THE ANICIANS
Not many days after, in a still noontide of mellow autumn, Basil and
Marcian drew towards Rome. They rode along the Via Appia, between the
tombs of ancient men; all about them, undulant to the far horizon, a
brown wilderness dotted with ruins. Ruins of villas, of farms, of
temples, with here and there a church or a monastery that told of the
newer time. Olives in scant patches, a lost vineyard, a speck of tilled
soil, proved that men still laboured amid this vast and awful silence,
but rarely was a human figure visible. As they approached the city,
marshy ground and stagnant pools lay on either hand, causing them to
glance sadly at those great aqueducts, which for ages had brought water
into Rome from the hills and now stood idle, cleft by the Goths during
the siege four years ago.
They rode in silence, tired with their journey, occupied with heavy or
anxious thoughts. Basil, impatient to arrive, was generally a little
ahead. Their attendants numbered half a dozen men, among them Felix and
Sagaris, and two mules laden with packs came in the rear. Earthworks
and rough buildings of military purpose, again recalling the twelve
months' blockade, presently appeared; churches and oratories told them
they were passing the sacred ground of the catacombs; then they crossed
the little Almo, rode at a trot along a hollow way, and saw before them
the Appian Gate. Only a couple of soldiers were on guard; these took a
careless view of the travellers, and let them pass without speaking.
Marcian rode up to his friend's side, and spoke softly.
'You have promised to be advised by me.'
Basil answered only with a dull nod.
'I will see her to-day,' continued the other, 'and will bring you the
news before I sleep.'
'Do so.'
No more words passed between them. On their left hand they saw the
Thermae of Caracalla, their external magnificence scarce touched by
decay, but waterless, desolate; in front rose the Caelian, covered with
edifices, many in ruin, and with neglected or altogether wild gardens;
the road along which they went was almost as silent as that without the
walls. Arrived at a certain point, the two looked at each other and
waved a hand; then Marcian, with Sagaris and one other servant, pushed
forward, whilst Basil, followed by the rest of the train, took an
ascending road to the right.
The house in which he was born, and where he alone now ruled, stood on
the summit of the Caelian. Before it stood the ruined temple of
Claudius, overlooking the Flavian Amphitheatre; behind it ranged the
great arches of the Neronian aqueduct; hard by were the round church of
St. Stephen and a monastery dedicated to St. Erasmus. By a narrow,
grass-grown road, between walls overhung with ivy, Basil ascended the
hill; but for the occasional bark of a dog, nothing showed that these
buildings of old time were inhabited; and when he drew rein before his
own portico, the cessation of the sound of hoofs made a stillness like
that among the Appian sepulchres. Eyeless, hoary, with vegetation
rooted here and there, the front of the house gave no welcome. Having
knocked, Basil had to wait for some moments before there came a sign of
opening. With drooped head, he seemed to watch the lizards playing in
the sunshine upon a marble column.
A wicket opened, and at once there sounded from within an exclamation
of joyful surprise. After much clanking, the door yielded, and an
elderly servant, the freedman Eugenius, offered greeting to his lord.
Basil's first question was whether Decius had been there; he learnt
that his kinsman was now in the house, having come yesterday to reside
here from the Anician palace beyond the Tiber.
'Tell him at once that I am here. Stay; I dare say he is in the
library. I will go to him.'
He passed through the atrium, adorned with ancestral busts and with the
consular fasces which for centuries had signified nothing, through a
room hung with tapestry and floored with fine mosaic, through the
central court, where the fountain was dry, and by a colonnade reached
the secluded room which was called library, though few books remained
out of the large collection once guarded here. In a sunny embrasure, a
codex open on his knees, sat the pale student; seeing Basil, he started
up in great surprise, and, when they had embraced, regarded him
anxiously.
'How is this? What has happened? Some calamity, I see.'
'Seek some word, O Decius, to utter more than that. I have suffered
worse than many deaths.'
'My best, my dearest Basil!' murmured the other tenderly. 'You have
lost her?'
'Lost her? yes; but not as you mean it. Is Petronilla in Rome?'
'She arrived the day before yesterday, two hours after sunset.'
'And you have seen her, talked with her?'
'I was at the house yonder when she came.'
'And she behaved ill to you?' asked Basil.
'Far from that, Petronilla overwhelmed me with affection and courtesy.
I knew not,' proceeded Decius smiling, 'how I had all at once merited
such attention. I came away merely because this situation better suits
my health. Down by the river I have never been at ease. But let me hear
what has befallen you.'
Basil told his story, beginning with the explanation of Veranilda's
importance in the eyes of the Greek commander. After learning from the
Hun that nothing was known of the lost ladies at Cumae, he had
impatiently lingered for three days in the castle of Venantius, on the
chance that Marcian might be able to test the truth of Chorsoman's
report; but his friend made no discovery, and in despair he set out for
Rome. To all this Decius listened with wonder and with sympathy. He had
no difficulty in crediting Petronilla with such a plot, but thought she
could scarce have executed it without the help of some one in
authority. Such a person, he added cautiously, as a deacon of the Roman
Church. Hereupon Basil exclaimed that he and Marcian had had the same
suspicion.
'I will find her,' he cried, 'if it cost me my life! And I will be
revenged upon those who have robbed me of her. She may at this moment
be in Rome. The ship that carried her off was large enough, they say,
to make the voyage, and winds have been favourable. My good Decius, I
am so overcome with misery that I forget even to ask how you sped on
the sea.'
'A smooth and rapid voyage. I had only time to reperuse with care the
_Silvae_ of Statius--his Epicedion being appropriate to my mood.
Arrived at Portus, I sent a post to those who awaited the ship's
coming, and the remains of Maximus were brought with all due honour to
their resting place.'
'Was the deacon Leander here to receive you?' asked Basil.
'I learnt that he had not yet been heard of.'
They exchanged a significant look, and Basil remarked that he would
soon discover the deacon's movements since his leaving Surrentum.
Marcian was even now on his way to visit Petronilla, and would come
with news this evening.
'If I could know,' he cried, 'whether she has been delivered to the
Greeks, or is kept imprisoned by that Megaera! It may be that
Petronilla is ignorant of what I have told you; yet, if so, I fear she
will soon learn it, for Chorsoman will write--if the barbarian can
write--to Bessas, and cannot but mention her. There are prisons in Rome
for those who offend the tyrant of Byzantium.'
'It troubles me to hear you say that,' said Decius, with an anxious
glance.
'I, too, may be in peril, you think,' replied his kinsman gloomily.
'True, all the more that I am known to have just inherited. Bessas
takes a peculiar interest in such people. Be that as it will. Let us
turn for a moment to other things.'
They spoke of the duties that had to be discharged by Basil as his
uncle's heir. On the morrow he must assemble such of his kinsfolk as
were in Rome, and exhibit to them the testament. Aurelia's part in it
would of course excite discussion, perhaps serious objection; whereas
her disappearance would probably be regarded as a matter of small
moment, and Petronilla, even if suspected, could count on sympathy.
When he left the library, Basil found all the members of his household,
from the old nurse Aguella, whose privilege it was to treat him with
motherly affection, to the men who groomed his horse, assembled outside
to give him welcome. His character and bearing were such as earn the
good-will of dependents; though proud and impatient, he never behaved
harshly, and a service well rendered often had its recognition. Among
the young men of his rank, he was notable for temperance in pleasures;
his slaves regarded him as above common temptations of the flesh, and,
though this might be a loss to them in one way, they boasted of it when
talking to the slaves of masters less exceptional. Having learnt from
Felix that their lord was heir of Maximus, the servants received him
with even more than wonted respect. One of them was the steward of his
estate in Picenum, who had arrived at Rome a few days ago; with him
Basil had private talk, received money which the man had brought, heard
of the multitudinous swine in his oak forest, and of the yield of his
fruit trees. That strip of the Adriatic coast south of Ancona had
always been famous for its pears and apples, and choice examples of the
fruit lay on Basil's table to-day. When he had supped, he anxiously
awaited the coming of Marcian. It was two hours after nightfall before
his friend appeared, having come in a litter, with torch-bearing
attendants, from the Palatine, where he had supped with Bessas, the
Greek commander.
The news he brought was disquieting. Bessas had just received
despatches from Cumae, which acquainted him with the story of
Veranilda's disappearance, so far as it was known to Chorsoman; he wore
a heavy brow about the business, swore that the Gothic damsel should be
found, if it cost the skins of all who had had anything to do with her.
'I partly soothed the brute,' concluded Marcian, 'by telling him that
Petronilla was within such easy reach. Her he will summon to-morrow.'
'You promised to see her,' said Basil impatiently.
'Do I often break my promises? I saw her before going even to my own
house, with the dust of the journey still upon me.'
'Ever kind Marcian?'
'Why so hasty to think me less than kind?' returned the other, with his
smile of sad irony. 'I saw her, though with difficulty. She kept me
waiting like an importunate poor kinsman, and when I was received, she
sat like the Empress giving audience. I did not touch the earth with my
forehead; nay, I stood looking at her with a look she did not easily
bear. That she is guilty, I am sure; I read triumph in her eyes as soon
as I spoke of Aurelia. That she would deny all knowledge of the affair
was only to be expected. Moreover, she has taken possession of the
great house yonder, and declares that Aurelia, as a heretic, can claim
nothing under her father's will. You, of course, the heir, can expel
her, if you think it worth the trouble. But let us see the result of
her conversation with Bessas. She smiled disdainfully when I mentioned
his name, and tried to continue smiling when I carelessly explained the
interest he had in finding Veranilda; but she was frightened, I heard
it in her hoarse voice when she began to speak evil of Veranilda.'
'What!' cried Basil. 'Evil of Veranilda!'
'Such as naturally comes to the tongue of an angry woman.'
The lover raged, Marcian listening with a sad, half-absent look. Their
talk continued for a long time, arid, because of the lateness of the
hour, Marcian stayed to sleep in his friend's house. Before sunrise on
the morrow, Basil sent forth his invitations to all of the Anician
blood in Rome. The first to respond was Gordianus, whose dwelling on
the Clivus Scauri stood but a few minutes' walk away. Though but a
little older than Basil, Gordian had been for several years a husband
and a father; he was in much esteem for his worldly qualities, and more
highly regarded for the fervour of his religious faith. A tall,
handsome, dignified man, he looked straight before him with frank eyes,
and his lips told of spirit tempered by kindliness. Between him and his
relative no great intimacy existed, for their modes of life and of
thought were too dissimilar, but each saw the good in the other, and
was attracted by it. Not long ago Gordian had conceived the project of
giving his young sister Aemiliana as wife to Basil. Maximus favoured
this design, but his nephew showed no eagerness to carry it out, and
Roman gossip presently found a reason for that. Among the leaders of
fashion and of pleasure--for fashion and pleasure did not fail to
revive in Rome soon after the horrors of the siege--shone a lady named
Heliodora, the Greek wife of a little-respected senator, who, favoured
by Bessas, rose to the position of City Prefect. With Heliodora's
character rumour made very free; the captives of her beauty were said
to be numerous, and one of the names mentioned by those who loved such
scandal was that of the young Basil. Gordian, finding that there was
some ground for this suspicion, spoke no more of the suggested
marriage, and it was at his instance that Maximus, ill in Campania,
summoned Basil away from the city. Reports from Surrentum gave reason
to hope that this measure had succeeded. But to-day, as he entered
Basil's house, Gordian's face wore a troubled look, and there was no
warmth in his response to the greeting which met him.
'You have sent for me, my dear lord,' he began with grave and distant
courtesy, 'to speak of the matter of your inheritance. Forgive me if I
first of all ask you a question--of more intimate concern. Is it true
that you have taken a wife?'
Basil, in whom fatigue and misery had left little patience, began
quivering in every nerve, and made blunt answer:
'It is not true, arid she who told you contrived the lie.'
'You speak of the lady Petronilla,' pursued Gordian gently. 'Can I
think that she has wilfully deceived me?'
'Think it not, my lord Gordian,' returned the other; 'if Petronilla
told you I was married, she lied.'
'That is strange indeed. Listen, I pray you, to the story heard in Rome
since Petronilla returned. It is right that you should hear it just as
it comes from her own lips.'
Thereupon Gordian repeated a narrative which would have been
substantially true had it not crowned Basil's love with marriage. The
listener, shaken with violent passion, could scarce wait till the end.
'And now hear _me_,' he cried. 'If I were prudent, I also should lie,
for the truth may be dangerous. But you shall know it, O Gordian, and
if you choose to harm me--'
The other raised a hand, and so full of dignity was this gesture, so
solemn the look which accompanied it, that Basil's vehemence felt
itself rebuked; he grew silent and listened.
'Basil, check your tongue, which I see will be your greatest peril. Do
not confide in me, for I know not whether I can respect your
confidence. Let us speak of other things.'
The younger man stood for a moment in hesitancy, his cheeks aflame, his
eyes fiercely gleaming.
'As you will,' he exclaimed, mastering himself. 'When the others are
here, you will learn all that it concerns you to know. Remember,
Gordian, that I would have opened my heart to you, for, whatever I
said, I know well that you are no betrayer. As for that woman--'
He was interrupted by the arrival of several persons, old and young,
who appeared in answer to his summons. Having received them with colder
courtesy than was natural to him, Basil produced the testament of
Maximus, and submitted it to his kinsmen's inspection. The tablets
passed from hand to hand; the signatures and seals of the seven
witnesses were examined, the contents read and discussed. Meanwhile
guests continued to arrive, until a considerable gathering, which
included several ladies, had assembled in the great hall. Here was
represented all that deemed itself best and most illustrious in the
society of Rome. More came than were expressly invited; for, beyond the
legitimate interest of the occasion, curiosity had been aroused by the
gossip of Petronilla, and some whose connection with the Anician house
was of the very slightest, hastened to present themselves at Basil's
door. Hither came men whose names recalled the glories of the Republic;
others who were addressed by appellations which told of Greek dominion;
alike they claimed the dignity of Roman optimates, and deemed
themselves ornaments of an empire which would endure as long as the
world. Several ranked as senators; two or three were ex-consuls; ten
years ago the last consul of Rome had laid down his shadowy honours;
one had held the office of Praetorian Prefect when Theodoric was king;
yet, from the political point of view, all were now as powerless as
their own slaves. Wealth a few of them still possessed, but with no
security; a rapacious Byzantine official, the accident of war, might at
any moment strip them of all they had. For the most part they had
already sunk to poverty, if not to indigence; among these aristocratic
faces were more than one which bore the mark of privation. Those who
had little means or none lived as parasites of more fortunate
relatives; though beggars, they housed in palaces--palaces, it is true,
which had often no more comfort within their marble walls than the
insulae where the ignoble laid their heads.
When all had perused the will, Basil rose up and addressed them. He
began by a seemingly careless allusion to the tattle about himself,
which, as it appeared, had been started in Rome by some one who wished
him ill. The serious matter of which he had to speak regarded the
daughter of Maximus. No one here, of course, would be inclined to take
up the defence of Aurelia, whose history was known to all, he would
merely make known to them that after having abjured her religious
errors, and when living quietly in the Surrentine villa, she had been
treacherously seized and carried off he knew not whither. It was not
difficult to surmise by whom this plot had been laid, but he would
leave that point for his hearers' discussion. Him it chiefly concerned
to make known the strange facts so far as he knew them; and this he
proceeded to do. Basil concluded with sarcastic reference to the
possibility that he, as heir, might be openly or secretly suspected of
having laid hands upon Aurelia; that point also he left to be debated
by such as thought it worth while.
Only some two or three of those who listened had any personal interest
in the will, and few cared at all for the fate of Aurelia; but the lady
at whom Basil's innuendo pointed enjoyed no great favour, and her
absence from this family gathering made it possible to discuss with all
freedom the likelihood of her culpability. At Basil himself no
suspicion glanced, but the rumour of his marriage with a Goth had
excited much curiosity, hardly appeased by a whisper that Gordian
declared the story false. Having spoken all he thought fit to say,
Basil was going apart with the persons to whom legacies had been left,
he, as heir, being charged with the execution of the will, when Gordian
approached him, and begged for a word in private.
'I would not have you think me unkind, dear Basil,' he said, in a
gentle voice. 'It was neither the place nor the moment to hear secrets
from you, and I am glad now that I refused to listen; but be assured
that I put faith in what you have declared to us.'
'It is well, dear Gordian,' replied Basil frankly.
'One word I will add,' continued the other. 'If you are troubled about
things of the world, if you lack counsel such as you think a friend
might give, delay not in coming to me. I should not speak thus
confidently did I speak of myself alone; but there is one ever at my
side, who with her wisdom--sometimes I think it divinely
bestowed--supplies the weakness of my own understanding. Guided by her,
I cannot counsel you amiss.'
They parted with an embrace, and Basil turned to the business of the
moment. This occupied him until nearly mid-day. As he took leave of the
last of his guests, there entered Marcian; his coming surprised Basil,
for they had parted at early morning not to meet again before the
morrow.
'I bring you an invitation,' said Marcian, in a careless tone, which
was not quite natural. 'It is to the Palatine, after dinner.'
'To the Palatine? I am summoned by Bessas?'
'In a friendly way. Have no anxiety. Petronilla has been examined this
morning, and, from what I can gather, she seems to have betrayed
herself. Bessas wore the smile which means that he has over-reached
somebody.'
'Then we shall find her,' exclaimed Basil.
'They will find her, I doubt not,' was the reply.
The meal being ready, they sat down to eat together, but their appetite
was small. Decius, who had wearied himself this morning in finding
discreet answers to the questions with which he was privately assailed
by his kinsfolk, did not come to table. Having dined, Basil and his
friend set forth on foot, half a dozen servants walking behind them.
Midway in the descent of the Caelian, they were met by an odd
procession: a beautiful boy of some twelve years old, clad in yellow,
riding upon a small white ass with rich housings, and behind him three
slaves, dark-visaged men of the East, on mules of great size,
caparisoned with yellow cloth, to which hung innumerable tinkling
bells. At sight of Basil, the child drew rein; jumped down, and ran
forward with smiling demonstrations of respect.
'What is it, Laetus?' asked Basil, with no welcome upon his sombre
countenance. 'I cannot talk with you now.'
The boy, who had been sold into slavery from the far island of the
Angles, did but smatter the Roman tongue. With a few words to signify
that his message was important, he delivered a letter, and Basil,
turning aside impatiently, broke the seal. Upon the blank side of a
slip of papyrus cut from some old manuscript were written lines which
seemed to be in Greek, and proved to be Latin in Greek characters, a
foppery beginning to be used by the modish at Rome.
'Heliodora to Basil. You are bidden to supper. Come if you will. If you
come not, I care not.'
'Say that I gave you no reply,' were Basil's blunt words, as he walked
on past the ass and the mules.