Читать книгу Neæra: A Tale of Ancient Rome - John W. active 1886-1887 Graham - Страница 13

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In a luxuriously fitted room, Aelius Sejanus, the Prefect, was alone, busily engaged with his thoughts and pen.

He had inherited his father’s command; but, unlike his father, his absorbing lust of power scorned to be bounded by his office. His were the persuasions, by which the Emperor had been led to gather the cohorts of the Guards together into one united body. Scattered about in isolated garrisons, his subtle, aspiring spirit saw a great power broken and nerveless. Here he held them under his hand, while he showered largesses, rewards, promotions, and fair words upon them liberally. Popularity with these picked troops was the life and strength of his ambition. They were, at once, the ground-work and leverage of his onward steps, if ever in need of a bold stroke.

Far around lay the streets and barracks of his great camp, swarming with thousands, and, in the midst, this dark-thoughted, plotting mind was silently hewing its path toward the goal of its hopes. On the table lay a long sheet of paper, and on the paper a list of names was being laboriously compiled. His brows were closely knit, and he paced the apartment incessantly. As his reflections became matured he sat down to write, and then, springing up again, he resumed the monotony of his walk. Thus, at slow intervals, name after name was added to the list on the paper; and, every now and then, he would stop at the end of his walk, and peer through a chink of the curtain across the entrance to the ante-chamber, where a Pretorian was on guard, in full panoply of helmet, cuirass, and buckler. There was that in the person and manner of the Prefect which had succeeded, at least to all outward appearance, in winning over such a profound, suspicious mind even as [pg 77]that of Tiberius, his master. Nature had endowed him with a very formidable combination of qualities to be fired with a burning ambition. With a handsome and imposing exterior, energy of mind, activity of body, a plausible tongue, and insinuating manners, this man was dangerous enough. But when the cold subtlety of his brain and the devouring fire of his heart were unhampered by scruple or remorse he became terrible. No tiger more murderous when stealth and craft had failed; for he hesitated not to strike at the life of the man in his path through the honour of the wife. He could glide to the crime of murder through the guilty excitement and pleasure of female conquest and debauchery, and there he bottomed the depths of infamy and horror.

For what dread purpose was the steady lengthening of the list on the table? What dark scheme was developing behind that white forehead? The voice of the sentinel in the outer room broke upon his meditations, and he hastily slipped to the table and thrust the paper into a drawer. He had scarcely done so, when a voice in the ante-chamber called the name ‘Titus Afer!’

‘Enter, Afer!’ replied Sejanus. ‘I thought of you as breathing the pure air of Tibur.’

The knight accordingly entered the room. A large travelling-cloak enveloped his form, and a Phrygian cap covered his head. ‘I am now on my way,’ he answered; ‘yesterday I was lazy, and remained at home. In the Baths of Faustus yesterday was Sabinus.’

‘Ah!’ said the Prefect.

‘He grows no wiser, but indeed more rash and calumnious respecting you. I think it would be prudent to watch such a reckless fool; for even his spite and virulence might do mischief amongst some people. He loudly condemns you as being the bloodhound of the Germanici, and indeed is equally bold and noisy in accusing you of usurping the place of Caesar, and of misapplying your authority to your own ends. Such speeches have been heard before, but there are those whose ears are only too ready and willing to suck in such ravings.’

‘You are quite right, Afer; Sabinus has about reached the [pg 78]end of his tether: he must be looked after,’ said Sejanus, taking out his tablets and making a memorandum. ‘I am right glad he has, at last, given vent to his ideas, so plainly in the presence of such an one as yourself, my friend. So you stayed your journey to tell me this?—it was kind.’

‘Also to learn whether I can congratulate you on favourable news from Capreae.’

‘Hush! not so loud, Afer!’ replied the Prefect, raising his finger warningly; ‘it will be time enough to speak freely of a matter when success is assured; then there is the better chance of possible failure being buried in silence. I expect a courier any moment.’

‘Indeed!’

‘I have waited within doors until now for his arrival—what he will bring I cannot tell.’

‘I could guess,’ remarked Afer, with a courtly smile.

‘Humph!’ quoth the Prefect, shrugging his shoulders and smiling also.

At the same moment the sound of voices caught his ears, and he stepped to the curtain and looked into the ante-chamber. The courier he was so anxiously awaiting had just arrived, and the sentinel was advancing to announce the same.

‘Ha!’ exclaimed the Prefect, stepping into the ante-chamber, ‘I expected you before this—your despatches!’

The courier unbuckled a stout leathern girdle which he wore underneath his tunic, and took out of a pouch, attached thereto, a packet, which he delivered into the eager hand of Sejanus.

‘Wait!’ said the latter briefly; and without returning to his chamber, he turned aside and broke the seals of the packet. With fingers trembling, and a heart eaten with excitement, he ran his eyes over the imperial missive. The next second his eyes flashed. With exultation written on every line of his handsome face he went back into the presence of Afer.

‘Ah,—I knew it,—I was right!’ remarked the latter, at the first glimpse of the Prefect’s glowing visage. ‘I give thee joy of thy noble Livia; and I congratulate myself that I am the first to do so.’

[pg 79]

Sejanus grasped his client’s hand, and fairly laughed out in the exuberance of his feelings.

‘Enough, my Titus! This letter hath proved thee a good prophet. The daughter of Caesar is mine indeed, for Caesar himself declares it. Nay, more—I go to Capreae in a few days to claim her. So prepare, my friend, for thou must go along with me thither.’

‘Willingly, and gladly, if you will tell me when.’

‘Return within the week,’ said the Prefect. He clapped his hands loudly, and a slave appeared.

‘Bid the courier be ready to return to-morrow! Give him wine—and this!’ he said, taking a small purse of money from the table and throwing it at the domestic’s feet.

The slave picked it up, and said, ‘There is a man without demands to see you, Prefect—a workman, by appearance.’

‘What is his business?’

‘He will not say—only that he has come from Surrentum to see you.’

‘Admit him then, and the sentinel as well.’

The slave retired, and, in a few moments, the armed Pretorian made his appearance, ushering in our potter, whom we left on his way to the camp.

Sejanus gave him a hasty, but keen glance; and the potter, in his turn, surveyed the famous and dreaded Prefect with a fearless but respectful gaze. Bowing his square, sturdy frame, he waited to be addressed.

‘Who and what are you, and what do you want with me?’ asked Sejanus, skimming his glance furtively over the welcome letter which he had just received.

‘My name is Masthlion, and I am a potter of Surrentum,’ replied the other; ‘and, as I venture to trouble you, noble sir, on a personal matter, concerning one of your officers, perhaps it would be prudent if this soldier did not hear it.’

Sejanus looked up in surprise, and regarded his visitor more curiously. With an amused look on his face, he nevertheless nodded to the sentinel, who silently retired from the room. The deep-set, expressive eyes of Masthlion then rested on Afer, who had picked up a book from the table, and was idly unrolling it.

[pg 80]

‘As your business is not of the State, perhaps my friend can remain?’ said the Prefect sarcastically.

‘No, Prefect, my business is not of the State,’ replied the potter, ‘but I have come seeking information respecting one of your Centurions, and you must judge whether it be right the noble knight hear it or not.’

‘Know then, potter of Surrentum, that I do not enter into nor suffer the inquiries of any idle person with regard to my officers,’ said Sejanus sternly.

‘I will leave it to your generosity, when I tell you the circumstances which have brought me to make the request.’

‘Let me hear!’

‘I am only a poor man, earning my bread with the labour of my hands, yet the peace of my home, and the welfare of those belonging to me, are as dear to me as to the noblest,’ said Masthlion. ‘I have a daughter, Prefect; all the more precious to me because she has no sister or brother——’

‘Ah, I perceive,’ uttered Sejanus, with the shadow of a smile curling his lips. ‘Go on!’

‘Ay—it is easily guessed!’ replied Masthlion, ‘and it needs few words. This Centurion of whom I speak, in passing through the town, saw my daughter. Since that time he has come more than once to visit her at my house. She has been called beautiful, Prefect, but she is not his equal. I bade her tell him so, and forbid him. On that he demanded her in marriage; but though she loves him, yet I will be satisfied that he is not one to deal lightly or carelessly by her, or I will not consent.’

‘You have forgotten the name of the Centurion, which is indispensable,’ said the Prefect; ‘and yet I can only guess one.’

‘His name is Martialis.’

‘Even so! The Centurion may well not object to as many journeys as I can give him, and also prefer the land route to the sea—here is the explanation.’

Sejanus burst into a laugh, whilst Afer, who was seemingly immersed in his book, stroked his chin.

‘Potter, you are right,’ continued the Prefect. ‘Men and women, to be prudent, should not marry out of their station. Your daughter must be a paragon of loveliness, or cleverness, or goodness, to have ensnared my Centurion.’

[pg 81]

‘She is such as she is, Prefect, and ensnares no one,’ returned Masthlion, with a frown of his shaggy eyebrows.

‘Whichever way it be, if they have fallen in love with each other you may as well leave them to it, for you will be hard put to rule them,’ laughed the commander. ‘When a woman is truly in love she parts with what little forethought she had, and leaves her senses to find themselves in cooler days. As for Martialis, I can only tell thee, potter, he is not the man to change his mind lightly, or take away his hand when he has once set his grip.’

‘I am sore beset,’ said Masthlion sadly; ‘in Surrentum I could know nothing; here in Rome I thought I might learn something.’

‘The performance of the Centurion’s duties is what concerns me; beyond that lies not within my province,’ replied Sejanus.

‘And yet it would be hard not to know something more,’ sighed the potter.

‘To conclude, you may go back to Surrentum with an easy mind as far as I know to the contrary,’ said the Prefect, with signs of impatience. ‘This seems to be a piece of lovers’ folly on the part of the Centurion. If he is fool enough to marry your daughter, she may think herself lucky in her elevation. Many a man in his position, of gentle blood, would have proceeded differently. ’Tis pity none of his family remains to dissuade him from grafting such a poor scion on to their ancient stem.’

‘I care nothing for that—I seek my daughter’s happiness, not her position,’ replied the potter proudly.

‘Good! Then I know nothing more. Is the Centurion an acquaintance of yours, Titus?’ cried Sejanus, turning to the knight.

‘No, I have not the honour,’ answered Afer.

‘Then, potter, you may take that as a strong assurance in his favour,’ added the Prefect satirically.

‘You are in the best of spirits,’ remarked Afer, showing his white teeth.

‘Now, potter, you can go,’ said Sejanus; ‘you have all I can give you—stay, how is your daughter named?’

‘Neæra!’ replied Masthlion.

[pg 82]

‘Then your girl Neæra will probably have her own way in the end in despite of you. But deprive me not of my Centurion between ye, or you shall lose my favour, I promise you. He is worth more to me than all the maids, wives, widows, and hags in Campania, honest or not—wait!’

He clapped his hands, and the same slave attended as before—a dark-skinned Nubian.

‘Lygdus, is there not an old family friend of the Centurion Martialis, whom he visits on the Aventine?’

‘Mamercus—near the temple of Diana,’ replied the slave laconically.

‘Go thither, potter,—Mamercus will serve your turn better than I,’ said the Prefect, waving his hand and turning his back.

Masthlion followed the Nubian out of the apartment with a brighter countenance, and was quickly on his way to the Aventine.

‘Your Centurion has caught your own complaint,’ said Afer to his patron jestingly.

‘The gods confound it!’ replied the Prefect, ‘a wife will not improve his Centurionship. The fool! to saddle himself with a wife now—a red-faced, brawny-armed brat of a clay-moulder, most likely. As if there were no other arrangement; I’ll try my persuasion. And so for Capreae, my Titus!’

‘Whenever you are ready, Prefect.’

‘Be back within four days.’

‘No longer; and till then farewell—I leave you happy.’

‘Farewell! Remember our friends at Tibur!’

‘I will.’

Afer bowed, and left the Pretorian commander to ruminate with delight on his good fortune, and to indulge his mind with dreams, more intoxicating and glowing than ever, on the strength of the success of his last, and, perhaps, most important move.

At the gate of the camp, a light two-wheeled vehicle for rapid travelling, and drawn by a couple of handsome, speedy mules, was waiting for the knight. The two slaves, who formed on this occasion the modest retinue of the traveller, had been despatched on before.

After proceeding about nine miles from Rome, the hired vehicle was dismissed back to the city. A couple of hours [pg 83]before dusk Afer arrived, in a second carriage, at the outskirts of the ancient town of Fidenae, which stood on the steep banks of the Tiber, on the Salarian road, which led nearly due north from Rome. He had thus completed two sides of a triangle, and, as the first shades of evening began to gather, he began to traverse the third side in a third conveyance. The road entered the Colline Gate in the Agger of Servius; when he reached that point the dusk was thick enough to prevent recognition. Here the knight descended and paid the driver his fee; then he drew the hood of his cloak over his head, and bent his steps towards the Sublician Bridge beneath the Aventine. In less than half an hour’s rapid walking he arrived at his destination. The bridge was the oldest in Rome, and had been built by Ancus Martius, to connect the fortifications on the Janiculum with the city. It bore a sacred character, and was under especial care. Being constructed of wood, however, the increased traffic and burthens of the growing city began to overweight it. A stone bridge was then built close by, and the old one preserved as a venerable and sacred relic. In the proximity of these Afer loitered. It was now dark, and the feeble glimmering of two oil lamps, suspended in the gloom, denoted to passengers the foot of the modern bridge; its ancient fellow being buried in darkness. Across the river the lights of the Transtibertine portion of the city glimmered, extending up towards the slopes of the Janiculum Hill. Behind the knight the Aventine Mount arose with its answering gleams. The day’s toil was over, but the night was yet young, and there was sufficient stir in the city to pervade the air with a dim hum of life, broken by the tread and voices of passers-by, and the rumble of some belated waggon. Stealing silently along the pitchy stream glided the light of an occasional vessel, its hull shrouded and invisible. No one but the importunate beggars, sturdy, halt, and blind, who haunted the bridge and pestered the passengers, as yet kept the impatient knight company. Suddenly the figure of a man strode under the feeble glimmer of the lamps and bestowed a few hearty curses on the tribe of mendicants. Afer went up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.

‘Oh, oh!’ said the new-comer in the voice of Cestus; ‘it is you, patron!’

[pg 84]

‘It is yet too early,’ replied Afer.

‘There are yet a few arrangements to complete, which will take up a little time,’ replied the Suburan.

‘Come, then, let us about it at once; the old man retires early,’ said the knight, and they disappeared in the darkness toward the Aventine.