Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

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СКАЧАТЬ knight. The two slaves, who formed on this occasion the modest retinue of the traveller, had been despatched on before.

      After proceeding about nine miles from Rome, the hired vehicle was dismissed back to the city. A couple of hours before dusk Afer arrived, in a second carriage, at the outskirts of the ancient town of Fidenae, which stood on the steep banks of the Tiber, on the Salarian road, which led nearly due north from Rome. He had thus completed two sides of a triangle, and, as the first shades of evening began to gather, he began to traverse the third side in a third conveyance. The road entered the Colline Gate in the Agger of Servius; when he reached that point the dusk was thick enough to prevent recognition. Here the knight descended and paid the driver his fee; then he drew the hood of his cloak over his head, and bent his steps towards the Sublician Bridge beneath the Aventine. In less than half an hour’s rapid walking he arrived at his destination. The bridge was the oldest in Rome, and had been built by Ancus Martius, to connect the fortifications on the Janiculum with the city. It bore a sacred character, and was under especial care. Being constructed of wood, however, the increased traffic and burthens of the growing city began to overweight it. A stone bridge was then built close by, and the old one preserved as a venerable and sacred relic. In the proximity of these Afer loitered. It was now dark, and the feeble glimmering of two oil lamps, suspended in the gloom, denoted to passengers the foot of the modern bridge; its ancient fellow being buried in darkness. Across the river the lights of the Transtibertine portion of the city glimmered, extending up towards the slopes of the Janiculum Hill. Behind the knight the Aventine Mount arose with its answering gleams. The day’s toil was over, but the night was yet young, and there was sufficient stir in the city to pervade the air with a dim hum of life, broken by the tread and voices of passers-by, and the rumble of some belated waggon. Stealing silently along the pitchy stream glided the light of an occasional vessel, its hull shrouded and invisible. No one but the importunate beggars, sturdy, halt, and blind, who haunted the bridge and pestered the passengers, as yet kept the impatient knight company. Suddenly the figure of a man strode under the feeble glimmer of the lamps and bestowed a few hearty curses on the tribe of mendicants. Afer went up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.

      ‘Oh, oh!’ said the new-comer in the voice of Cestus; ‘it is you, patron!’

      ‘It is yet too early,’ replied Afer.

      ‘There are yet a few arrangements to complete, which will take up a little time,’ replied the Suburan.

      ‘Come, then, let us about it at once; the old man retires early,’ said the knight, and they disappeared in the darkness toward the Aventine.

      CHAPTER VIII

      Pleasantly situated on the commanding height of the Janiculum was the villa of Fabricius. More delightful in the enjoyment of its cool breezes during the summer heats, yet in winter or summer, the old ex-senator was seldom away from it for a whole day together. At times, however, he would yield to a desire to make the journey to visit his estates; but this was not often. His suburban villa, and not his birthplace, was the scene of his happiest days of prosperous domesticity. But that was all changed. A few select friends of old times he yet preserved and cherished. With these, and the serene consolations of a well-stocked library, he passed his uneventful days, in calm resignation, under the haunting sense of his loneliness. As he sat and brooded in the seclusion of his silent house, he conjured up the ghosts of former days; he listened to the well-remembered voices – he stirred, and all was gone again. And then, what painful sighs arose from his breast. Alas! how many such had those walls listened to!

      On this evening Fabricius sat in his winter room, before a fire which burned brightly in a brazier on the ample hearth, for the October nights were chilly. His elbow rested on a small table, whereon were lying books and writing materials. But the old man’s eyes were bent on the blazing logs, and his mind was far away in the past. The soft light of the silver lamp beside him flooded over his face, and revealed every line and wrinkle, as sharply as the level rays of the setting sun display the seams and furrows on a mountain’s breast. The native expression of courage and determination displayed by the high, bold curves of his features, was relaxed and overborne by an air of melancholy, so deep, that it seemed almost on the point of merging into actual tears had not the entrance of an old grizzled slave roused him from his reverie.

      ‘What do you say, Natta?’ he asked, not catching the domestic’s announcement.

      ‘There is a man awaiting in the porch, who wishes to see you.’

      ‘What kind of a man?’

      ‘A craftsman, I should say. He has something important to tell – so he says,’ replied the old porter, with apparent sarcasm.

      ‘Ay, ay, I know!’ sighed Fabricius. ‘No matter, bring him in.’

      The slave retired, and reappeared with Cestus, washed, clean-shaved, and wearing coarse but clean garments, such as an artisan would reserve as his holiday attire. It was full two hours since Afer had tapped him on the shoulder at the bridge below. He entered with a deep obeisance and a well-feigned nervousness and awkwardness. Natta, the slave, thought proper to remain within the door, and keep a keen eye on the visitor.

      The ex-senator’s scrutiny did not, perhaps, beget the utmost confidence, to judge by the slight and almost imperceptible contraction of his eyebrows. There was that, evidently, in the broad Teutonic cast of face and small eyes of the burly Cestus which soap and water and a razor could not remove.

      The habitual current of a man’s mind cannot, it is true, alter his features, but it charges them with an essence as readable as a printed page.

      It was, therefore, the misfortune of the physiognomy of Cestus to leave no favourable impression, for he had not as yet opened his lips.

      ‘You wish to see me,’ said Fabricius.

      ‘The noble Fabricius!’ answered Cestus, with deep humility – perhaps too deep.

      ‘I am he; your business?’

      ‘So please you, noble sir, I am nothing but a poor labourer down at the river below there, and I would never have the boldness to trouble your worship, or to set my foot across the threshold of your palace, but that I come not of my own accord, but to befriend a mate of mine who is dying.’ Cestus paused, and nervously fingered his belt.

      ‘Well!’ said Fabricius, ‘go on! You have not come on your own account, but on that of a sick friend – what next?’

      ‘It concerns you also, and I was told to tell it to you alone,’ replied Cestus, with a glance at Natta. The shadow of a smile rested on the face of Fabricius as he signed to the slave to retire. Natta, however, feigned not to observe the motion, and did not move.

      ‘You may go, Natta,’ said his master, and the old porter had no alternative but to obey, which he did, with reluctant steps and sour suspicious looks at the visitor.

      ‘Now speak,’ said Fabricius; ‘I think I could guess at the nature of your message. Has it aught to do with a domestic matter of mine?’

      ‘So please,’ replied Cestus, ‘I will tell you exactly what I was told to tell, for I know nothing more. Lupus – that is my friend – has been hurt to death by a block of marble which slipped upon him whilst it was being slung from the ship on to the quay. He sent for me to-night, and I did but clean myself and come straight to your palace. He said, “I did a deed some years ago which has lain heavy on my mind ever since – heavier even than that cursed block from Luna which fell upon me yesterday. I am going fast; there is no hope, and I must ease my mind. On the top of Janiculum there dwells a nobleman named Fabricius. Seek him, and bring him hither back with thee, that I may tell him what I did, for my mind torments me more than my crushed body. СКАЧАТЬ