"Fairer than the children of men."--PSALM XLV. 2.
"Hun Rhavas, dost mind thy promise made to Menecreta?" whispered a timid
voice in the African's ear.
"Aye, aye!" he replied curtly, "I had not forgotten."
There was a lull in the trade whilst the scribes were making entries on
their tablets.
The auctioneer had descended from the rostrum. Panting after his
exertions, perspiring profusely under the heat of the noonday sun, he
was wiping the moisture from his dripping forehead and incidentally
refreshing his parched throat with copious drafts from out a leather
bottle.
His swarthy skin streaming with perspiration shone in the glare of the
noonday sun like the bronze statue of mother-wolf up aloft.
An elderly woman in rough linen tunic, her hair hidden beneath a simple
cloth, had succeeded in engaging his attention.
"It had been better to put the child up for sale an hour ago, whilst
these rich folk were still at the bath," she said with a tone of
reproach in her gentle voice.
"It was not my fault," rejoined the African curtly, "she comes one of
the last on the list. The praefect made out the lists. Thou shouldst
have spoken to him."
"Oh I should never dare," she replied, her voice trembling at the mere
suggestion of such boldness, "but I did promise thee five aurei if I
succeeded in purchasing the child."
"I know that," quoth the African with a nod of satisfaction.
"My own child, Hun Rhavas," continued the pleading voice; "think on it,
for thou too hast children of thine own."
"I purchased my son's freedom only last year," acquiesced the slave with
a touch of pride. "Next year, an the gods will, it shall be my
daughter's and after that mine own. In three years from now we shall all
be free."
"Thou art a man; 'tis more easy for thee to make money. It took me six
years to save up twenty-five aurei which should purchase my child:
twenty for her price, five for thy reward, for thou alone canst help me,
an thou wilt."
"Well, I've done all I could for thee, Menecreta," retorted Hun Rhavas
somewhat impatiently. "I've taken the titulus from off her neck and set
the hat over her head, and that was difficult enough for the praefect's
eyes are very sharp. Ten aurei should be the highest bid for a maid
without guarantees as to skill, health or condition. And as she is not
over well-favoured----"
But this the mother would not admit. In weary and querulous tones she
began expatiating on the merits of her daughter: her fair hair, her
graceful neck--until the African, bored and impatient, turned on her
roughly.
"Nay! an thy daughter hath so many perfections, thou'lt not purchase her
for twenty aurei. Fifty and sixty will be bid for her, and what can I do
then to help thee?"
"Hun Rhavas," said Menecreta in a sudden spirit of conciliation, "thou
must not heed a mother's fancies. To me the child is beautiful beyond
compare. Are not thine own in thy sight beautiful as a midsummer's
day?" she added with subtle hypocrisy, thinking of the ugly little
Africans of whom Hun Rhavas was so proud.
Her motherly heart was prepared for every sacrifice, every humiliation,
so long as she obtained what she wanted--possession of her child.
Arminius Quirinius had given her her freedom some three years ago, but
this seeming act of grace had been a cruel one since it had parted the
mother from her child. The late censor had deemed Menecreta old, feeble,
and therefore useless: she was but a worthless mouth to feed; but he
kept the girl not because she was well-favoured or very useful in his
house, but because he knew that Menecreta would work her fingers to the
bone until she saved enough money to purchase her daughter's freedom.
Arminius Quirinius, ever grasping for money, ever ready for any act of
cupidity or oppression, knew that from the mother he could extract a far
higher sum than the girl could possibly fetch in the open market. He had
fixed her price as fifty aurei, and Menecreta had saved just one half
that amount when fate and the vengeance of the populace overtook the
extortioner. All his slaves--save the most valuable--were thrown on the
market, and the patient, hard-working mother saw the fulfilment of her
hopes well within sight.
It was but a question of gaining Hun Rhavas' ear and of tempting his
greed. The girl, publicly offered under unfavourable conditions, and
unbacked by the auctioneer's laudatory harangues, could easily be
knocked down for twenty aurei or even less.
But Menecreta's heart was torn with anxiety the while she watched the
progress of the sale. Every one of these indifferent spectators might
become an enemy through taking a passing fancy to her child. These
young patricians, these stern matrons, they had neither remorse nor pity
where the gratification of a whim was at stake.
And was not the timid, fair-haired girl more beautiful in the mother's
eyes than any other woman put up on the platform for the purpose of
rousing a momentary caprice.
She gazed with jealous eyes on the young idlers and the high-born
ladies, the possible foes who yet might part her from the child. And
there was the praefect too, all-powerful in the matter.
If he saw through the machinations of Hun Rhavas nothing would save the
girl from being put up like all the others as the law directed, with the
proper tablet attached to her neck, describing her many charms. Taurus
Antinor was not cruel but he was pitiless. The slaves of his household
knew that, as did the criminals brought to his tribunal. He never
inflicted unnecessary punishment but when it was deserved he was
relentless in its execution.
What hope could a poor mother have against the weight of his authority.
Fortunately the morning was rapidly wearing on. The hour for the midday
rest was close at hand. Menecreta could watch, with a glad thrill in her
heart, one likely purchaser after another being borne in gorgeously
draped litter away from this scene of a mother's cruel anxiety. Already
the ladies had withdrawn. Now there was only a group of men left around
the rostrum; Hortensius Martius still lounging aimlessly, young Escanes
who had not yet found the paragon amongst cooks, and a few others who
eyed the final proceedings with the fashionable expression of boredom.
"I wonder we have not seen Dea Flavia this day," remarked Escanes to
the praefect. "Dost think she'll come, Taurus Antinor?"
"Nay, I know not," he replied; "truly she cannot be in need of slaves.
She has more than she can know what to do with."
"Oh!" rejoined the other, "of a truth she has slaves enough. But 'tis
this new craze of hers! She seems to be in need of innumerable models
for the works of art she hath on hand."
"Nay, 'tis no new craze," interposed Hortensius Martius, whose fresh
young face had flushed very suddenly as if in anger. "Dea Flavia, as
thou knowest full well, Escanes, hath fashioned exquisite figures both
in marble and in clay even whilst thou didst waste thy boyhood in
drunken revelries. She----"
"A truce on thine ill-temper," broke in Escanes with a good-humoured
laugh. "I had no thought of disparagement for Dea Flavia's genius. The
gods forbid!" he added with mock fervour.
"Then dost deserve that I force thee down to thy knees," retorted
Hortensius, not yet mollified, "to make public acknowledgment of Dea
Flavia's beauty, her talents and her virtues, and public confession of
thine own unworthiness in allowing her hallowed name to pass thy
wine-sodden lips."
Escanes uttered a cry of rage; in a moment these two--friends and boon
companions--appeared as bitter enemies. Hortensius Martius, the perfumed
exquisite, was now like an angry cockbird on the defence, whilst
Escanes, taller and stronger than he, was clenching his fists, trying to
keep up that outward semblance of patrician decorum which the dignity of
his caste demanded in the presence of the plebs.
Who knows how long this same semblance would have been kept up on this
occasion? for Hortensius Martius, obviously a slave to Dea Flavia's
beauty, was ready to do battle for the glorification of his idol, whilst
Escanes, smarting under the clumsy insult, had much ado to keep his rage
within bounds.
"If you cut one another's throats now," interposed the praefect curtly,
"'twill be in the presence of Dea Flavia herself."
Even whilst he spoke a litter gorgeously carved and gilded, draped in
rose pink and gold, was seen slowly winding its way from the rear of the
basilica and along the Vicus Tuscus, towards the Forum. In a moment all
eyes were turned in its direction; the two young men either forgot their
quarrel or were ashamed to prolong it in the presence of its cause.
Now the litter turned into the open. It was borne by eight gigantic
Ethiopians whose mighty shoulders were bare to the sun, and all round
and behind it a crowd of slaves, of clients, of sycophants followed in
its trail, men running beside the litter, women shouting, children
waving sprays of flowers and fans of feathers and palm leaves, whilst
the air was filled with cries from innumerable throats:
"Augusta! Augusta! Room for Dea Flavia Augusta."
The retinue of Dea Flavia of the imperial house of the Cæsars was the
most numerous in Rome.
At word of command no doubt the bearers put the litter down quite close
to the rostrum even whilst four young girls stepped forward and drew the
silken curtains aside.
Dea Flavia was resting against the cushions; her tiny feet in shoes of
gilded leather were stretched out on a coverlet of purple silk richly
wrought with gold and silver threads. Her elbow was buried in the fleecy
down of the cushions; her head rested against her hand.
Dea Flavia, imperial daughter of Rome, what tongue of poet could
describe thy beauty? what hand of artist paint its elusiveness?
Have not the writers of the time told us all there was to tell? and
exhausted language in their panegyrics: the fair hair like rippling
gold, the eyes now blue, now green, always grey and mysterious, the
delicate hands, the voluptuous throat, those tiny ears ever filled with
flattery?
But methinks that the carping critic was right when he deemed that the
beauty of her face was marred by the scornful glance of the eyes and the
ever rigid lines of the mouth. There was those who had dared aver that
Dea Flavia's snow-white neck had been more beautiful if it had known how
to bend, and that the glory of her eyes would be enhanced a thousandfold
when once they learned how to weep.
This, however, was only the opinion of very few, of those in fact who
never had received the slightest favour from Dea Flavia; those on whom
she smiled--with that proud, cold smile of hers--fell an over-ready
victim to her charm. And she had smiled more than once on Hortensius
Martius, and he, poor fool! had quickly lost his head.
Now that she was present he soon forgot his quarrel; neither Escanes nor
the rest of the world existed since Dea Flavia was nigh. He pushed his
way through her crowd of courtiers and was the first to reach her litter
even as she put her dainty feet to the ground.
Escanes too and Caius Nepos, and Philippus Decius and the other young
men there, forgot the excitement of the aborted quarrel and pressed
forward to pay their respects to Dea Flavia.
The aspect of her court was changed in a moment. Her lictors chased the
importunate crowd away, making room for the masters of Rome who desired
speech with their mistress. The rough and sombre garments of the slaves
showed in the background now, and all round the litter tunics and
mantles of fleecy wool gorgeously embroidered in crimson and gold, or
stripes of purple, crowded in eager medley.
All at once too the immediate neighbourhood of the rostrum was deserted,
the human chattels forgotten in the anxious desire to catch sight of the
great lady whom the Cæsar himself had styled Augusta--thus exalting her
above all women in Rome. Her boundless wealth and lavish expenditure, as
well as her beauty and acknowledged virtue, had been the talk of the
city ever since the death of her father, Octavius Claudius of the House
of Augusta Cæsar, had placed her under the immediate tutelage of the
Cæsar and left her--young and beautiful as she was--in possession of one
of the largest fortunes in the Empire. No wonder then that whenever her
rose-draped litter was perceived in the streets of Rome a crowd of
idlers and of sycophants pressed around it, curious to see the queen of
society and anxious to catch her ear.
This same instant of momentary excitement became that of renewed hope
for an anxious mother's heart. Menecreta, with the keenness of her
ardent desire, had at once grasped her opportunity. Hun Rhavas
fortunately glanced down in her direction. He too no doubt saw the
possibilities of this moment of general confusion. The five aurei
promised him by Menecreta sharpened his resourceful wits. He signalled
to one of the lictors below--an accomplice too, I imagine, in this
transaction--and whilst a chorus of obsequious greetings round Dea
Flavia's litter filled the noonday air like the hum of bees, a
pale-faced, delicate-looking girl was quickly pushed up on to the
platform.
Hun Rhavas very perfunctorily declaimed her age and status.
"Of no known skill," he said, mumbling his words and talking very
rapidly, "since my lord's grace the late censor had made no use of her.
Shall we say ten aurei for the girl? she might be made to learn a
trade."
As the auctioneer started on his peroration those among the crowd who
were here for business, and not for idle gaping, turned back towards the
catasta. But the little maid who stood there so still, her hair entirely
hidden by the ungainly hat, her head bent and her eyes downcast, did not
seem very attractive; the lack of guarantee as to her skill and merits
represented by the hat and the absence of the tablet round her neck
caused the buyers to stand aloof.
As if conscious of this, a deep blush suffused the girl's cheeks. Not
that she was ashamed of her position or of her exposure before the
public gaze, for to this ordeal her whole upbringing had tended. Born in
slavery, she had always envisaged this possibility, and her present
position caused her in itself neither pain nor humiliation.
She knew that her mother was there in the crowd, ready for this
opportunity; that the present state of discomfort, the past life of
wretchedness would now inevitably be followed by a brighter future:
reunion with her mother, a life of freedom, mayhap of happiness,
marriage right out of the state of bondage, children born free!
No! it was not the gaping crowd that mattered, the exposure on the
public platform, the many pairs of indifferent eyes fixed none too
kindly upon her: it was that hat upon her head which brought forth in
her such a sense of shame that the hot blood rushed to her cheeks; that,
and the absence of the tablet round her neck, and Hun Rhavas'
disparaging words about her person.
Others there had been earlier in the day--her former companions in
Arminius' household--on whom the auctioneer had lavished torrents of
eloquent praise, whom for the first bidding he had appraised at forty or
even fifty aurei, the public being over willing to pay higher sums than
those.
Whilst here she stood shamed before them all, with no guarantee as to
her skill and talents, though she knew something about the art of
healing by rubbing unguents into the skin, could ply her needle and
dress a lady's hair. Nor was a word said about her beauty, though her
eyes were blue and her neck slender and white; and her hair, which was
of a pretty shade of gold, could not even be seen under that hideous,
unbecoming hat.
"Ten aurei shall we say?" said Hun Rhavas with remarkable want of
enthusiasm; "kind sirs, is there no one ready to say fifteen? The girl
might be taught to sew or to trim a lady's nails. She may be unskilled
now but she might learn--providing that her health be good," he added
with studied indifference.
The latter phrase proved a cunning one. The few likely buyers who had
been attracted to the catasta by the youthful appearance of the
girl--hoping to find willingness, even if skill were wanting--now
quickly drew away.
Of a truth there was no guarantee as to her health and a sick slave was
a burden and a nuisance.
"Ten aurei then," said Hun Rhavas raising the hammer, whilst with hungry
eyes the mother watched his every movement.
A few more seconds of this agonising suspense! Oh! ye gods, how this
waiting hurts! She pressed her hands against her side where a terrible
pain turned her nearly giddy.
Only a second or two whilst the hammer was poised in mid air and Hun
Rhavas' furtive glance darted on the praefect to see if he were still
indifferent! Menecreta prayed with all her humble might to the proud
gods enthroned upon the hill! she prayed that this cycle of agony might
end at last for she could not endure it longer. She prayed that that
cruel hammer might descend and her child be delivered over to her at
last.