Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

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      Sejanus was sitting thoughtfully in a chair, with his brows contracted and deep lines furrowing his forehead.

      ‘Ah, Martialis!’ he cried eagerly, as his eyes rested on the form of his officer; ‘I heard you had returned.’

      ‘I followed you, Prefect, to the Palatine,’ replied Lucius.

      ‘To the Palatine! Ah, then you must know what has happened there. It will be all over Rome to-morrow. You have a despatch?’

      He held out his hand, and the Centurion placed a sealed letter therein.

      Turning his back on the messenger, the Prefect tore open the cover and read the contents by the soft light of a silver lamp, which barely illuminated the luxurious apartment. Pleasure and delight straightway broke over his face like the first light of dawn shooting athwart the dark earth. He perused the epistle twice, and smoothed his countenance ere he turned to the waiting Centurion.

      ‘You have been an expeditious courier, as usual, my Lucius,’ he said, in a brisk, elated tone. ‘When did you leave Capreae?’

      Martialis related the time and particulars of his journey.

      ‘Thou art made of iron, I verily believe,’ returned the Prefect smilingly; ‘after such fatigue I am loth to use thee again. I work thee too hard; but there is another service imminent, and I would have none perform it but whom I could trust.’

      ‘I am ready. What fatigue I feel will pass with a night’s rest,’ answered his officer.

      ‘What should I do without thee? It is the willing horse gets ever the most work; but this matter is particular.’

      Then before he told his officer the nature of the service required, he proceeded to put to him a number of questions in relation to his experiences during his mission. When he had exhausted his ingenuity concerning everything he could think of, pertaining to matters in the imperial household, he relapsed into silent reflection for a few minutes, during which he paced up and down the room.

      ‘Centurion!’ he said, at length, ‘Drusus leaves Capreae and comes to Rome shortly. To-morrow, after nightfall, take a troop of twenty men and ride to Ostia. Drusus will arrive there in a galley. You must stop it and arrest him. Bring him to Rome, under guard, at night, and place him in charge of the keeper of the palace on the Palatine. All will be in readiness to receive him. Be careful and secret. Leave and enter the city by night; and, when you have completed your mission, hasten to report the same to me without delay. Now to bed!’

      Martialis was not loth to obey, and, seeking his room, was in a few minutes sleeping the profound slumber of tired limbs, an easy conscience, and bright hopes.

      CHAPTER V

      From the house of Apicius and the spectacle of his sudden and awful end Sejanus had first gone to the modest abode of Domitius Afer. There they remained closeted by themselves, engaged in earnest conversation, until shortly before the meeting of the Prefect and his officer, as described.

      Previous to this Afer had quietly sent off a message to Cestus by the Greek Erotion. That astute youth threaded the inmost haunts and foul intricacies of the Subura with sure confidence, and succeeded in discovering the object of his search, deluged with wine, and revelling in the heat of a brutal orgy, amid ruffians and women of the lowest type. Assailed by the obscene chorus of this satanic crew, the Greek, with the readiness and aptness of his race, exchanged witticisms with a fluency and smartness which equalled, if not exceeded, their own. Seizing an opportunity, he whispered into the ear of the intoxicated Cestus the instruction to meet his master in the gardens of Maecenas, on the following morning, at a particular spot, at a particular hour. The fellow, with a leer, nodded and agreed, and the young slave departed to report the result of his errand.

      The gardens of Maecenas were on the north-eastern side of the Esquiline, nor must the term gardens be accepted in the modern sense; for, to suppose that they were ornamental grounds, and duly kept in order by a staff of servants, would be misleading. They seemed to be, and there were many such in Rome, open places for the common recreation and airings of the populace. These, to which Afer repaired to keep his appointment with Cestus, had been formed by the celebrated patron of literature and art, upon ground which, hitherto, had held bad repute, as the burial-place of the lowest orders of the people. It seems, even, to have been no uncommon matter for the bodies to be thrown down and left without any covering of earth whatever. To clear this charnel ground, and change it from a horrid repository of mouldering bones and putrefying flesh into a pleasant lounge for the people, was one of the generous works of Maecenas. It lay outside, and adjoining, the ring wall of Servius, and we may conclude the place was not altogether denuded of its sepulchral memories, since it was here that Canidia, the witch of Horace, came to perform her incantations, and invoke the shades of the dead amongst the tombs.

      Though this particular part without the wall had the most need of purifying measures, and bore the most infamous memories, it did not form the whole extent of the gardens. They extended within the wall, for a certain distance along the hill, toward the city. Near this extremity was situated the noble mansion of Maecenas himself, commanding a fine prospect of the city from its windows.

      Past this dwelling, and at every step treading on ground so often pressed by the famous Roman poet and his patron, Afer took his way to await the arrival of Cestus. He passed through the Esquiline Gate of the huge rampart of Servius, and entered the outer portion of the gardens. It was the busy time of labour, and the morning itself was somewhat raw and chilly, so that very few individuals were to be seen scattered here and there over the open park. The few who did loiter about were of the class that honest labour could well spare.

      In the portion of this large tract which had been devoted to the burial of the dead, were still many tombs scattered up and down. They were grass-grown, neglected, weather-beaten, and still more defaced by the climbings, scramblings, and mischievous peltings of children and youths. Among them was one of larger size and more pretentious appearance than any other. It was circular in shape, and constructed of massive masonry, which defied all attempts at destruction. It bore no inscription, and was conspicuous for nothing but its superior bulk. There was a tradition among the people of the neighbourhood, that it marked the spot where an erring scion of a noble house had sunk so low as to meet death and burial as a common malefactor, in days past when the place was reserved for the wretched fate of the dregs of pauperism and crime. Though disowned by his outraged family during his depraved life, the death of the reprobate aroused the inextinguishable feelings of kinship. Family pride could not leave even this dishonoured member without some mark of attention due to his birth, if to nothing else; but no chisel was suffered to raise a letter or figure on the tomb which arose. Darkness and oblivion were the fittest shrouds of disgrace, and the muteness of the masonry lent a mysterious affirmation of the legend to the minds of posterity.

      It was to this prominent object the knight bent his way across the park-like gardens in the raw morning air. With many backward glances in search of the yet invisible Cestus, he finally reached the mysterious, moss-grown pile of stones, and after pacing up and down the grass for some time, with fitful and angry mutterings on the laggard’s account, he began to think of returning. Stray passengers came and went, with a solitary, melancholy air, across the bleak, empty track, but still no form answering to the powerful frame of the Suburan made its appearance.

      ‘The drunken fool has either not slept off his debauch or else not ended it,’ said Afer angrily to himself, turning his eyes for the twentieth time toward the Esquiline Gate. ‘A fine thing if I am to wait in the damp grass for a vagabond; I’ll go back: maybe I shall meet him on the way.’

      The expectation was realised. He had only gone a very short distance when his eyes were gladdened by the expected figure of the Suburan, СКАЧАТЬ