The wind was howling around the bleak cliffs of Capri. Huge waves
dashed and broke against the rocks below. On the eastern heights of
the island the newly completed Villa Jovis was lost in the clouds.
Sheets of rain fell, drenching the island and the surrounding country.
Frightful lightnings flashed, and tremendous thunders rolled. The
beautiful white columns and statues and the massive walls of the
courtyards caught the wind and held it until it escaped with violent
whistlings and shriekings. Fields of maturing vines were gutted out
by raging torrents. Havoc and ruin relentlessly stalked through the
island, uprooting trees and throwing down buildings. A tempestuous
sirocco was at its height.
Down in the depths of the palace, in a vault to which no daylight could
penetrate, the cowardly Tiberius, with a wreath of laurel on his head,
crouched, trembling at every burst of thunder. From time to time he
would ask what signs there were of clearing. A statue of Victory fell
from its pedestal into the courtyard below and was dashed to pieces.
The noise of its fall was heard by Tiberius. The tyrant trembled.
“What was that noise?” he shrieked.
In a few minutes a servant replied, “The statue of Victory has fallen,
my lord.”
“Call the astrologer!” Tiberius commanded excitedly.
“Ay, my lord.”
“Bid him quickly come!” repeated the emperor.
When the astrologer arrived, he quieted the terror-stricken emperor by
telling him that an enemy who had long been victorious would soon be
crushed.
“But who is mine enemy that has been long victorious?” asked Tiberius.
The astrologer did not directly reply, but asked in turn, “Is there no
one who rules over thee, O emperor of the Romans?”
“Mine enemies are either dead or in prison,” replied the emperor.
“All thine enemies?” the astrologer asked doubtfully.
“Ay, all mine enemies. Wherefore dost thou doubt?” demanded Tiberius.
“I doubt thee not, O worthy emperor. I have long warned thee that some
one was subtly plotting against thee, but thou wouldst not believe me.”
“Nay; I must have proofs,” said the emperor.
“What better proof couldst thou demand, O mighty emperor, than that
which has just been shown thee? The statue fell to-day; proofs should
then arrive to-day.”
“Who would dare venture upon the water to-day?” asked Tiberius,
mockingly. “Ah, thou readest signs badly. No one-- By the infernal
gods! hear that thunderclap!” he exclaimed, greatly terrified.
“Ay, my lord Tiberius. The storm has now spent its force and will soon
abate,” prophesied the astrologer.
“The Villa Jovis is well named,” cried the emperor. “The ruler of the
gods has protected his august name.”
Although intended for a residence, the Villa Jovis was in reality
a fortress. It was built on an elevation, on three sides of which
cliffs dropped perpendicularly into the water. The fourth side, which
connected with the lowlands by steps, was protected by a massive wall.
Two gates led into the villa. The first gate was easy of access; and
between it and the second the visitor was carefully searched before he
was allowed to enter. A feeling of insecurity had seized the emperor,
and he had stationed soldiers on the walls and around the grounds,
as if the villa were in a state of siege. On the mainland heights of
Surrentum, not far distant, soldiers were also placed, to give warning
by flag-signals when a boat approached the island.
For one whole day no one had dared venture upon the turbulent waters.
The emperor therefore anxiously awaited reports from Rome. After the
last violent peal of thunder there was a breaking of the clouds.
The lightning became less violent. Tiberius then crawled from his
hiding-place, like an animal afraid of a revenging attack. He called
Caligula, and together they approached the small portico outside of the
semicircular triclinium, or dining-room. The emperor still wore on his
head the wreath of laurel.
“Hast thou no fear in a storm, my Caligula?” asked Tiberius.
“Nay, my father,” replied Caligula. The poor prince was compelled to
address the persecutor of his family by that name.
“Thy Divine ancestor, Augustus, always wore a sack of sealskin when
it lightened. Jupiter, however, never touches the laurel with his
thunderbolts. Look at the water! By the infernal gods! no one will dare
attempt to bring my letters to-day. Go, child, to the tower and inquire
if there are any signals from the shore.”
Caligula departed and quickly returned.
“A boat rowed by four men approaches the island, my father,” said
Caligula.
“At last I shall receive my letters!” exclaimed Tiberius, with
satisfaction. “Where is the little Tiberius?”
“On the tower, my lord.”
“Let us join him and watch the landing of the boat. Come!” ordered the
emperor.
They climbed the steps to a high tower which overlooked the whole
eastern portion of the island.
Since he was brought to Capri, the youngest son of Agrippina
had lived a life of continual dread. He had left the island but
once,--the time when he pronounced the panegyric at the funeral of
his great-grandmother, Livia. After those few days of freedom he had
returned directly to the island. He had been informed of the arrest
of his mother and brothers, and had heard of the death of Nero, his
favorite brother; but he dared not show his grief before the tyrant
Tiberius. Sleeping with the Prince Tiberius in a room which adjoined
the emperor’s, he could not, even at night, show signs of grief over
the sad fate of his family.
The impure life at Capri was such that the most chaste and virtuous
could hardly escape contamination. The island was filled with vile
wretches and loose women, who performed obscene ceremonies in the rooms
of the villa. The small gardens were often the scenes of revolting
spectacles. At dinner indecent stories were told by pathic Greeks,
while the host and his revelling companions ate and drank like beasts.
The sleeping-apartments contained suggestive and shameful pictures. In
such an atmosphere was the youth Caligula trained and developed. Murder
was almost a daily occurrence. The steep cliffs were often streaked
with blood. At the base of these cliffs human bones and remnants of
bodies were sometimes washed ashore.
Upon the tower of the Villa Jovis the emperor with his grandson and
Caligula now stood, watching the small boat dashed about by the
tumultuous seas. The oars moved unevenly, but the muscles that wielded
them seemed to be conquering the violence of the waves, and the boat
slowly approached the island. Occasional clouds still scudded across
the heavens, but large patches of blue sky showed that the storm had
indeed spent its force, as the astrologer had said.
“Who dares tempt the elements on such a day?” asked Tiberius.
“’Tis not an imperial boat,” said Caligula. “The men row too unevenly.”
“Ay, my boy,” said the emperor, contemptuously, “the rough fishermen
can out-pull the lazy sailors who man our vessels. Why does my captain
hesitate to launch into the waters when others dare brave them? Bah! He
is a child, a babe! Truly, he shall be punished! Verily must I wait
the morrow for news from Rome? What ho!” he yelled, calling a soldier.
“Signal to yonder peak that some one must attempt to bring me my
letters! Ye gods! We are laughed at by four ordinary fishermen!”
“There is a fifth man!” said the little Tiberius.
“What is he doing?” asked the emperor.
“He appears to be bailing out the boat,” replied the little prince
Tiberius.
“By Neptune! They are swamping!” exclaimed Caligula, as a huge wave
struck the boat.
“Ay, they have stopped rowing!” shouted the Prince Tiberius, in a tone
of fright.
“Now they are all bailing!” added Caligula, excited at the brave fight
the men were making.
“They are beginning to row again!” cried the young Tiberius.
“The boat is once more on its way!” gayly shouted Caligula.
“Of a truth, their bravery deserves to be rewarded,” said Tiberius.
“Who can be so anxious to reach Capri that they should tempt Fate by
such a venture? Here, lad, carry my laurel wreath below. The storm has
passed, and these leaves have once again saved my life.”
Caligula hastened below with the wreath, and was soon again watching
the struggles of the sailors. A signal was made from the mainland that
no one could be found to venture upon the sea at such a time.
“Ye infernal deities, drag the wretches to the realms of Pluto!”
shouted Tiberius, enraged. “The captain shall not only be beaten, but
he shall die.”
“Look, they are near the land!” said the Prince Tiberius, still
excitedly watching the boat with its five brave occupants.
“Ah, at last they are saved!” cried Caligula, as the boat entered the
waters on the lee side of the island.
The spectators of this heroic struggle descended from the tower and
walked around the garden of the villa, looking at the destruction
caused by the terrific storm. Some time after, while they were thus
occupied, a soldier approached the emperor and said, “A messenger from
Rome craves admittance.”
“Ha! The boat, then, brings tidings from Rome! The news must be
urgent!” he exclaimed. “Has the messenger been searched?” he asked,
turning to the soldier.
“Ay, my lord; he is the bearer of a letter,” replied the man.
“Send him to me,” commanded Tiberius.
Drenched to the skin, the young messenger presented himself before the
emperor. He handed him a letter, which he had succeeded in preserving
from the fury of the elements.
“’Tis from Antonia,” said Tiberius, as he looked at the seal.
“Ay, my lord,” replied the messenger.
“Follow me,” ordered Tiberius, as he led the way into the villa. “What
were thy orders?” he inquired, when they had reached the office.
“To rest neither day nor night until the letter was in thy hands,”
replied the messenger.
“What can she wish that orders so urgent should be given?” he asked
himself, as he broke the seal and hastily read the first few lines.
When he reached the middle of the letter, he smiled. “Antonia thinks
she has discovered a plot against me,” he said to himself. “She thinks
that Sejanus is aspiring to the throne! This joke is better than any
my Greeks have invented!” He read further. When he learned that Drusus
had been killed at the instigation of Sejanus, when he further learned
that the people in Rome regarded him, the emperor, as a prisoner, he
became serious. He turned to the messenger and said, “Who gave thee
this letter?”
“Macro, my lord,” replied the messenger.
“The sub-prefect gave thee thy passport?” asked the emperor.
“Ay, my lord,” was the reply.
“But how didst thou pass the different posts?”
“The seal of Sejanus passes everywhere.”
“But how came the seal of Sejanus in the possession of Macro?” asked
Tiberius, suspiciously.
“The minister has a duplicate that Macro uses for small commissions,”
replied the messenger.
“When didst thou leave Rome?”
“Two days since, my lord.”
“But how darest thou tempt the elements while my men shake with fear?”
growled the emperor, still irritated by the non-arrival of his letters.
“‘Lose not a moment!’ were the orders of Macro. The fishermen who rowed
me were bribed by promises of large reward,” replied the young man,
modestly.
“What is thy name?” the emperor asked.
“Gyges,” replied the young hero; for it was no other than the brave
young charioteer that had ventured out upon the turbulent sea.
“Thou art a Greek, the charioteer of the green faction,” said Tiberius.
“Antonia speaks of thee in this letter. Tell me all thou knowest.”
“I was betrothed, my lord, to a maiden named Psyche. She had a brother,
a bright lad, named Gannon. He was employed by Sejanus as a secretary
and a messenger. He has carried letters even to thee, O mighty
Tiberius. One day he happened to read a communication from Livilla to
Sejanus. On the night of that day he was murdered by order of Sejanus.
But before his death the lad sewed to the under side of his tunic a
message. The lad’s dead body, clothed in that tunic, was carried to
his home. The tunic was there removed. The parents of the lad were
seized and imprisoned before they could bury his body. The father is
an inoffensive schoolmaster; the mother, a good and honest woman. At
the time of their arrest Psyche and I were walking in the Campagna.
When we reached her home, she also was arrested. Going into the house,
she found the tunic of her dear brother. Broken-hearted, she kissed
it, when suddenly she discovered the message. I read it with her. The
poor boy wrote that he had done wrong; that he had ‘read a letter from
L to S about Lygdus.’ These initials, my lord, referred without doubt
to Livilla and Sejanus; for Gannon had told his parents that he had
always carried messages between them. These two names are, therefore,
the only ones he could have meant. I have known this Lygdus, and at
one time nearly became his victim. On the road to the camp with my
betrothed, I besought her not to reveal her knowledge of the writing.
Now, O mighty emperor, hearken unto what follows. When I left Psyche at
the camp, I went to the house of Lygdus. He was not there. I then went
to the palace of Drusus. The gate-keeper informed me that but that very
morning the eunuch had entered the service of Livilla as cup-bearer.
While I was speaking at the gate, calls of the guests for their litters
were heard. I waited and watched the people hastening in confusion from
the palace. I learned that Drusus had died suddenly. O noble lord, well
do I remember every episode of that horrible night! After the guests
had left, Sejanus arrived and entered the palace. When he left, Lygdus
bade him farewell at the gate. An order had been issued for my arrest;
but my stable-boy warned me and I fled to Casinum. When Macro became
sub-prefect, I hastened to him with my story. I have ended, O mighty
Tiberius.”
While Gyges related his story, the emperor nervously worked his fingers
about his mouth. Apparently these startling disclosures made but little
impression upon his callous nature. When Gyges finished, he drawled
out, “Antonia mentions not her daughter’s name.”
“’Twas Livilla without doubt, my lord, who sent the message to Sejanus
about Lygdus.”
“Where is now the lad’s tunic?”
“Sejanus has destroyed it.”
“Where are the lad’s parents?”
“They are still in prison, my lord.”
“And the maiden Psyche?”
“She is a prisoner at Pandataria.”
“Ah, is she, then, the criminal that Sejanus has described to me?”
asked the emperor, now truly surprised.
“Believe me, O mighty emperor, she is as pure and innocent as a Vestal
Virgin!” cried the young charioteer. “Can she not be freed, my lord?”
“She shall suffer no harm at Pandataria,” said Tiberius, in a tone that
gave Gyges hopeful assurance.
“I thank thee, my lord, I thank thee!” exclaimed Gyges, with tremulous
emotion.
“Now leave me,” ordered Tiberius. “On the morrow at daybreak thou shalt
carry from Capri letters to Macro.”
Left alone in his office, Tiberius began to reason with himself.
“Antonia is right,” he said, “Macro is right, and the young man Gyges,
whose honesty in the Circus is unquestioned, also seems to speak the
truth. Ah, Sejanus, thy cunning, then, has deceived me! Full well do
I now understand thy lying statements! Ye gods! I admire thy villany!
‘Take not the first cup!’ were his words of warning. Ah! Drusus has
been wronged! Now do I comprehend why his hand did not tremble when
he drank of that cup! Now do I understand why thou, Sejanus, didst
wish to marry Livilla! What subterfuge! What villany! But the emperor
can outstrip thee! He can-- By the infernal deities! can the emperor
do anything? Am I truly the emperor? Antonia calls me the ‘prisoner
of Capri’! Of a truth, nothing can come from Rome except through the
office of Sejanus. Ah, he has trapped me! But has he not sacrificed
many things for me? Did he not risk his life in the grotto? True, the
danger was over when he protected me, and his sacrifices were, after
all, but so many steps towards his own glory. Ah, he has made great
strides! But I will match my cunning against his. My mind is not yet
dead. It can still contrive new plans. Ay, by the essences of Hades!
I will make thee consul, O Sejanus; but while thou sippest glory from
a golden chalice, I will undermine thy power. Macro shall be the new
prefect. Money will win him and the soldiers!”
He called his secretaries and wrote three letters,--one to Macro, one
to Statius the Senator, and one to Antonia. He wrote one more,--to
Sejanus, the future consul.
At daybreak the next morning, with a passport bearing the emperor’s
seal, Gyges carried three letters from Capri. The letter for Sejanus
was sent by the imperial carriers.
On the day of Gyges’ departure from Capri the emperor’s nervousness
increased. He became gloomy and depressed. Every noise irritated him.
He went into the courtyard and watched the men gather the fragments
of the overthrown statue of Victory. He thought of the words of
the soothsayer, “An enemy who has long been victorious will soon be
crushed.” “He spoke truly,” said Tiberius to himself.
The day after the violent storm was as clear as crystal. The waters had
again become tranquil, and the bay of Neapolis, like a huge flower, had
unfolded with added beauty in the light of the glorious sun. Tiberius
climbed the watch-tower and looked towards the city of Neapolis. As he
vacantly stared, the waters seemed to change into the Campagna of Rome,
which was as red as blood. In the outline of the city he seemed to see
the fawning face of Sejanus. The emperor turned away and looked towards
Surrentum, but even there he had left his trail of blood. To the south
he saw the open sea, but the rocks beneath him were streaked with the
blood of those whom he had murdered. He glanced towards the west, but
there the islands of Pandataria and Ponza, like bloody fingers, pointed
towards him. For on Pandataria Julia, his wife, had been starved; on
Ponza, Nero had lately been strangled. Everywhere he looked he saw
blood, blood, blood!
That night he retired early. The lights were extinguished, and he tried
to find comfort in sleep. But his sleep revealed to him a new world.
Indistinct figures moved before him with stealthy steps, like famished
jackals. They were images of his own crimes and of his victims. In his
vision he saw sturdy, robust men reduced to weak and silly effeminacy
by participation with him in the vicious pleasures that consumed
vitality around him. He saw fantastic faces of violated virgins, of
filthy prostitutes with flabby breasts floating in the foul air of his
corrupt nature. There passed before him visions of sweet and lovely
children dragged from the heights of purity, ruined by contact with his
corruption. He twisted and groaned in torment. He seemed to breathe
an air infected with the foul breath of low, vulgar people, the smell
of filthy sewers, the stench of carrion, the belching of drunken men,
the sweat of panting prostitutes. He yelled as there passed before
him apparitions of tortured forms with screaming faces smeared with
blood. In all this horrible vision he heard, like the screeching of a
monstrous bird of prey, the words of his mother, Livia, “Woe unto thee,
Tiberius; woe unto thee!” Suddenly, amid the din of the terrible cries
of woe, he saw bloody fingers that wrote prophecies on the filthy mud
of his soul.
With frenzied screams he jumped from his couch. He called for lights.
He awakened the princes. He must bury the memory of those old crimes,
of those old obscenities, of those old murders, with new ones. “Call
the Greeks!” he ordered. “Call the dancers! Kill the cowardly captain!”
he cried in madness, as the sleepy servants slowly lit the lamps in the
luxurious rooms of the villa.