Shortly before noon on the same morning Domitius Afer climbed the steep
path which led to the Prefect’s house. On arriving at the villa he found
that Sejanus had gone to the Emperor’s stronghold on the eastern cliffs,
where the Pretorians on duty in the island were barracked. Thither he
thought it worth while to follow. Coming out of the gates of the villa
Jovis he met Martialis, arrayed in simple civilian costume. With the
barest recognition possible they went on their way, but Afer was
sufficiently interested to tell his Greek attendant to loiter behind, and
watch which way the young Centurion aimed for.
Three sides of the Emperor’s favourite villa were surrounded by strong
defences. The fourth side, since it rested on the edge of the cliffs, was
impregnable to everything save the birds of the air. Between the villa
with its private grounds, and the outside girdle of defence, was an ample
space, partly planted with trees. It was occupied, in one part, by a range
of buildings, which were the quarters of the Pretorian detachment
garrisoning the island during its tenure as an Imperial residence. The
entrances of the villa itself were each guarded by the customary
legionary, but, elsewhere, Afer met with no challenge to impede his steps.
In the middle of the wide parade ground fronting the barrack houses, he
perceived the Prefect speaking with an officer, who was a man approaching
the gigantic in stature.
Afer loitered apart until the huge Pretorian officer went off, and then
Sejanus turned towards him. ‘Good morrow, my Titus! Did you climb to the
villa this morning?’
‘As usual, Prefect.’
‘I rested ill last night, and was astir earlier in consequence,’ said
Sejanus. ‘There is nothing new from Rome.’
‘Alas, I would I were there!’ sighed Afer; ‘the heaviness of this listless
isle is insupportable. The mountains, the rocks, and the sea—the sea, the
rocks, and the mountains; there is nothing else. The senses rust, the
brain is numb, and one walks as if steeped to the lips in a heavy dream or
phantasmagoria. Would I were standing in my porch on the Esquiline!’
‘What, exchange this pure air, this fair isle, its peace and repose, for
the smells, and smoke, and roars of that seething cauldron Rome! Tush, you
have twice as much colour in your cheeks, and twice as much sparkle in
your eye, as when we left it. You are hard to please. Turn philosopher or
poet—anything to pass the time. You never hear me repine.’
‘Ah no, but I am not in the lucky position in which you are, Prefect; I
have no betrothed bride to bid time fly like the wind,’ answered Afer
sarcastically.
‘Go and get you one, then,’ said the smiling Prefect.
‘And in what eagle’s nest nigh the clouds, or in what secret den below
ground should I keep her in this sea prison, that I might have her and
call her still my own?’
‘Get an ill‐favoured one and live in peace.’
‘I would rather take beauty and run all risks, if I could land beauty, on
some dark night, and find a snug corner to bestow it safely and unseen,’
observed the knight carelessly.
Knowing his man, he did not expect his speech to have any effect, and he
was, therefore, surprised to see a sudden light flash into his patron’s
face.
‘By Hercules!’ exclaimed the Prefect sharply, as he struck his forehead at
the same time with his hand, ‘was ever an idle speech such an apt
reminder!’
He fumbled in the breast of his tunic.
‘What is it? what lucky word have I said?’ said Afer curiously.
‘How came it to slip my mind, and I only received it this morning as I
left my chamber,’ said Sejanus, drawing forth a crumpled paper and
offering it to his friend. ‘Read!’
Afer took the paper, which contained a few crabbed words, as follows:—
‘I arrived last night, and the two females you know of are safely
lodged in the house of one Tucca, under the Hill of Mars, a very
safe place.’
There was no signature, but Afer needed none to tell him from whom the
missive came.
‘It is very suggestive,’ said he, with an inscrutable countenance; ‘but,
for the rest, I am still too much in the dark to say more.’
‘What then if I tell you that these damsels came from Rome—who would you
say they were, or rather she—for one, as I apprehend, is only a slave?’
‘Rome is large and its females many,’ said Afer; ‘I would as lieve begin
to count the stones on the Marina.’
‘Who but our lovely entertainer on many a pleasant afternoon—who but the
queenly Plautia.’
‘What! Plautia here, and why?’ cried the knight, with a start of surprise
which Roscius might have envied. ‘Ah, Prefect, what does this mean?’
Afer smiled and looked at the handsome Prefect with a sly askant look.
‘Faith, I know not—not I,’ answered Sejanus.
‘Um!’ said his follower.
There was something in the manner of this ejaculation which proved too
much for the other’s attempted gravity, and he burst out into a laugh.
‘You would seem to insinuate something, my dear Titus,’ he remarked; ‘and
yet it is quite true, incredible as it may appear, that our lovely and
wilful dame has thought fit to visit Capreae entirely in obedience to her
own whim.’
‘Most strange!’ rejoined Afer pithily.
‘Most true!’
‘There must be a strong reason for such a dainty, exquisite, proud, city‐
bred lady to come hither—do you not think so?’
‘Whether there be a strong inducement, or merely a woman’s curiosity I am
equally unaware.’
‘Such privations, such hardships, such fatigues, such inconveniences for a
female to undergo, who has never known even the hardness of a wrinkle in
her bed of down. There is never a man in Rome who would not give five
years of his life to be able to boast of this feat.’
‘Pooh, pooh, man! you are fantastical this morning.’
‘If I am as near the truth, as it seems to me I am, it matters not what
name you put upon it.’
‘Tush!’
‘Your approaching marriage makes her desperate. It is as clear as the
daylight.’
‘Pooh, pooh, this is nonsense!’
‘The lady is proud; but we ever thought we could detect the signs of
feeling for you, in spite of her haughty bearing.’
‘Have done, man—you grow silly.’
‘What must be the power which can so reduce such pride and disdain to such
lapdog humility!’
‘Are you so mad as to imagine that she has ventured hither on my account?’
‘I have said.’
‘Psaw!’
The ablest minds have their weaknesses, and it was beyond the power of the
formidable Prefect’s affected scorn to hide the gratification which this
flattery of the influence of his personal advantages caused to lurk in his
very handsome face.
His client well knew that he need have little fear of giving offence by
straining too grossly on the point, so he proceeded—
‘Until you are able, therefore, to render another reason for the divine
Plautia’s presence, it will be vain to dislodge my opinion.’
‘I really cannot say, except that it is merely a woman’s whim,’ returned
the other, shrugging his shoulders pityingly. ‘’Tis strange I forgot she
was coming.’
‘What? did you then know?’ said Afer in surprise.
‘Had the least thought of it troubled my brain I must have told you before
now. Ere we left Rome she vowed, for some reason which I could not
discover, that she would pay a sly visit to Capreae. She would not be
dissuaded, and for the sake of peace I consented. I arranged her
conveyance hither; for the rest she must take her chance.’
‘How did she come?’
‘In the vessel of one Tigellinus, who has periodical business in the
island.’
Both men burst into a laugh.
‘It would be curious to know how the fair Plautia is pleased,’ said Afer.
‘I do not know; and whatever her experiences may be, and whatever befall
her, she must abide by it, for she would take her own headstrong way.’
‘She will be seen and whispered of through the island, as sure as yon sun
shines upon us. Inquiries will be made. Are you not afraid of
contingencies arising, which it would be unwise and unnecessary to
provoke—with your pardon, Prefect, for speaking thus.’
The confidential follower nodded significantly toward the west, as if to
indicate some particular part of the island. Sejanus regarded him
earnestly for a space, and then replied slowly—
‘You are right, Afer. I understand what you mean. I thought of that
possibility when I granted beauty’s request, but I was too hasty and
hurried at the time. I am more impressed with it now. This state of things
is too dangerous; it must be altered, my Titus.’
‘It would be wise to bring the lady’s visit to a sudden and hasty close,’
rejoined Afer.
‘By Hercules! it must be done,’ muttered Sejanus, knitting his brows.
‘Only think, if my lady Livia were to hear! Come, let us go back to my
house. I was intending to depart straight to the villa of Neptune; but not
now. One thing is sure; I must see this bold damsel, as soon as there is
sufficient darkness to cover one’s movements. Come, let us march! May all
the powers in heaven give her prudence and keep her in‐doors till night.
Given that, then the morn may break upon her at a safer distance.’
At a certain time previous to this conversation, the old man Tucca emerged
from his dwelling and made toward the town. On the outskirts thereof was a
wine tavern—a small, unpretending house, standing in a very narrow lane.
It was the tavern of Paula. He went in and inquired of the widow herself
for Alexander. She was a native of the island, like himself, and, of
course, known to him, as long as she had lived, some five‐and‐forty years.
A quiet smile rested on her yet comely face when, after a few commonplace
remarks, Tucca made his inquiry. She brought him upstairs into a cell‐like
room, just large enough to hold a pallet‐bed, whereon Zeno lay asleep.
‘Well, friend Tucca!’ said the steward, starting up and stretching
himself; ‘what news? I am revenging myself, as you see, for my early
business this morning.’
‘She has sent me to get tablets, wax, and thread,’ said the old man.
‘Oh, indeed!’ answered Zeno, nodding and yawning; ‘this looks as if she
intended to write a letter. If she does, it may tell us a secret, perhaps.
Wait here, and I will be back directly.’
He left the room, and very soon returned with what the husbandman
required.
‘There you have them, Tucca; go and say you got them anywhere but here.’
‘I am well pleased enough,’ returned Tucca, ‘for it saves me a walk.’
‘And only right, Tucca; you grow old. Fail not to call here on your way
with the missive, or if you are not to carry it, I must know how and when
it flies.’
Tucca departed, and, in due course, once more emerged from his dwelling
townward—this time with a stout stick, as if bound on a longer journey. He
was barely out of sight of his own house, when he was startled by the
steward stepping in front of him, from behind a corner of a wall.
‘Well, Tucca,’ said that individual, ‘have you anything to show me?’
‘Yes, truly, noble Zeno. Faith, you startled me coming out on me in that
fashion,’ answered the old man, bringing out the tablets, which were
securely fastened with some of the thread and wax which Zeno had supplied.
‘Thanks!’ said the steward, thrusting them in his tunic. ‘Now loiter on
for some hundred yards past the tavern, and I will join you and return
this.’
He disappeared, and by and by rejoined Tucca at the place appointed, and
gave him the tablets, to all appearance untouched. In the meantime, it had
been an easy matter for his nimble and expert fingers to open the missive,
note its contents, and fasten it up as before, with thread and wax from
the same stock. The wine‐grower perceived, to his inward satisfaction,
that the epistle bore no sign of being meddled with, and went on his way
to deliver it. He left the town on his left hand, and walked on until he
arrived at the outer gate of the villa of Jove, just as Afer and his
patron and their servants were turning their steps thither, as described.
The quick eye of the knight caught sight of the old man as soon as he
appeared on the inside of the enclosure trudging toward the barrack‐
houses.
‘Look!’ he exclaimed in a low voice, nudging the Prefect to enforce
attention, ‘look at yon old man. That is no other than Tucca, at whose
house the fair Plautia is lodged. What does he up here? It would be worth
while knowing, I’ll warrant! A thousand pounds, but if we could get to
know we should need little more.’
‘But how?’
‘Quick! There is time, and he does not notice us. Send and bid yon
Pretorian stop him and ask his business inside the villa. Let your slave
linger by and listen.’
Sejanus turned hastily and spoke to his slave Lygdus, who hastened to
carry the order to the sentinel, whose post was one of mere discipline,
since the townspeople came and went, and did their trafficking without the
least ceremony, except at the entrances of the Imperial residence itself,
which were closely watched.
The party then turned their steps and appeared to stroll gently back, as
if in earnest talk. They saw the sentinel stop the wine‐grower by placing
his spear across his body. Lygdus stood by, and, after a brief parley, the
old man was suffered to proceed. He finally disappeared into the door of
the building which led to the officers’ quarters.
‘Pooh, ’tis only some concern of his own,’ remarked Sejanus,—‘buying or
selling. Well, what did yonder fellow want?’ he said to Lygdus, who came
up. ‘He seems a dirty, disreputable knave to wander about here without
question.’
‘He is charged with a letter to deliver to the Centurion Martialis, so
please your highness,’ replied the Nubian slave.
‘From whom?’ demanded his master.
‘I do not know. I did not think it right to inquire into anything of the
Centurion’s affairs without authority, so I did not ask.’
‘Humph! Quite right, Lygdus; but did you see the tablets? He might have
been lying.’
‘I saw them when the guard demanded to see them. The man is Tucca, one of
the oldest islanders and wine‐growers. He is well known.’
‘Is he, indeed? I crave his pardon, but he looked most villainously to my
eyes. He should get himself a better tunic. But what seemed the letter
like—the writing?’
‘It was quite strange to me.’
‘It is necessary that I see it. The Centurion has left the island till
evening—you understand. We will go in again for a space. Come!’
Lygdus bent his head and retired to the rear, until Sejanus and his
confidant had re‐entered the officers’ quarters. Then in a minute he
appeared before the Prefect and the knight with the ill‐fated epistle in
his hands.
‘No one saw you, Lygdus?’ said Sejanus.
‘No one. The Centurion’s room is empty, and this was lying on his couch.’
‘Warm water and open it.’
The slave brought a cup of hot water, and, by its aid, he softened the wax
and removed the thread in a most dexterous manner, which bore strong
evidence that it was not the first time such a task had been required of
him.
The handwriting was large and bold, but palpably disguised. The keen eyes
who perused it were easily assured of that.
‘I fancy we have seen something like the turn of these characters before,’
said Afer drily; ‘the varnish is very thinly laid on.’
The epistle was addressed to L. Martialis, Centurion, Villa Jovis. They
opened it and read:—
‘One who has braved discomfort and peril desires to see you,
Centurion. Close by the path which leads down to the southern
landing there is a white rock. I shall await you there at
nightfall. As you have a heart do not fail me!’
They looked at each other, and the Prefect broke into a laugh, which was,
however, forced and disgusted. The knight smiled inwardly.
‘There!’ uttered Sejanus, ‘I told you I knew not. I am right and you are
wrong. It is only thus one can have the chance, sometimes, to fathom what
is lowermost in the mind of a woman. She is in love with Martialis! Who
would have dreamt of it? A mere Centurion to ensnare the proud goddess!’
‘It is, at the least, very extraordinary; but it does not follow that she
is bitten with this soldier.’
‘It is so likely that I accept the construction very easily.’
‘There is one comfort; it may lead to fratricide,’ muttered Afer.
‘What do you say, Afer?’ asked the Prefect.
‘I say it is a bitter pill for the other brother.’
‘Humph!’ said his patron, too sulky in his wounded self‐conceit to care
about anybody else.
He clapped his hands for Lygdus, and ordered him to restore the tablets to
their former state, in readiness for their owner.
‘Come, we can go now. There is one thing certain, that we must be
somewhere in the close vicinity of that same white rock this night.’