Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

CHAPTER I

Whatsoever change may have been wrought in the rugged isle of Capreae by the neglect, or the hand, of man, during the long ages since the days of Imperial fame and favour, we can be sure, as we survey the sea-girt spot from one of its rocky eminences, that we look upon the same outlines and formation of nature as met the eyes of humble fisherman and jaded patrician of antiquity. A low-lying sandy shore appears and disappears in the lapse of centuries. What was once a sandy strand, worn by the waves, grated by the keels of ships, and pressed by the busy feet of citizens a thousand years ago, is now, perhaps, an inland region of cultivated fields lying around a sleepy town. What was once a green plain, ages ago, is now the sandy bottom of a waste of waters. But the rocky face of Capreae is unchanged and changeless. Its flinty cliffs rise sheer from the blue sea; beaten by the waves, but imperishable. At their feet are the natural caves and grottoes which have been discovered from time to time in modern days, and pointed out as marvels, when lo! on inspection, they are found to have been better known and more frequented in the olden time.

There, starting out of the sea, lie, in a row, three huge detached crags, as if they had been torn from the cliffs and hurled beneath – abrupt, impregnable, immutable, as in the day when they saw the ships of the fabled Aeneas sail by on their way to found a mighty empire.

What an ephemeral existence to theirs was that of the Pharos which once stood adjacent, and, nightly, cast a gleam from its lofty lantern upon their jagged tops, maybe for a long space of generations!

And, see, on the summit of one of them rest the remains of a Roman tomb, which arouse strange wonderings as to the being of antiquity whose spirit desired such an isolated, inviolable spot for a last resting-place!

On the summits of the hills, in the valleys, even under the pellucid water of the marge, are yet remaining the traces of the magnificence which sprang at the Imperial nod to adorn this lovely island, in the period when the Caesars sought it as a secluded residence. The traces are but small of the much that is known to have once been; but, as the eye roves from one elevation to another, over the luxuriant gardens, vineyards, and orange plantations which carpet the valleys and clothe the terraced slopes, we can picture to our imaginations the palaces and groves of Imperial luxury, and, if tradition speak truth, of Imperial vice.

CHAPTER II

A few weeks subsequent to the last related circumstances of our story, Domitius Afer, with nothing better to occupy his time, on a certain afternoon, indulged an inclination for gentle exercise and solitary reflection, and took his meditative way up the gradual ascent which led to the eastern cliffs of the island of Capreae. The highest elevation at this end of the island is the extreme north-eastern promontory. Thereon stood an extensive villa of the Emperor, which formed, for the most part, his favourite residence. The suspicious nature of Tiberius had not deemed its erection complete and satisfactory until it had been surrounded by what an ordinary observer might have deemed the superfluity of a strong fortification. It stood there in all the glory of its new, gleaming, white masonry – a pile wellnigh impregnable to anything but starvation, surveying island and sea and mainland for leagues, with the waves roaring a thousand feet below around the base of the perpendicular cliffs. This residence bore the name of the villa of Jove, and, although it claimed preference, on account of the magnificent prospect which it enjoyed, together with the natural strength of its position, it was only one of some dozen which had arisen at the Emperor’s bidding, or were building, in various parts of the island, each of them named after a deity. Thus the ruler of the world was enabled to change his abode according to his whim, or oftener, perhaps, to the workings of his subtle, mistrustful spirit.

Leaving this favoured retreat of the Emperor on his left hand, the knight went some distance further along the brow of the cliffs, and wrapping his cloak closer around him, he sat down in a nook of the limestone cliffs in order to indulge more fully in a fit of abstraction. The scene, which was displayed before him, has excited the raptures of gazers of all ages. But it was the better fortune of those of antiquity to be able to see it at its brightest, when its natural loveliness was embellished by the citizens of an empire in the fulness of its power and wealth, and ere a most melancholy-famous eruption of nature had cruelly defaced it for ever.

So precipitous were the cliffs upon which the feet of the Roman knight rested, that a stone, flung from beside him, would have dropped plumb into the waters below. Thence, from this point of vantage, the delighted eye drank in the matchless panorama which circled before it under the clearest of skies.

Far on the extreme left, out of the blue waters, glimmered the green isle of Aenaria, some sixteen miles away, together with the low-lying islet of Prochyta. Scarcely severed from the latter, rose the famous promontory of Misenum, harbouring an Imperial fleet, and crowned by a Lucullan villa, ere long the death-scene of its Imperial owner. Baiae nestled close by, on the lovely inlet which dented the palace-covered shore. After which Puteoli, the queen of commerce, the focus of the foreign-going galleys – one of the most frequented doors of Rome, with its mole, and its docks, and busy quays. Then Neapolis, in the centre of the semicircle, and, still nigher round the curving shore, the vine-clad slopes of high Vesuvius, with ill-fated Herculaneum and Pompeii resting at its foot, on the brim of the sparkling waters. Surrentum, in the green nook of its sheltering hills, lay hid, but its cape, reaching out to within three miles of our island, forms the southern horn of the crescent. The peaceful mountain in the midst, so luxuriant with verdure, as yet gave no sign of the blot of awful desolation with which it was about to mar for posterity the loveliest prospect in nature. Not as now, but from end to end, a continuous belt of buildings circumscribed the bay; for this enchanting strand was the favoured region for the retirement and residence of the wealthy. Villa upon villa, in thick profusion, sustained the line between village and town, until it seemed as if it were an unbroken city which gleamed so white along the circuit of the lustrous Campanian shore. Turning again to the right hand was expanded the less lovely Gulf of Paestum, with the city of the roses itself lying on its edge, far away on the opposite side. Behind the knight lay the valley of Capreae, rich and green, and shut in by a mountain barrier from the other half of the island, which was a high table-land sloping towards the north-west. Conical hills, taurubulae, as they were called, rose from this valley on either hand, crowned with buildings and clothed with foliage; whilst in the midst, which was the neck of the island, nestled a little town. Yet even this part, the lowest point, and saddle-seat, as it were, was high above the sea; and steep descents, to the north and south, led down on either coast to the only two practicable landings the precipitous shores possessed. Thus it may be seen how secluded and safe from intrusion this isolated spot of only eleven miles in circumference could be maintained. Scarcely could a man, had he the choice of the world, pitch upon such another place, where he could revel so peacefully in the beauties which nature had so lavishly clustered around, under a climate so equable and genial, as to render mere existence delicious.

But the sensations caused by such a prospect are rather for the breast of the stranger of a northern clime than for our Roman Afer, for whom life-long familiarity with the scenes described had blunted his appreciation of their beauty. Although his glance appeared to be earnestly fixed upon the opposing shore across the strait, his eyes retained that far-away expression which is produced by absorbing thought. There was sufficient within the narrow limits of the island at his back to occupy his thoughts, as it did those of the whole political world. For, in the palaces which gleamed on the summits of the hills or amid the groves of that insular retreat, were the persons of the despot himself, whose touch ruled the world; of the all-powerful, ambitious Prefect, who, as it was darkly hinted, ruled his master – as well as others of blood royal, whose youth and close affinity with Caesar rendered them the objects of a too jealous care.

But to these the mind of the knight did not at present pay any heed. His thoughts were running back to the villa on the Janiculum overlooking Rome, and were recalling the circumstances recorded in a previous chapter. The strong interest displayed by his uncle in the young Centurion gave him many a moment of uneasy mistrust. Not willing to allow the smallest communication to pass unobserved, if his jealous watchfulness could avoid it, he had stolen after the new-made friends towards the porch, and had there overheard the parting words of the aged host to his guest: ‘I shall await your return in impatience, for I long to make a son of you.’ They rang in his ears with discomforting freshness, and his face grew darker the more he pondered on them. They had been made in a generous impulse of courtesy and gratitude, he argued. It was absurd to take them literally, even though the meddlesome Pretorian had proved to be the son of an old playmate. Thus the knight proceeded, as he had often done before, in trying to soothe himself; but the logic of his arguments failed to entirely satisfy his apprehensive nature.

‘Old men take strange whims,’ he communed with himself, though without unclosing his thin lips even on that lonesome crag. ‘But then I have nothing to fear, being the only living kinsman of my worthy uncle, whose conscientious rectitude would never allow him to play false with his lawful heir, especially when that heir has been so dutiful!’ – this was a favourite joke, and his lips curved slightly. ‘But for that cursed bungler Cestus, I might have been at this present hour in the serene enjoyment of my rights, instead of biting my nails in a daily worry. Well, at least, it afforded one happy stroke of genius, which rid me, at a single thrust, of a cunning beast, whose knowledge has robbed me of at least five years of my life on the score of anxiety. Euge, it was well done! and it was a deed which had to be faced, sooner or later, for it was impossible that both could live without something of the kind happening. Let me be thankful; for if the ill performance of the business of that night led to confusion in one way, it led to an unpremeditated conclusion in another, equally as good. I am rid of the past – it concerns me no more; but of the future – pah, it worries! I am too scrupulous, too patient, too long-suffering! There are more obvious affairs bungled through and winked at in Rome every day. Meanwhile, I must watch my gay young Centurion, and do him a good turn at the first chance I have.’

These and a hundred other thoughts floated through the brain of the knight; when, as he sat, a coasting vessel, which had been approaching from the northward, attracted his attention. It came on, running before the wind, with its large square sail set full; but, from the great elevation at which the knight sat, it looked like a small insect struggling through the waves. He regarded it in a listless kind of way as it went by through the straits between the island and the mainland, but, when he saw it heave up in the wind, as if to bring to under the lee of the southern side of the island, he increased his attention to its movements at the expense of his meditations. The well-braced up sail of the galley began to shake and flap as it lost the wind under the cliffs, and it was then hauled down and the sweeps run out. The vessel, whatever its business, was, therefore, bent on making a port on the south side of the island. This was calculated to increase curiosity, inasmuch as it had passed the northern and customary landing-place, to, apparently, make use of the other, which was comparatively unused, and, in the present case, more undesirable in every way. At this moment, as he was trying to account for the cause, he heard the sound of voices approaching. Glancing round the corner of the large boulder which formed his shelter, he perceived two men hurrying from the direction of the villa, previously described, toward the south. One he intuitively recognised as Martialis, our Centurion, of whom his thoughts were so unpleasantly full. From the rapid pace and the attention which the pair seemed to bestow upon the approaching galley below, Afer concluded that they were proceeding down to the southern landing-place, to watch the movements of the vessel, in accordance with the severe and rigorous guard which was kept over the Emperor’s island home. A few words, overheard as they passed, at a very short distance from him, confirmed this conjecture. The natural bent of his inclination to know as much as possible of what was going on around him was in the greatest measure stimulated by the monotony of island life. The growing sharpness of the evening air, moreover, prompted action, so he rose and followed in the same direction, as soon as he could do so without being observed.

The night shades were falling, and objects were beginning to wear an indistinct and uncertain shape. The Campanian shores were already dim, but the mountains behind heaved in dark purple masses against the clear heavens. The valley of Capreae lay in the dusk of its groves, backed by the clear-cut, towering peak of the island mountain, over which hung the slender crescent of a young silver moon in the luminous flush of the western sky. The faint, wan rays of the satellite rendered the light only more ghostly and uncertain, save on the uplifted summit of the cliffs, where the white masonry of the villa Jovis gleamed with a pale illumination. Following the footsteps of Martialis and his companion, Afer, with scarcely less rapid step, soon quitted the cliffs, and, after crossing a small valley, arrived at the foot of one of those conical hills before mentioned. Skirting the base of this, he came out upon an elevation, wherefrom he could see to which point the vessel was tending. Having satisfied himself on this point, that she was undoubtedly making for the landing-place below, he once more made his devious and steep, not to say difficult, way down to the rocky strand. He debouched at last, by a zigzag flight of steps cut out of the rock, upon a little strip of stony beach, encumbered by large boulders, of which one or two were fragments of huge dimensions. To the westward loomed the large forms of the three detached rocks lying in the sea, one beyond the other, like gigantic stepping-stones, and passing now by these the knight observed the slowly approaching galley. It was as much as he was able to do, for the gloom was fast merging into darkness. Several fishing-boats were drawn up on the pebbly beach, and, at the foot of the steps, a portion of rock had been excavated and turned into a shelter-house, or coastguard station. In the dark shadow of this Afer noticed, as he expected, the forms of some watchers, and as he was already sufficiently near to hear and see all that occurred, he quietly arrested his steps, and refrained from subjecting himself to an inquisitive scrutiny. The watchers awaited in silence, broken only by whispers, and listened to the slow measured clank of the sweeps which sounded across the calm water from the approaching galley. She came tolerably close in shore, and forged ahead past their lurking-place for some distance. Then the strokes of the cumbersome oars ceased, and the tones of a voice in command came over the water. The hollow plunge of an anchor immediately followed, and all dropped into silence for a time.

The watchers now left their shelter, and went forward along the beach. Arriving at a small creek, at the base of one of the large boulders before described, they halted, and once again clustered in the shade.

A rattling on board the galley, followed by a splash, struck their ears, and in a few minutes more, the proof of the justness of their dispositions appeared, in the shape of a small boat, directed with vigorous strokes toward their station.

‘Gently! just to the left of that biggest rock, and you can run us ashore,’ said a voice in the boat. Under this guidance the oarsman sent the keel of the little bark grating on the pebbles. ‘So,’ uttered the voice again, ‘that is perfection; and now we will go on shore, and you will not be sorry, I warrant, lady.’

A man leaped on land, and then helped two female forms to follow.

When they were quite clear of the boat they found themselves surrounded by the party which had been awaiting them. The masked lanterns which the latter carried were uncovered, and cast a stream of light upon the features of the new arrivals. The two females, closely hooded, shrank away, with sudden fear to still further hide their faces; but the man was heard to laugh behind his cloak, which he had raised before his features.

‘You are amused,’ said Martialis, who was the foremost of the guard. ‘Who are you, and why are you here?’

At the sound of his voice, one of the muffled females started and swerved, so as to obtain a glance at the speaker, whilst, at the same time, her male companion dropped his cloak, and disclosed the handsome, swarthy, and smiling features of Tigellinus.

An expression of disgust crossed the face of his questioner. A murmur and a slight laugh broke from his comrades.

‘A fair night to you, Centurion,’ answered Tigellinus; ‘I thought the shadow of that rock would hold some of you – it usually does. But you are not so well acquainted with me as some of the regular folk of the island.’

‘A misfortune for me, doubtless,’ responded Martialis. ‘You have authority, I believe, to come and go at will?’

‘Quite right, Centurion, I have, – as well as for whatever merchandise I can bring along with me. I go at once to my royal patron to offer what I have for his approval. I am afraid I must rob you of one of your men, Centurion, to go on an errand to the villa Jovis; I am sorry, but it is for Caesar’s sake, whom we must all obey. Had I been going thither myself direct, I might have spared the legs of some one else, but, you see, I have to look after the wellbeing of my two friends here.’

‘The men are there at your service. You need not be at so much pains to excuse the trouble you feel called upon to give,’ said Martialis, with a frown at the man’s impertinence and vulgar assumption of importance.

‘Thanks, Centurion, much,’ responded Tigellinus; ‘then, with your kind permission, I will ask my good friend Rufus, whom I see there, to go on my errand.’

Singling out a certain man from amongst the guard, he took him aside and imparted his injunctions. The man departed, and Tigellinus turned round and said: ‘In which palace does Caesar rest at present, Centurion?’

‘In the villa of Neptune,’ returned Martialis briefly, turning to leave the shore.

‘The villa of Neptune!’ echoed the other, with a grimace. ‘Just my luck! Of course, when I come on shore, I must needs find my patron in the furthest corner of the island, at the far end of the most toilsome path – humph! And the Prefect, the mighty Sejanus, your commander, Centurion? – Proud-stomached puppy!’

The last expression was not applied to the dreaded Prefect, but, in an undertone, to the contemptuous back which the young officer had abruptly turned upon him.

‘’Tis the pampered creature of the pampered master,’ he muttered sneeringly to himself, ‘but there is a day in store for them, or I am mistaken. Tell me then quickly, where is the Prefect lodging in this island of palaces? with which of the gods does he at present reside, if the Caesar lives with Neptune?’

This last question, loudly asked, was answered by one of the coastguard men, to the effect that the Prefect was housed, with his retinue, in the villa dedicated to Mercury, which stood on the hill, on the north side, overlooking the town and the Marina.

‘Take us not to the Mercury of the Prefect, nor yet the Neptune of Caesar,’ said the guarded voice of one of the heavily-shrouded females, in his ear; ‘but to the lares and penates of some humble and obscure islander, where we may rest unnoticed and secure.’

‘If that be your wish, noble lady, you had better retire at once into one of the grottoes of the cliffs,’ replied Tigellinus, ‘for on this mite of an island everything is known; and one cannot hope to live on its face and remain secret. This is not Rome, but a tiny spot, where want of occupation renders everybody and their business the concern of everybody else. It is a strange place, and one not lightly to be meddled with, as no doubt you will discover before you are quit of it, my lady.’

The merchant, or whatever he was, gave a laugh.

‘Spare your remarks, and do as I bid you,’ said Plautia, for it was no other than she, who, together with a slave, had thus carried out her intention of visiting Capreae; ‘you know to whom you are answerable for my safe and secret conveyance to this spot.’

‘Perfectly well, noble Plau – ’

‘Silence; you have already said sufficient, and it is unnecessary for your lips to speak my name at any time – still less in this spot. Come, let us dally here no longer.’

‘I will but give a few directions to these fellows concerning the landing of my merchandise to-night, and then I will proceed with you speedily.’

Stepping up to one of the coastguards, he spent a minute in conversation. Then he intimated he was ready, and proceeded up the steps before described, followed by the adventurous lady and her maid.

No item of all this scene escaped the keen senses of Afer, who had varied his position in accordance with the circumstances. Every outspoken word he had heard, and whatever the furtive flash of the lanterns had revealed, he had duly observed.

Surprised with what he had witnessed, and still more puzzled to account for such an unexpected visitor, he lost no time in following up the path taken by the females and their escort.

‘I might have known that yon galley bore something strange about her,’ he murmured to himself as he went along, ‘but for the fair Plautia to skip ashore on the sly in Capreae, was a thing undreamt of. What brings her here? She comes in brave company, however, and she seems to know it; but whether she is here on Caesar’s account, or the Prefect’s, or her own, remains to be seen. The presence of the worthy Tigellinus seems to smack of Tiberius. Sejanus would hardly risk his billing and cooing with his royal sweetheart by such a presence. But, whatever be the reason, she seems to agree wonderfully with the arrangement. Time will soon show everything.’

Having climbed up to the level road above, a very few minutes brought them upon the verge of the little town of Capreae, when Tigellinus swerved to the left, which caused them to avoid the houses. This turn led them once more back to the south shore, or rather to the steep cliffs which formed the coast-line. Tigellinus proceeded to the extreme edge, where they came suddenly upon a low, flat-roofed house, flanked by fruit-trees and gardens, and nestling behind a face of the hill which rose up behind it.

After a sharp knock, the self-designated merchant entered the house, followed by the two females. The knight, who dogged their steps, waited, and when, after a lapse of a few minutes, Tigellinus came out alone, and went rapidly past him in the gloom, he also wended his way toward the town, where he had his lodging. ‘A very snug retreat, and now I suppose the jackal is off to the lion,’ he said.

CHAPTER III

Afer’s idea with regard to the movements of the jackal, as he termed him, was shrewdly correct, for Tigellinus bent his steps without further delay towards the villa of Neptune. The path was far from being an easy one. There was the high mountain barrier towering above him and separating him from the table-land, which sloped towards the north-west, upon the furthest verge of which the villa of the Emperor rested. He, therefore, decided to shift part of the burden of his toil upon some other shoulders. For that purpose he passed through the town and descended to the Marina proper on the north side, where he commanded a boatman to row him to his destination. His word seemed to carry as much authority with the fisherman as with the coastguard, since he was obeyed, although with some amount of grumbling on account of the unseasonable darkness.