Читать книгу Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome - Graham John William - Страница 5

From the house of Apicius and the spectacle of his sudden and awful end Sejanus had first gone to the modest abode of Domitius Afer. There they remained closeted by themselves, engaged in earnest conversation, until shortly before the meeting of the Prefect and his officer, as described.

Previous to this Afer had quietly sent off a message to Cestus by the Greek Erotion. That astute youth threaded the inmost haunts and foul intricacies of the Subura with sure confidence, and succeeded in discovering the object of his search, deluged with wine, and revelling in the heat of a brutal orgy, amid ruffians and women of the lowest type. Assailed by the obscene chorus of this satanic crew, the Greek, with the readiness and aptness of his race, exchanged witticisms with a fluency and smartness which equalled, if not exceeded, their own. Seizing an opportunity, he whispered into the ear of the intoxicated Cestus the instruction to meet his master in the gardens of Maecenas, on the following morning, at a particular spot, at a particular hour. The fellow, with a leer, nodded and agreed, and the young slave departed to report the result of his errand.

The gardens of Maecenas were on the north-eastern side of the Esquiline, nor must the term gardens be accepted in the modern sense; for, to suppose that they were ornamental grounds, and duly kept in order by a staff of servants, would be misleading. They seemed to be, and there were many such in Rome, open places for the common recreation and airings of the populace. These, to which Afer repaired to keep his appointment with Cestus, had been formed by the celebrated patron of literature and art, upon ground which, hitherto, had held bad repute, as the burial-place of the lowest orders of the people. It seems, even, to have been no uncommon matter for the bodies to be thrown down and left without any covering of earth whatever. To clear this charnel ground, and change it from a horrid repository of mouldering bones and putrefying flesh into a pleasant lounge for the people, was one of the generous works of Maecenas. It lay outside, and adjoining, the ring wall of Servius, and we may conclude the place was not altogether denuded of its sepulchral memories, since it was here that Canidia, the witch of Horace, came to perform her incantations, and invoke the shades of the dead amongst the tombs.

Though this particular part without the wall had the most need of purifying measures, and bore the most infamous memories, it did not form the whole extent of the gardens. They extended within the wall, for a certain distance along the hill, toward the city. Near this extremity was situated the noble mansion of Maecenas himself, commanding a fine prospect of the city from its windows.

Past this dwelling, and at every step treading on ground so often pressed by the famous Roman poet and his patron, Afer took his way to await the arrival of Cestus. He passed through the Esquiline Gate of the huge rampart of Servius, and entered the outer portion of the gardens. It was the busy time of labour, and the morning itself was somewhat raw and chilly, so that very few individuals were to be seen scattered here and there over the open park. The few who did loiter about were of the class that honest labour could well spare.

In the portion of this large tract which had been devoted to the burial of the dead, were still many tombs scattered up and down. They were grass-grown, neglected, weather-beaten, and still more defaced by the climbings, scramblings, and mischievous peltings of children and youths. Among them was one of larger size and more pretentious appearance than any other. It was circular in shape, and constructed of massive masonry, which defied all attempts at destruction. It bore no inscription, and was conspicuous for nothing but its superior bulk. There was a tradition among the people of the neighbourhood, that it marked the spot where an erring scion of a noble house had sunk so low as to meet death and burial as a common malefactor, in days past when the place was reserved for the wretched fate of the dregs of pauperism and crime. Though disowned by his outraged family during his depraved life, the death of the reprobate aroused the inextinguishable feelings of kinship. Family pride could not leave even this dishonoured member without some mark of attention due to his birth, if to nothing else; but no chisel was suffered to raise a letter or figure on the tomb which arose. Darkness and oblivion were the fittest shrouds of disgrace, and the muteness of the masonry lent a mysterious affirmation of the legend to the minds of posterity.

It was to this prominent object the knight bent his way across the park-like gardens in the raw morning air. With many backward glances in search of the yet invisible Cestus, he finally reached the mysterious, moss-grown pile of stones, and after pacing up and down the grass for some time, with fitful and angry mutterings on the laggard’s account, he began to think of returning. Stray passengers came and went, with a solitary, melancholy air, across the bleak, empty track, but still no form answering to the powerful frame of the Suburan made its appearance.

‘The drunken fool has either not slept off his debauch or else not ended it,’ said Afer angrily to himself, turning his eyes for the twentieth time toward the Esquiline Gate. ‘A fine thing if I am to wait in the damp grass for a vagabond; I’ll go back: maybe I shall meet him on the way.’

The expectation was realised. He had only gone a very short distance when his eyes were gladdened by the expected figure of the Suburan, who came up breathing hurriedly. Afer surveyed his bloodshot eyes and disordered dress, his uncombed locks, and general hang-dog, not to say ferocious, aspect, with which a night of revelry, succeeded by very brief slumbers, had endowed him.

‘Good-morrow!’ said the knight, in reply to salutations and apologies. ‘I perceive you have succeeded in appeasing your ravenous appetite, my Cestus – I see it in your face. You have also drunk wine to aid digestion, which has probably interfered with your sleep.’

‘It is the danger of the ravenous stomach that it overloads itself when it gets the opportunity,’ replied Cestus, with a grin and a hiccough.

‘You are drunk yet, my good fellow!’ proceeded the knight calmly.

‘Nay, patron, I am sober enough to walk steadily and keep a secret. Besides, I found that the aediles, or the gods, have caused the fountain of Orpheus to play again this morning; so that, when I passed it just now, I dipped my head into his clear basin, which makes me as fresh as a young girl meeting sunrise.’

‘You have that appearance. Did you accept the renewed flow of the fountain this morning as a favourable omen, reversing that of yesterday?’

‘I never thought of it in one way or another, patron. I was in too great haste and concern lest I should keep your worship waiting.’

‘You are very considerate! Taking the circumstances of your case into account, I am of the opinion that you have carried out this appointment with remarkable credit. Do you know why I have brought you here?’

‘Something which needs only two pairs of ears,’ said Cestus, with a swift glance around at the deserted fields.

‘Shrewd as ever, Cestus! I mean to unfold a plan by which we may both make our fortunes. Am I to rely on your perfect faith, secrecy, and promptness as before?’

‘Patron, you are the cleverest man in Rome, and I would not quit you to serve the greatest. Whenever you call upon me to help you I come instanter, knowing that the business will be something clever and instructive. The pleasure of serving you, therefore, has as much weight with me as the pay – it has indeed.’

‘The fluency and readiness of your language will never leave you; it is the admirable fruit of your residence with a poet. It has already been of immense service to you; but for the present it will be sufficient for you to be brief and to the point. I wish to know if you are prepared to carry out my wishes, even though they may incur some desperate action, which, if discovered, would end most certainly in the executioner’s axe?’

‘I should like to hear more particulars, patron – I would be pleased to do anything with a fair show of safety; but, at the same time, I have no desire to be a bull-headed fool.’

‘I think, with ordinary precautions, there will be not much danger. The streets of the city are, at night-time, as a rule, dark and secret enough for a thrust or two, and an easy departure before the watch decides to interfere.’

‘Oh, if that is all, I make no doubt but that we shall soon come to terms,’ said Cestus, with a sinister smile on his bristly lips. ‘Is it desired of me to meet by chance, or to escort some friend of my noble patron home – ?’

‘To Hades!’

‘Exactly,’ rejoined the Suburan, grinning.

‘Concerning your reward, I shall require you to name a lump sum, and to promise, thereafter, to trouble me no more.’

‘That means dismissing me from your worship’s employ.’

‘I shall never lose sight of you, believe me,’ said the knight, with a cold smile.

‘I know your goodness has always been most anxious for my welfare,’ returned Cestus ironically.

‘What figure would you consider sufficient to reward you for the pangs of conscience, and the risks incurred, by ending the life of a respectable member of society?’

‘The pay would vary according to the possible amount of hue and cry raised by those belonging to the deceased,’ said Cestus cunningly. ‘For an ordinary citizen I would not demand so much as for a person of rank and importance.’

Afer smiled.

‘To what degree of boldness would five hundred sestertia inspire you?’ he asked calmly.

‘What!’ almost yelled the ruffian. His eyes stared as if to start from his head, and his breath came in gasps, as though he had been plunged into ice-cold water. ‘Five hu – five hundred sestertia! Patron – why – for that you might bid me tap a senator, a consul – Sejanus – Caesar himself.’

‘Enough!’ replied Afer. ‘I am glad you consider the terms liberal; I myself am sure of it. You will not have the desperate office of harming any one of those you have mentioned.’

‘So much the better! Patron, you are the easiest of masters.’

‘It is a bargain then – you will be prompt, faithful, and secret?’

‘Have I ever failed?’

‘I cannot remember that you have; it is to your interest, as to mine, to remain so trustworthy. I have told you that before, and your common-sense cannot but perceive it. Five hundred sestertia are not to be picked up every day for the light labour of a few hours, together with the simple task of keeping one’s mouth shut concerning the matter. You are not such a fool, I think, as to destroy a profitable business connection, Cestus.’

‘You speak truly indeed, noble Afer – have no fear therefore. I am ready to receive your commands and instructions for the business.’

‘The first is this,’ said the knight emphatically, ‘that from the first moment, until the affair is satisfactorily settled, you abstain from the wine-pot.’

‘I will swear by the aqueducts, patron.’

‘Good! You will require, say, three stout fellows to help you. You will select them and pay them a certain sum, and tell them no more than that they are to help in a highway theft. You can, no doubt, find individuals who are accustomed to such work.’

‘Leave that to me. But their pay, patron?’

‘It shall be exclusive of your own, and shall be discharged by me, my careful Cestus. They need not cost much.’

‘Certainly not! I have a job in hand – I want them to help me, and I pay them so much. I need not say another word, and they will not ask a question.’

‘Exactly! You comprehend me perfectly. It is a positive pleasure to arrange details with an intelligent person like yourself, Cestus.’

‘You are flattering, patron. Who is this individual who is so unfortunate as to stand in your displeasure?’

‘I repeat it is a pleasure to do business with you, Cestus,’ resumed Afer calmly. ‘Previous to the actual execution of your task, I shall require you to act a little part. I shall require you, in fact, to clean and adorn yourself in order to make a visit.’

‘Oh, oh!’ murmured Cestus doubtfully.

‘You are to be a decoy duck of the very best plumage, for a short time. You will make an excellent one. Your poetical training will stand in excellent stead. Indeed, there is no telling, but what the part will give a new turn to your genius. We shall be seeing you treading the stage some day.’

‘You are pleased to jest, noble patron, instead of allowing me to reflect whether this part of the business is within my power or not to carry out.’

‘I have no anxiety on that point, Cestus. Listen! You will have to improve your outward appearance, in order to represent an honest mechanic in his holiday clothes – that is, as nearly as possible. That done, you will have to go as far as the Janiculum and ask an audience of a certain patrician who dwells there. He had once a granddaughter who was lost when a child.’

‘Ah, now I smell a rat! You are going to outdo yourself,’ cried Cestus eagerly.

‘You understand, I perceive. You are merely to go to this gentleman with a story, told in your best language and style, that you are a messenger from a repentant man on his deathbed, who confesses that he formerly stole the child. The dying man is most anxious for an interview with the gentleman he has wronged, for the purpose of imploring his pardon and revealing the whereabouts and position of the girl, who, he says, is yet living. When you have succeeded in arousing the gentleman’s interest and eagerness, as you doubtless will, he will almost surely send you to me. I shall not be in Rome, and shall be careful to let him know beforehand. He will, therefore, recollect himself, and, as we may hope, decide to accompany you to this dying man. All this must be timed to fall tolerably late at night, which will also give the affair all the more appearance of genuineness. On the way to that dying man my worthy uncle must be left by the roadside, for ever oblivious of missing child and present grief.’

‘By Pluto!’ cried the Suburan, smiting his thigh in delight and admiration, ‘the very thing I advised you only yesterday. I marvel you have not done this before; but then your worship is so merciful. However, better late than never, and it was bound to come at some time. Bacchus, what a cunning plan! Fate cut you out for a great man, and a thousand Fabricii could not stay you.’

‘No names – walls have ears!’ said the knight sternly.

‘True,’ replied Cestus. ‘It was my delight which let it slip. Euge, Cestus! Five hundred sestertia for simply helping an old man on the road to the Elysian fields – why, patron, the pay is so princely, and the task so light, that I feel somewhat ashamed of accepting the terms.’

‘You are perfectly at liberty to return whatever your conscience considers to be superfluous,’ remarked Afer.

‘Well, we will see how matters turn out,’ answered Cestus, with a grin. ‘No doubt when the sad news is brought to your wondering ears, you will be in a dreadful state of mind, and will lay the bloodhounds on the track of the villains all over the city?’

‘It may, very probably, be necessary to act in some such way,’ responded the knight, with a shadowy smile. ‘Let me see,’ he murmured, as he passed his hand over his brow, and remained in deep thought for a few moments; ‘come to-night, and we will arrange everything.’

‘To-night!’

‘And, Cestus, be secret; and beware of the wine-pot.’

‘Never fear; it is only when Cestus is idle that he amuses himself in that way. Give him work, and work to some purpose, like this, and his head remains clear as water – and when your honour lays the plan there is no more to be added.’

‘Engage your comrades to-day. To-morrow I shall go to Tibur – the day after to-morrow meet me at the Sublician Bridge at nightfall.’

‘But I shall see you to-night, as you said?’

‘Yes; and on the evening of the day after to-morrow I will be at the Sublician Bridge. It will involve much riding, but I can be nigh you and yet return to Tivoli before morning breaks.’

Cestus held up his hands in affected admiration.

‘You are inspired, patron! But hold; how if the old man will not come forth with me? What then comes of all this fine scheme?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Afer calmly. ‘We shall have to wait and devise again.’

‘I care not for this complicated notion. I prefer to have not so many cooks to the broth. There is nothing so sure, and so easy, as a little dust of a certain kind in his wine or meat.’

The knight shook his head.

‘It is too effective, my Cestus, and too common. It would not fail to be talked about. No; our rough footpads leave the least suspicion.’

‘Well, you are perhaps right; for when the watchmen find the old man in the gutter next morning, it will be said that he met his end at the hands of thieves, who gave him a knock a little too heavy – not the first since this good city was built.’

Afer nodded and said,

‘Come to-night, as I bade you.’

‘I will. Am I not to have the honour of following you toward the city?’

‘No,’ replied the knight, turning away; ‘I go to the camp. Be discreet – this will make us or mar us.’

Cestus bowed and loitered away leisurely in the direction of the Esquiline Gate, whilst Afer walked quickly toward the Viminal Plain, on the border of which lay the ramparts of the Pretorian camp.