Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

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СКАЧАТЬ the path had been limited by veneration for the spot and the bare requirements of the work. This was a barrier on one hand which required considerable agility to surmount. On the opposite side the face of the hill continued to slope downward from the edge of the path into the dark depths of the grove, which the moonlight was unable to penetrate. It was one of those silent, secluded, mysterious spots, rich in tradition, which were fast disappearing before the relentless march of the spreading city.

      A few paces within it stood a large square altar, dedicated to the deity of the grove. Its sculptured figures were indistinct, and worn by centuries of elementary strife. The hoary trees surrounded and spread their branching arms far above it. The silvery rays of Diana slipped through upon it, and it stood, barred with light and shadow, in its sylvan loneliness – ghostly, mysterious, and, as one might fancy, meditating on the memories of generations.

      It was to this spot the party led by Cestus now approached. The hour was growing late according to the habits of people then. The road, never very busy at any time, was deserted, and the dwellings had ceased before they reached the sacred grove.

      They walked on until they arrived within eighty or ninety yards of the ancient altar. Fabricius was busy balancing his hopes against the logic of his experiences, and his slaves were, no doubt, cursing the whim of their master, in bringing them out on such a nocturnal expedition. Suddenly Cestus, who had beguiled the way by an intermittent conversation with his companion Pannicus, picked up a stone, and flung it vigorously, as far as he could, among the branches of the trees, in the direction of the altar, which they were approaching. The pebble rattled among the twigs, and fell, with a thud, on the turfy sod beneath.

      ‘What now, good fellow?’ cried Fabricius from behind, ‘has your day’s labour not given you sufficient exercise?’

      ‘Dost not see it?’ said Cestus, pointing to the tops of the trees, – ‘an owl! shu!’ And he made a loud noise and flung another stone.

      ‘Hush, man – you will stir the goddess of the grove – leave the owls in peace!’ said Fabricius.

      Cestus accordingly desisted, having done as much as he required. In a few strides they were opposite the altar. The Suburan stopped, and wheeled round so suddenly, that the old Senator and his two slaves well-nigh ran against him.

      ‘What now, man – what possesses you?’ said Fabricius sharply.

      ‘One minute, so please you, to pray to the goddess for my poor comrade?’ asked Cestus.

      ‘Go, then!’ replied Fabricius in a gentle tone, and the pretended workman stepped aside to the altar, where he appeared to engage himself in devotion. He prayed, as follows, in whispered tones:

      ‘Are you all there, and ready?’

      A murmur and a voice rose from the thick shadow of the stones, ‘Ready, ay, and sick of waiting – are they yonder?’

      ‘Three dogs of slaves who will run at a shout, and the old man himself. I have come, on leave, for a minute to pray for a sick comrade to get better who died five years ago. When we move on I shall whistle, and then come you on our backs like four thunderbolts.’

      Having said this Cestus turned to go back, when a sibilant ‘sh!’ detained him.

      ‘Wait, Cestus, I think I hear horses’ feet, and the game will be spoiled – hark!’

      But Cestus was either not so keen of hearing, or else was too impatient to make a speedy end of the business, so that, after listening for a brief second or two, he snarled in reply, ‘What horses, you fool; there are no horses out this time of the night, on this road – just as likely the goddess herself – be ready for the whistle!’

      With that he rejoined the party, who were resting unconscious of such a dangerous trap. They had scarcely taken half a dozen steps onward, when Cestus gave his signal, shrill and sudden. Four forms leaped like tigers from the shadow of the altar and fell on the affrighted slaves. Cestus himself bounded on Fabricius. At the same time the figure, which had dogged their steps from the Janiculum, leaped down from the rock-wall of the road and stood apart to watch. Two of the slaves had fallen in the sudden onslaught, but the third had managed to escape at the top of his speed. Fabricius, who, in despite of his age, retained yet a large use of his keen senses and bodily activity, had taken sufficient warning to raise his staff, and meet the charge of Cestus with a vigorous blow. The ruffian staggered, and the moonbeams flashed upon the polished blade of a weapon, which was dashed from his hand by the lucky stroke.

      ‘Wretch!’ the old man shouted, when a blow from behind felled him senseless. Cestus, furious with rage and pain, belched forth a frightful imprecation. His right arm was benumbed or broken, and he stooped for his knife with his other hand.

      Not far away was a sharp turn in the road. The tramp of horses and the jingle of accoutrements smote on their ears.

      ‘Bungling fool!’ hissed the mysterious figure, springing forward to complete the work in which, so far, the Suburan had been foiled. But he was met, and rudely thrust back by the powerful arm of the confederate who had knocked the Senator down from behind.

      ‘Take your time, my lad,’ bellowed that individual hoarsely, ‘he’s more mine than yours.’

      The slash of a poniard was the answer, and they closed in a struggle, when the others suddenly raised a cry of ‘Cave!’ and fled in all directions into the recesses of the wood. A body of horsemen had rounded the bend in the road and was almost upon them. They were in military attire, and the moon glittered on their polished helmets and the trappings of the horses. The foremost trooper immediately sprang to the ground and rushed forward, followed by two or three more. The struggling men parted and darted into the grove after their companions, whilst the foremost of the new-comers, singling out Cestus, followed him at the top of his speed. He was in a few moments hard upon the heels of the Suburan, who strained every nerve in fear of his pursuer, who possessed a far fleeter foot than himself. Fortune favoured him just at the critical moment, when, in terror, he seemed to feel a hand upon his collar. The outgrowing, straggling roots of a tree tripped the foot of the trooper, and he flew, with a dire crash, to the ground. The fall was so violent that he lay for a few seconds stunned. When he picked himself up, the whole of the flying vagabonds had disappeared among the gloomy boles, like water through a sieve, leaving neither trace nor sound behind. He shook himself with a laugh, and gathering up his brazen helmet, walked back to the road. Some others of the troop were here dismounted, using their best efforts to revive the unconscious Fabricius. Flasks were produced; wine and water were poured into his mouth and rubbed on his temples. The two inanimate slaves were laid side by side until a helmet full of water could be brought from a neighbouring fountain to be dashed upon them.

      The soldier we have particularised knelt down beside the prostrate Fabricius. ‘Is he badly hurt?’ he asked.

      ‘It is hard to say, Centurion; but, dead or not, it is a man of the Senate,’ replied the comrade, who was bathing the old man’s forehead.

      ‘Humph!’ said the Centurion, ‘is, or was, rather – he wears only the narrow band. However, he is worth the trouble of a few minutes. Do your best. Do you object to wait for a brief time, Drusus?’

      This question was addressed to one who sat motionless on his horse close by. Leading reins were attached to his charger’s bridle and held by a mounted soldier on each side.

      ‘No!’ replied this person, ‘I hold this delay as kind and fortunate, for the pleasant moonlight and the sweet air of heaven will soon know me no more.’

      Fabricius soon showed symptoms of life, and then his recovery was rapid. He sat up and glanced around. СКАЧАТЬ