Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ had thrown it. He put his nose to it and sniffed the dregs. There was no odour but that of wine, yet the man of science shrugged his shoulders significantly.

      ‘There still remains in the cup enough for the death of two or three, most noble sir,’ said he.

      ‘I might do worse than try to prove your words,’ remarked Martialis bitterly.

      ‘The gods forbid! Aesculapius himself could not save you if you did!’

      ‘To whom and to what place am I to send if I should want you again?’

      ‘I should be ever grateful for your notice, noble Martialis. I am Charicles, and may be found without difficulty in the Vicus Tuscus.’

      Martialis nodded, and Charicles, with much humility and expression of sympathy, withdrew.

      ‘’Twas for himself then,’ he muttered, as he passed quickly through the deserted hall. ‘O precious drug, swift and sure as light, when did you ever fail or disgrace me!’

      The eye of Martialis fell on the casket which Apicius had bequeathed him. He stood regarding it for a few moments, and then turned to a slave who remained, and said, with renewed vigour of faculties, ‘Let the kinsfolk of Apicius be brought hither at once, if not already sent for – Plautia, his sister, Sabellus, his uncle; and go you, yourself, bring with you back, in all haste, Festus the lawyer, from nigh the forum of Caesar – haste!’

      The slave disappeared and left him once more alone. He stood and gazed on the face of the dead, and his grief broke beyond his control. Half-smothered sobs broke from his lips, and his eyes were blind with hot pouring tears.

      ‘Oh Apicius,’ he groaned, ‘if thou wert weary of the world, hadst thou so little regard for our love and companionship? This is thy retreat from men so easily found! Easy indeed – thou didst not err. All may reach it when they list, gods be praised! For in whose ear can I whisper, as I whispered in thine, all that oppressed me? Gone – gone, Apicius! Thou hast forsaken thy friend – selfish – selfish! Did you deem the void would be filled by another of your blood? Oh, miserable thought!’

      He lay stretched on a couch murmuring in broken sentences, but, as the leaden minutes lagged on, he became more composed. The sound of a voice without made him leap to his feet. The next instant the heavy curtains were thrust back, and a young, richly-attired female stepped into the apartment. Despite the crushing blow the heart of Martialis had received, it gave a bound at the entrance of the new-comer. Her stature was above the feminine standard, and her figure large and voluptuous, but perfect in symmetry and grace. Whilst giving the impression of robustness and vigour, its stately carriage admirably matched the brilliant and haughty beauty of her face. The gaze of Martialis was riveted on her. Scarcely deigning to return the look, she swept up to the suicide and bent over him. Drawing herself up again she cast her glance over the room, – the disordered table with its litter of plate and luscious fruits, fallen cups and crumpled napkins, all glittering in a jumble of confusion under the light of the huge candelabra. Thence her brilliant black eyes flashed upon him who stood by, with infatuation and misery written on his face.

      ‘Speak, Martialis, what led him to do this?’

      ‘I know no more, Plautia, but what he said before us all here but now,’ answered the young man, sweeping his hand toward the table; ‘he was tired of life – he had spent his patrimony – poverty haunted him – so he drank and died, ere one could move or speak.’

      ‘Poverty!’ echoed she. She looked round again upon the extravagance which glowed in every part of the room, and her red lips curled in scornful incredulity.

      ‘Even so,’ he rejoined.

      The farewell and eccentric gifts of the dead host to his guests were yet remaining on the table where they had been put. Her eyes rested on them in curiosity.

      ‘What are these?’ she demanded again.

      Martialis explained their presence, and, being particularly interested, she was not satisfied until she had learnt to whom each article had been appropriated.

      ‘And that he gave to you?’ said she, pointing to the bronze casket.

      ‘He did,’ replied Martialis.

      ‘Know you what it contains?’

      ‘I can only guess.’

      ‘Well?’

      ‘With his last breath he bequeathed to me all that remains of his effects. The box, doubtless, contains the documents relating thereto,’ said the young man, in a voice trembling with emotion.

      ‘Doubtless – you were his nearest friend and companion,’ remarked the lady; ‘of me, his sister, doubtless, he said nothing. What little there was in common between us was not much tempered with love and good-humour.’

      ‘Alas, Plautia, take what there is! I want it not – I would give it a hundred times over to gain one kind look from your eyes. He was your brother – born of the same mother – to me he was more than a brother. There he lies before us. Cannot his dead body, bereft of likes and dislikes, soften your heart to me who loved him most?’

      ‘Martialis, you knew his intention before this night,’ said she, disregarding his pleading tone as she would the whining of a dog.

      ‘No, before Heaven – or maybe we had never seen this bitter night.’

      ‘’Tis strange, and you two secretless friends, as I have heard you say.’

      ‘This, at least, was dark to me, as to every one else, until he drank from yon fatal cup and fell back where he lies.’

      Plautia took up the cup from the table where Charicles had placed it, and, with a natural curiosity, smelled at it, as he had done.

      ‘Take care!’ ejaculated Martialis, as the golden rim seemed to graze her ripe lips. ‘There is yet sufficient left to harm more than one – so the physician has said – beware lest a drop smear thy lip.’

      ‘Tush, Martialis! – I am not so tired of life,’ she replied contemptuously, setting down the goblet; ‘who comes?’

      ‘Festus, the lawyer, or thy uncle, Sabellus.’

      ‘Festus?’

      He pointed to the box, and, at the same time, an old man entered, wrinkled, grave, and thin. He made a profound obeisance, and then looked inquiringly from one to the other.

      ‘Martialis summoned thee, he hath need of thee, Festus,’ exclaimed Plautia haughtily; and, passing to the door, she summoned the domestics.

      ‘It is true I sent for thee,’ said Martialis briefly.

      ‘This is a woeful sight,’ said the lawyer, as the slaves crowded in, and, under the directions of the lady, lifted their dead master and bore him away to his own room. ‘It was only this very morn that I saw him and spoke with him in the forum of Caesar, as well and content as ever he was, to all seeming.’

      Martialis took the key of the casket and placed it in the lawyer’s hand.

      ‘Open the box – it was the gift of Apicius to me, his friend.’

      Plautia took up her position on one of the couches, stretching her magnificent form on the place and cushions which had before been occupied by Sejanus the Prefect. СКАЧАТЬ