CHAPTER VII.
THE OATH.
Into what dangers Would you lead me, Cassius? JULIUS CAESAR.
The evening had worn on to a late hour, and darkness had already fallenover the earth, when Paullus issued stealthily, like a guilty thing, fromLucia's chamber. No step or sound had come near the door, no voice hadcalled on either, though they had lingered there for hours in endearments,which, as he judged the spirit of his host, would have cost him his life,if suspected; and though he never dreamed of connivance, he did think itstrange that a man so wary and suspicious as Catiline was held to be,should have so fallen from his wonted prudence, as to betray his adopteddaughter's honor by granting this most fatal opportunity.
He met no member of the family in the dim-lighted peristyle; the passageswere silent and deserted; no gay domestic circle was collected in thetablinum, no slaves were waiting in the atrium; and, as he stole forthcautiously with guarded footsteps, Arvina almost fancied that he had beenforgotten; and that the master of the house believed him to have retiredwhen he left the dining hall.
It was not long, however, before he was undeceived; for as he entered thevestibule, and was about to lay his hand on the lock of the outer door, atall dark figure, which he recognized instantly to be that of his host,stepped forward from a side-passage, and stretched out his arm in silence,forbidding him, by that imperious gesture, to proceed.
"Ha! you have tarried long," he said in a deep guarded whisper, "our Luciatruly is a most soft and fascinating creature; you found her so, is it nottrue, my Paullus?"
There was something singular in the manner in which these words wereuttered, half mocking, and half serious; something between a taunting andtriumphant assertion of a fact, and a bitter question; but nothing thatbetokened anger or hostility, or offended pride in the speaker.
Still Paullus was so much taken by surprise, and so doubtful of hisentertainer's meaning, and the extent of his knowledge, that he remainedspeechless in agitated and embarrassed silence.
"What, have the girl's kisses clogged your lips, so that they can give outno sound? By the gods! they were close enough to do so."
"Catiline!" he exclaimed, starting back in astonishment, and halfexpecting to feel a dagger in his bosom.
"Tush! tush! young man--think you the walls in the house of Catiline haveno ears, nor eyes? Paullus Arvina, I know all!"
"All?" faltered the youth, now utterly aghast.
"Ay, all!" replied the conspirator, with a harsh triumphant laugh. "Luciahas given herself to you; and you have sold yourself to Catiline! By allthe fiends of Hades, better it were for you, rash boy, that you had ne'erbeen born, than now to fail me!"
Arvina, trembling with the deep consciousness of hospitality betrayed, andfeeling the first stings of remorse already, stood thunderstricken, andunable to articulate.
"Speak!" thundered Catiline; "speak! art thou not mine--mine soul andbody--sworn to be mine forever?"
Alas! the fatal oath, sworn in the heat of passion, flashed on his soul,and he answered humbly, and in a faint low voice, how different from hiswonted tones of high and manly confidence--
"I am sworn, Catiline!"
"See then that thou be not forsworn. Little thou dream'st yet, unto whatthou art sworn, or unto whom; but know this, that hell itself, with allits furies, would fall short of the tortures that await the traitor!"
"I am, at least, no traitor!"
"No! traitor! Ha!" cried Catiline, "is it an honest deed to creep into thebosom of a daughter of the house which entertained thee as a friend!--No!Traitor--ha! ha! ha! thou shalt ere long learn better--ha! ha! ha!"
And he laughed with the fearful sneering mirth, which was never excited inhis breast, but by things perilous and terrible and hateful. In a moment,however, he repressed his merriment, and added--
"Give me that poniard thou didst wear this morning. It is mine."
"Thine!" cried the unhappy youth, starting back, as if he had received ablow; "thine, Catiline!"
"Aye!" he replied, in a hoarse voice, looking into the very eyes of Paul."I am the slayer of the slave, and regret only that I slew him withouttorture. Know you whose slave he was, by any chance?"
"He was the Consul's slave," answered Arvina, almost mechanically--for hewas utterly bewildered by all that had passed--"Medon, my freedmanThrasea's cousin."
"The Consul's, ha!--which Consul's? speak! fool! speak, ere I tear it fromyour throat; Cicero's, ha?"
"Cicero's, Catiline!"
"Here is a coil; and knows he of this matter? I mean Cicero."
"He knows it."
"That is to say, you told him. Aye! this morning, after I spoke with you.I comprehend; and you shewed him the poniard. So! so! so! Well, give it tome; I will tell you what to do, hereafter."
"I have it not with me, Sergius," he replied, thoroughly daunted anddismayed.
"See that you meet me then, bringing it with you, at Egeria's cave, asfools call it, in the valley of Muses, at the fourth hour of nightto-morrow. In the meantime, beware that you tell no man aught of this, northat the instrument was bought of Volero. Ha! dost thou hear me?"
"I hear, Catiline."
"And wilt obey?"
"And will obey."
"So shall it go well with thee, and we shall be fast friends forever. Goodrepose to thee, good my Paullus."
"And Lucia?" he replied, but in a voice of inquiry; for all that he hadheard of the tremendous passions and vindictive fury of the conspirator,flashed on his mind, and he fancied that he knew not what of vengeancewould fall on the head of the soft beauty.
"Hath played her part rarely!" answered the monster, as he dismissed himfrom the door, which he opened with his own hand. "Be true, and you shallsee her when you will; betray us, and both you and she shall live inagonies, that shall make you call upon death fifty times, ere he relieveyou."
And with a menacing gesture, he closed and barred the door behind him.
"Played her part rarely!" The words sank down into his soul with achilling weight, that seemed to crush every energy and hope. Played herpart! Then he was a dupe--the very dupe of the fiend's arch mock, to lip awanton, and believe her chaste--the dupe of a designing harlot; the sworntool and slave of a murderer--a monster, who had literally sold his ownchild's honor. For all the world well knew, that, although Lucia passedfor his adopted daughter only, she was his natural offspring by AureliaOrestilla, before their impious marriage.
Well might he gnash his teeth, and beat his breast, and tear his dark hairby handfulls from his head; well might he groan and curse.
But oh! the inconsistency of man! While he gave vent to all the anguish ofhis rage in curses against her, the soft partner of his guilt, and at thesame time, its avenger; against the murderer and the traitor, now histyrant; he utterly forgot that his own dereliction, from the paths ofrectitude and honor, had led him into the dark toils, in which he nowseemed involved beyond any hope of extrication.
He forgot, that to satisfy an insane and unjustifiable love of adventure,and a false curiosity, he had associated himself with a man whom hebelieved, if he did not actually know, to be infamous and capable of anycrime.
He forgot, that, admitted into that man's house in friendship, he hadattempted to undermine his daughter's honor; and had felt no remorse, tillhe learned that his success was owing to connivance--that his own treasonhad been met and repaid by deeper treason.
He forgot, that for a wanton's love, he had betrayed the brightest, andthe purest being that drew the breath of life, from the far Alps, to theblue waters of the far Tarentum--that he had broken his soul's plightedfaith--that he was himself, first, a liar, perjurer, and villain.
Alas! it is the inevitable consequence, the first fruit, as it were, ofcrime, that guilt is still prolific; that the commission of the first illdeed, leads almost surely to the commission of a second, of a third, untilthe soul is filed and the heart utterly corrupted, and the wretch givenwholly up to the dominion of fou
l sin, and plunged into thoroughdegradation.
Arvina had thought lightly, if at all, of his first luxurious sin, but nowto the depth of his secret soul, he felt that he was emmeshed andentangled in the deepest villainy.
All that he ever had yet heard hinted darkly or surmised of Catiline'sgigantic schemes of wickedness, rushed on him, all at once! He doubtednothing any longer; it was clear to him as noonday; distinct and definiteas if it had been told to him in so many words; the treason to the stateconcealed by individual murder; and he, a sworn accomplice--nay, a swornslave to this murderer and traitor!
Nor was this all; his peril was no less than his guilt; equal on eitherside--sure ruin if he should be true to his country, and scarce less sure,if he should join its parricides. For, though he had not dared say so muchto Catiline, he had already sent the poniard to the house of Cicero, and abrief letter indicating all that he had learned from Volero. This he haddone in the interval between the Campus and his unlucky visit to the houseof Catiline, whom he then little deemed to be the man of whom he was inquest.
Doubtless, ere this time, the cutler had been summoned to the consul'spresence, and the chief magistrate of the Republic had learned that themurderer of his slave was the very person, whom he had bound himself byoaths, so strong that he shuddered at the very thought of them, to supportand defend to the utmost.
What was he then to do? how to proceed, since to recede appearedimpossible?
How was he to account to the conspirator for his inability to produce theponiard at their appointed meeting? how should he escape the pursuit ofhis determined vengeance, if he should shun the meeting?
And then, Lucia! The recollection, guilty and degraded as he knew her tobe, of her soft blandishments, of her rare beauty, of her wild andinexplicable manner, adding new charms to that forbidden bliss, yetthrilled in every sense. And must he give her up? No! madness was in thevery thought! so strangely had she spread her fascinations round him. Andyet did he love her? no! perish the thought! Love is a high, a holy, apure feeling--the purest our poor fallen nature is capable of experiencing;no! this fierce, desperate, guilty passion was no more like true love,than the whirlwind that upheaves the tortured billows, and hurls the fatedvessel on the treacherous quicksands, is like to the beneficent and gentlebreeze that speeds it to the haven of its hopes, in peace and honor.
After a little while consumed in anxious and uneasy thoughts, hedetermined--as cowards of the mind determine ever--to temporise, to awaitevents, to depend upon the tide of circumstance. He would, he thought,keep the appointment with his master--for such he felt that Catiline nowwas indeed--however he might strive to conceal the fact; endeavor to learnwhat were his real objects; and then determine what should be his owncourse of action. Doubtful, and weak of principle, and most infirm ofpurpose, he shrunk alike from breaking the oath he had been entrapped intotaking, and from committing any crime against his country.
His country!--To the Roman, patriotism stood for religion!--Pride, habit,education, honor, interest, all were combined in that word, country; andcould he be untrue to Rome? His better spirit cried out, no! from everynerve and artery of his body. And then his evil genius whispered Lucia,and he wavered.
Meantime, had no thought crossed him of his own pure and noble Julia,deserted thus and overlooked for a mere wanton? Many times! many times,that day, had his mind reverted to her. When first he went to Cataline'shouse, he went with the resolution of leaving it at an early hour, so soonas the feast should be over, and seeking her, while there should yet betime to ramble among the flower-beds on the hill of gardens, or perchance,to drive out in his chariot, which he had ordered to be held in readiness,toward the falls of the Anio, or on the proud Emilian way.
Afterward, in the whirl of his mad intoxication for the fascinating Lucia,all memory of his true love was lost, as the chaste moon-light may bedimmed and drowned for a while by the red glare of the torches, brandishedin some licentious orgy. Nor did he think of her again, till he foundhimself saddened, and self-disgusted, plunged into peril--perhaps intoruin, by his own guilty conduct; and then, when he did think, it was withremorse, and self-reproach, and consciousness of disloyalty, so bitterlyand keenly painful--yet unaccompanied by that repentance, which steadilyenvisages past wrong, and determines to amend in future--that he shook offthe recollection, whenever it returned, with wilful stubbornness; andresolved on forgetting, for the present, the being whom a few short hoursbefore, he would have deemed it impossible that he should ever think ofbut with joy and rapturous anticipation.
Occupied in these fast succeeding moods and fancies, Paullus had made hisway homeward from the house of Catiline, so far as to the Cerolian place,at the junction of the Sacred Way and the Carinae. He paused here a moment;and grasping his fevered brow with his hand, recalled to mind the strangeoccurrences, most unexpected and unfortunate, which had befallen him,since he stood there that morning; each singly trivial; each, unconnectedas it seemed with the rest, and of little moment; yet all, when united,forming a chain of circumstances by which he was now fettered hand andfoot--his casual interview with Catiline on the hill; his subsequentencounter of Victor and Aristius Fuscus; the recognition of his dagger bythe stout cutler Volero; the death of Varus in the hippodrome; his ownvictorious exercises on the plain; the invitation to the feast; thesumptuous banquet; and last, alas! and most fatal, the too voluptuous andseductive Lucia.
Just at this moment, the doors of Cicero's stately mansion were thrownopen, and a long train came sweeping out in dark garments, with blazingtorches, and music doleful and piercing. And women chanting the shrillfunereal strain. And then, upon a bier covered with black, the rude woodencoffin, peculiar to the slave, of the murdered Medon! Behind him followedthe whole household of the Consul; and last, to the extreme astonishmentof Paullus, preceded by his lictors, and leaning on the arm of his mostfaithful freedman, came Cicero himself, doing unusual honor, for somecause known to himself alone, to the manes of his slaughtered servant.
As they passed on toward the Capuan gate of the city, the Consul's eyesfell directly on the form of Arvina, where he stood revealed in the fullglare of the torch-light; and as he recognised him, he made a sign that heshould join him, which, under those peculiar circumstances, he felt thathe could not refuse to do.
Sadly and silently they swept through the splendid streets, and under thearched gate, and filed along the celebrated Appian way, passing the tombof the proud Scipios on the left hand, with its superb sarcophagi--for thatgreat house had never, from time immemorial, been wont to burn theirdead--and on the right, a little farther on, the noble temple and thesacred slope of Mars, and the old statue of the god which had once sweatedblood, prescient of Thrasymene. On they went, frightening the echoes ofthe quiet night with their wild lamentations and the clapping of theirhands, sending the glare of their funereal torches far and wide throughthe cultured fields and sacred groves and rich gardens, until they reachedat length the pile, hard by the columbarium, or slave-burying-place ofCicero's household.
Then, the rites performed duly, the dust thrice sprinkled on the body, andthe farewell pronounced, the corpse was laid upon the pile, and the tallspire of blood-red flame went up, wavering and streaming through thenight, rich with perfumes, and gums, and precious ointment, so noble wasthe liberality of the good Consul, even in the interment of his morefaithful slaves.
No words were uttered to disturb the sound of the ceremony, until theflames died out, and, the smouldering embers quenched with wine, Thrasea,as the nearest relative of the deceased, gathered the ashes and inurnedthem, when they were duly labelled and consigned to their niche in thecolumbarium; and then, the final _Ilicet_ pronounced, the sad solemnitywas ended.
Then, though not until then, did Cicero address the young man; but then,as if to make up for his previous silence, he made him walk by his sideall the way back to the city, conversing with him eagerly about all thathad passed, thanking him for the note and information he had sentconcerning Volero, and anticipating the i
mmediate discovery of theperpetrators of that horrid crime.
"I have not had the leisure to summon Volero before me," he added. "Iwished also that you, Arvina, should be present when I examine him. Ijudge that it will be best, when we shall have dismissed all these, exceptthe lictors, to visit him this very night. He is a thrifty and laboriousartisan, and works until late by lamp light; we will go thither, if youhave naught to hinder you, at once."
Arvina could do no otherwise than assent; but his heart beat violently,and he could scarcely frame his words, so dreadful was his agitation. Yet,by dint of immense exertion, he contrived to maintain the outwardappearance of composure, which he was very far from feeling, and even tokeep up a connected conversation as they walked along. Returning home at amuch quicker pace than they had gone out, it was comparatively but a shorttime before they arrived at the house of Cicero, and there dismissed theirfollowers, many of the slaves and freedmen of Arvina having joined theprocession in honour of their fellow-servant Thrasea.
Thence, reserving two lictors only of the twelve, the consul with hiswonted activity hurried directly forward by the Sacred Way to the arch ofFabius; and then, as the young men had gone in the morning, through theForum toward the cutler's shop, taking the shortest way, and evidentlywell acquainted with the spot beforehand.
"I caused the funeral to take place this night," he said to Arvina,"instead of waiting the due term of eight days, on purpose that I mightcreate no suspicion in the minds of the slayers. They never will suspecthim, we have buried even now, to be the man they slew last night, and willfancy, it may be, that the body is not discovered even."
"It will be well if it prove so," replied Paullus, feeling that he mustsay something, and fearful of committing himself by many words.
"It will, and I think probably it may," answered Cicero. "But see, I wasright; there shines the light from Volero's shop, though all the otherbooths have been closed long ago, and the streets are already silent.There are but few men, even in this great city, of whom I know notsomething, beyond the mere names. Think upon that, young man, and learn todo likewise; cultivate memory, above all things, except virtue."
"I should have thought such things too mean to occupy a place, even, inthe mind of Cicero," answered Arvina.
"Nothing, young man, that pertains to our fellow men, is too mean tooccupy the mind of the noblest. Why should it, since it doth occupy themind of the Gods, who are all great and omnipotent?"
"You lean not then to the creed of Epicurus, which teaches----"
"Who, I?" interrupted Cicero, almost indignantly. "No! by the immortalGods! nor I trust, my young friend, do you. Believe me--but ha!" he addedin a quick and altered tone, "what have we here? there is some villainy inthe wind--away! away! there! lictors apprehend that fellow."
For as they came within about a bow-shot of the booth of Volero, the soundof a slight scuffle was heard from within, and the light of the lampbecame very dim and wavering, as if it had been overset; and in a momentwent out altogether. But its last glimmering ray shewed a tall sinewyfigure making out of the door and bounding at a great pace up the streettoward the Carmental gate.
Arvina caught but a momentary glance of the figure; yet was that glanceenough. He recognized the spare but muscular form, all brawn and bone andsinew; he recognized the long and pardlike bounds!--It was his tyrant, and,as he thought, his Fate!
The lictors rushed away upon his track, but there seemed little chancethat, encumbered with their heavy fasces, they would overtake so swift arunner, as, by the momentary sight they had of him, the fugitive appearedto be.
Arvina and the Consul speedily reached the booth.
"Volero! Volero!"
But there came forth no answer.
"Volero! what ho! Volero!"
They listened eagerly, painfully, with ears sharpened by excitement. Therecame a sound--a plash, as of a heavy drop of water falling on the stonefloor; another, and another--the trickling of a continuous stream.
All was dark as a moonless midnight. Yet Cicero took one step forward, andlaid his hand upon the counter. It splashed into a pool of some warmliquid.
"Now may the Gods avert!" he cried, "It is blood! there has been murderhere! Run, my Arvina, run to Furbo's cookshop, across the way there,opposite; they sit up there all night--cry murder, ho! help! murder!"
A minute had scarcely passed before the heavy knocking of the young manhad aroused the house--the neighborhood. And at the cry of murder, manymen, some who had not retired for the night, and some half dressed as theyhad sprung up from their couches, came rushing with their weapons,snatched at random, and with torches in their hands.
It was but too true! the laborious artizan was dead; murdered, thatinstant, at his own counter, at his very work. He had not moved or risenfrom his seat, but had fallen forward with his head upon the board; andfrom beneath the head was oozing in a continuous stream the dark redblood, which had overflowed the counter, and trickled down, and made thepaved floor one great pool!
"Ye Gods! what blood! what blood!" exclaimed the first who came in.
"Poor Volero! alas!" cried Furbo, "it is not an hour since he supped on apound of sausages at my table, and now, all is over!"
They raised his head. His eyes were wide open; and the whole face bore anexpression neither of agony or terror, so much as of wild surprise.
The throat was cut from ear to ear, dividing the windpipe, the carotidarteries and jugular veins on both sides; and so strong had been the handof the assassin, and so keen the weapon, that the neck was severed quiteto the back bone.
Among the spectators was a gladiator; he whose especial task it was to cutthe throats of the conquered victims on the arena; he looked eagerly andcuriously at the wound for a moment, and then said--
"A back stroke from behind--a strong hand, and a broadbacked knife--the manhas been slain by a gladiator, or one who knows the gladiator's trick!"
"The man," said the Consul calmly, "has been killed by an acquaintance, afriend, or a familiar customer; he had not even risen from his seat tospeak with him; and see, the burnisher is yet grasped in his hand, withwhich he was at work. Ha!" he exclaimed, as his lictors entered, pantingand tired by their fruitless chase, "could you not overtake him?"
"We never saw him any more, my consul," replied both men in one breath.
"Let his head down, my friend," said Cicero, turning, much disappointed asit seemed, to Furbo, "let it lie, as it was when we found it; clear theshop, lictors; take the names of the witnesses; one of you keep watch atthe door, until you are relieved; lock it and give the key to the praetor,when he shall arrive; the other, go straightway, and summon CorneliusLentulus; he is the praetor for this ward. Go to your homes, my friends,and make no tumult in the streets, I pray you. This shall be looked to andavenged; your Consul watches over you!"
"Live! live the Consul! the good Consul, the man of the people!" shoutedthe crowd, as they dispersed quietly to their homes.
"Arvina, come with me. To whom told you, that you had found, and Volerosold, this dagger?" he asked very sternly.
"To no one, Cicero. Marcus Aurelius Victor, and Aristius Fuscus were withme, when he recognized it for his work?"
"No one else?"
"No one, save our slaves, and they," he added in a breath, "could not haveheard what passed."
"Hath no one else seen it?"
"As I was stripping for the contests on the Campus, Catiline saw it in mygirdle, and admired its fabric."
"Catiline!"
"Ay! Consul?"
"And you told _him_ that Volero had made it?"
"Consul, no!" But, with the word, he turned as white as marble. Had itbeen daylight, his face had betrayed him; as it was, Cicero observed thathis voice trembled.
"Catiline is the man!" he said solemnly, "the man who slew Medonyesternight, who has slain Volero now. Catiline is the man; but thiscraves wary walking. Young man, young man, beware! methinks you are on theverge of great danger. Get thee home to thy bed; and again I s
ay, Beware!"