SEEKING
They passed beneath the walls of the amphitheatre and by Constantine's
triumphal arch. Like all the innumerable fountains of the city, the
Meta Sudans stood dry; around the base of the rayed colossus of Apollo,
goats were browsing. Thence they went along by the Temple of Venus and
Rome, its giant columns yet unshaken, its roof gleaming with gilded
bronze; and so under the Arch of Titus, when, with a sharp turn to the
left, they began the ascent of the Palatine.
The vast buildings which covered the Imperial hill, though discoloured
by the lapse of ages and hung with ivy, had suffered little diminution
of their external majesty; time had made them venerable, but had not
shattered their walls. For two centuries and a half, they had stood all
but desolate, and within that time had thrice been sacked by
barbarians, yet something of the riches and art which made their
ancient glory was still discoverable in the countless halls and
chambers; statues, busts, mural paintings, triumphs of mosaic, pictured
hangings, had in many parts escaped the spoiler and survived ruin;
whilst everywhere appeared the magnificence of rare stones, the
splendours of royal architecture, the beauty of unsurpassed carving.
Though owls nested where empresses were wont to sleep, and nettles
pierced where the lord of the world feasted his courtiers, this was
still the Palace of those who styled themselves Ever August; each echo
seemed to repeat an immortal name, and in every gallery seemed to move
the shadows of a majestic presence.
Belisarius had not resided here, preferring for his abode the palace of
the Pincian. His successor in the military government of Rome chose a
habitation on the deserted hill, in that portion of its complex
structures which had been raised by Vespasian and his sons. Thither the
two visitors were now directing their steps. Having passed a gateway,
where Marcian answered with a watchword the challenge of the guard,
they ascended a broad flight of stairs, and stood before an entrance
flanked with two great pillars of Numidian marble, toned by time to a
hue of richest orange. Here stood soldiers, to whom again the password
was given. Entering, they beheld a great hall, surrounded by a
colonnade of the Corinthian order, whereon had been lavished exquisite
carving; in niches behind the columns stood statues in basalt, thrice
the size of life, representing Roman emperors, and at the far end was a
tribune with a marble throne. This, once the hall of audience, at
present served as a sort of antechamber; here and there loitered a
little group of citizens, some of whom had been waiting since early
morning for speech with the commander; in one corner, soldiers played
at dice, in another a notary was writing at a table before which stood
two ecclesiastics. Voices and footsteps made a faint, confused
reverberation under the immense vault.
Anxiously glancing about him, Basil followed his conductor across the
hall and out into a peristyle, its pavement richly tesselated, and the
portico, still elaborately adorned with work in metal and in marble,
giving proof of still greater magnificence in bygone time; pedestals
had lost their statues, and blank spaces on the wall told of precious
panelling torn off. Beyond, they came to a curtained doorway, where
they were detained for some moments by the sentry; then the curtain was
drawn aside, and Basil found himself in the triclinium of the Flavian
palace, now used by the Greek general as his public reception room. Its
size was not much less than that of the hall of audience; its
decoration in the same grandiose style. Enormous pillars of granite
supported the roof; statues stood, or had stood, all around; the
pavement, composed of serpentine, porphyry, and Numidian marble in many
hues, was a superb work of art. But Basil saw only the human figures
before him. In a chair covered with furs sat a man of middle age,
robust, fair-complexioned, with a keen look in his pale blue eyes and
something of the wolfish about his mouth. Bessas had long ago given
proof of valour, and enjoyed repute as a general, but since his holding
command in Rome, his vices, chief of which was avarice, showed much
more prominently than the virtues which had advanced him; he used the
Imperial authority chiefly to enrich himself, in this respect, it is
true, merely acting in harmony with the Emperor's representative at
Ravenna, and with: the other Greek generals scattered about Italy, but
exhibiting in his methods a shrewdness and an inhumanity not easily
rivalled. Behind his chair stood several subordinates, and on a stool
before him sat a noble recently arrived as envoy from Byzantium.
Having been previously instructed as to his behaviour in this
redoubtable presence, Basil followed the example of Marcian in
approaching with bent head to within a distance of three paces, then
dropping to his knees, and bowing so as almost to touch the ground with
his forehead. He heard a gruff voice command him to rise.
'So this is the heir of the Senator Maximus,' said Bessas, much as he
might have spoken of viewing a horse that interested him. 'What is his
name?'
'Basilius, my lord,' replied Marcian, with grave respect.
'And what is he doing? Why does not a limber lad like that serve the
Emperor?'
'Your Magnanimity will recollect that the lord Basil had permission to
attend Maximus into Campania, whence he is but now returned.'
'Can't he speak for himself?' growled Bessas, turning sharply upon
Marcian. 'You have a tongue, lord Basil? Do you only use it among the
wenches?'
A subdued laugh sounded behind the commander's chair. The envoy from
Byzantium showed more discreet appreciation of the jest. And Basil, his
head bowed, would fain have concealed a face burning with angry shame.
'I will do my best,' he replied in a steady voice, 'to answer any
question your excellence may put to me.'
'Come, that's better,' said the general, with that affectation of bluff
good-nature which always veiled his designs. 'I like the look of you,
my good Basil; who knows but we may be friends? By the bye, was there
not some special reason for your coming to see me?'
'Your excellence summoned me.'
'Yes, yes, I remember. That affair of the Gothic wench.' Bessas checked
himself, glanced at the envoy, and corrected his phrase. 'The Gothic
lady, I would say, who has somehow been spirited out of sight. What can
you tell us of her, lord Basil? It has been whispered to me that if you
cannot lead us to this beauty's hiding-place, nobody can.'
Basil answered in the only way consistent with prudence: he not only
denied all knowledge of where Veranilda was to be found, but spoke as
though her fate had little or no interest for him, whereas he professed
himself greatly troubled by the disappearance of his cousin Aurelia. It
seemed that Petronilla did not purpose delivering Veranilda to the
Greeks. Perhaps she did not yet understand the import of their inquiry.
That it was she who held Veranilda prisoner he had less doubt than
ever, and boldly he declared his conviction. But even, whilst speaking,
he thought with dread of the possibility of Veranilda's being delivered
to Bessas; for who could assure him that this sinister-looking Thracian
would respect the mandate received from Byzantium? On the other hand,
who could say to what sufferings and perils his beloved was exposed
whilst Petronilla's captive? He preferred the risks to follow upon her
surrender. Did he but know where she was there would at least be a hope
of rescuing her.
'By Christ!' exclaimed Bessas, when he had listened intently to all
Basil's replies, 'this is a strange business. I begin to think,
excellent lord Basil, that you are as much deceived in your suspicions
of the lady Petronilla as she is in her suspicions of you. These two
wenches--ladies, I would say--may have reasons of their own for hiding;
or somebody of whom you know nothing may have carried them off. How is
this Aurelia to look upon? Young and comely, I warrant.'
Basil briefly described his cousin; whereupon the listener gave a shrug.
'We will talk of it again, to-morrow or the day after. Hold yourself in
readiness, lord Basil--you hear?--to come when bidden. And, hark you,
bring the senator's will, that I may look it over myself. Trust me, I
will see that this lady Aurelia suffers no wrong; if necessary, I will
myself hold her property in trust. They tell me she is a heretic--that
must be inquired into. But take no thought for the matter, my good
Basil; trust me, you shall be relieved from all responsibilities. Go in
peace!'
Bessas rose, impatient to have done with business. In the little
hippodrome, hard by, an entertainment had been prepared for this
afternoon: female equestrians were to perform perilous feats; there was
to be a fight between a man and a boar; with other trifles, such as
served to pass the time till dinner. In the entrance hall waited
messengers from Ravenna, who for hours had urgently requested audience;
but, partly because he knew that their despatches would be
disagreeable, in part because he liked playing at royalty, the
commander put them off till to-morrow. Even so did he postpone an
inspection of a certain part of the city wall, repeatedly suggested to
him by one of his subordinates. Leisure and accumulation of wealth were
obscuring the man's soldierly qualities. He gave little heed to the
progress of the war, and scoffed at the fear that Totila might ere long
march against Rome.
Basil walked in gloomy silence. The interview had inflamed his pride.
Mentally he repeated the oath never to acquiesce in this Byzantine
tyranny, and he burned for the opportunity of open war against it. When
they were at a safe distance from the Palatine, Marcian warned his
friend against the Greek's indulgent manner; let him not suppose that
Bessas spoke one word sincerely.
'His aim at present, I see, is to put you off your guard; and doubtless
he is playing the like game with Petronilla. You will be spied upon,
day and night--I myself, you understand, being one of the spies, but
only one, unfortunately. This Thracian is not so easy to deal with as
the Hun at Cumae. There have been moments when I thought he suspected
me. If ever I vanish, Basil--'
He ceased with a significant look.
'Why does Totila delay?' exclaimed Basil, with a passionate gesture.
'He delays not. It is wisdom to conquer Campania before coming hither.
Another month will see him before Neapolis.'
'Could I but find Veranilda, make her my own, and put her in safety, I
would go straight to the king's camp, and serve him as best I might.'
Marcian looked steadily at the speaker, smiling strangely.
'Why do you look at me so?' cried Basil. 'You doubt me? You distrust my
courage?'
'Not for a moment. But why should this depend upon the finding of
Veranilda, my best Basil? Having found her, having made her your own,
will it be easier than now to take your chance of death or of
captivity? When was a Roman wont to let his country's good wait upon
his amorous desire?'
They were on the Sacred Way, between the Basilica of Constantine and
the Atrium of Vesta. Struck to the heart by his friend's words, words
such as Marcian had never yet addressed to him, Basil stood mute and
let his eyes wander: he gazed at the Forum, at the temples beyond it,
at the Capitol with its desecrated sanctuary of Jupiter towering above.
Here, where the citizens once thronged about their business and their
pleasure, only a few idlers were in view, a few peasants with carts,
and a drove of bullocks just come in from the country.
'You would have me forget her?' he said at length, in a voice
distressfully subdued.
'I spoke only as I thought.'
'And your thought condemned me--despised me, Marcian?'
'Not so. Pitied you rather, as one whose noble nature has fallen into
trammels. Have you not long known, O Basil, how I think of the thing
called love?'
'Because you have never known it!' exclaimed Basil. 'My love is my
life. Having lost Veranilda, I have lost myself; without her I can do
nothing. Were she dead I could fling myself into the struggle with our
enemies, all the fiercer because I should care not whether I lived or
died; but to lose her thus, to know that she may be in Rome, longing
for me as I for her--to think that we may never hold each other's hands
again--oh, it tears my heart, and makes me weak as a child. You cannot
understand me; you have never loved!'
'May such knowledge be far from me!' said Marcian, with unwonted
vehemence. 'Do you feel no shame in being so subdued to the flesh?'
'Shame? Shame in the thought that I love Veranilda?'
Marcian seemed to make an effort to control a passion that wrought in
him; he was paler than of wont, and, instead of the familiar irony, a
cold, if not cruel, austerity appeared in his eyes and on his lips. He
shunned Basil's astonished gaze.
'Let us not speak of this,' broke from him impatiently. 'You understand
me as little as I you. Forgive me, Basil--I have been talking idly--I
scarce know what I said. It is sometimes thus with me. Something takes
hold upon me, and I speak at random. Come, come, dear friend of my
heart, we will find your Veranilda; trust me, we will.'
Three days went by, then Basil was summoned again to the Palatine,
where he had an interview with Bessas alone. This time the commander
hardly spoke of Veranilda; his talk was of the possessions left by
Maximus, whose testament, when he had read it, he said that he would
take care of until the lost daughter was discovered; he inquired
closely, too, as to Basil's own wealth, and let fall a remark that the
Roman nobles would soon be called upon to support the army fighting for
their liberties against the barbarians. When next called, let Basil
have ready and bring with him an exact statement of the money in his
hands, and of the income he expected to derive from his property during
the present year. Thereupon he was dismissed with a nod and a smile,
which made him quiver in rage for an hour after. This happened in early
morning. The day was overcast, and a cold wind blew from the mountains;
Basil had never known such misery as fell upon him when he re-entered
his gloomy, silent house. On the way home he had passed two
funerals--their hurried aspect proving that the dead were victims of
the plague, that _lues inguinaria_ which had broken out in Italy two
years ago, and with varying intensity continued throughout the land.
Throwing himself down upon a couch, he moaned in utter wretchedness,
fearful of the pestilence, yet saying to himself that he cared not if
it seized upon him. His moans became sobs; he wept for a long time,
then lay, half soothed by the burst of hysterical passion, with eyes
turned blankly to the ceiling and a hand clenched upon his breast.
In his solitude he often talked with Felix, and more intimately perhaps
than with either Decius or Marcian. This trusty servant held
communication with a man in the household of Petronilla, and from him
learnt what he could as to the lady's movements; but nothing was as yet
discoverable which threw light on the mystery of Aurelia and Veranilda.
To-day, however, Felix returned from the other side of the Tiber with
what sounded like important news. Petronilla had left home this morning
in her carriage, had gone forth from the city by one of the southern
gates, and, after an absence of two or three hours, had returned,
bringing with her some one, a woman, whom she took into her house and
kept there in privacy. He who related this to Felix declared that his
mistress had only visited the church of her patron saint on the Via
Ardeatina, but who the woman might be that she had brought back with
her, he did not pretend to know. This story so excited Basil that he
would have hastened forthwith across the Tiber, had not Felix persuaded
him that at this late hour nothing could be done. After a sleepless
night he set out at sunrise, accompanied by Felix alone. Whether he
would be admitted at Petronilla's door was quite uncertain; in any
case, it would serve no purpose to go thither with a band of
attendants, for the Anician house was sure to be strongly guarded. All
he could do was to present himself in the hope of seeing Petronilla,
and take his chance of learning something from her when they stood face
to face.
On horseback he went down by the Clivus Scauri, followed the road
between the Circus Maximus and the Aventine, crossed the river by the
Aemilian bridge (the nearer bridge of Probus was falling into ruins),
and then turned to the left. This part of the transtiberine district
was inhabited by poor folk. Something unusual seemed to have happened
among them just now: groups stood about in eager talk, and a little
further on, in front of a church, a noisy crowd was assembled, with
soldiers among them. Having made inquiry, Felix explained the
disturbance to his master. It was due to the rapacity of the Greek
commander, who, scorning no gain, however small, was seizing upon the
funds of the trade guilds; this morning the common chest of the potters
had been pillaged, not without resistance, which resulted in the death
of a soldier; the slayer had fled to St. Cecilia's church, and taken
sanctuary. Basil's feeling, as he listened, was one of renewed
bitterness against the Greeks; but to the potters themselves he gave
little thought, such folk and their wrongs appearing of small moment to
one of his birth.
Pursuing the road towards the Portuensian Gate, he was soon in sight of
the palace where for generations had dwelt the heads of the Anician
family. It lay on a gentle slope above the river, at the foot of the
Janiculan Hill; around it spread public porticoes, much decayed, and
what had once been ornamental gardens, now the pasture of goats. As
Basil had expected, he was kept waiting without the doors until the
porter had received orders regarding him. Permitted at length to enter,
he passed by a number of slaves who stood, as if on guard, in the
atrium, and, though seeming to be alone in the room beyond, he heard
subdued voices from behind the curtains of the doorways, which told him
that he was under observation. All parts of this great house were
perfectly familiar to him, and had it been possible to conduct a
search, he would soon have ascertained whether she he sought was kept
imprisoned here; but, unless he took the place by storm, how could he
hope to make any discovery? Whilst he was impatiently reflecting,
Petronilla entered. She moved towards him with her wonted dignity of
mien, but in the look with which she examined him, as she paused at two
paces' distance, it was easy to perceive distrust, and a certain
inquietude.
'Your leisure at length permits you to visit me, dear lord Basil,' she
began coldly.
'My leisure, indeed,' he replied, 'has not been great since the day on
which you left Surrentum. But the more plainly we speak to each other
the better. I come now to ask whether you will release Veranilda to me,
instead of waiting until you are compelled to release her to the
Greeks.'
Before replying, Petronilla clapped her hands, then stood waiting for a
moment, and said at length:
'You can now speak without hearers. I did not think you would be so
imprudent in your words. Go on: say what you will.'
She seated herself, and looked at Basil with a contemptuous smile. He,
surprised by her behaviour, spoke on with angry carelessness.
'I neither cared before, nor do I now, if any of your servants overhear
me. No more credit would be given to anything they told of me than is
given to what you yourself say I might begin by warning you of the
dangers to which you are exposed, but no doubt you have calculated
them, and think the price not too much to pay for your revenge. Well,
with your revenge I have no wish to interfere. Hold Aurelia prisoner as
long as you will, or as long as you can. I speak only of Veranilda,
against whom you can feel no enmity. Will you release her to me? It
will only be anticipating by a few days her release to Bessas.
Veranilda in his hands, trust me, he will care little what becomes of
Aurelia.'
'I listen to you,' replied Petronilla, 'because I am curious to learn
into what extravagances your ignoble passion drives you. I had been
told, but could hardly believe, that you charged me with having seized
these women. Now I see that you really are foolish enough to think it.'
She threw her head back in a silent laugh of scorn. 'Child--for you are
a child in wit though man in years--do you not live at large in Rome,
free to come and go as you will?'
'What of that?'
'Am not I also a free woman? Did I not yesterday visit the church of
the blessed Petronilla, and might I not, if so I had willed, have
escaped instead of returning to the city?'
'What has this to do with the matter?' demanded Basil.
'Child! child!' cried the other, as if with boundless contempt. 'You
ask that, knowing why this Veranilda is sought by the Greeks? Were they
truly still in search of her, and were you, were I, suspected of
keeping her hidden, do you suppose we should be free, and not rather
locked as close as any prison in Rome could hold us?'
The listener stood mute. So vehement was Petronilla's speech, and so
convincing, thus delivered, seemed her argument, that Basil felt his
heart sink. Had she, then, outwitted him? Was he really playing the
part of a simpleton, at whom people laughed? He remembered the seeming
indifference of Bessas touching Veranilda at the second interview,
natural enough if the maiden had already passed into the Greek's hands.
Two days ago Marcian had told him that Petronilla must needs be aware
of Veranilda's importance, seeing that it was now common knowledge in
Roman society. But a thought flashed into his mind, and he lifted up
his head again.
'This is not true!' he exclaimed. 'If Bessas had found her, I should
have known it.'
'Pray, how? Does your foolish little lordship imagine that Bessas must
needs have told you all he has done?'
'Bessas? no,' he answered, his eyes burning with hatred as they
searched her face. 'But I have other means of learning the truth. You
try vainly to deceive me.'
'As you will, good nephew,' said the lady, as if indulgently. 'Believe
as you list, and talk on, for you entertain me.'
'One thing I have to say,' pursued Basil, 'which you will perhaps find
less amusing.' He had lost control of himself, and spoke in a low tone
of fierce menace, all his body quivering. 'If I learn that Veranilda is
in the hands of the Greeks, and that _you_ delivered her to them--by
the God above us, your life shall pay for it.'
Petronilla's face hardened till its cruel sternness outdid any
expression of hatred possible to Basil's features.
'Keep your ruffian threats for more suitable occasion, such as you will
find among your friends the Goths.' She spoke coldly and deliberately.
'If enslavement to a yellow-haired barbarian had not muddled your wits,
you would long ago have seen who it was that has played you false.'
Basil stared at her, his passion chilled with surprise and alarm.
'Played me false!' he echoed involuntarily.
'Who is it,' continued Petronilla with slow scorn, 'that you have
trusted blindly? To whom have you looked for guidance and protection?
Who has fostered your suspicion against _me_?'
An intolerable pang went through the listener's heart.
'That's but another lie!' he exclaimed furiously. 'O basest of women
born!'
A hand was upon his dagger. Petronilla rose and stepped back a little,
glancing towards one of the drawn curtains.
'You have threatened my life,' she said in an undertone. 'Remember that
it is you who are in my power. If I raise my voice on one word, the
next moment you will lie pierced by a score of weapons. Moderate your
insults: my temper is not meek.'
Basil thought for a moment with painful intentness.
'Speak plainly,' he said at length. 'You would have me suspect--? I am
ashamed to utter the name.'
'Keep it to yourself and muse upon it.'
'You dare bid me think that he, my dearest and most loyal friend, has
infamously betrayed me? Now I know indeed that you have lied to me in
every word, for this is the last audacity of baseness. You hope to
poison my soul against him, and so, whilst guarding yourself, bring
more evil upon those you hate. But you have overreached yourself. Only
cunning driven desperate could have devised this trick. Listen to me
again, before it is too late. Give me Veranilda. I take upon myself all
the peril. It shall be made to appear that I have all along kept her in
hiding, and that you knew nothing of her. Be advised before the worst
comes upon you. I will escape with her to a place of safety that I know
of; _you_ will be declared innocent, and no one will care to ask what
has become of Aurelia. Think well; you spoke of prisons, but the Greeks
have worse than imprisonment for those who incur their wrath. Will
Bessas forego revenge when, after much trouble, he has wrested the
captive from your hands? Think!'
Petronilla's countenance, fixed as a face in marble, still suggested no
thought save one of scorn; but there was a brief silence before she
replied.
'I would not have believed,' she said calmly, 'that a man could be so
besotted with foolish passions. Listen, you in turn. Where those women
are, I know as little as do you yourself. I think, and have good reason
for thinking, that the Goth is already on her way to Constantinople,
but I have no certainty of it. The one thing I do surely know, is that
you are hoodwinked and baffled by the man you trust.'
A groan of rage and anguish broke from Basil. He wrung his bands
together.
'You lie! A thousand times you lie! Either Veranilda or Aurelia is in
this house. Who was it you brought back with you yesterday when you
returned from beyond the walls?'
The listener uttered a short, fierce laugh.
'So that is what brought you here? O fool! Think you I should have no
more wisdom than that? Since you must needs pry into my doings
yesterday, you shall hear them. I went to the church of the holy
Petronilla, to pray there against all the dangers that environ
me--against the wiles of the wicked, the cruelty of violent men, the
sickness which is rife about us. And when I rose from before the altar,
the servant of God who passes his life there, who is pleased to regard
me with kindness, led me apart into the sacristy, where sat a woman who
had lost her sight. She had travelled, he told me, from Mediolanum,
because of a vision in which she had been bidden to seek the tomb of
the daughter of the chief Apostle; and, whilst praying in the church,
her darkness had been illumined by a vision of the saint herself, who
bade her go into the city, and abide in the house of the first who
offered her welcome, and there at length she would surely receive her
sight. So I spoke with the woman, who, though in poverty, is of noble
blood, and when I had offered to make her welcome, she gladly came with
me, and straightway we returned to Rome. And I brought with me oil from
the lamp of the saint, wherewith, at the hours of prayer, I cross my
forehead, that no evil may befall me. So, you have heard. Believe or
not, as you list, O Basil.'
Whether true or not, Basil had no choice but to accept the story. He
looked helplessly about him. If by killing this woman he could have
obtained liberty to search through every chamber of the great house,
his dagger would have leapt at her breast; and that Petronilla well
knew; whence the defiant look in her eyes as they watched his slightest
movement.
'What is your next question?' she said. 'I am at leisure for a little
longer.'
'If Veranilda is in the hands of the Greeks, where is Aurelia?'
'I should be glad to think,' replied the lady, 'that she has withdrawn
from the world to expiate her sins.'
'Would you have me believe that Marcian knows that secret also?'
'I respect your innocence,' answered Petronilla, with a smile, 'and
will say no more.'
Again Basil stood for a moment voiceless in wrath. Then he threw up an
arm, and spoke with terrible vehemence.
'Woman, if you have lied to me, wickedly seeking to put enmity between
me and my friend, may the pest smite you, and may you perish unforgiven
of man and God!'
Petronilla blanched not. For one instant he glared at her, and was gone.