Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘you do me too much honour, lady.’

      As he relieved her of the pitcher, he would have been scarcely human not to have dwelt with admiration on her brilliant beauty, which was unusually flushed and animated. She parted with the jar, and, at the same time, flashed a glowing glance upon him with her lustrous eyes.

      He turned round from those dangerous orbs to fill with the wine the nearest cup which stood on the table. The eyes of his brother Caius suddenly gleamed with a hard, steel-like glint, and his face turned, simultaneously, deathly white. Lucius half turned as he raised to drink from the cup he had filled. The bumper had barely reached his lips when a scream burst from the throat of Plautia. With the cry she sprang forward and dashed the vessel from his hand on to the polished floor. The wine splashed them both and the goblet fell with such violence as to be dented. It was that one which had already played such a fatal part that night.

      Transfixed with astonishment the Centurion gazed upon the beautiful girl, whose face crimsoned and paled, and whose bosom heaved and fell tumultuously.

      ‘It was the cup – the poisoned cup!’ ejaculated she.

      ‘The poisoned cup!’ cried he, looking with increased surprise from one to the other.

      A terrible revulsion of feeling swept through, and shook, the frame of the elder Martialis. At the look of his brother he gave a hysterical gasp and dropped his head into his hands.

      Plautia pointed to the fallen goblet with an impressive gesture, and said, ‘It has already taken the life of one man this night. Had you drunk therefrom you would have shared his fate. That cup yet reeks of the fatal drug. Though I saw you not fill it, fortune be praised that my poor eyes perceived it ere your lips touched its horrid brim.’

      ‘How, the death of a man?’ repeated the bewildered Centurion.

      ‘Even so! From that very cup at the close of this night’s feast,’ said she, waving her hand over the glittering disorder of the table, ‘Apicius, of his own will, drank a poisoned draught.’

      The young soldier was horror-struck. He looked around and shuddered.

      ‘Apicius – poisoned himself!’ he muttered. ‘This is a dreadful tale – and for what reason, in the name of the gods?’

      ‘Your brother can tell you better than I – he was his bosom friend, and, moreover, was present,’ answered Plautia, turning away, as if to hide a sudden burst of feeling.

      ‘Nay!’ said Lucius hastily, and with deep sympathy, ‘I will trouble you no more with my presence. I will learn, in sad time enough, the terrible tale – I would spare you the pain of a fresh recital. Alas, I dreamt not what had happened, and yet I remarked it strange that Apicius was not here. You will pardon me, Plautia. ’Tis a sudden and bitter blow – farewell!’

      He gathered up his cloak, and, as he turned to the door, he spurned the goblet with his foot, muttering some expressions of abhorrence and disgust.

      ‘Stay, Centurion,’ said Plautia, ‘go not without quenching your thirst. If I was lucky enough to rob you of your first draught, here is wine enough, and of the purest.’

      While she spoke, she quickly filled another drinking vessel with wine and water.

      ‘See,’ she said, coming forward with it, ‘I will be answerable for it. Drink without fear – I will be your taster.’

      She accordingly drank two or three mouthfuls and offered him the ample remainder. He drank as briefly as herself and merely out of courtesy.

      ‘You said you were thirsty.’

      ‘I was. It seems to have left me.’

      ‘Had you drunk before, you would have been, now, far beyond all thirst on earth.’

      ‘I am indebted to your keen eye and prompt arm for my life, therefore. I trust chance may enable me, some day, to repay the debt.’

      ‘Tush, Centurion, you are jesting. You, the Pretorian Achilles, acknowledging to the hand of a weak girl!’

      The young man bowed coldly, for the style of the speech was not very agreeable to his mind.

      ‘Farewell, Plautia. I trust you may speedily find comfort in your affliction. Do you come, brother? My way lies with yours for a space.’

      Caius shook his head.

      ‘Nay!’ said Plautia, ‘he must remain, where my brother hath left him, in charge. But I will beg your escort, Centurion, as far as you will give it, through the streets; for I came hither in haste, with scarce a follower.’

      ‘That shall be my task, Plautia. It belongs to me rather than to him,’ interposed Caius, starting up fiercely.

      ‘To whomsoever I choose to give it,’ said the lady, with an accent of supreme haughtiness.

      ‘It must be as Caius says, nevertheless,’ observed the Centurion quickly. ‘I have that about me which must be delivered without further delay, and I have dallied too long already. Forgive me the discourtesy, lady, for my duty must take me back to the camp, in such direction and haste as would prove inconvenient to you. It is unavoidable, and I must risk your displeasure in deference to my business. Farewell!’

      Bowing toward her, the Pretorian abruptly left the apartment and the house. Plautia bit her lip and clenched her hand; and, when the voice of Caius uttered some remark, she turned suddenly and fiercely upon him. She shot a basilisk glance upon him and pointed, without a word, to the jewelled cup on the floor. His cheek paled and his eyes wavered, and finally fell before the incisive eloquence of her look and gesture.

      He essayed to speak and move toward her, but an imperious wave of her hand rooted him to his place in confusion. The next instant she was gone, and he was left, once more alone, to wrestle with the tortures of remorse, jealousy, and despair, which writhed together on the cold background of his grief.

      His brother, on quitting the gloomy house of Apicius, turned his tireless steps toward the permanent fortified camp, or barracks, which had been formed by the present emperor to accommodate the household troops, on the north-east edge of the city, beyond the slope of the Viminal and Esquiline and the wall of Servius. His road lay tolerably straight across the city, under the Carinae, partly through the Subura, and finally along the Vicus Patricius, which followed the valley between the Esquiline and Viminal hills. Then, directly in front of him, rose the ramparts and walls which harboured about ten thousand horse and foot.

      The origin of these celebrated troops is said to rest with Scipio Africanus, who, in the first instance, formed a company of picked men to guard his person. This cohort was exempted from all other duty and was granted larger pay. Their number was increased from time to time, until the Emperor Augustus established them in cohorts of a thousand men each, horse and foot, to protect his power and person. They were chosen only from Italy and the old colonies, and we have already hinted at their superior privileges, pay, and equipment. Careful to avoid any appearance of despotism, Augustus retained only a small portion of them in Rome, and scattered the rest among the neighbouring towns. It remained for the fears or craft of the Emperor, his successor, from whom our young Centurion now bore a despatch in his breast, to assemble them all into one body within their strong, fortified camp in Rome, thus fairly starting them on their future path, in which they rivalled the janissaries of the eastern emperors in making and unmaking the rulers of the empire.

      Of these troops Sejanus was the commander, and entering the camp, the Centurion proceeded СКАЧАТЬ