising. I
owe you no account of my proceedings, and I demand a free passage--or,
by Pluto!...”
Magus, meanwhile, without speaking a word, had run down to the armory.
There he seized a sharp axe, which he tried on the panel of the cabin,
and then took the heft firmly between his teeth. While Cornelius Cinna
stood disputing with the officer, our friend the Goth glided like a
weasel through the port-hole near the rudder, and slid softly into the
sea. For a few seconds he lay floating on his back, breathing deeply
through the nostrils; then he dived in the clear blue water and came up
again close to the rudder of the unsuspecting Charybdis. Again he drew
a deep breath; then, swimming with his left hand, he took the axe in
his right, and with two or three mighty blows he severed the rope by
which the rudder was worked.[75] A broad smile of satisfaction shone on
his tanned face; he dropped the axe into the sea and made his way back
to the Batavia.
The Goth was out of reach before the enemy’s crew fully understood
their disaster. The harpoons and lances they flung after him missed
their mark, and he got on board unhurt.
Chrysostomus, the steersman, had at the same time handled his ship
very cleverly. The Batavia was now in a position, on her part, to run
the foe through the flank with her iron-shod beak so effectually, that
he would never have made his way home, for with a loose rudder the
Charybdis was of course defenceless. Cinna, however, would not hear of
this. He would have fought for freedom--he would not fight for revenge.
Three blows of the hammer, the Batavia’s oars dipped deeply in the
waves and she rode majestically away to the westward. The Charybdis did
not even attempt to chase her.
The soldier and the captain of the vessel foamed with rage. They had
been so sure of their prey, and it had slipped through their fingers
when they thought they held it fast. It was their confidence, which had
led to their disappointment.
Cornelius Cinna leaned thoughtfully over the taffrail, gazing at the
Charybdis as she diminished to a speck, for she had taken a homeward
course to Antium. Strange thoughts filled his brain. Was it so easy
as this, to make a proud and well-armed vessel incapably helpless?
One bold stroke, and she had become unmanageable--was it not the same
perhaps with the vessel of State?[76] Could it be so difficult to deal
a blow at that ship’s rudder, to board the drifting barque and to pull
it at last into the haven of freedom and peace, there to be freshly
fitted and manned for a happier voyage in the future?
Magus, of course, was the hero of the hour. He was loaded with thanks
and praises, his master embraced him warmly, and gifts were showered
upon him; but the honest fellow seemed hardly to understand why so much
was made of his achievement. What was the difference, whether he hung
over a precipice on some northern shore to gather a rare plant from the
rock, or cut his way through the Rugian forests to cast a net over the
horns of the aurochs, or climbed to the top-most branches of a primeval
oak, or--as he had just done--swam a few paces to thwart a foe? It was
all instinctive prompting, nothing meritorious or remarkable.
The rowers set to work with a will, notwithstanding that the imperial
trireme was now disabled. The coast was still too close for them to
feel sure whence or by whom the pursuit might not be taken up.
After a short council, they decided on taking a course between the
little islands of Planasia and Ilva,[77] north of Corsica, to the coast
of Gallia Narbonensis, and then to cast anchor in the most unfrequented
bay they could find; Athenopolis[78] perhaps, or Olbia.[79] From
thence, either separately or together, they could make their way into
the interior, and reach Gallia Lugdunensis, where a large number of
troops were stationed, some in scattered fortresses, and some in the
chief town of the province, Lugdunum on the Rhodanus.[80] Rodumna, on
the Liger, the native town of Afranius, was still to be the central
point of meeting on a particular day, to be fixed later, unless the
conspiracy should through some unforeseen occurrence be broken up.
It had now long been day. The fugitives, quite tired out, retired to
their couches; Aurelius only still found something to do. First he went
to Herodianus' cabin; he had taken himself to bed as soon as he had
come on board, and all the bustle of the last hour or two had not waked
him. He now lifted up a bruised and swollen face, and complained of
severe pain. His fall on the way had shaken him considerably. Aurelius
helped him to move, and then applied a bandage and a herb poultice to
his arm and shoulder, and in five minutes the patient was asleep again.
Aurelius, however, still could not rest. He went next to the fugitive
entrusted to his protection by Quintus Claudius: Eurymachus. He found
him excited, pale, and breathless. He was in a high fever, and sitting
up in bed. Through the half-opened port-hole of his cabin he had
listened in alarm to the mysterious confusion and noise; he imagined
that the pursuit had been on his account, and it had distressed him
beyond measure to think that the magnanimous Aurelius should be
involved in his hapless fate. When the Batavian had reassured him on
this point, he fell back on his pillows with a few words of gratitude.
A sort of ague fit shook his frame, and his teeth chattered as if with
cold.
“How strange,” said Aurelius to himself. “This man, who is so
indifferent to danger for himself, is ready to die with anxiety for the
safety of his preserver!”
He went back to his own room, and threw himself, wrapped in his cloak
as he was, on the outside of his bed. He tried to recall all the events
of the last twenty-four hours, but his thoughts became confused. He
seemed to see a sweet maiden form stooping over him--to see her smile
and feel her kiss his forehead. “Claudia!” he sighed and shivered;
then he fell quite asleep--and he was at Baiae, in the quiet, peaceful
garden, far from the world of hatred, tyranny, and persecutions. A
lovely dream! as distinct from the realities of the present, as a
bright star in the dark vault of night.
FOOTNOTES:
[69] SMOKED CHEESE. See Mart. _Ep._ XI, 52; XIII, 32. The best
smoked cheese was the Velabrian, so called from Velabrum, a
region between the Capitoline, Palatine and Aventine Hills.
[70] METAPONTUM, also Metapontium (Μεταπόντιον). A Greek city on
the Tarentine Gulf, which has now disappeared except the remains
of a Doric temple (_la Tavola de' Paladini_). Even at the time
of our story the once famous city had already begun to decline.
[71] CYRENAICA. A region on the northern coast of Africa; now the
table-land of Barca.
[72] GRAPPLING HOOKS. Grapnels (_corvi_, _manus ferreae_) were an
invention of Duilius. See Front. II, 3, 24; Flor. II, 2. When
the _corvi_ had seized the hostile ship, bridges were thrown
across. Of course the party most interested in securing this
close combat was the side that considered itself the superior
in military strength, while inferior in point of strategy. For
instance, the Romans in their wars with the Carthaginians.
[73] OR ELSE A PIRATE. In spite of the energetic measures adopted
against the piracy practised by the Illyrians, Cilicians and
Isaurians, it was not wholly suppressed on the Mediterranean,
even in the reign of Domitian.
[74] LIGURIA. The Ligurians lived in the country, now called the
Riviera, between Marseilles and Pisa. Under the emperors the
territory of Liguria contained the region now occupied by
Nice, Genoa, Southern Piedmont, and the Western part of Parma
and Piacenza.
[75] HE SEVERED THE ROPE BY WHICH THE RUDDER WAS WORKED. This bold
method of rendering a hostile ship unfit for battle, was by
no means rare. The two-edged axe, used to cut the rope of the
rudder, was called _bipennis_.
[76] WAS IT NOT THE SAME PERHAPS WITH THE VESSEL OF STATE?
Comparing the administration of the government to a ship was
common among the Romans. See the well-known ode of Horace “_Ad
rem publicam_” (I, 14.): _O navis, referent in mare te novi
fluctus_....
[77] PLANASIA AND ILVA, now Pianosa and Elba.
[78] ATHENOPOLIS, now Saint Tropez.
[79] _Olbia_, now Hyères.
[80] RHODANUS, now called the Rhône.