"Hast thou an arm like God? or canst thou thunder with a voice
like him."--JOB XL. 9.
A few moments later Licinia came running back into the room.
"Augusta!" she exclaimed excitedly even before she had crossed the
threshold. "Augusta! quick! the Cæsar!"
Dea Flavia started, for she had indeed been suddenly awakened from a
dream. Slowly, and with eyes still vague and thoughtful, she turned to
her slave.
"The Cæsar?" she repeated, whilst a puzzled frown appeared between her
brows and the young blood faded from her cheeks. "The Cæsar?"
"Aye," said the old woman hurriedly. "He is in the atrium even now,
having just arrived, and his slaves fill the vestibule. He desires
speech with thee."
"He does not often come at this hour," said Dea Flavia, whose face had
become very white and set at mention of a name which indeed had the
power of rousing terror in every heart just now. "Doth he seem angered?"
she asked under her breath.
"No, no," said Licinia reassuringly, "how could he be angered against
thee, my pet lamb? But come quickly, dear, to thy robing room; what
dress wilt put on to greet the Cæsar in?"
"Nay, nay," she said with a tremulous little laugh, "we'll not keep my
kinsman waiting. That indeed might anger him. He has been in this room
before and hath liked to watch me at my work. Let him come now, an he
wills."
Licinia would have protested for she loved to deck her darling out in
all the finery that, to her mind, rendered the Augusta more beautiful
than a goddess, but there was no time to say anything for even now the
Cæsar's voice was heard at the further end of the atrium.
"Do not disturb your mistress. I'll to her myself. Nay! I'll not be
announced. 'Tis an informal cousinly visit I am paying her this
morning."
"He seemeth in good humour," whispered Dea Flavia, whose little hands
were trembling as they made pretence once more of taking up the
modelling tools. Licinia hurriedly tried to smooth down the golden hair
which had become unruly during the course of the morning, but in her
haste only succeeded in completely disarranging it and it fell in wavy
masses down the young girl's shoulders, all but one plait which remained
fixed over her brow like a wide band of gold.
Dea uttered an exclamation of horror and made a quick gesture, trying to
capture the recalcitrant curls, even at the very moment that the Emperor
Caligula entered the room.
He paused on the threshold and her arms dropped down to her side. Her
golden hair fell all round her as she bent her knees making obeisance to
the Cæsar. There was nothing regal about her now, nothing imperious or
proud; she looked just like a child caught unawares at play.
Blushing with confusion she advanced toward her kinsman, and with head
bent received his kiss upon her pure forehead. Nor did she shrink at
this loathsome contact which would have filled almost any other woman's
heart with horror. To her this man was not really human--he was the
Cæsar--a supernatural being blessed by the gods, and endowed by them
with supreme majesty and power.
"Dismiss thy slaves," he said curtly, "I would have speech with thee."
He had well schooled his turbulent temper to calmness. After Caius
Nepos' departure and a final outburst of unbridled violence, he had
plunged into a cold bath and given himself over for half an hour to the
ministrations of his slaves. Then, cool and refreshed--at any rate
outwardly--he had dressed himself in simple robes, and passing right
through the halls of the Palace of Tiberius which adjoined his own, he
had reached the precincts of Dea Flavia's house, which in its turn
abutted on that built by Germanicus.
At any other time but the present one--when his frenzied mind was wholly
given over to thoughts of the terrible treachery against his own
person--he would have been conscious of Dea Flavia's exquisite beauty,
as she stood before him, humble with the proud humility of one who has
everything to give and nothing to receive; chaste with that pure
ignorance which refuses to know what it cannot condone, and withal a
perfect woman, imbued with a fascination which no man had ever been able
to resist, for it was the fascination of youthful loveliness combined
with the stately aloofness of conscious power.
At any other time but this, the unscrupulous voluptuary would have gazed
on his beautiful kinswoman with eyes that would have shamed her with
their undisguised admiration, and mayhap his look and actions would have
placed a severe test on her loyalty and on her respect for him.
But to-day Caligula only saw in her the tool whom conspirators meant to
use for their treacherous ends, her loveliness paled in his eyes before
the awful suspicion which he had of her guilt, and whilst she stood
quietly awaiting his pleasure, he marvelled how much she knew of the
traitors' plans and whether her white fingers would effectually thrust
the dagger into an assassin's hand.
She had dismissed her slaves at his bidding--all unconscious as she was
of any danger that might threaten her through him. He waited for a while
in silence, then he said abruptly:
"Dea Flavia, what is thine age?"
She looked up at him, smiling and puzzled.
"Some twenty years, great Cæsar," she replied, "but of a truth I had not
kept count."
"Twenty years?" he retorted, "then 'tis high time that I chose a husband
for thee."
This time she looked up at him boldly, and although in her glance there
was all the respect due to the immortal Cæsar, yet was there no show of
humility in her attitude as she threw back the heavy masses of her hair
and drew up her slender figure to its full stately height.
"Was it to tell me this," she asked simply, "that the greatest of Cæsars
sought his servant's house to-day?"
"In part," he rejoined curtly, "and I would hear thine answer."
"My lord has not deigned to ask a question?"
"Art prepared to accept the husband whom I, thine Emperor will choose
for thee?"
"In all things do I give thee honour and reverence, O Cæsar," she
replied, "but----"
"But what?"
"But I had no thought of marriage."
"No thought of marriage!" he retorted roughly as, unable to sit still,
harassed by rage and doubt, he once more started on that restless walk
of his up and down the room.
She watched him with great wondering eyes. That something serious lay
behind his questionings was of course obvious. He had not paid her this
matutinal visit for the sole purpose of passing the time of day; and she
did not like this strange mood of his nor his reference to a topic over
which he had not worried her hitherto.
In truth the thought of marriage had never entered her head, even though
Licinia--with constant garrulousness--had oft made covert allusions to
that coming time. She knew--for it had been instilled into her from
every side ever since her father had left her under the tutelage of the
Cæsar--that she must eventually obey him, if one day he desired that she
should marry.
A young patrician girl would never dream of rebellion against the power
of a father or a guardian, and when that guardian was the Cæsar himself
and the girl was of the imperial house, the very thought of disobedience
savoured of sacrilege.
But hitherto that question had loomed ahead in Dea Flavia's dreams of
the future only as very shadowy and vague. She had never given a single
thought to any of the young men who paid her homage, and their efforts
at winning her favours had only caused her to smile.
She had felt herself to be unconquerable, even unattainable, and
Caligula, before this mad frenzy had fully seized hold of him, had--in
his own brutish way--indulged her in this, allowing her to lead her own
life and secretly laughing at the machinations that went on around him
to obtain the most coveted matrimonial prize in Rome.
Now suddenly this happy state of things was to come to an end; her
freedom, on which she looked as her most precious possession, was to be
taken roughly from her. One of the men whom she had despised, one of
that set of libertines, of idle voluptuaries who had dangled round her
skirts whilst casting covetous eyes upon her fortune, was to become her
master, her supreme lord, and she--a slave to his desires and to his
passions.
Strangely enough the thought of it just now was peculiarly horrible to
her--the thought of what the Cæsar's wish might mean--the inevitableness
of it all nauseated her until she felt sick and faint, and the walls of
the room began to swing round her so that she had to steady herself on
her feet with a mighty effort of will, lest she should fall.
She knew the Cæsar well enough to realise that if he had absolutely set
his mind on her marriage nothing would make him swerve from the thought.
If he once desired a thing he would never rest night or day until his
wish had been fulfilled.
Men and women of Rome knew that. Patricians and plebs, senators and
slaves, had died horrible deaths because the Cæsar had demanded and they
had merely thought to disobey.
Therefore it was with wide-open, terror-filled eyes that she watched
that tyrannical master in his restless walk up and down the room.
Outside greater darkness had gathered, heavy clouds obscured the light,
and the gorgeous figure of the Cæsar now and then vanished into the dark
angles of the room, reappearing a moment later like some threatening
ghoul that comes and goes, blown by the wind which foretells the coming
storm.
After a while Caligula paused in his walk and stood close beside her,
looking as straight as he could into her pale face.
"No thought of marriage?" he repeated, with one of his mirthless laughs,
"no thought, mayhap, of the husband whom I would choose for thee? No
doubt there is even now lurking somewhere in this palace a young gallant
who alone has the right to aspire to Dea Flavia's grace."
"My lord is pleased to jest," she said coolly, "and knows as well as I
do that no patrician can boast of a single favour obtained from me."
"Then 'tis on a slave thou hast chosen to smile," he said roughly.
Then as she did not deign to make reply to this insult, he continued:
"Come! Art mute that thou dost not speak when Cæsar commands?"
"What does my lord wish me to say?"
"Hast a lover, girl?"
"No, my lord."
"Thou liest."
"Did I deceive my lord in this, then had I not the courage to look
boldly in the Cæsar's face."
"Bah!" he said with a snarl, "I mistrust that maidenly reserve which men
call pride, and I, clever coquetry. The women of Rome have realised,
fortunately by now, that they are the slaves of their masters, to be
bought and sold as he directs. The wife must learn that she is the slave
of her husband, the daughter that she belongs to the father; the women
of the House of Cæsar that they belong to me."
"It is a hard lesson my lord would teach to one half of his subjects."
"It is," he said with brutal cynicism, "but I like teaching it. I hope
to live long enough--nay! I mean to live long enough--to establish a
marriage market in Rome, where the lords of the earth can buy what women
they want openly, for so many sesterces, as they can their cattle and
their pigs."
She recoiled from the man a little at these words and a blush of shame
slowly rose to her cheek. But she retorted calmly:
"The gods do speak through Cæsar's mouth and he frames the laws even as
they wish."
Her words flattered his egregious vanity which had even as great, if not
a greater, hold upon him than his tyrannical temper. He knew that to
this proud girl he was as a god, and that her respect for his Cæsarship
made her blind to every one of his faults, but this additional simple
testimony from her pure lips caused him to relent towards her, and quite
instinctively made him curb the violent grossness of his tongue.
"Thou speakest truly, O Dea Flavia," he said complacently. "The gods
will, when the time comes, speak through my mouth and make known their
will through my dictates even as they have done hitherto--even as they
do at this moment when I tell thee that I desire to see thee married."
"My lord hath spoken," she said calmly.
"Do not think, O Dea Flavia," he continued, carried away by his own
eloquence, "that I desire aught but thy happiness. If I decide to give
thee for wife to a man, it shall only be to one who is worthy of thee in
every respect. Thou shalt help me to choose him ... for I have not yet
made my choice ... he shall testify before thee as to his nobility and
his bravery.... An thou dost assure me that thou hast not yet bestowed
thy regard on any man----"
He paused midway in his phrase with indrawn breath, waiting for her
reply. She gave it firmly and without hesitation.
"I have cast my eyes on no man, my lord, and have no desire to marry."
"Wouldst consecrate thy virginity to Vesta then?" he asked with a sneer.
"Rather that," she replied, "if my lord would so deign to command."
"Tush!" he broke in impatiently. "Herein thou dost offend the gods and
me! 'Tis impious to waste thy beauty in barren singleness; the gods hate
the solitary maid unless she be ill-favoured and unpleasing to every
man. Thou of the House of Cæsar hast a mission to fulfil and canst not
fulfil it thus in isolation, fashioning clay figures that have no life
which they can consecrate to Cæsar. But have no fear, for I, thy lord,
do watch over thy future--the man whom I will choose for thee will be
worthy of thy smiles."
He drew up his misshapen figure to its full height and beamed at the
young girl with an expression of paternal benignness. He was delighted
with himself, delighted with his own oratory. He was such a born
mountebank that he could even act the part of kindness and benevolence,
and he acted it at this moment so realistically that the ignorant,
confiding girl was taken in by his tricks.
She saw the gracious smile and was too inexperienced, too devoted, to
see the hideous leer that he was at pains to conceal.
"The choice will be difficult, gracious lord," she said, feeling
somewhat reassured, "and will take some time to make."
"Therefore will I trust to inspiration," he rejoined blandly.
"The gods no doubt will speak when the time comes."
"Aye! They will thunder forth their decree at midday to-morrow," said
Caligula, with well-assumed majesty.
"To-morrow, O my lord?"
"Thou hast said it. I have a fancy to make known my decree in this
matter during the games at the Circus to-morrow. So put on thy richest
gown, O Dea Flavia Augusta," he added with a sneer, "so as to appear
pleasing in thy future husband's sight."
"My gracious lord is pleased to jest," she said, all her fears returning
to her in a moment with an overwhelming rush that made her sick with
horror.
"Jest!" he retorted with a snarl, showing his yellow teeth like a hyena
on the prowl, "nay! I never was so earnest in my life. Is not the future
of my beloved ward of supreme importance to me?"
"Nay, then, good my lord," she pleaded earnestly, her young voice
trembling, her blue eyes fixed appealingly on the callous wretch, "I do
beg of thy mightiness to give me time ... to think ... to ..."
"I have done all the thinking," he broke in roughly, "thou hast but to
obey."
"Indeed, indeed," she entreated, "I have no wish to disobey ... but my
gracious lord ... do I pray thee deign to consider ..."
"Silence, wench!" he shouted, with a violent oath, for what he deemed
her resistance was exasperating his fury and reawakened all his former
suspicions of her guilt. "Cease thy senseless whining.... I, thine
Emperor, have spoken. Let that suffice. Who art thou that I should
parley with thee? To-morrow thou'lt go to the Circus. Dost hear? And
until then remain on thy knees praying to the gods to pardon thy
rebellion against Cæsar."
And with an air which he strove to render majestic he turned on his heel
and prepared to go. But in a moment she was down on her knees, her hands
clutching his robe. She would not let him go, not now, not yet, whilst
she had not exhausted every prayer, every argument, that would soften
his heart towards her.
"My gracious lord," she pleaded, whilst her trembling voice was almost
choked with sobs, "for pity's sake do hear me! I am not rebellious, nor
disobedient to thy will! I am only a humble maid who holds all her
happiness from thee! My gracious lord thou art great, and thou art
mighty, thou art kind and just. Have mercy on me, for my whole heart is
brimming over with loyalty for thee! I am free, and am happy in my
freedom; the men who fawn round me, coveting my fortune, fill me with
disgust. I could not honour one of them, my lord! I could not give one
of them my love. Thou who art so great, must know how I feel. I implore
thee leave me my freedom, the most precious boon which I possess, and my
lips will sing a pæan of praise to thee for as long as I live."
But Caligula was not the man whom a woman's entreaties would turn from
his purpose, more especially when that purpose was his own
self-interest. This wretch had no heart within him, no sensibility, not
one single feeling of pity or of loyalty.
His instinct must have told him that Dea Flavia was loyal to the core,
loyal to the Cæsar and to his House, but so blinded was he by rage and
humiliation and by the terror of assassination, that he saw in the
earnest, simple pleadings of a young girl and devoted partisan nothing
but the obstinate resistance of a would-be traitor.
The more did Dea plead, the more did he become convinced that already
her choice of a husband was made, and that that husband was destined to
wrench the sceptre of Cæsar from him and to mount Cæsar's throne over
his murdered body. With a brutal gesture he pushed the young girl from
him.
"Silence!" he shouted, as soon as choking rage enabled him to speak.
"Silence, I say! ere I strike thee into eternal dumbness. What I have
said, I've said. Dost hear me? To-morrow, at the Circus, I will name thy
husband, and then and there thou shalt accept him, whoever he may be. I
have a reason for wishing this--a reason of State far beyond the
comprehension of a mere fool. To-morrow thou shalt accept the man of my
choice as thy future lord. That is my will. Look to it, O daughter of
Cæsar, that thou dost obey. Cæsar hath spoken."
"Cæsar hath spoken," she pleaded, "but my gracious lord will relent."
"Dost know me, girl?" he retorted, as, bending down to her, he seized
her wrists in his and brought his flushed face all distorted by fury,
close to her own. "Dost know me? For if so hast ever seen me relent once
I have set my will? Look into my eyes now! Look, I say!" he shouted
hoarsely, giving her wrists and arms a brutal wrench. "Do they look as
if they meant to relent? Is there anything in my face to lead thee to
hope that thou wouldst have thy treacherous way with me?"
He held her wrists so cruelly that she could have screamed with the
pain, but she bit her lip to still the cry.
Daylight now was yielding to the oncoming storm. Dense shadows hung all
round the room, making the objects in it seem weird and ghost-like in
the gloom. Sudden gusts of wind swept angrily round, causing the
withered leaves and dying flowers in the vases to murmur with unearthly
sounds, as of the sighing of disembodied souls. Only through the
aperture above a streak of greyish light struck full upon the Cæsar, as,
with glowing eyes and cruel grasp, he compelled her to look on him.
For a moment she closed her eyes after she had looked, for never before
had she seen anything so hideous and so evil. His misshapen head looked
unnaturally large as it seemed to loom out at her from out the gathering
darkness, his hair stood up sparse and harsh all round his forehead. His
eyes were protruding and shot through with blood; his lips were dry and
cracked, his cheeks of a dull crimson and heavy sweat was pouring down
his face.
When she turned away from him in horror, he broke into that wild laugh
of his which had in it the very sounds of hell.
"Well!" he said with a leer, "hast seen my face? Art still prepared to
disobey?"
"No, my lord," she said slowly, and fixing her eyes fully upon his now,
"but I am prepared to die."
"To die? What senseless talk is this?"
"Not senseless, my good lord. Even the gods do allow us poor mortals to
find refuge from sorrow in death."
"So!" he said slowly, still gripping her wrists and peering into her
face till his scorching breath made her feel sick and faint. "That is
the way thou wouldst defy the will of Cæsar? Death, sayest thou?...
Death and disobedience--rather than submission to the wish of him who
has god-like power on earth. Death!" and he laughed loudly even whilst
from afar there came, faint and threatening, the nearer presage of the
coming storm. "What death? A pleasing, dreamless sleep brought on by
drugs? A soothing draught that lulls even as it kills--or hadst
perchance thought of the arena?... of the tiger that roars?... or the
lictor's flail that drives?... hadst thought ... hadst thought ..."
He was foaming at the mouth, his rage was choking him; he had only just
enough strength left in him to tear at the neck of his tunic, for the
next moment he would have fallen, felled like an ox by the power of his
own fury. But as soon as he had released Dea Flavia's wrists and she
felt herself free to move, she rose from her knees, and with quick,
almost mechanical gesture, she rearranged her disordered robe and shook
back the heavy masses of her hair. Then she stood quite still, with arms
hanging by her side, her head quite erect and her eyes fixed upon that
raving monster. When she saw that he had at last regained some semblance
of reason she said quite calmly:
"My gracious lord will work his way with his slave, and deal her what
death he desires."
"What!" he murmured incoherently, "what didst thou say?"
"'Tis death I choose, my lord," she said simply, "rather than a husband
who was not of mine own seeking."
For a moment then she did look death straight and calmly in the face,
for it was death that looked on her through those blood-shot eyes. He
had thrust his lower jaw forward, his teeth, large and yellow, looked
like the fangs of a wolf; stertorous breathing escaped his nostrils, and
his distorted fingers were working convulsively, like the claws of a
beast when it sees its prey.
Caligula would have strangled her then and there without compunction and
without remorse. She had defied him and thwarted him even more
completely than she knew herself; and there was no death so cruel that
he would not gladly have inflicted upon her then.
"Dost dare to defy me...!" he murmured hoarsely, "hast heard what I
threatened ..."
She put out her hand, quietly interrupting him.
"I heard the threat, my lord ... and have no fear," she said.
"No fear of death?"
"None, gracious lord. There is no yoke so heavy as a bond unhallowed.
No death so cruel as the breaking of a heart."
There was dead silence in the room now; only from a far distant rolls of
ceaseless thunder sent their angry echo through the oppressive air.
Caligula was staring at the girl as he would on some unearthly shape.
Gasping he had fallen back a few steps, the convulsive twitching of his
fingers ceased, his mouth closed with a snap, and great yellow patches
appeared upon his purple cheeks.
Then he slowly passed his hand across his streaming forehead, his
breathing became slower and more quiet, the heavy lids fell over the
protruding eyes.
Caius Julius Cæsar Caligula was no fool. His perceptions, in fact,
became remarkably acute where his own interests were at stake, and he
had the power of curbing that demoniacal temper of his, even in its
maddest moment, if self-advantage suddenly demanded it.
He had formed a plan in his head for the trapping of the unknown man who
was to mount the throne of Cæsar over the murdered body of his Emperor.
Before dealing with the whole band of traitors he wished to know who it
was that meant to reap the greatest benefit by the dastardly conspiracy.
There was one man alive in Rome at the present moment who thought to
become the successor of Caligula; that one man would be bold enough to
woo and win Dea Flavia for wife.
Caligula's one coherent thought ever since Caius Nepos had betrayed the
conspiracy to him, was the desire to know who that man was likely to be.
That was the man he most hated--the unknown man. Him he desired to
punish in a manner that would make all the others endure agonies of
horror ere they in turn met their doom. But his identity was still a
mystery. To discover it, the Cæsar had need of the help of this girl
who stood there so calmly before him, defying his power and his threats.
He looked on her and understanding slowly came to him ... understanding
of the woman with whom he had to deal. It dawned upon him in the midst
of his tumultuous frenzy that here he had encountered a will that he
could never bend to his own--an irresistible force had come in contact
with an unbending one. One of the two must yield, and Caligula, staring
at the young girl who seemed so fragile that a touch of the hand must
break her, knew that it was not she who would ever give in.
His well-matured plan he would not give up. He had thought it all out
whilst he refreshed himself in his bath after Caius Nepos' visit, and it
was not likely that any woman could, by her obstinate action, move
Caligula from his resolve. But obviously he must alter his tactics if he
desired Dea Flavia's help. He could gain nothing by her death save
momentary satisfaction, and the matter was too important to allow
momentary satisfaction to interfere with the delights of future complete
revenge.
Therefore he forced himself to some semblance of calm. He was a perfect
mountebank, a consummate actor, and now he called to his aid his full
powers of deception. Cunning should win the day since rage and coercion
had failed.
Slowly his face lost every vestige of anger and sorrowful serenity crept
into his eyes. Tottering like one who feels unmanned, he sought the
support of a chair and fell sitting into it, with his elbows on his
knees and his head buried in his hands.
"Woe is me!" he moaned, "woe to the House of Cæsar when its fairest
daughter turns traitor against her kin!"
"I! a traitor, good my lord!" she rejoined quietly. "There is no
treachery in my desire to serve Cæsar in single maidenhood, or to offer
thee my life rather than my freedom."
"There is black treachery," he said with tremulous voice like one in
deep sorrow, "in refusing to obey the Cæsar."
"In this alone----"
But it was his turn now to interrupt her with a quick raising of the
hand.
"Aye! That is what the waverer says: 'Good my lord, I'll obey in all
save in what doth not please me!' Dea Flavia Augusta, I had thought thee
above such monstrous selfishness."
"Selfishness, my lord?"
"Aye! Art thou not of the House of Cæsar? Art thou not my kinswoman?
Dost thou not receive at my hands honour, position, everything that
places thee above the common herd of humanity? Were I not the Cæsar,
where wouldst thou be? Not in this palace surely, not the virtual queen
of Rome, but, mayhap, a handmaid to another Cæsar's wife, an attendant
on his daughter.... Thou dost seem to have forgot all this, Augusta."
"Nay, gracious lord, I have forgot nothing! Your goodness to me----"
"And yet wouldst deliver me over into the hands of mine enemies," he
said with increased dolefulness, "and not raise a finger to save me."
"I would give my life for the Cæsar," she interposed firmly, "and this
the Cæsar knows."
"Wouldst not even take a husband, when by so doing thou wouldst save the
Cæsar from death."
"My gracious lord speaks in riddles ... I do not understand."
"Didst not understand, girl, that I but wished to test thy loyalty to
me? Thou--like so many alas!--dost so oft prate of unbounded attachment
to Cæsar. To-day, for the first time, did I put that attachment to the
test, and lo! it hath failed me."
"Try me, my lord," she said, "and I'll not fail thee. But give me thy
trust as well as thy commands."
She advanced close to where he sat, apparently a broken-down, sorrowful
man, stricken with grief. The mighty Cæsar now was far more powerful
than he had been a while ago when he raged and stormed and threatened,
for he had appealed to the strongest feeling within her--he had appealed
to her loyalty.
Slowly she sank once more on her knees, not in entreaty now, not with
thoughts of self, but in the humble subjection of herself to the needs
of him whom the gods had anointed. She sank upon her knees, and with
that simple action she offered her happiness on the altar of her loyalty
to him and to her house.
Gone was the look of defiance from her eyes, the pride had vanished and
all the joy of life; no thought was left in the young mind now save an
overwhelming sense of loyalty, no feeling lingered in the heart save the
desire for self-sacrifice.
The Cæsar had commanded and since she could not disobey she was ready to
die; memory had in a swift flash called up before her the vision of a
man who, rather than yield to her caprice, had smiled at the thought of
death. And she, too, had almost smiled, for suddenly she had understood
how small a thing was life when slavery became its price.
But now all that had changed. The Cæsar pleaded and made appeal to her
loyalty. Her refusal to obey him was no longer pride, it was
disloyalty--almost sacrilege. The Cæsar called to her! It was as if the
gods had spoken, and she fell on her knees, ready to obey.
The consummate actor was clever enough to hide the triumph that lit up
his eyes when he saw her thus kneeling, and understood that she was
prepared to yield.
He stretched out a paternal hand, and with weary sadness stroked her
golden hair.
"Trust me, gracious lord," she reiterated, "my life is thine, do with it
what thou wilt."
"Traitors are at work, Dea Flavia, to murder the Cæsar," he said gently.
"Ye gods!" she murmured, horrified.
"Aye! wouldst think mayhap that the gods will interfere? They will? I
tell thee that they will! but they have need of thee, Augusta! I, thy
Cæsar, thy god do have need of thee!"
With both hands now he took her own in his, not roughly, but with
infinite tenderness, and cunningly contrived that two hot tears should
fall upon her fingers.
"My gracious lord!" she whispered, "my life is at thy service."
"Accept the husband whom I propose for thee ... and my life will be
safe.... Refuse to obey me in this and to-morrow the blood of Cæsar will
be upon thy head...."
"My lord...."
"Wilt obey me, Augusta?"
"My gracious lord ... I do not understand," she pleaded; "have pity on
my ignorance ... trust me but a little further...."
"I cannot tell thee more," he said with a sigh of patient weariness,
"but this I do tell thee, that my life and with it the future of our
House--of the Empire--now lie in thy hands. The abominable traitors
would make a tool even of thee. 'The husband of Dea Flavia Augusta,'
they say, 'shall succeed the murdered Cæsar!'"
She uttered a cry of horror.
"Their names," she murmured, "tell me their names."
"I know but a few."
"Which are they?"
"They speak of Hortensius Martius."
"Oh!"
"And of young Escanes ... also of Philario, my servant."
"Ye gods," she exclaimed, "let your judgments fall upon them."
"And of Taurus Antinor--the praefect of Rome," added the Cæsar, and a
savage snarl escaped his lips even when he spoke the name.
"Taurus Antinor!" she exclaimed.
Then half-audibly she murmured to herself, repeating the Cæsar's words:
"They would make a tool of thee!"
She had fallen back, squatting on her heels, her hands clasped before
her and her head sunk upon her bosom, bowed with shame and with horror.
Her name had been bandied about by traitors, her person been bought and
sold as the price of the blackest sacrilege that had ever disgraced the
patriciate of Rome.
"And thou, Taurus Antinor," she whispered inaudibly, "art the blackest
traitor amongst them all."
There was no need now for the Cæsar to make further appeal to her
loyalty. She was loyal to him--body and soul--loyal to him and to her
House, ready to sacrifice her pride, her freedom if need be at a word
from the Cæsar, since he had said that by her action on the morrow she
could help him fight the treacherous infamy.
Caligula could well be satisfied with his success; nor did he try to
press his advantage further. All that he had wanted was the assurance
that she would not thwart him when he put into execution the plan which
he had conceived. The man-trap which he had set would not now fail
through Dea's obstinacy.
He thought that the time had come for ending the interview. He desired
that her receptive mind should retain a solemn impression of his majesty
and of his power. A charlatan to the last, he now rose to his feet and
with outstretched arm pointed upwards to the small glimpse of
leaden-covered sky.
"Jove's thunders still speak from afar," he said with slow emphasis,
"but to-morrow they will crash over Rome and over the traitors within
her walls. The air will be filled with moanings and with gnashing of
teeth; the Tiber will run red with blood, for the murdered Cæsar will
mayhap be crying vengeance upon the assassins. Wilt save the Cæsar, O
Dea Flavia? Wilt save Rome and the Empire from a deadly crime and the
devastating vengeance of the outraged gods?"
He towered above her like some inspired prophet, with arms stretched out
towards the fast approaching storm, and eyes uplifted to the
thunderbolts of Jove.
"I await thine answer," he said, "O daughter of the Cæsars."
"My answer has been given, gracious lord," she murmured, "have I not
said that my life was at thy service?"
"Thou'lt obey?"
"Command, O Cæsar!"
"To-morrow at the Circus ... dost understand?... I have a plan ... and
thou must obey ... blindly ... dost understand?" he reiterated
hoarsely.
"I understand, my lord."
"I'll name thy future husband to the public ... to the plebs ... to all
... and thou'lt accept him--before them all--without demur...."
"As my lord commands."
"This thou dost swear?"
"This do I swear."
"Then," said the mountebank with mock reverence as he placed his
hand--blood-stained with the blood of countless innocent victims of his
tyranny--upon the bowed head of the loyal girl, "receive the blessing of
Jupiter the victorious, of Juno the holy goddess, and of Magna Mater the
great Mother, for thou art worthy to be of the House of Cæsar."
But even as the last of these impious words had left his lips, the long
awaited storm broke out in sudden fury; a vivid flash of lightning rent
the sky from end to end and lit up momentarily every corner of the room,
the kneeling figure of Dea Flavia, the misshapen figure of the imperial
monster, the fading flowers in the vases. Then a mighty clap of thunder
shook the very foundations of Dea Flavia's palace.
Caligula uttered a wild shriek of terror, and, calling loudly for his
slaves, he fled incontinently from the room.