TO CUMAE
The Bishop of Surrentum, an elderly man and infirm, had for the past
fortnight been unable to leave his house, but day by day he received
news of what passed at the villa of Maximus, and held with the
presbyter, Andreas, many colloquies on that weighty topic, the
senator's testament. As it happened, neither bishop nor presbyter had
much aptitude for worldly affairs; they were honest, simple-minded
clerics, occupied with visions and marvels and the saving details of
dogma; exultant whenever a piece of good fortune befell their church,
but modest in urging a claim at the bedside of the sick. Being the son
of a freedman who had served in the Anician house, the bishop could not
approach Maximus without excessive reverence; before Petronilla he was
even more unduly awed.
On Sunday morning the good prelate lay wakeful at the hour of matins,
and with quavering voice chanted to himself the psalm of the office
from which his weakness held him apart. Presently the door opened, and
in the dim lamp-light appeared the presbyter Andreas, stepping softly.
He made known that an urgent message had just summoned him to the
villa; Maximus was near his end.
'I, too, will come,' exclaimed the bishop, rising in his bed and
ringing loudly a little hand-bell.
'Venerable father! your health--'
'Hasten, hasten, Andreas! I follow.'
In less than an hour he descended from his litter, and, resting on the
arms of two servants, was conducted to the chamber of the dying man.
Andreas had just administered the last rites; whether the fixed eyes
still saw was doubtful. At a murmur of 'the bishop' those by the
doorway reverently drew aside. On one side of the bed were Aurelia and
the deacon; on the other, Petronilla and Basil and Decius. Though
kneeling, the senator's daughter held herself proudly. Though tears
were on her face, she hardly disguised an air of triumph. Nor was the
head of Petronilla bent; her countenance looked hard and cold as
marble. Leander, a model of decorum, stepped with grave greeting
towards the prelate, and whispered a word or two. In the stillness that
followed there quivered a deep breath. Flavius Anicius Maximus had
lived his life.
When the bishop, supported by Leander and Andreas, rose from prayer, he
was led by the obsequious clerics to a hall illumined by several lamps,
where two brasiers gave forth a grateful glow in the chill of the
autumn morning. Round about the walls, in niches, stood busts carved or
cast of the ancestors of him who lay dead. Here, whilst voices of
lamentation sounded from without, Leander made known to the prelate and
the presbyter the terms of the will. Basil was instituted 'heir'; that
is to say, he became the legal representative of the dead man, and was
charged with the distribution of those parts of the estate bequeathed
to others. First of the legatees stood Aurelia. The listeners learnt
with astonishment that the obstinate heretic was treated as though her
father had had no cause of complaint against her; she was now mistress
of the Surrentine estate, as well as of the great house in Rome, and of
other property. A lamentable thing, the deacon admitted suavely; but,
for his part, he was not without hope, and he fixed his eyes with a
peculiar intensity on the troubled bishop.
Petronilla drew near. The will was already known to her in every
detail, and she harboured a keen suspicion of the secret which lay
behind it. Leander, she could not doubt, was behaving to her with
duplicity, and this grieved her to the heart. It was to the bishop that
she now addressed herself.
'Holy father, I am your suppliant. Not even for a day will I remain
under this roof, even if--which is doubtful--I should be suffered to do
so. I put myself under the protection of your Holiness, until such time
as I can set forth on my sad journey to Rome. At Surrentum I must abide
until the corpse of my brother can be conveyed to its final resting
place--as I promised him.'
Much agitated, the prelate made answer that a fitting residence should
be prepared for her before noon, and the presbyter Andreas added that
he would instantly betake himself to the city on that business.
Petronilla thanked him with the loftiest humility. For any lack of
respect, or for common courtesy, to which they might be exposed ere
they quitted the villa, she besought their Sanctities not to hold her
responsible, she herself being now an unwilling intruder at this
hearth, and liable at any moment to insult. Uttering which words in a
resonant voice, she turned her eyes to where, a few yards away, stood
Aurelia, with Basil and Decius behind her.
'Reverend bishop,' spoke a voice not less steady and sonorous than that
of the elder lady, 'should you suffer any discourtesy in my house, it
will come not from me, but from her who suggests its possibility, and
whose mind is bent upon such things. Indeed, she has already scanted
the respect she owes you in uttering these words. As for herself,
remain she here for an hour or for a month, she is in no danger of
insult--unless she deem it an insult to have her base falsehood flung
back at her, and the enmity in her fierce eyes answered with the scorn
it merits.'
Petronilla trembled with wrath.
'Falsehood!' she echoed, on a high, mocking note. 'A charge of
falsehood upon _her_ lips! Your Holiness will ere long, I do not doubt,
be enlightened as to that woman's principles in the matter of truth and
falsehood. Meanwhile, we shall consult our souls' welfare, as well as
our dignity, in holding as little intercourse as may be with one who
has renounced the faith in Christ.'
Aurelia bent her eyes upon the deacon, who met the look with austere
fixedness. There was dead silence for a moment, then she turned to the
young men behind her.
'My noble cousins, I desired your company because I foresaw this
woman's violence, and knew not to what length it might carry her. She
pretends to fear my tongue; for my part, I would not lightly trust
myself within reach of her hands, of which I learnt the weight when I
was a little child. Lord Decius, attend, I beg you, these reverend men
whilst they honour my house and on their way homeward. My cousin Basil,
I must needs ask you to be my guard, until I can command service here.
Follow me, I pray.'
With another piercing glance at Leander she withdrew from the assembly.
It was a morning of wind and cloud; the day broke sadly. When the first
gleam of yellow sunlight flitted over Surrentum towards the cliffs of
Capreae, silence had fallen upon the villa. Wearied by their night of
watching, the inhabitants slept, or at least reposed in privacy. But
this quiet was of short duration. When the customary bell had given
notice of the third hour, Aurelia called together the servants of the
house--only those who belonged to Petronilla failing to answer her
summons--and announced to them her new authority. At the same time the
steward of the estate read out a list of those slaves who, under the
will of Maximus, could claim their emancipation. The gathering having
dispersed, there appeared an attendant of the deacon Leander; his
reverend master would wait upon the lady Aurelia, as soon as her
leisure permitted, for the purpose of taking leave. Forthwith the
deacon was admitted. Alone in the great hall, Aurelia sat beside a
brasier, at which she warmed her hands; she scarcely deigned to glance
at the ecclesiastic.
'You pursue your journey, reverend?' were her first words.
'As far as Neapolis, gracious lady,' came the suave reply. 'There or in
the neighbourhood I shall remain at least ten days. Should you desire
to communicate with me--'
'I think I can save that trouble,' interrupted Aurelia, with quivering
lips. 'All I have to say to your Sanctity, I will say at once. It is,
that you have enlightened me as to the value of solemn oaths on the
lips of the Roman clergy.'
'Your meaning, dear madam?' asked Leander, with a look of bland disdain.
'You have the face to ask it, deacon, after Petronilla's words this
morning?'
'I feared they might mislead you. The lady Petronilla knows nothing of
what has passed between us. She spoke in anger, and hazarded an
accusation--as angry ladies are wont.'
'Of course you say so,' returned Aurelia. 'I will believe you if you
give me back the paper I signed, and trust to my word for the
fulfilment of what I promised.'
Leander smiled, almost as if he had heard some happy intelligence.
'You ask,' he said, 'for a trust you yourself refuse.'
'Then go your way, perjurer!' exclaimed Aurelia, her cheeks aflame with
passion. 'I know henceforth on whom to rely.'
For a moment Leander stood as if reflecting on these last words; then
he bowed, and with placid dignity retired.
Meanwhile Basil and Decius were conversing with Petronilla. Neither of
them had ever stood on terms of more than courteous forbearance with
this authoritative lady; at present they maintained their usual
demeanour, and did not think it needful to apologise for friendly
relations with Aurelia. The only subject on which Petronilla deigned to
hold colloquy with them was that of her brother's burial at Rome.
Should the transport be by land or by sea? This evening the corpse
would be conveyed to the cathedral of Surrentum, where due rites would
be performed early on the morrow; there it would remain in temporary
interment until a coffin of lead could be prepared, and arrangements
completed for the removal. Was the year too advanced, questioned
Petronilla, to allow of the sea voyage? On the other hand, would the
land journey be safe, having regard to the advance of the Gothic army?
Basil pronounced for the sea, and undertook to seek for a vessel. Was
he willing, asked Petronilla, to accompany the body to Rome? This
question gave Basil pause; he reflected uneasily; he hesitated. Yet who
could discharge this duty, if he did not? Suddenly ashamed of his
hesitation, the true reason of which could not be avowed, he declared
that he would make the voyage.
Hereupon entered the deacon, who, the matter being put before him,
approved these arrangements. He himself would doubtless be in Rome
before the arrival of the remains of Maximus, and all the details of
the burial there might be left to him. So Petronilla thanked and
dismissed the young men, on whose retirement she turned eagerly to
Leander.
'Forgive me!' broke from her lips. 'I know how deeply I have offended
your Sanctity. It was my fear that you would go away without a word. My
haste, my vehemence, merited even that punishment.'
'Calm yourself, noble lady,' returned the deacon. 'I was indeed
grieved, but I know your provocation. We may speak on this subject
again; but not here. For the present, I take my leave of you, all being
ready for my departure. As you are quitting this house at once, you
need no counsel as to immediate difficulties; I will only say, in all
things be prudent, be self-controlled; before long, you may see reason
for the discreet silence which I urge upon you.'
'When do you set forth to Rome?' asked Petronilla. 'If it might be my
privilege to journey in your company--?'
'The day is uncertain,' replied Leander; 'but if it be possible for us
to travel together, trust me to beg for the honour. You shall hear of
my projects in a week's time from Neapolis.'
Petronilla fell to her knees, and again besought his forgiveness with
his benediction. The deacon magnanimously granted both, and whilst
bending over the devout lady, whispered one word:
'Patience!'
An hour after mid-day, Petronilla quitted the villa. Her great
travelling chariot, drawn by four mules, wherein she and her most
precious possessions were conveyed, descended at a stately pace the
winding road to Surrentum. Before it rode Basil; behind came a laden
wagon, two light vehicles carrying female slaves, and mounted
men-servants, armed as though for a long and perilous journey. Since
the encounter before sunrise, there had been no meeting between the
hostile ladies. Aurelia signified her scorn by paying no heed to her
aunt's departure.
Alone in her dominion, the inheritress entered the death-chamber, and
there passed an hour upon her knees. Whilst she was thus secluded, a
pealing storm traversed the sky. When Aurelia came forth again, her
face was wan, tearstained. She summoned her nurse, and held much talk
with her as to the significance of thunder whilst a corpse lay in the
house. The good woman, though she durst not utter all her thoughts,
babbled concern, and used the occasion to beseech Aurelia--as she had
often done since the death of her Gothic lord--to be reconciled with
the true church.
'True church!' exclaimed Aurelia, with sudden passion. 'How do you know
which is the true church? Have not emperors, have not bishops and
numberless holy men lived and died in the faith I confess--?'
She checked herself; grew silent, brooded. Meanwhile, the old nurse
talked on, and presently began to relate how a handmaid of Petronilla,
in going with her this morning, professed to know on the surest
evidence that Aurelia, by her father's deathbed, had renounced
Arianism. The sullen countenance of her mistress flashed again into
wrath.
'Did I not forbid you,' cried Aurelia, 'to converse with those women?
And you dare repeat to me their loose-lipped chatter. I am too familiar
with you; go and talk with your kind; go!'
Mutteringly the woman went apart. The mistress, alone, fell into a long
weeping. When she had sobbed herself into quiet once more, she sought a
volume of the Gospels, inserted her forefinger between the pages at
random, and anxiously regarded the passage thus chosen.
'While ye have the light, believe in the light, that ye may be the
children of light.'
She brooded, but in the end seemed to find solace.
Basil was absent all day. On his return, just before sunset, Aurelia
met him in the atrium, heard the report of what he had done, and at
length asked whether, on the day after to-morrow, he could go to Cumae.
'To Cumae?' exclaimed Basil. 'Ay, that I can! You are returning
thither?'
'For a day only. I go to seek that which no one but myself can find.'
The listener had no difficulty in understanding this; it meant, of
course, treasure concealed in the house Aurelia had long inhabited.
'We must both go and return by sea,' said Aurelia, 'even though it
cause us delay. I have no mind to pass through Neapolis.'
'Be it so. The sky will be calm when this storm has passed Shall you
return,' said Basil, 'alone?'
'Alone? Do you purpose to forsake me?'
'Think better of my manners, cousin--and more shrewdly of my meaning.'
'You mean fairly, I trust?' she returned, looking him steadily in the
face.
'Nay,' cried the young man vehemently, 'if I have any thought other
than honest, may I perish before I ever again behold her!'
Aurelia's gaze softened.
'It is well,' she said; 'we will speak again to-morrow.'
That night Petronilla kept vigil in the church of Surrentum, Basil and
Decius relieving her an hour before dawn. At the funeral service, which
began soon after sunrise, the greater part of the townsfolk attended.
All were eager to see whether the daughter of Maximus would be present,
for many rumours were rife touching Aurelia, some declaring that she
had returned to the true faith, some that she remained obstinate in
heresy. Her failure to appear did not set the debate at rest. A servant
of Petronilla whispered it about that only by a false pretence of
conversion had Aurelia made sure her inheritance; and at the mere
thought of such wickedness the hearers shuddered, foretelling a dread
retribution. The clergy were mute on the subject, even with the most
favoured of their flock. Meanwhile the piety and austerity of
Petronilla made a safe topic of talk, and a long procession reverently
escorted her to her temporary abode near the bishop's house.
To-day the clouds spent themselves in rain; before nightfall the
heavens began to clear. The island peak of Inarime stood purple against
a crimson sunset. After supper, Aurelia and Basil held conference. The
wind would not be favourable for their voyage; none the less, they
decided to start at the earliest possible hour. Dawn was but just
streaking the sky, when they rode down the dark gorge which led to the
shore, Basil attended by Felix, the lady by one maid. The bark awaited
them, swaying gently against the harbour-side. Aurelia descended to the
little cabin curtained off below a half-deck, and--sails as yet being
useless--four great oars urged the craft on its way.
What little wind there was breathed from the north For an hour they
made but slow progress, but when the first rays of sun gleamed above
the mountains, the breeze shifted westward; sails were presently
hoisted, and the rippling water hissed before the prow. Soon a golden
day shone upon sea and land. Aurelia came forth on to the deck, and sat
gazing towards Neapolis.
'You know that the deacon is yonder,' she said in a low voice to Basil,
this the first mention of Leander that had fallen from her lips in
speaking with him.
'Is he?' returned the other carelessly. 'Yes, I remember.'
But Basil's eyes were turned to the long promontory of Misenum. He was
wondering anxiously how his letter had affected Veranilda, and whether,
when she heard of it, Aurelia would be angered.
'Where is your friend Marcian?' were her next words.
Basil replied that he, too, was sojourning at Neapolis; and, when
Aurelia inquired what business held him there, her cousin answered
truly that he did not know.
'Do you trust him?' asked the lady, after a thoughtful pause.
'Marcian? As I trust myself!'
One of the boatmen coming within earshot, their conversation ceased.
The hour before noon saw them drawing near to land. They left on the
right the little island of Nesis, and drew towards Puteoli. On the left
lay Baiae, all but forsaken, its ancient temples and villas stretching
along the shore from the Lucrine lake to the harbour shadowed by Cape
Misenum; desolate magnificence, marble overgrown with ivy, gardens
where the rose grew wild, and terraces crumbling into the sea. Basil
and Aurelia looked upon these things with an eye made careless by
familiarity; all their lives ruin had lain about them, deserted
sanctuaries of a bygone creed, unpeopled homes of a vanished greatness.
As the boat advanced into the bay, it lost the wind, and rowing again
became needful. Thus they entered the harbour of Puteoli, where the
travellers disembarked.
Hard by the port was a tavern, which, owing to its position midway
between Neapolis and Cumae, still retained something of its character
as a _mansio_ of the posting service; but the vehicles and quadrupeds
of which it boasted were no longer held in strict reserve for state
officials and persons privileged. Gladly the innkeeper put at Basil's
disposal his one covered carriage, a trifle cleaner inside than it was
without, and a couple of saddle horses, declared to be Sicilian, but
advanced in age. Thus, with slight delay, the party pursued their
journey, Basil and his man riding before the carriage. The road ran
coastwise as far as the Julian haven, once thronged with the shipping
of the Roman world, now all but abandoned to a few fishermen; there it
turned inland, skirted the Lucrine water, and presently reached the
shore of Lake Avernus, where was the entrance to the long tunnel
piercing the hill between the lake and Cumae. On an ill-kept way, under
a low vault of rock dripping moisture, the carriage with difficulty
tossed and rumbled through the gloom. Basil impatiently trotted on,
and, as he issued into sunlight, there before him stood the walls of
the ancient city, round about that little hill by the sea which, in an
age remote, had been chosen for their abode by the first Hellenes
tempted to the land of Italy. High above rose the acropolis, a frowning
stronghold. Through Basil's mind passed the thought that ere long Cumae
might again belong to the Goths, and this caused him no uneasiness;
half, perchance, he hoped it.
A guard at the city gate inspected the carriage, and let it pass on. In
a few minutes, guided by Basil, it drew up before a house in a narrow,
climbing street, a small house, brick fronted, with stucco pilasters
painted red at the door, and two windows, closed with wooden shutters,
in the upper storey. On one side of the entrance stood a shop for the
sale of earthenware; on the other, a vintner's with a projecting marble
table, the jars of wine thereon exhibited being attached by chains to
rings in the wall. Odours of cookery, and of worse things, oppressed
the air, and down the street ran a noisome gutter. When Basil's servant
had knocked, a little wicket slipped aside for observation; then, after
a grinding of heavy locks and bars, the double doors were opened, and a
grey-headed slave stepped forward to receive his mistress. Basil had
jumped down from his horse, and would fain have entered, but, by an
arrangement already made, this was forbidden. Saying that she would
expect him at the second hour on the morrow, Aurelia disappeared. Her
cousin after a longing look at the blind and mute house, rode away to
another quarter of the city, near the harbour, where was an inn at
which he had lodged during his previous visit. In a poor and dirty
room, he made shift to dine on such food as could be offered him; then
lay down on the truckle bed, and slept for an hour or two.
A knock at the door awoke him. It was Felix, who brought the news that
Marcian was at Cumae.
'You have seen him?' cried Basil, astonished and eager.
'His servant Sagaris,' Felix replied. 'I met him but now in the forum,
and learnt that his lord lodges at the house of the curial Venustus;
hard by the Temple of Diana.'
'Go thither at once, and beg him, if his leisure serve, to come to me.
I would go myself; but, if he have seen Sagaris, he may be already on
the way here.'
And so it proved, for in a very few minutes Marcian himself entered the
room.
'Your uncle is dead,' were his first words. 'I heard it in Neapolis
yesterday. What brings you here?'
'Nay, best Marcian,' returned the other, with hands on his friend's
shoulders, and peering him in the face, 'let me once again put that
question to _you_.'
'I cannot answer it, yet,' said Marcian gravely. 'Your business is more
easily guessed.'
'But must not be talked of here,' interrupted Basil, glancing at the
door. 'Let us find some more suitable place.'
They descended the dark, foul stairs, and went out together. Before the
house stood the two serving-men, who, as their masters walked away,
followed at a respectful distance. When safe from being overheard,
Basil recounted to his friend the course of events at the Surrentine
villa since Marcian's departure, made known his suspicion that Aurelia
had secretly returned to the Catholic faith. He then told of to day's
journey and its purpose, his hearer wearing a look of grave attention.
'Can it be,' asked Marcian, 'that you think of wedding this Gothic
beauty?'
'Assuredly,' answered Basil, with a laugh, 'I have thought of it.'
'And it looks as though Aurelia favoured your desire.'
'It has indeed something of that appearance.'
'Pray you now, dear lord,' said Marcian, 'be sober awhile. Have you
reflected that, with such a wife, you would not dare return to Rome?'
Basil had not regarded that aspect of the matter, but his friend's
reasoning soon brought him to perceive the danger he would lightly have
incurred. Dangers, not merely those that resulted from the war; could
he suppose, asked Marcian, that Heliodora would meekly endure his
disdain, and that the life of Veranilda would be safe in such a rival's
proximity? Hereat, Basil gnashed his teeth and handled his dagger. Why
return to Rome at all? he cried impatiently. He had no mind to go
through the torments of a long siege such as again threatened. Why
should he not live on in Campania--
'And tend your sheep or your goats?' interrupted Marcian, with his
familiar note of sad irony. 'And pipe _sub tegmine fagi_ to your
blue-eyed Amaryllis? Why not, indeed? But what if; on learning the
death of Maximus, the Thracian who rules yonder see fit to command your
instant return, and to exact from you an account of what you have
inherited? Bessas loses no time--suspecting--perhaps--that his tenure
of a fruitful office may not be long.'
'And if the suspicion be just?' said Basil, gazing hard at his friend.
'Well, if it be?' said the other, returning the look.
'Should we not do well to hold far from Rome, looking to King Totila,
whom men praise, as a deliverer of our land from hateful tyranny?'
Marcian laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.
'O, brave Basil!' he murmured, with a smile. 'O, nobly confident in
those you love! Never did man so merit love in return.--Do as you will.
In a few days I shall again visit you at Surrentum, and perchance bring
news that may give us matter for talk.'
From a portico hard by there approached a beggar, a filthy and hideous
cripple, who, with whining prayer, besought alms. Marcian from his
wallet took a copper coin, and, having glanced at it, drew Basil's
attention.
'Look,' said he, smiling oddly, 'at the image and the superscription.'
It was a coin of Vitiges, showing a helmeted bust of the goddess of the
city, with legend '_Invicta Roma_.'
'_Invicta Roma_,' muttered Basil sadly, with head bent.
Meanwhile, out of earshot of their masters, the two servants conversed
with not less intimacy. At a glance these men were seen to be of
different races. Felix, aged some five and thirty, could boast of free
birth; he was the son of a curial--that is to say, municipal
councillor--of Arpinum, who had been brought to ruin, like so many of
his class in this age, by fiscal burdens, the curiales being
responsible for the taxes payable by their colleagues, as well as for
the dues on any estate in their district which might be abandoned, and,
in brief, for whatsoever deficiencies of local revenue. Gravity and
sincerity appeared in his countenance; he seldom smiled, spoke in a
subdued voice, and often kept his eyes on the ground; but his service
was performed with rare conscientiousness, and he had often given proof
of affection for his master. Sagaris, a Syrian slave, less than thirty
years old, had a comely visage which ever seemed to shine with
contentment, and often twinkled with a sort of roguish mirth. Tall and
of graceful bearing, the man's every movement betrayed personal vanity;
his speech had the note of facile obsequiousness; he talked whenever
occasion offered, and was fond of airing his views on political and
other high matters. Therewithal, he was the most superstitious of
mortals; wore amulets, phylacteries, charms of all sorts, and secretly
prayed to many strange gods. When he had nothing else to do, and could
find a genial companion, his delight was to play by the hour at _micare
digitis_; but, in spite of his master's good opinion, not to Sagaris
would have applied the proverb that you might play that game with him
in the dark.
'Take my word for it,' he whispered to Felix, with his most important
air, 'we shall see strange things ere long. Last night I counted seven
shooting stars.'
'What does that argue?' asked the other soberly.
'More than I care to put into Latin. At Capua, three days ago, a woman
gave birth to a serpent, a winged dragon, which flew away towards Rome.
I talked at Neapolis with a man who saw it.'
'Strange, indeed,' murmured Felix, with raised eyebrows. 'I have often
heard of such portents, but never had the luck to behold one of them.
Yet,' he added gravely, 'I have received a sign. When my father died, I
was far away from him, and at that very hour, as I prayed in the church
of Holy Clement at Rome, I heard a voice that said in my ear, _Vale_!
three times.'
'Oh, I have had signs far more wonderful than that,' exclaimed the
Syrian. 'I was at sea, between Alexandria and Berytus--for you must
know that in my boyhood I passed three years at Berytus, and there
obtained that knowledge of law which you may have remarked in talking
with me--well, I was at sea--'
'Peace!' interposed Felix. 'We are summoned.'
Sagaris sighed, and became the obsequious attendant.