CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE TULLIANUM.
No sooner had Domitia got the signet from the finger of the dead Emperor,than she hastened from the room, trembling, almost blind as to her course,but armed with more than her natural strength to force her way throughthose who filled the passage.
Parmenas was now there, and he cleared a way for her, and in a loud voiceforbade any of the slaves to leave the palace; Petronius at the same timegave orders to the soldiers of the guard to remain where they were,keeping watch that none left to spread the tidings, until Cocceius Nervahad been communicated with, and the Senate had been summoned.
Domitia, however, made her way from among the excited and alarmed throng,and finding some of her own slaves, bade them bring Eboracus to her.
"I am here, lady," answered the Briton.
"Then quick--with me. Not a moment is to be lost. Light a torch and leadthe way."
"Whither, mistress?"
"To the Tullianum."
He stared at her in amazement.
"Quick--a life, a precious life is at stake. Not a minute must we delay orit will be too late."
"I am ready, lady."
He snatched a torch from an attendant, and advanced towards a postern gatethat communicated with a flight of steps leading to the Forum. It wasemployed almost wholly by the servants and was used for communicationbetween the kitchen and the markets.
"Shall we take any one else with us?" asked Eboracus. He answeredhimself--"Yes--here is Euphrosyne. She shall attend, and a boy shall carrythe link. At night--and on such a night, I must have both arms at mydisposal."
Domitia said nothing. She was eager to be on her way, was impatient of thesmallest delay. Euphrosyne came up, and obeyed a sign from the Briton. Hecaught a scullion who was rubbing his sleepy eyes, and wondering what hadcaused the commotion, and had roused him from his bed. Eboracus thrust thetorch into his hand and opened the door for the Empress.
Domitia stepped out to the head of the stairs. The rain had ceased, butthe steps were running with water. The eaves dripped. The shrubs wereladen with rain, they stooped their boughs and shed a load of moisture onthe soil, then raised their leaves again, once more to accumulate the wet,and again to stoop and shower it down. Runnels conveying water from theroof were flowing as streams, noisily: the ground covered with pools,reflected the torch; as also every gleam from the retiring storm. Still inthe distance thunder muttered, but it was a grumble of discontent athaving failed to achieve all it had been sent to execute.
On such a night few would be abroad, except the patrols of the _Vigiles_and them there would be no difficulty in passing as the watchword wasknown to Eboracus, the word which allowed those only who could say it totraverse the streets at night in the respectable portions of the city. Butthere were no lamps, not even the feeble glimmer of a lantern slung in themidst of the street. Notwithstanding all the civilization of ancient Romethe art of lighting the thoroughfares at night was unknown. Such as wereconstrained to walk abroad after dark were attended by slaves bearingtorches.
The streets of Rome had for long been of bad repute for the brawls andmurders committed in them at night. Tipsy youths and rufflers hadassaulted honest men, and should a woman be out after dark, she wascertain of insult. Nero himself had distinguished himself in such vulgarperformances. But under the Flavian princes much had been done toestablish order and to ensure protection to life and purse of such as wereout after dark, so that now, except in the slums, a citizen could visithis friends, a doctor his patients, by night, without fear of molestation.
And of all portions of Rome, the Forum with its splendid monuments, itsrich temples, especially that of Saturn, that contained the citytreasures, was most patrolled and therefore the safest. Eboracus hadlittle expectation that his mistress would meet with rudeness or encounterdanger, the rain must have swept the street of all idlers.
The long flight of steps was descended with caution, as they were slipperywith rain, indeed with more caution than Domitia approved, so impatientwas she to reach the object of her journey. The distance was not great.She had but to traverse the upper end of the Forum.
That at which she aimed was the prison of Rome. It lay at the foot of theCapitoline Hill, and consisted of an ancient well or subterranean chamberin which flowed a small spring. Above this was the prison, consisting of aseries of cells that rose in stages to a considerable height, against therock, the chambers being in part scooped out of the travestine. From thetop of the hill ran a set of steps called the Gemonian stair, and it wascustomary for State prisoners who had been condemned to death, afterexecution to be cast from the upper chamber of the Tullianum down thestairs; whence with hooks the corpses were dragged across the Forum andthen flung into the Tiber.
To the house of the jailer, Domitia with her attendants made her way. Shehad been stopped once in crossing the Forum, but the watch recognized her,and saluted with respect, though with an expression of astonishment on hiscountenance at seeing Caesar's wife abroad at such a time of the night, insuch weather and with such scant attendance.
On reaching the jailer's door, Eboracus knocked. No answer was given. Heknocked again and louder, and continued knocking, till at length a gruffvoice from within called to know who was without, and what was wanted.
"Open--in the name of the Augustus," said the British slave; and at oncethe keeper of the prison let down the bars and withdrew the bolts andchains, then carrying a lamp, peered out at those who demanded admittance.
Then Domitia stood forward.
"You have a prisoner here--Lucius AElius Lamia?"
"Yes."
"You must lead me to him."
The jailer appeared disconcerted, he held his lamp aloft and eyed thewoman who spake. He did not know her, his light was feeble, and as ithappened, he had seen little of the Empress.
"You do not know me," said Domitia. "Know you this ring?"
The prison-keeper held the flame of his lamp to the signet, and made theusual sign of respect and recognition.
"You are required to lead me within," said Domitia.
The jailer at once stood aside, and suffered the Empress and herattendants to enter. Then he barred and bolted the door again.
"And now," said Domitia, impatient at the leisurely proceeding of the man,"lead me to him."
Without another word he went forward, holding his lamp down that those whofollowed might see the steps and not stumble at them.
"This way," said he, "and bow your heads, the entrance is low; but most ofthem that pass this way have to hold their heads still lower when they aretaken out. Look at these stones--great blocks built by the Kings--by ServiusTullus, they say. By Hercules! this is not a tavern where men tarry long,nor do they relish our fare. One thing I must say in our favor, we make nocharge for our hospitality." Thus the jailer muttered as he went along.
"Look there--on your right--there is the cell where Simon Bar Gioras, theJew, was strangled--he who was the last to maintain the struggle againstthe God Titus, in defence of Jerusalem; and see--" he threw open a door."Here is the Bath of Mamertius in which Jugurtha was starved, all inblackness of darkness and soaking in ice-cold water. What! Impatient--doyou not care to see the sights and hear my gossip? Well, well--but I havepretty things to show. I have a shankbone of Appius Claudius, whocommitted suicide in yon cell, and a garment of Sejanus, and the verybowstring wherewith--I am going on as fast as may be. See! we have hadChristians here also. There was another Jew, Simon Petrus by name, he wasin this cell, and I have the chain whereby he was bound, and I sell thelinks to the followers of the Nazarene," he began to cackle. "By Hercules!the chain is long enough. They come for more links than there would be,were the chain to reach across the Tiber. But any bit of old iron willserve, and they are not particular--take any scrap and pay in silver. I amgoing as fast as may be. I am not young. Fast enough I warrant. He is inno hurry--not Lamia. He can wait. All the same to him whether we reach himnow or a
n hour hence."
Then Domitia, whose brow was beaded with cold sweat, like the stones ofthe vault that ran with moisture, laid hold of the prison-keeper's arm andsaid:--"Tell me--is he--" she could not say the word, her heart beat sofuriously, and everything swam before her eyes.
"Aye, aye, you shall see for yourself. Come from the Augustus to satisfyhim that we do our work properly, I trow. I have not much strength inthese old-hands, but my two sons are lusty--and say the word--they will bendyour back and snap the spine, smite and shear off your head like a pumpkinunder a scythe, twist, and the life is throttled out of you. Here--here weare. Go in and see for yourself that we are good workmen."
He threw open a door and raised his lamp.
A low vaulted chamber was faintly illumined by the flame, the torch heldby Eboracus was behind Domitia and the jailer; he had taken it from thelink boy at the prison door. He and Euphrosyne attended their mistress,the boy was left without.
The old prison-keeper stood on one side.
"The order came yesterday," said he, "and we are not slack in theexecution."
Domitia saw the figure of a man lying on the stone floor. She startedforward--
"He sleeps!"
"I warrant you--right soundly."
She uttered a smothered cry.
"Put down the lamp!"
She turned and faced the jailer. "Leave me alone with him. I will wakehim. I know he but sleeps."
The man hesitated.
Then Eboracus pressed forward and laid hold of the jailer andwhispered--"Go without, it is the Augusta!"
The keeper of the prison started, raised his hand to his lips, bowed, setthe lamp on the moist floor and drew back.
"Without! Without all!" ordered Domitia.
Then Eboracus pulled the jailer out of the cell. Euphrosyne stood doubtfulwhether to remain with her mistress or obey--but an impatient sign from theEmpress drove her forth, and the British slave closed the door.
"He is dead," said the jailer. "Did the Augustus desire to withdraw theorder? His signet has arrived too late. The prisoner has been throttled bymy sons."
The old man and the two slaves remained for some quarter of an hour in thepassage almost smothered by the smoke emitted by the torch.
From within they heard a voice--at intervals, now raised in weeping, thenuttering low soothing tones, then raised in a cry as the _conclamatio_ ofhired wailers for the dead, calling on Lamia by name to return, to return,to leave the Shadowland and come back into light.
And then--a laugh.
A laugh so weird, so horrible, so unexpected, that with a thrust, withoutscruple, Eboracus threw open the door.
On the stone pavement sat Domitia, her hair dishevelled, and on her lapthe head of the dead man. She was wiping his brow with her veil, stooping,kissing his lips, weeping, then laughing again--then pointing to purpleletters, crossed L's woven into his tunic.
Eboracus saw it all--her reason was gone.