Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William

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      As he passed, the knight turned round, and, pointing with his finger to draw his follower’s attention to the fact, said, with a cold smile, ‘My Cestus, when you likened the supply of my funds to the feeding of that fountain, you made a bad comparison – it is a bad omen, good and faithful man. Do you accept it? – I do.’

      Cestus was in no way behind the age in superstition.

      ‘Humph!’ muttered he, bestowing a parting glance at the dry figures and empty basin; ‘plague on the aediles for falling short of water just at this time! No matter – water, or no water! omen, or no omen! I shall still remain a faithful client to my patron.’ And he followed on with a grin. After proceeding another hundred yards Afer stopped before the porch of a dwelling, small and modest, but pleasantly situated, overlooking no small portion of the city.

      ‘Step in, man, and drink a cup of wine while we arrange terms,’ said he, with ironical politeness.

      But some suspicion was awakened in the breast of the other and he did not stir. ‘Bring it to me – I will wait here,’ said Cestus, with a shake of his head.

      ‘But you have not told me what you want.’

      ‘Six thousand will serve me.’

      ‘You are growing modest, Cestus – come and I will give it you.’

      But Cestus still refused to proceed inside the house.

      ‘Why – what do you fear?’ demanded Afer.

      ‘You said something over there, where we met, that I liked not, patron,’ returned Cestus doggedly; ‘there is something about you now that bodes no good. I will, therefore, put no wall between me and the open street.’

      ‘What I said over there was true enough,’ said the knight, drawing near and fastening upon him a peculiar look; ‘there are scores in Rome who would have said “dead men tell no tales,” and, acting on that, would have made you a breathless carcase long ago, if they had suffered the behaviour which you have favoured me with. Fool, do you think I would hurt you any more than you would harm me. No; you are as necessary to me as I to you – I have more work for you to do – come!’

      He went inside, and proceeded to one of the doorways which opened off the spacious hall, or atrium, as it was called, which had a tesselated floor and a small fountain in the midst. At the sound of his foot appeared two or three slaves to wait upon him. Cestus followed more slowly, with a keen, wary glance at the various doors and passages around, as though they might, at any moment, belch forth vassals to fasten on him. The knight lifted the curtain of an apartment and beckoned him to follow. He did so, and found himself, with no small amount of misgiving, in a small room, lighted by a narrow window of glass. There were a couple of couches, for furniture, and a small carved table, and, for ornament, three or four bronze statues of exquisite workmanship. In addition to these the walls were adorned with frescoes of mythological subjects, done by no unskilful hand. Afer, standing with the curtain still uplifted in one hand, pointed with the other to a couch, and, bidding his follower wait, disappeared. Cestus remained motionless, watching the screen of the doorway, with all his senses strained like a beast of prey, to catch the least sound. But nothing reached his ear, till, at the end of a quarter of an hour, his patron returned. He came to the table and threw a bag thereon. It jingled as it fell, and the eyes of Cestus flashed and fastened on the precious object.

      ‘There, my worthy Cestus, are six thousand sesterces; take them and use them economically.’

      The broad hand of the man fell upon the bag and thrust it away in the breast of his tunic.

      ‘What – are you not going to tell it over to see that I cheat you not?’ said Afer mockingly.

      ‘No – I can trust your counting, noble patron,’ answered Cestus hurriedly; ‘and now I will go, for I am craving with hunger.’

      ‘And thirst!’ added Afer, clapping his hands loudly.

      The echo had hardly died away when a young Greek slave entered, bearing a cup and a larger vessel of variegated glass. At a nod from his master he filled the cup with wine from the flagon and handed it to Cestus. But that individual hesitated and declined with some amount of confusion. Nothing but the direst need could have compelled him to make such a sacrifice.

      ‘I dare not drink with an empty stomach – I dare not indeed; ’tis rare wine, but allow me to go, or I shall drop from sheer want of food, most noble patron – indeed I shall!’

      ‘Then I will drink it for you, O man of tender stomach – you grow delicate,’ said Afer, with a derisive laugh; ‘fortune to us both!’

      He drained it off, and the slave disappeared with the emptied cup.

      ‘If I want thee soon I can hear of thee at the same place, Cestus?’

      ‘As usual!’

      ‘I will keep you no longer. Go and feed on the best sausages you can find.’

      ‘Thanks, noble patron – you will find me ever ready and devoted.’

      ‘As I found thee this morning. Expect to hear of me very soon.’

      With these words they emerged into the hall, and Cestus, drawing a long breath as he saw the way clear, went off at a pace which utterly belied his fainting state.

      CHAPTER III

      From the centre of his atrium Afer watched his well-furnished client retreat down the passage or lobby which led to the street, and marked, with a sour smile, the hasty stride, or almost leap, with which he vanished out of the sunlight which filled the porch. He stood a while with lips compressed, as, with a heart aching with wrath and mortification, he pondered on what had passed, on the sum of money he was lacking, and the hateful manner of its extortion. Then he turned and bade his slaves prepare to accompany him to the bath, which was an indispensable daily luxury to a Roman, and usually indulged in previous to the dinner hour.

      Though not what Rome would call a wealthy man, T. Domitius Afer was of sufficient means, and from his connection with Fabricius, we may gather, of sufficient right of birth, to rank him among the equestrian order. His house, though small, was incontestably ruled by a master possessing the somewhat rare quality of exquisite taste. Harmony and symmetry reigned over all its appointments, ordered by the still more rare magic of the hand, which rounds off the formal chilliness of perfect chastity and regularity, by an artful and timely touch of graceful negligence.

      There was no painting, statue, nor carved vase, nor couch, which might not, from its beauty and delicacy of design and finish, have had a place amid the household magnificence of Caesar. The combination of faculties which we call taste can perform wonders of delight with the meanest appliances. It requires inexhaustible resources, together with barbaric ignorance and coarseness, to shock the senses.

      Afer remained some minutes pacing up and down the atrium of his house in deep thought. Then rousing himself he beheld his slaves awaiting his departure, with towels, unguents, and other necessaries. Without further delay, therefore, he left the house and proceeded to some private baths in the neighbourhood, where he enjoyed the company of some acquaintances, as well as the physical refreshment of what moderns call a Turkish bath. When he had leisurely gone through this delightful process; when he had finally been scraped with the strigil, rubbed dry and anointed from head to foot with a perfumed unguent, his youthful Greek attendant robed him with most elaborate care to suit his exacting taste, and he left the baths to step СКАЧАТЬ