CHAPTER XI.
When the Centurion Martialis came to the rescue of the endangeredpalanquin of Plautia, he was leisurely pursuing his way toward theJaniculum, to redeem his promise given to Fabricius. The little incidentwhich befell him, as described, soon ceased to occupy his mind. He reachedthe villa of Fabricius, and admired the far-reaching prospect which itcommanded--from the city, at its foot, to the distant, circling Apennines.At the bare mention of his name, Natta, the ancient porter, ushered himdirect to the presence of his master, with unmistakable signs of pleasure.The visitor's fame had evidently preceded him.
Fabricius was in his winter room, whose windows overlooked a pleasantgarden, sheltered and shaded from the cold winds. The old man scanned hisvisitor's manly face and form with a swift eager look; then he steppedforward and opened his arms.
'Welcome to my house!' said he, embracing the Centurion. 'It augurs wellthat you should have remembered an old man and redeemed your promise. Ihave longed for your coming.'
''Tis my first leisure morning, Fabricius--you may see,' answeredMartialis, touching his toga.
'Tell me, Centurion,' said Fabricius earnestly, 'for your name, on thatunlucky night, seemed to awake old memories. I am a Latian born, and mypatrimony lies near to Casinum. There, in the old days, when I was a lad,dwelt neighbours and old family friends of thy name--tell me, then----'
'I was born in Etruria, at Veii,' said Martialis, with a smile.
'Ah!' said the old man disappointedly, 'what led me to make up my mind?'
'But my father, Caius Julius Martialis,' continued the young man, 'firstsaw the light near to Casinum, as his forefathers did before him forgenerations.'
'Caius Martialis thy father!' cried Fabricius, seizing the young man'shand with intense joy, 'Caius thy father--he was my playfellow, boy, inthose happy, sunny days long ago! Together we made the summer-day tripsand climbed the hills; and then, while yet a lad, I was sent to Rome and Isaw him no more. And thou art his son--thou, that didst save his oldplayfellow's life--how my heart warms to thee! I warrant thou art theliving image of him, though I never saw him in his manhood. But his boyishframe shaped like thine--tall, spare, sinewy, and as strong as a younglion: and what of him, Centurion; is he alive yet--tell me?'
'Dead these ten years,' replied Martialis.
'Then I was not fated to see him again on this earth. We loved each otheras playfellows; but I shall not be long after him. I am a lonely old man,who has outlived his time; thou wilt not forget me for the little timethat is left me to breathe and live? Ah, if the gods had preserved me ason like thee!'
The young man's heart softened to see the mingled emotions which swelledthe stately Senator's breast, and he heartily returned the vigorous claspof his hands.
'You are yet hale and strong, and such a friend as I can be, I hope to be,for many a year to come,' he answered.
'The end cannot be far away now,' said Fabricius, shaking his head. 'Istand in no fear of it, for in truth I have nothing left to live for. Thegods preserve thee from a solitary old age such as mine. This gloomy housewas once bright and happy enough; death has reaped a rich harvest in itswalls. One boy, Titus, came home to die from wounds received from thebarbarian in Pannonia; an ill-fated galley, bearing another, foundered onits way to Hispania; a third was yet a child when he left us. One girlreached the most winsome years, when a malignant disease carried hersuddenly off and left us heartbroken; the last daughter lived and wasmarried, and died in giving birth to her first babe--my only grandchild.That little maid, Centurion, was beauty and sweetness itself; it was allthat was left me--wife and children all gone. She frisked about thesehalls, lightening them like a sunbeam; she had begun to lisp our names andprattle like the sweetest woodland music--ah me!'
'Died she too, Fabricius?' asked Martialis, after a short pause.
'I know not whether she lives or is dead,' muttered the old man; 'to meshe is dead--fourteen years ago she vanished on one accursed day, and notidings of her have ever reached us since.'
'Alas, that was too cruel!' murmured the other.
'Crueller perhaps than all, for I am harassed by the thought that if shelives she may be groaning under cruel slavery or bondage, which is worsethan death. Time has dulled somewhat the smart of this grievous thrust,but tongue cannot speak the anguish I have known in my heart. As for thewretch who dealt me this last fell, heartless stroke, let the gods dealwith him and his. Treasure and time I have lavished in vain search; and,doubtless, I have been robbed through it all. Cunning people, knowing theold man's ever-green hopes, have worked upon his credulity. The othernight on the Aventine was an instance which would have probably cost me mylife but for your timely appearance. One of those very villains, whom youscattered, came to me in this very room, with a request from a supposeddying man, purporting to be the fiend who had stolen away my littleAurelia. It was nothing but a cunning tale to lead me into a trap--sillyfools, they might have taken my life, but little besides!'
'Had not my foot tripped, one of those same rascals would now have beensafe under lock and key awaiting his deserts,' observed Martialis.
'I warrant it if your fingers had once closed upon him,' repliedFabricius, with an approving smile; 'but it matters not much. It is onlyanother and more flagrant case of my infatuation, as my nephew calls it. Ishall fall under the lash of his tongue bravely for it. But what,Centurion, if I give up hope, what need is there of living?'
'None.'
'And you, a young man, live vigorously, having copious hope. Ah, I see!'continued Fabricius, smiling, as he noted the ready colour tinging thesunburnt cheek of the Pretorian, 'as well as if your shaven cheek had beenthe delicate red and white of a young girl. First and foremost, at yourage, is the hope which is rooted in love--well, I shall know more when ourfriendship enlarges.'
'How old was your granddaughter when you lost her?' inquired Martialishastily, coming back to the former subject of conversation.
'How old! About three years,' answered Fabricius, the smile fading fromhis face.
'You would hardly recognise her, then, if fate brought you face to facewith her?'
'Not know her! She is as fairly pictured in my mind, with her bright silkylocks and fawnlike eyes, as if I had only kissed her last night ere shewent to her little bed.'
'But then fourteen years make a vast change. The woman of seventeenobliterates the child of three--by what token could you assure yourselfbeyond doubt?'
'Token--woman of seventeen!' repeated Fabricius wonderingly, as though anew light had struck upon his brain; 'my little Aurelia a woman ofseventeen!'
'Ay, truly, she must be, if alive,' responded Martialis, regarding himcuriously.
The old man rose from his seat and walked across the room and back. Herewas a problem as startling as it was simple, since, strange to say, it hadnever by any chance been suggested to his thoughts. His mind, up to thismoment, had been thoroughly filled, and absorbed to the exclusion of everyother reflection, by the picture of the ill-fated child as he had lastseen her, say, dancing about his room, or sporting with her ball in thegarden, as he passed out on a visit or a walk.
'My little maid a woman of seventeen!' he repeated again in a bewilderedmanner.
'Not so strange as that you should expect to find her as she was,'observed Martialis; 'stature increases, and form changes and develops;eyes alter, and hair changes in hue with years.'
'That is true,' said Fabricius absently.
'Well then, how would you prove her identity?'
'My heart would tell me!' replied the other fervently.
Martialis shook his head gently.
'You cannot believe it--is not instinct unerring?' cried Fabricius. 'It canlead a mother to choose her child after a woful gap of years.'
'A mother maybe,' said Martialis, doubtingly.
'And, if I brought not the girl into the world, I tended her; I was fatherand mother in one to her--she was my sole care and I lived in her--yes, Ishould know her.'
'Heaven grant you may have the opportunity.'
The subject then dropped, and Martialis was not sorry, for he saw howpainful it was to his host. To entertain his visitor Fabricius thenproceeded to show his house and his treasures of art, his gardens and thenoble prospect therefrom. His interest in his young acquaintance andpreserver seemed to quicken his vivacity and cheerfulness in a wonderfuldegree, and he drew upon his stores of knowledge and anecdote in a mannerwhich delighted his listener. The young soldier was easily led on, in thisway, toward the old man's dinner-hour, and found himself duly partaking ofa meal more varied and splendidly served than was usual with his host'ssimple and solitary habits.
They had reclined at table but a few minutes when Afer was ushered in,bearing on his face the signs of extreme solicitude.
'Praise be to the gods, uncle!' said he, stooping over the couch andtaking the old man in his arms; 'praise be to the gods,--I find you eatingand cheerful, and so I know you have suffered little. The murderousthieves! I have but just returned, and have come straight from my house,when I was told of the treachery which had befallen you. A fine thing, intruth, to happen to a citizen. Nay, I will neither bite nor sup until youassure me you are no worse.'
'No worse, nephew; thanks to the Centurion there. I was only stunned, andfind I am tougher than I thought. Nephew, this is the Centurion Martialiswho befriended me--I have discovered also that he is of Latian stock, andson of an old playfellow of Casinum. Martialis, this is my nephew, TitusAfer.'
'We are not totally unacquainted,' said Afer, bowing coldly, whilst theother returned the salutation in silence; 'I have the honour of knowinghis brother more intimately.'
'Brother! I never asked thee, Lucius, of any brothers or sisters--tell me,then!' interposed Fabricius.
'I have one brother only.'
'The nearest friend and heir of Apicius, whom you have heard of, uncle,'said Afer; 'he who spent his patrimony, and after dinner, t'other day,poisoned himself because his treasure-chest was empty.'
'I heard something of a tale--Natta told me, I think. If I mistake not,nephew, it was there you dined only a few days ago?'
'I witnessed the whole affair; the Centurion's brother was left as chiefmourner, and, I understand, what remains of the wealth of Apicius goesentirely to compensate him for his long devotion. But the Centurion knowsbetter than I how the matter lies--perhaps brotherly affection has dividedthe generosity of Apicius.'
'For that information I must refer you to the same source whence youderived the other,' replied Martialis coldly.
'It is what neither belongs to me nor to thee, nephew,' said Fabricius.'You will make me know your brother at the first opportunity, Centurion.'
'Ask him to dine with you, uncle; but you will have to provide him with amore artistic banquet, in order to give him an opportunity of proving hiscritical powers. Caius Martialis, the Centurion's brother, is well knownfor his perfect knowledge of the elegant arts and pleasures of life. Noone disputes his dictum as to the beauty of a woman, or the flavour of adish, or the fold of a garment--especially feminine,--or the business of thebath, the action of a player, the knowledge of the midnight city--the wholedelicate art, in fact, of sustaining a continuous and uniform course ofpleasure, without rushing into undue excess, or relapsing into ennui. Hisacquaintance is a privilege, uncle, and you will find it so.'
'I prefer that my host should judge for himself of the character of mybrother, rather than accept it from your lips,' said Martialis, with thehot blood tingling in his veins at the sneering tones and curling lip ofthe speaker.
'That has ever been my custom, Centurion, and there is no reason why Ishould alter it in this case,' interposed Fabricius. 'Take your place,nephew--eat and drink, and tell me how the time has gone with you since youwent away.'
'No, uncle, your turn before mine--I am burning to hear an account of thisadventure. How came you, in Heaven's name, to be on the Aventine at thattime of night?'
The knight, as he spoke, took his place on the couch opposite Martialis.The sinister glance of his eyes met the gaze of the latter, and declaredinevitable war. The slaves hastened to serve him, and, whilst he proceededto eat, Fabricius related the circumstances of his night's adventure, notforgetting, most particularly, to allude to the services of his deliverer,who, straightway, began to wish that all recollection of the affair mightbe buried in the sea.
'It is very well, good uncle, you got out of the trap as you did,'observed Afer at the conclusion; 'this, I trust, is the last phase of yourcredulity and infatuation--this, I humbly think, will act as a salutarycorrective, and effect what no reason or words of mine could do. As forthe Centurion, had he been a school-lad appearing on the scene, he wouldhave been sufficient, at that critical point, to have startled and routedthe ruffians from their task, like so many rabbits. I trust, Centurion,you received no hurt in your encounter with the vagabonds, when, like aPatroclus, you bestrode the prostrate body of my uncle?'
'I neither bestrode my host, nor drew a sword, nor even clenched my fist,'answered Martialis calmly, though inwardly fuming with anger. 'I didnothing whereby I can claim the credit or praise which my host persists inawarding to me against my will.'
'Nor even with your troopers to lay hands on one or more of thevagabonds?'
'Nor even with my troopers lay hands on a single one of them.'
'I crave pardon, Centurion, for the thoughtless question,' said Afermockingly; 'I ought to have known better than to suppose that ImperialPretorians would stoop to act as common city police.'
'You labour under a wrong impression of the cohorts to which I have thehonour to belong,' returned Martialis, with less command over the tone ofhis voice. 'If I know anything about them, I should say they are as readyas any to frustrate rascality and bring it to account, whenever it lies intheir power.'
'Hark ye! nephew,' interposed Fabricius sternly, 'whether you rose thismorning in an ill-humour or not, I cannot tell, but I must have nosnapping tongue to break good-fellowship here--let us finish our meal as itwas begun, in peace and pleasantness, I pray. There is little I would notpart with, rather than Martialis should associate anything disagreeablewith his first visit here. He has done me a service, which it may pleasehim to disparage and you to decry--enough! My old playmate has suddenly andunexpectedly returned in the person of his son; for that, if for nothingelse, I seek his good opinion of all about me.'
'I apologise for having been so foolish as to offend you, uncle,' saidAfer, with a barely perceptible shrug of his shoulders; 'I was, in truth,only jesting. Centurion, I have the honour of drinking to your health!' headded, with an accompanying look which mocked the courteousness of hisvoice. The Pretorian coldly returned the compliment, scarcely trusting histongue to speak, for fear of the scorn and dislike which filled him.Fabricius nodded approvingly, and Afer continued, 'And now, uncle, to thenews of our great Prefect--or, perhaps, your friend, the Centurion, hasalready told, you? No--I am glad, then, to be the first to inform you.Sejanus is the accepted son-in-law of Caesar, and goes forthwith toCapreae to claim his bride.'
'Ah!' quoth Fabricius quietly, 'he creeps up the ladder apace; but thesematters interest me not. Time was when I would have paid it more heed, butnow I live apart, and allow consuls and pretors and the like to pass on,almost unheeded--with all respect to your commander, Lucius.'
'I understand you accompany him on his pleasant expedition, Centurion?'said Afer.
'As a most intimate friend of the Prefect, you have, no doubt, beenalready acquainted with most, or all, of his arrangements,' answered theother.
'What--you going?' observed Fabricius, with a disappointed air; 'when thenwill you return?'
'I cannot tell you, Fabricius. Your nephew will, most probably, know morethan myself.'
'Indeed, uncle, my knowledge is overrated,' responded Afer; 'but, if youwill take the opportunity, you will commission your preserver to bringyou, when he does return, some pottery ware from the adjacent Surrentum--itis a town famed for its excellence i
n this manufacture, is it not,Centurion?'
The glance and the sneer of the speaker were malicious enough, whilst thecheeks of the young soldier flushed deeply at the allusion. The swift eyesof his host drank all in; he had already gathered sufficient to see thathis guests were not altogether so ignorant of each other and each other'saffairs as he had at first supposed. The mounting colour on thePretorian's face, as well as the flash of his dark eyes, denoted that hisnephew's last words, from some reason, had proved as disagreeable as hisformer remarks. It became evident, also, that they were designedly so;and, therefore, without waiting for any reply, he proceeded quietly todiscourse upon the artistic merits of pottery in general, with the fluencyof a critic familiar with his subject. Afer, as a man of elegant taste inmatters of art, was led into the discussion, which lasted for some time,during which the Centurion sat silent, lending only fitful attention tothe conversation.
The subject had no charm for him, and his mind rankled with the irritatingbearing of the man opposite. His last allusion astonished him not alittle, inasmuch as the pointed manner of its delivery revealed to him theknight's knowledge of his connection with Surrentum; but, after thepotter's communication to the Prefect, the matter would easily andnaturally filter to the ear of the confidant, Domitius Afer. Nevertheless,the blood burned in his veins and flamed in his cheeks when his mind, sosensitive on this question, tortured itself by imagining how the loose andirreverent tongues of his commander and the sneering individual across thetable, had, doubtless, amused themselves with the purest and most delicatefeeling his heart could know. This thought added to the disgust and fiercehostility which bubbled in his breast, on account of the nephew ofFabricius, for whose disagreeable manner he was able to ascribe no reason,except a paltry feeling of spite and envy. But even these distemperedreflections gave way to the soothing and delightful contemplation of hisspeedy removal to the immediate neighbourhood of his beloved; and, in aninterval of these self-communings, he became aware that the dialogue uponthe merits of artistic ware was flagging and moribund. The pleasure of hisvisit had long departed, and he seized the opportunity of taking hisleave. Rising, therefore, he pleaded the exigency of some camp regulation,and Fabricius left his seat also, to escort his guest to the porch.
'My nephew has not made himself altogether agreeable to you,' said thelatter, as they stood hand in hand ere they parted; 'something hasprobably tried his humour ere he came; but you will not allow that tomilitate between us twain. You can afford to pass over his whims, for theyare not worth your serious thought.'
'Easily!'
'You are going to Capreae--I have one thing to say to you. Formerly Ibusied myself in matters of state, though I have long retired therefrom.But I still live here above the city; and I have yet a few friends of highinfluence and large information in that busy hive of toil, ambition, andpassion down there; therefore, it is impossible that I can exist withoutknowing something of what is passing. I have watched the course of yourPrefect Sejanus. He goes to become the Emperor's son-in-law; such honourand elevation would satisfy an ordinary man's ambition, but not his. Iknow him not personally, though the general whisper of public opinionseldom errs; but Tiberius Caesar I have known thoroughly of old. Strangeand noisome tales of his island dwelling are, even now, wandering throughRome like fitful, noxious night-airs. You may possibly be betteracquainted with this than I, and I trust they may never infect you. Butapart from this, I would bid a man beware of Tiberius Caesar. Hisintellect is strong and clear, and his energy unfailing. A tiger is notmore ruthless--the deep ocean is not more dark, mysterious, and subtle thanhis nature; and his suspicions are clothed with the eyes of an Argus andthe tentacles of a polypus. I pity a man, from a Prefect to a slave, whojars upon them. Take the advice of an old man, not inexperienced, and havethe greatest care to let your action be bounded scrupulously by the dutiesof your military office. Do not be tempted beyond them by any one.Remember that while you obey the Prefect there is yet one above all towhom you owe allegiance--Caesar himself. If there be those who choose tounderrate his power, leave them alone to their folly. If events follow thecourse I anticipate for them, you will, perhaps, at some time, bethankful, that you allowed nothing to tempt you beyond the limits of yourCenturionship. Obey your legitimate orders and seek to know nothing more.You are a soldier; remain one, and beware of adding the trade ofpolitician--at the present time. A volcano may burst beneath our feetbefore long. You will ponder on my advice, boy?'
'Fear not,' replied Martialis; 'I am in no hurry to change my occupation.I prefer a sword to a pen. I have plenty to do without loading myself withpolitics.'
'Yes; Mars was in the habit of relieving his gory business with softerpursuits,' said the old man, smiling gently. 'Success in both. Farewell. Ishall await your return with impatience, for I yearn to make a son ofyou.'
When the Centurion arrived at his quarters in the camp he found twostrange slaves awaiting him with weary looks. One of them bore somethingin his hands covered with a cloth of gold; the other presented him withdainty small tablets, which he opened and read as follows:--
'Plautia sends the Centurion Martialis a very trifling acknowledgment of the ready service which his strong arm rendered her in the Subura this morning, and begs him to accept it. She also prays him to honour her by supping in her poor house on the morrow. Let not the unhappy slaves bring back an unfavourable answer.'
The great and ready service had almost passed from the young soldier'smind and his lip curled. As he hesitated, the slave who bore the gift heldit forward and lifted the covering. A small, carved, myrrhine drinking-cupwas disclosed; it was a gem of exquisite workmanship, as even he was ableto see, though he had but small critical knowledge of such matters. Hadthe offering been ostentatious, he would have refused it at once. As itwas the affair was sufficiently ridiculous in his eyes, and he doubted fora few moments. Then he bade the slave go and set it down somewhere, whilsthe sat to write a reply.
His literary style was plain, blunt, and unstudied, and took the followinglaconic form:--
'Centurion Martialis keeps Plautia's gift, lest he should offend her by sending it back. She overrates the affair in the Subura; but if she can remember the house of her brother and the gold cup, she may consider that the writer has discharged a part of his debt.'
As to the invitation to supper, he did not trouble to mention it, butdespatched a negative message by the slaves.
To say that he did not feel flattered by the evident interest of abeautiful woman, would be to say that he was beyond human feelings; butthe impression, although gratifying, was fleeting, and the brilliantloveliness of the Roman damsel soon fled before a more familiar picturewhich arose, ever ready, to his thoughts.
PART II