The curtains had scarcely dropped behind them when Ausonius exclaimed:
"He must not die! My Melania's son! He must fly into exile!"
"The Emperor will decide. But you, friend Ausonius, praise Heaven,
which sent you this child. You owe your life solely to her."
The Prefect drew the young girl to the couch by his side and kissed her
hands and brow. She submitted, for she was weeping. He would fain have
kissed her lips too, but he forebore. The usually defiant creature was
so childlike, so helpless from sheer emotion over his escape. So he
only stroked her beautiful head with his hand and said, deeply moved
himself: "The Christians have a superstition which I have often
derided, of a guardian angel which God gives to mortals. I shall never
do so again. You, Bissula, are my guardian angel!"
"But angels ought not to be slaves," remarked the Illyrian with a smile
which well became his manly face. "I give you this child, Ausonius; she
is your slave now. Do with her as you choose."
"I set her free, this moment. Bissula, you are free!"
"Oh, thanks, thanks, thanks!" cried the young girl exultantly,
springing from the couch. "Now away,--away at once to my people,--to my
grandmother,--to--"
"Not so fast, little one," interposed Saturninus. "Even the faithful,
grateful freedwoman (the legal form of the act is still lacking) must
obey the will of the patronus. I doubt whether he will let you fly
away, you lovely little wild bird."
Bissula fixed her wonderful eyes beseechingly, imploringly, upon
Ausonius, but the latter did not see it; he was gazing, rigid with
amazement, at the Tribune.
"My friend--I don't understand you. Why do you so suddenly--I almost
thought that you yourself--"
"Let us spare the child. I will say only this much; she can hear it
without flushing too deeply, and sudden blushes are so becoming to
her! A man need not be a poet, my Ausonius, to find our--pardon me,
your--little maid very, very charming. I don't deny it; the first time
I saw her--well, she certainly would displease no one! But I soon told
myself what the duty of friendship commanded, and remembered that my
life belongs wholly to the god of war. I ordered my heart to calm my
blood. They belong to a soldier, and instantly obeyed."
At these words Bissula, in spite of the warning, or perhaps on account
of it, had flushed crimson and glided away from the two men. She was
just slipping out of the tent; but Saturninus gently caught her by the
hair, held her firmly, laughing merrily, and said: "Stay, little one.
The worst is over now, at any rate from me."
"But why," Ausonius went on, "have you all this time--Even yesterday--"
"Because I suspected your nephew's murderous designs, though only
against her. I could protect her solely as her master. If she had
remained, as you desired, in your tent, he could have killed the
unguarded girl at any hour of the day or night. I watched her for you!
Now it is no longer necessary. Obey your heart. I will leave you
alone."
"Yes, but what more is to be done?" asked Bissula plaintively, holding
the Tribune--she did not know why--firmly by the arm. "I am so tired!"
she added. "Let me go to sleep now. And to-morrow, away! Back to my
people!"
"Yes, my noble friend," said Ausonius, with a certain solemnity, slowly
rising from his couch, "stay! I myself desire it. You shall be the
first witness: my resolution is formed, unalterable! Bissula, I owe my
life to you: in return there is but one reward--this life, my life
itself."
The girl drew back in terror. She did not understand him.
"A slave was of course impossible. To wed even his own freedwoman is
against the law for a Senator; but I shall undoubtedly receive a
dispensation from the Emperor, and I care nothing for the jests of my
colleagues."
"What do you want to do with me?" asked the young girl anxiously.
"Except the Caesar," Ausonius went on thoughtfully, "no man in the
Western Empire stands above me; only two are of equal rank. I am
Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul. Nay, more,--no one knows it yet, not even
you,--my Saturninus,--the Emperor has promised me next year the highest
honor in the Roman State. This coming year will take its name from me."
"You are to be Consul?" cried the Tribune, reverently.
"What is it? What does it mean?" asked the poor girl, now thoroughly
frightened. The solemnity, and the numerous Roman names of dignities
were becoming more and more mysterious.
But Ausonius, nodding complacently, continued: "And no living poet is
my peer. Bissula, you shall share all this with me. Tomorrow you shall
go with me to Vindonissa to the Emperor. Yes, yes, don't shake your
defiant little head, you shall be with me all my life, for I, Ausonius,
Ausonius of Burdigala, will make you my wife!"
He now drew himself up to his full height, stretching both arms to her.
With glowing cheeks, throbbing heart, and eyes flashing with shame and
fear and wrath, Bissula, crimsoning more and more deeply, had listened
to the last words and gazed in horror at the approaching Roman. Now she
uttered a loud shriek: "No! No! Never!"
Wrenching herself from Saturninus, who tried to hold her, she sprang
out of the tent. Outside, panting for breath, she ran as fast as her
little feet would carry her, through the dark silent camp, reached her
tent, unfastened Bruna, led her in, pressed her down on the ground,
flung herself beside her and, bursting into a torrent of tears, buried
her face in the soft thick fur.
The faithful, intelligent animal doubtless knew that something was
wrong. Licking the girl's fingers, the bear growled, a low, soft,
tender growl, like a mother soothing her sick child. The monotonous,
droning tone produced a drowsy influence like a lullaby. So, under the
protection of the bear, though often sobbing vehemently, Bissula at
last fell asleep.
BOOK THREE
THE FREEDWOMAN