Having said farewell to Psyche, Gyges stood in deep depression,
watching her retreating figure until she disappeared within the grim
walls of the camp. Clenching his hands and shaking his head with a
profound sigh, he walked away. At first, not knowing where to go, he
wandered aimlessly. A confused aggregation of thoughts surged through
his mind,--thoughts that were filled with horrible forebodings. He
could think of no plan of action. As Gannon had been perplexed by
the words of Livilla, and as Alcmaeon and Hera had been troubled by
Gannon’s message, so Gyges was now harassed by the same dreadful doubts
concerning Lygdus. The manner in which Gannon had communicated with his
family made Gyges confident that the message was written when Gannon
was under grievous restraint. The words “Have done wrong” sounded in
Gyges’ ears like the wail of a crushed spirit. “The poor lad was in the
depths of despair when he wrote that,” thought Gyges. “But how could he
fall from the camp? He did wrong, he was imprisoned--ye gods! Can it
be possible that he was murdered? Ay; no one ever falls from the roof
of the camp at midnight! He was thrown! O Gannon!--poor, poor lad! What
was thy crime?”
“About Lygdus.” These words were the most mysterious part of Gannon’s
message; for Gyges understood thoroughly the character of the eunuch.
It was Lygdus who had tried to bribe him to lose a race. It was Lygdus
who had tried in the most dastardly manner to drug him. It was the
detestable Lygdus who had dared to tamper with his horses. Moreover,
the eunuch had been accused of murder; but this accusation, by some
subtle means, had been prevented from reaching the courts. He was a
panderer to the lust of Sejanus. He was a poor, despicable degenerate,
who revelled in all the lowest forms of wickedness. “This is the
being,” said Gyges to himself, “who has somehow caused Gannon’s death.
To the house of Lygdus I will go. Perchance something may be learned
there.”
Gyges now directed his steps to the house of the eunuch. A servant
answered his knock at the door.
“Is thy master at home?”
“Nay, O stranger.”
“Where can he be found?” asked Gyges.
“I know not,” replied the servant, as if annoyed.
“When did he leave?”
“This morning.”
“When will he return?”
“I know not. Mayhap on the morrow.”
“But I must see him,” said Gyges, anxiously.
“Inquire at the Praetorian Camp,” suggested the servant.
“I come from there,” said Gyges, as he feigned an important air.
“And no one could tell thee?”
“No one,” Gyges replied; but immediately added, “I am the bearer of
important news.”
“Carry thy news to Sejanus. He can tell thee the whereabouts of my
master. I know nothing,” said the servant, with increasing irritation.
“Then will I go to Sejanus,” said Gyges, as he walked away.
“I have learned nothing there,” he said to himself. “Truly, a servant
of Lygdus would not know whither his master would go. Sejanus and his
accomplices leave no traces. Ah! a charioteer’s mind works slowly on a
clue to an infernal plot! But is this an infernal plot? Gannon wrote:
‘Have done wrong. Read a letter from L to S,’” A new idea suddenly
entered the mind of Gyges. “The letter was from ‘L to S,’” he continued
to reason. “Can it be that the ‘L’ is for Livilla? Psyche mentioned
that name as we were walking together. Ay, I should have gone to the
house of Drusus with my inquiry. I will go there immediately.”
There came to his mind, as he walked towards the Esquiline Hill,
soothing recollections of the day spent with Psyche. He remembered her
graceful dancing, the applause of the other dancers, and the praise
of the master. He recalled her joyful exclamations as she passed the
shops on the Via Sacra. Psyche’s childish delight at the sight of
her new home came to him like the memory of a sweet melody. Like the
iridescence of a sunbeam in a crystal dew-drop was the remembrance of
the blissful moments spent with her amid the flowers of the peristyle.
Again he felt the same pang that he felt when the dead fish checked
the flow of the fountain. “But the fountain played again,” he said to
himself. He recalled the walk into the Campagna, the meeting of the
happy friends, and the walk to Psyche’s home. But suddenly the fearful
events that had succeeded broke these happy recollections.
He remembered her surprise and fear at the sight of the soldiers,
her nervousness as she requested a little time to go to her room,
her courage when she heard the terrible news of Gannon’s death. He
remembered how lovingly she had kissed Gannon’s tunic, how tenderly
she had caressed the little scrap of cloth on which Gannon had
painfully inscribed his last sad words to his family. He pictured her
as she walked to the barracks, sad but not crushed. His last words to
her were a caution against revealing any knowledge of the writing on
Gannon’s tunic. She had replied, “I promise thee, O my Gyges.”
“Would that Gannon had not written that message!” he said to himself.
“Would that we had not seen it! Ay, would also that Psyche had gone
directly home from the theatre! Then she would have seen Gannon.
Perchance she would now be free.” But such wishes were worse than
useless. In one short day the happiness of the family of Alcmaeon had
been utterly destroyed. Gannon had been killed; Alcmaeon, Hera, and
Psyche were prisoners. “Had Alcmaeon and Hera seen that writing?” he
questioned. “What if Psyche should be tempted to an admission? What
if Sejanus and the brutes in the camp should torture her and make her
confess? Would she, too, be killed? Perhaps Alcmaeon and Hera were
already murdered!” He trembled as he groaned aloud, “It cannot be! It
cannot be!”
But Gyges, usually buoyant and hopeful, soon subdued these despondent
thoughts. He now argued that Sejanus was justified in questioning
Gannon’s family. He began to believe that after a few days they
would all be free. So occupied had he been in contemplation that he
now remembered he had not dined; but notwithstanding his hunger he
proceeded on his way to the Esquiline Hill.
When he arrived before the grated entrance to the gardens of Drusus, he
called to the gate-keeper, “What ho!”
“What dost thou wish?” asked the gate-keeper, carrying a lantern as he
approached the grating.
In the dim light Gyges saw some slaves and litters outlined against the
dark foliage of the garden. “I come to inquire of one named Lygdus,” he
replied.
“I know of no guest by that name.”
“A guest?” asked Gyges, surprised.
“Ay; there is a dinner in the palace this night,” replied the
gate-keeper.
“But Lygdus would not be a guest,” said Gyges.
“A servant arrived this morning to act as cup-bearer. I know not his
name,” replied the gate-keeper.
“Tell me, O gate-keeper, was he short and stout, with a sleek face?”
“Ay; he talked in a--”
“The litter of Agrippina!” interrupted an excited voice from the
palace. “The litter of Drusilla!” cried another voice.
Hearing these orders, the gate-keeper abruptly ended his conversation.
Gyges retreated to a wall opposite the iron grating. Other calls were
now heard. Then there was a confusion of slaves as they marched up
the path, carrying the litters on their shoulders. Shortly after,
flickering through the trees, were seen lighted torches borne by slaves
preceding their masters. As the gate-keeper swung open the gate,
Gyges saw the excited faces of Nero and Drusus. Following them, Gyges
recognized Claudius, who with heavy step and panting breath tried to
keep up with them. One by one the litters were borne out. Finally a
cry, “The emperor! The emperor!” was heard, and a gorgeous litter with
drawn curtains and surrounded by a guard of soldiers passed down the
path and through the entrance. Then there was a silence, broken only by
a few stragglers who hastened to join those already departed. To one of
these stragglers Gyges said, “A pardon for my boldness, but what has
happened?”
“A dire calamity!”
“Some one is dead?”
“Ay; my lord Drusus.”
“The son of the emperor?” asked Gyges, astounded.
“Ay; ’twas sudden! He died at dinner!”
“May the gods be gracious to thee!” said Gyges, as he withdrew.
The words of Gannon’s message again flashed over his mind. They burned
into his brain like red-hot irons. Their full import now dawned upon
him. He now understood why Sejanus wished to silence the boy’s lips.
The terrible possibilities of Psyche’s fate, if she but acknowledged
having read Gannon’s writing, tortured him so that he knew not what
to do. Finally he decided to go to the house of Alcmaeon, procure the
tunic, and destroy the evidence. As he left the palace gate, he heard
the tramp of feet on the lava-paved street. He concealed himself in
the shadow of the wall and waited. A litter escorted by a few soldiers
stopped near him. He saw a man descend, and he heard an order to wait
at the entrance. He saw the gate swing open. The faint light of the
porter’s lantern revealed the features of the minister and murderer,
Sejanus.
At the sight of the man who had caused Gannon’s murder and Psyche’s
imprisonment, there rushed over Gyges such a flood of bitterness and
hatred that with supreme difficulty he restrained an impulse to spring
and strangle him. But Sejanus quickly disappeared in the darkness, and
Gyges was again left alone with his thoughts. This time he thought of
himself. Questions such as these arose in his mind: “What if Sejanus
knew that I was with Psyche when she was arrested? What if he knew that
I had read Gannon’s message? What if he knew that I have full insight
into his infernal crime?” Gyges trembled. The terrible significance of
his position almost overwhelmed him.
But his unhappy meditations were cut short by the return of Sejanus.
The minister was not alone. Some one kissed his hand. The massive
gate was opened by the porter. As the gate closed, a face from within
looked through the iron bars. Gyges started; for in the dim light he
recognized the leering features of Lygdus.
As soon as Sejanus and his guards had passed on, Gyges, with trembling
speed, fled in the opposite direction.