Afer’s idea with regard to the movements of the jackal, as he termed him,
was shrewdly correct, for Tigellinus bent his steps without further delay
towards the villa of Neptune. The path was far from being an easy one.
There was the high mountain barrier towering above him and separating him
from the table‐land, which sloped towards the north‐west, upon the
furthest verge of which the villa of the Emperor rested. He, therefore,
decided to shift part of the burden of his toil upon some other shoulders.
For that purpose he passed through the town and descended to the Marina
proper on the north side, where he commanded a boatman to row him to his
destination. His word seemed to carry as much authority with the fisherman
as with the coastguard, since he was obeyed, although with some amount of
grumbling on account of the unseasonable darkness.
Within an hour’s row the boatman pulled into land and deposited his
passenger on a small ledge chiselled out of the rock. Therefrom Tigellinus
ascended a flight of steps to the level ground above, where, nigh at hand,
loomed the walls of the villa Neptune.
In the rear of the palace were its gardens surrounded by a wall.
Tigellinus, evidently familiar with the premises, went straight to a small
side door therein, where he received a sharp summons to halt, from a
sentinel who paced in front fully armed.
‘What, Siccius, not know an old friend?’ quoth Tigellinus, with a laugh;
‘or must I show my signet?’
‘Ho! ho!’ replied the soldier, peering close; ‘here again! Where have you
dropped from? You come on one, all of a sudden, out of the darkness, like
a ghost. Have you flown or swum?’
‘Neither, Siccius. How are things with you all in the island?’
‘Pretty well; a trifle more bustle and stir since the Prefect came. He is
going to be the son‐in‐law of Tiberius.’
‘Ay, ay! that grows stale, but do you happen to know how Caesar’s humour
runs this evening?’
‘I have heard no complaint, and if the weather is foul it spreads, as a
rule, pretty fast.’
‘Good, then I will go in. Good‐night, Siccius!’
‘We shall see you later on,’ pleaded the sentinel, ‘to tell us the talk
and the news of Rome—sweet Rome?’
‘It depends; if I can I will,’ returned Tigellinus, going inside the door.
Passing through the gardens he reached a long and lofty portico of two
stories, from which two or three doors opened. Two more sentinels were on
guard here, underneath the portico, but perceiving who the visitor was,
they merely exchanged a few whispered words with him. Tigellinus chose one
of the entrances which led him into a narrow passage, thence into a court,
open to the sky, and surrounded by offices. The kitchen, in one corner,
with its blazing fires, the adjacent servants’ hall, as well as other open
doors, threw their stream of light into the central space, in aid of the
various torches which were stuck around the walls. To and fro across this
court busy slaves passed and repassed in the execution of their duties.
Others, free for the time from responsibility, were assembled in the
servants’ hall, full of laugh and chatter. The cooks were resting from
their labours beside their fires, amid the yet uncleared disorder of their
apparatus, and, together with a company of equally idle scullions and
waiting slaves, were busily and pleasantly engaged in nibbling at the
fragments of dainties returned from the Imperial table. These signs did
not escape the keen‐witted Tigellinus, who concluded, therefrom, that the
business of Caesar’s evening repast had come to an end. After scanning the
faces inside the various offices he quitted the court by a short passage
on the left, meeting one or two more domestics on the way, each bearing a
load of table furnishments. By these he was satisfied, on inquiry, that
the Emperor was at ease after his meal, and he went on into a peristyle or
open hall, of magnificent proportions, surrounded by a pillared portico.
With the exception of the portico it was open to the sky, and the
reflection of the glittering stars danced in the waters of the fountain,
which splashed in the basin in the centre of the marble floor. Around the
basin was arranged a miniature flower garden, and throughout the whole of
the space a soft clear light was diffused from silver lamps, which burned
perfumed oils at frequent intervals around the circuit of the portico.
Of the numerous doors which opened therefrom, one at the south side was
guarded by the inevitable armed Pretorian. From the frequent passing in
and out of stealthy‐footed slaves this would seem to be the Imperial
supper‐room, but, instead of proceeding thither, Tigellinus pushed open a
door within a yard of the passage by which he had entered. It was a kind
of office containing only a bench and table, at which was seated a man
engaged in reading, what seemed to be, a paper of accounts. Disturbed by
the sound of the incomer he looked up and gave an ejaculation of surprise,
‘What, Tigellinus! At last! I have been looking for you long.’
His accent was distinctly Greek. His figure was slender and supple, and
his complexion fair. His features were perfectly handsome, but a cold
penetrating expression of eye overbore their beauty with an air of
repellence.
‘Yes, Zeno; it is no other than myself,’ replied Tigellinus, closing the
door behind him; ‘and, old comrade, how go things with yourself?’
‘Just in the humour for fellowship such as yours,’ answered Zeno.
‘Delighted at the compliment,’ rejoined the new‐comer; ‘but Caesar first
and you next, worthy steward. Are the omens favourable that I see my royal
patron this evening?’
‘Without fear,’ said the steward.
Drawing their heads together they conversed in whispers for a quarter of
an hour, at the end of which time Tigellinus drew a signet ring from his
finger and gave it to his friend. Zeno departed and Tigellinus awaited his
return, which did not occur until fully twenty minutes had elapsed.
‘Come!’ said the steward, thrusting in his head at the door. In the
meantime the sentinel had changed his post to another door in the
peristyle. Through this Tigellinus was ushered by the warrior, and the
steward returned to his accounts.
Within the apartment, which was simply enough appointed, the ruler of the
world sat awaiting his agent, with his cheek resting on his hand. At his
feet a newly‐kindled fire of wood burned brightly, and close to his elbow
was a small table, upon which stood a gold cup filled with wine.
Tigellinus stepped forward into the Imperial presence and knelt down, but
not without giving a swift and anxious glance to read, if possible, his
master’s mood.
To a stranger, the countenance which met his gaze would surely have caused
apprehension by reason of its stern lowering appearance, but, in reality,
it was nothing more than its native, unruffled expression, which
Tigellinus was well accustomed to, and consequently relieved to see.
The Emperor had now almost completed the allotted age of man. The weight
of threescore years and ten had been aided by the undermining of continued
excesses, of which we have such dark and doubtless exaggerated tales. Yet
both had failed to break the iron constitution of the man. It was
certainly the result most naturally to be expected; but here was prodigy
of physical organisation, which still remained unimpaired under the strain
of age and a ruler’s cares, as well as the self‐imposed waste of vicious
indulgence.
But not without the deep indelible traces of the long conflict appearing
externally. His tall form had contracted a stoop, and was shrunk almost to
emaciation. His head was bald, except some thin locks which grew low down
upon his neck. Thus far might honest age be accountable; but to see the
offensive ulcerous eruptions stuck over with plaster, which blotched his
pale face, was to awaken suspicion of polluted habits. Yet from the midst
of this unattractive physiognomy there shone the undimmed brilliance of
his large eyes. Their beauty had outlived the once acknowledged comeliness
of his face, as well as the athletic proportions of his large frame.
Somewhat heavy lidded and slow moving, their glance, nevertheless, when it
became fixed, seemed to pierce the inward thoughts of him they rested
upon. Their depths were as fathomless as the ocean, save when lit with a
sudden magnetic flash of wrath, which his minions ever watched for in
trembling. Nothing, throughout the wide empire, received such unwearying
catlike watch and ward as these basilisk orbs which gathered more than
they emitted.
In his manner, the Emperor was, by nature, silent and reserved, which
increased for him a reputation for intractable pride and malignance. He
was of the Claudian family, and were they not ever proud and insufferable?
He spoke as little as possible, and his words were delivered slowly and
deliberately, with an accompanying motion of his forefinger.
Such were the most particular personal characteristics of the tyrant who,
for some occult reason, had foresworn the seat of his empire, and had
secluded himself in a rocky islet. His energy and watchfulness were
unabated in affairs private and public. His continued absence, taken in
conjunction with the busy ambition of the Prefect, was fruitful of rumours
in no way favourable to the supremacy of Caesar. But who could penetrate
the matchless craft, the profound dissimulation which enshrouded the
despot’s mind? Without some miracle of light, which might illumine, for
one brief moment, the secret solitude of his brooding thoughts, it were
idle to conjecture and speculate upon their tenor.
The Emperor held out the signet ring which Tigellinus had sent in as an
intimation of his arrival. The owner rose and took it with humble
obeisance. At a sign from the eloquent forefinger of Caesar, he went and
unloosed the folds of a large curtain which he drew across the door,
thereby effectually guarding against any chance of their voices travelling
outside. This little task completed, he returned, and stood awaiting
Caesar’s pleasure.
‘So, you have come—Priscus never bade me expect you,’ said Tiberius,
speaking as if it needed an effort to find his voice.
‘I know not that, Caesar, but I sent him word as usual,’ replied
Tigellinus, whose obsequious, not to say cringing, manner in the Imperial
presence, bore a very striking contrast to his cool authoritative
deportment elsewhere.
‘Well, it is no matter whether you did, or whether he forgot to tell
me—when did you come?’ asked Tiberius.
‘Only this very night, illustrious, since sundown.’
‘Where did you land, and what have you come with? Use your tongue and
spare mine, good Tigellinus,’ continued the Emperor, with the faintest
wrinkle of his eyebrows.
‘Yes, I was about to!’ rejoined Tigellinus, brisking up at his master’s
tone. ‘I have those with me that I have chosen with my best endeavours to
be worthy of Caesar’s household. I landed at the same place as usual, not
far from the Scopuli, and left my companions of the voyage on board the
galley, while I came on hither to wait upon you, Caesar, without delay.
Meanwhile I sent up to the villa Jovis, and, no doubt, the noble Priscus
will see them removed and safely bestowed at once.’
‘Humph! I shall be able to judge of your efforts when I go to the villa.
Meanwhile what have you to tell me of—come nearer!’
Tigellinus approached a step or two as desired, and replied, ‘There is
little or nothing that I have been able to gather since I was last here.
The people seem to be full at present with the Prefect’s visit here—it is
whispered everywhere that he is to be honoured with the hand of the noble
Livia, for which reason he has come hither.’
‘Well!’
‘Does Caesar wish me to say exactly what is commonly said in Rome?’
‘Exactly!’
‘I will speak then without fear. It seems still to pass as a joke,
presumptuous and incredible as it may appear, that the Prefect Sejanus is
called the autocrat, and you, Caesar, the governor of an island.’
Tigellinus seemed not altogether at ease in imparting this scandal, but
Caesar gazed into the fire with a face as unmoved as granite. Not a
sparkle rose to his eyes, not a curl to his lip.
‘Is that all?’ he said dreamily.
‘Yes; except that the Romans seem to believe in it.’
‘Any more?’
‘Nothing, I grieve to say, illustrious; for you only instructed me to
collect what floats from citizen’s mouth to citizen’s mouth.’
‘If you did more I would have you flung from the walls of the villa into
the sea,’ observed Tiberius, with the same placidity of manner.
‘I never seek to exceed the bounds of your commands,’ replied Tigellinus
hastily, giving an involuntary shudder at the same time.
‘Meanwhile I am glad to know that the Prefect is so zealous in the duties
which fall to his share,’ said Tiberius, calmly spreading his fingers over
the warmth of the fire.
‘What!—your highness is glad!’ exclaimed Tigellinus, betrayed into sudden
surprise.
But the piercing glance of the Emperor transfixed him, and his tongue
clove to the roof of his mouth. He clenched his fist in suspense and
cursed his heedlessness in his heart.
‘Glad!’ repeated Tiberius, without removing his gaze—‘rejoiced, worthy
Tigellinus, as every master should be at the diligence of his servant.
Should it not be so?’
‘I—it should—certainly! The Prefect is most diligent. And he is happy like
my humble self in having a master beyond compare.’
Tigellinus stammered in the former part of his reply, but he rolled out
the latter with recovered self‐possession and glib readiness.
‘May I be hurled to Hades if I permit my voice in future to show that I
have an idea how the wind blows,’ he thought to himself, as he breathed
freer. ‘Ugh! I seemed already to fancy myself standing on yonder cliff
ready for a dive. He is a sublime hypocrite, or I am an equally sublime
fool—I’ll stick to my own trade—at least as far as speaking goes!’
‘You are a poor newsmonger on this occasion, Tigellinus,’ quoth the
Emperor.
‘I am grieved to acknowledge the fact, Caesar,’ answered the other
mournfully, ‘but what can your humble servant do in the lack of news? You
would be displeased if I were to manufacture any to entertain you.’
‘Do not try!’ said Tiberius drily; ‘since nothing stirs the air of the
city I may infer then that the people are well satisfied with the conduct
of those in authority over them?’
Fairly warned by his slip, Tigellinus resolutely stifled his curiosity
with regard to the Imperial policy, and was watchful not to be tempted
from the secure path of plain matter‐of‐fact answers. He, therefore,
replied to the artful question of the Emperor in a simple affirmative,
‘That it was as Caesar had said, as far as his perception was able to
ascertain.’
‘Happy people! happy city!’ murmured Tiberius softly, as if to himself, or
to the fire, into which he was gazing.
‘Truly happy!’ was the refrain of Tigellinus.
‘Ah—what?’ said Tiberius, looking up hastily, as though roused from a
reverie.
‘I was merely agreeing with you, Caesar, when you remarked what is true
beyond doubt, that Rome and its people were happy,’ said Tigellinus.
‘Did I then speak?’ said the Emperor carelessly; ‘I knew it not—I must
have thought aloud—a style I am not given to.’
His glance fell on the goblet of wine, which stood untasted, and he
stretched out his hand to take it.
‘I had forgotten my drink—no doubt because of your stirring news,’
continued Tiberius, with a delicate sarcasm, which the other instinctively
likened to the toying of a tiger’s claws sheathed in velvet; ‘I drink to
the happiness of my Romans, and to that of my Prefect in particular.’
A deep draught gurgled down the Imperial throat, and the cup was set down
again more than half emptied. Tigellinus eyed his master with covert,
doubting glances.
‘One little matter, illustrious, I had forgotten for the moment,’ he said,
not daring to withhold it, and yet doubting how it might be received.
‘A little matter,’ observed Tiberius ironically, ‘I daresay with more in
it than the other.’
‘It is in a measure connected with the Prefect, who so well deserves your
gracious esteem,’ continued the other, deeming it safe to add the
compliment from what had passed, although it had upset all his previous
theories.
The Emperor nodded for him to proceed.
‘Shortly before the Prefect left Rome for Capreae, he told me that a
certain lady wished to visit this island, and, in order that she might
come without arousing any notice, I was to send her word when I was to
start, that she might accompany me. She and a waiting slave, therefore,
took passage with us, and, as I was instructed to do exactly as she
desired, I took her, at her request; to the most secluded and out‐of‐the‐
way lodging I could think of, where she might pass the time without the
fear of her presence becoming generally known.’
‘Is she young or old?’ asked Tiberius, raising his eyebrows in the
faintest degree.
‘Young, most decidedly.’
‘Beautiful or hideous, good Tigellinus?’
‘One of the most beautiful in Rome.’
Caesar’s pallid lips, for the first time, curved into a satirical smile.
‘You have made a mistake,’ he said; ‘the Prefect’s betrothed bride, the
Lady Livia, would have been more grateful for your information than I am!’
‘I do beseech you, Caesar, remember, that solely in my zeal and duty to
you I have revealed what I swore to keep entirely secret,’ uttered
Tigellinus, perturbed in spirit by the Emperor’s answer. ‘The worshipful
Sejanus may discover and visit his vengeance upon me!’
‘Be easy,’ said Tiberius, ‘as long as anything proves of use to me I
suffer nothing to harm it. Who is this woman?’
‘Plautia, the sister of Apicius.’
‘Apicius the spendthrift fool of the Palatine who poisoned himself at
supper?’
‘The same—all Rome talked of it.’
‘And this Plautia?—I know her not.’
‘She dwells nigh the Forum of Caesar—alone.’
‘Has she anything to recommend her but her beauty?’
‘Her suppers are celebrated among a certain set.’
‘Of which the Prefect makes one?’
‘They have been most intimate for some time.’
‘Who else of any note?’
‘The Prefect’s friend, Domitius Afer; one called Martialis is infatuated
with the love of her, follows her like a dog, and report says she treats
him like one.’
‘She is fonder of the Prefect, and, now that she has followed after him,
this Martialis will forthwith hang himself, as a dog in despair should.
The Prefect has a centurion whom I know by that name. Without doubt it is
the same luckless dog.’
‘No, the centurion is a younger brother.’
‘You are invaluable, Tigellinus,’ said Tiberius, nodding his head
approvingly. ‘I should deem myself clever with only half of your industry
and power of memory. Do you happen to know if this other Martialis, the
officer of the Prefect, is also accounted one of the set blessed with the
cookery of this lady’s kitchen?’
‘No, I should say not. He is seldom seen, even with his brother, I am
told. He and the guard were waiting for me to‐night, when I rowed ashore
at dusk—bears himself somewhat proudly.’
‘It is a prerogative of the legion to which he belongs, Tigellinus, and we
poor mortals of the simple coat must put up with it. But he is a good
officer, and highly prized by Sejanus, which is a sufficient guarantee for
his trustworthiness. But enough of that—tell me who else is familiar with
this lady’s table.’
‘Charinus, Pomponius, Blaesus, Vitellius—these are some I know, but I
never set myself to inquire particularly concerning the matter. Had I
known that you would have taken so much interest I would have made it my
business to have got more information.’
‘It matters little—I seem scarce to know those you have already named. The
lady, herself, no doubt, is the chief attraction—what else is there of
interest about her in addition to her comeliness and her savoury suppers?
Are her manners free and captivating—is she wise or witty?’
‘H’m, in truth, Caesar,’ said Tigellinus, with a hesitating air, ‘some say
one thing and some another, but I am told that she is a woman whom no one
can properly fathom, so that no one can prove whether she be too free or
not. I have only been in her company from Rome hither, but I would
confidently say that she is a woman of ability, and with a haughty temper
such as I should not care to get foul of. Of her loveliness there is no
doubt.’
‘You are a judge, my Tigellinus.’
‘It is my profession, or part of it, so please you, illustrious,’ replied
the other, with a smirk.
The lips of Caesar deigned a faint smile, and he betrayed further
curiosity as to the reason of Plautia’s visit. But his informant was
obliged to admit his complete ignorance.
‘I should recommend you to tell me, nevertheless,’ quoth Caesar coldly and
mercilessly.
‘I swear to the gods, illustrious, that I do not know,’ protested
Tigellinus with vehemence and trepidation; ‘had I any knowledge I would
not, nor dare I, hide it from you—I would have no cause for doing so. What
cause there is for her coming is, perhaps, only known to her and to the
Prefect. I have observed nothing which could give me any suspicion. But I
will endeavour to get some information if Caesar thinks proper to bid me.’
‘I will consider,’ returned Tiberius, musing; ‘it seems, however, to be
easily explained, and no doubt may be left to herself and the Prefect. In
what part of the island have you put her, in order that she may be
undisturbed?’
‘Noble Caesar?’ ejaculated the Suburan faintly.
Tiberius frowned.
‘I say where have you left this woman?’
‘In the house of one named Tucca, at the edge of the cliffs under the hill
of the villa of Mars. It is almost hid from sight; there are no dwellings
at hand, so that it seemed to me to be as serviceable for the purpose as
any.’
‘No doubt,’ observed the Emperor; ‘but had it been under the villa of
Mercury it would have been more convenient for those concerned.’
There was a knock at the door, and on receiving permission to enter, the
sentinel made his appearance, and announced the arrival of a courier with
despatches.
Caesar’s demeanour and voice betrayed evident interest. ‘I will summon him
directly—let him be at hand,’ he said. ‘And now, Tigellinus, best and most
discreet of servants, we will let these matters of ours rest until to‐
morrow.’
Tigellinus made a low obeisance and withdrew. He went across the spacious
peristyle, and disappeared down the passage, by which he had arrived,
toward the quarters of the household staff, where he held a largely
attended levee, as the newest arrival from Rome.
The Emperor stepped to the door, and, slightly opening it, peered through
to assure himself of his vassal’s complete departure. When the sound of
steps had completely died away, he clapped his hands and then returned to
his seat. In a few seconds the slender figure and handsome face of the
Greek steward Zeno entered.
‘Know you the house of one named Tucca, standing on the cliffs at the foot
of the hill of Mars?’ demanded Tiberius.
The steward replied in the affirmative.
‘There is a young female arrived there in secret, together with a slave. I
wish to have her described to me; I wish to know, if possible, why she is
here—I wish to know all her movements. Neither she nor any one else must
know that she is watched, and the matter must be confined to three
persons—myself, yourself, and the spy, whoever he may be. And, especially,
must it be kept from Tigellinus, your good friend, as I know.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ answered Zeno.
‘If she desires to be secret you will find darkness more prolific than
daylight. Go, and call the courier!’
The Greek vanished, and the Emperor took some small tablets from his bosom
and proceeded to make a few notes. By the time he had finished the courier
entered, bearing a packet of despatches, to which he immediately turned
his serious attention.