Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

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СКАЧАТЬ and hidden by white gold-fringed napkins thrown over them. They were curious and unusual, and had, many times, already, excited the inward curiosity of the company.

      The slave advanced to these and carefully took the first. At a nod from his master he placed it before Martialis, on the table, with the snowy white napkin still hiding whatever was beneath. The next was placed before Sejanus. The others before Charinus, Flaccus, Torquatus, Pansa, Afer, and Zoilus in rotation. One was left. Apicius pointed to his own place. The slave put it down before him, and the table was ranged round with these mysterious white-robed objects.

      ‘Friends,’ said Apicius calmly, ‘beneath those covers you will find the presents which I give to you in token of our fellowship. I have striven to the best of my ability to render them suitable and useful to their owners. Look at them and accept of them, I pray.’

      They all, with more or less eagerness, lifted the napkins from their allotted gifts and sat gazing thereat, at Apicius, and each other with mingled expressions of ill-suppressed anger, mortification, and disappointment. The napkin before Apicius was still untouched, and he received the rancorous glances which were shot towards him, with a calm, scornful expression.

      Before Sejanus was a small representation of a lictor’s fasces, a miniature axe bound up in a bundle of twigs; but in addition to the axe was the model of an iron hook, such as was used to drag the bodies of traitors and malefactors down the Gemonian steps into the Tiber.

      The cheek of the conspirator flushed, and from beneath his gathering brows he flashed a look as dangerous and dark as a thundercloud.

      ‘Be not offended, Prefect,’ said Apicius; ‘I act as a true friend who fears not the truth, and not as a parasite, who bestows nothing but what may prove pleasant to the ear.’

      His cold, mocking tone belied his words, and, ere he finished, Zoilus, with a face purple with rage and fury, had jumped from his seat and dashed the article he had uncovered to the floor. It was a small figure of a negro, carved in ebony, having its nakedness barely draped in a ludicrous fashion with a little cloak of figured silk.

      ‘What!’ cried Apicius jibingly; ‘displeased with the image of your grandfather?’

      But Zoilus, speechless and shuddering with his boiling feelings, rushed from the room with his slaves. He was followed by a titter, which the biting satire of the proceeding even wrung from the offended natures of the others.

      Torquatus sat scowling before a small stand, on which was placed a common wooden platter having a copper coin in the centre. Pansa evinced his disgust of a similar stand bearing a diminutive cup of silver. The figure of a very ancient goat on its hind legs, having a garland of roses around its horns, caused Flaccus to fume and fret immoderately. Afer smiled scornfully upon a miniature gilded weather-vane; whilst a mirror, upheld by an Apollo, with an averted face, was regarded by Charinus with ineffable disdain.

      Thus had Apicius amused his invention. A small bronze casket was deemed sufficient for Martialis. It was unpretentious in its outward appearance; but a fast-locked box ever provokes curiosity.

      ‘Lift it, Martialis!’ snapped Torquatus derisively, ‘and see whether it be filled with iron, or chaff, or what is lighter still – emptiness.’

      ‘There is the key, my Caius,’ said Apicius, in answer, drawing the article from his breast and handing it to his friend. ‘Before you leave the house you shall use it – at present, sad necessity must deprive any one of the pleasure of seeing what the box contains. Dear friends,’ he added, turning his eyes upon them, ‘I grieve that my trifling tributes should not, by appearances, have pleased you. Had I been less truthful and more liberal, probably you would have overwhelmed me with gratitude. At least I have ever found it thus. There is little more to add save farewell – Caius, give me thy hand.’

      The hand was extended and grasped fervently by Apicius, who then lifted the napkin before him. A richly chased gold cup, studded with jewels, was exposed, gorgeous and glowing, to the expectant gaze of all. The eyes of Torquatus, Flaccus, and Pansa kindled. Sejanus still sat motionless, with a cloud resting on his pale, immobile face. The sad brooding eyes of Martialis showed no change.

      ‘That is my father’s cup,’ continued Apicius; ‘Martialis, thou wilt preserve it – it is too rich for my future needs of simplicity. I will drink to the future welfare of you all. May the gods send you plentiful pastures of liberal purses and groaning tables; and may ye die the death of noble, virtuous, uncovetous men. Listen, dear friends,’ he said, with a bitterly scornful emphasis of the adjective, ‘I have lived to the age of forty years. With your help and the help of others I have spent of my patrimony sixty-four thousand sestertia.’2

      A movement of sensation passed round the couches at this calm statement of such enormous extravagance.

      ‘In the process I have discovered how rarely the immortals make true friends, and how idle it is to try and gain them with the glitter of gold alone. I have met with but one in my career who has followed me for love – Caius, true friend, may the gods repay you, for Apicius cannot.’ He raised the goblet in his hand; it was partly filled with wine. Looking round the company, while he poised the flashing cup, he said: ‘Vultures, I have done. I have had my pleasure – I have spent my patrimony – what is left I give to thee, Caius – that casket will vouch for it. I want it not; it is not worth living on for. Vale!’

      He emptied the cup at a draught, threw it from him on to the table, and then proceeded to sink back to his former position on the cushions. Ere he reached them, the smile on his lip became suddenly contorted into a horrible grimace. The pallor of his face changed to a ghastly lividness. His body and limbs gave a spasmodic twist of agony, and he fell back a breathless corpse.

      The room was filled with consternation and confusion. Martialis, with a horrible suspicion, sprang up and encircled his friend. Slaves sped away for a physician, and the remainder, together with the guests, gathered round the dead Apicius with startled looks.

      ‘Come!’ said Sejanus to Afer in a low voice, ‘we can do nothing here but waste time. Apicius has given the signal to depart. His only true friend will attend to him – the slaves will probably see to the house – and themselves.’

      ‘The fool,’ muttered Afer, following the imperial minister out of the room, ‘he has lost his fortune and dies – I go to get one and live.’

      The company fast melted away. Charinus, with haughty, measured step, and sublimity of indifference on his unruffled face. Pansa, stupefied with wine and fright, leaning on the necks of his slaves, who, indeed, nearly carried him. Torquatus, with a keen eye for any movables and an opportunity. So they departed to blow this strange business over the city.

      A group of frightened domestics remained huddled in one corner of the room. Martialis waved them away, and he was left, amid the gold and glitter of the chamber of death, bending and sobbing alone, over the dead body of his friend.

      CHAPTER IV

      The entrance of one of the household domestics, bringing a physician, roused the young man from the first stupor of his shocked feelings. He rose to his feet and assumed a stoical calmness.

      ‘I am a physician,’ said the new-comer, breathing somewhat heavily, by reason of the pace at which the slave had hurried him thither. Martialis made a gesture toward the dead man and sank his chin on his breast. It needed no more than a moment for the practised eye of the mediciner to see that life had been suddenly and utterly snatched away.

      ‘I can do nothing,’ said he, letting the hand of Apicius fall. ‘Out of which cup did he drink?’

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