Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

CHAPTER XI

Plautia walked homeward with a sweeping haughty step, leaving her head and face exposed to the dim rays of the moon as if contemptuously careless of risk. When she reached the middle of the dusky orchard which flanked the dwelling of Tucca, she stopped short, with her head cast down, as if struck by a sudden thought. It may have been a cruelly acute flash of reflection piercing her pain-drowsied mind with spasmodic rigour, for, the next moment she sank on her knees with a smothered groan, and thence on to her face, with her arms outstretched and her hand clutching the turf. Here, in the solitude and silence of the night, the most dread hour for unhappy thoughts, she lay prone and helpless in the very lap of mental torture. Every external condition was absent which, in the light of day, might have lent distraction and relief. Her face, buried in the mossy turf, was dry-eyed; nor could the stinging pangs of wounded pride arouse a momentary diversion from the horrible oppression and stupor of despair by a fit of frenzied rage, to which her inflammable nature was at all times prone.

The time flew on. The moon sank nearer and nearer to the horizon, and was suddenly swallowed up in a craggy mass of cloud, rising and spreading upward from the western sea. It moved on swiftly and massively. Myriad after myriad of bright stars disappeared behind the hurrying edge of its pitchy mantle rolling onward, in a serrated line, from north to south. Before was the fast narrowing expanse of glittering radiance; behind the unfathomable blackness of Erebus.

Fitful, but louder murmurs swept up from the sea in place of the gentle uniform breathing of the early night, and the darkling waters shook with a brisker frolic of dancing frothy combs, and dull shimmering streaks and flashes of phosphorescent light, as if exultingly waking to the dim watchword of a twinkling storm spirit.

Still Plautia remained motionless, as if bereft of life. The gathering gloom of the outer air had thickened, amid the grove, into inky blackness impenetrable to the eye. The tree stems and boles were entirely obliterated, as well as the shape of the woman lying prostrate amid them, steeped in oblivious anguish. A sharp short gust of wind swayed the invisible branches above, and dashed noisily amongst their leaves; after which a lull, and a dreamy rustling, as in the calm depth of a summer night. Then came the fierce rush of a blast roaring amongst the branches and bending them over as with the flattening pressure of the hand of a Titan, whilst a whizzing tempest of rain and hail swept along in company, and made its shrill rattling on the leaves heard amidst the bluster. It made its way freely through, and fell, with its icy coldness, on to the bare head of her beneath. It roused her. She lifted her head; and raising herself slowly, so as to lean upon her hands, she gazed stupidly into the Stygian blackness which enveloped her. The roar of the storm filled her ears, whereas her last remembrance was of the calm stars and moonlight. Her mind re-asserted itself, and recovered from the bonds of its torture-bed for the present, as from a dread nightmare.

Shivering, she raised her chilled limbs from the ground, and, pulling her cloak around her head, she stood, amid the roar and dashing of the elements, striving to pierce the darkness and determine in which direction to grope her way from the grove. Failing in this she stooped to feel for the narrow footpath worn in the short grass. She was successful, and, assuming that the storm proceeded from the open sea, and consequently more or less from the direction of Tucca’s cottage, she commenced the tardy, troublesome, but necessitous process of following up the path, in the face of the wind, by the assiduous touch of her fingers, in a stooping and sometimes creeping posture.

When she had gone a few yards in this toilsome manner she caught sight of a glimmering light. It disappeared, and she called at the top of her voice, but the furious roaring of the wind amid the trees rendered her tones inaudible to herself. The light reappeared much closer, and as she saw it coming to meet her she stopped. It proved to be carried by the ancient husbandman himself, attended by her faithful slave, a woman of middle age. Tucca held the lantern as much under the shelter of his sackcloth storm-cloak as was possible, in order to save its feeble flame from the wind; and as it barely gave light to their feet, and their senses were pre-occupied with the bluster of the elements, they failed to perceive the form of Plautia standing motionless in the path awaiting them. Speaking being useless, the latter stayed their steps by laying her hand on Tucca’s shoulder, so much to that individual’s sudden consternation that he very nearly dropped the lantern. Turning the struggling candle-rays up to her pale, stern face, he heaved a sigh of gratification, and, scarcely waiting for her sign to return homeward, he doubled on his track with alacrity, being too well satisfied already with his experience of the night. To cover the short distance to the house was a labour of no small difficulty in the teeth of the tempest. The light was extinguished at once, but that was of no consequence to the old man, who knew as well by night as day every inch of the homestead, where he had passed the whole of his lengthy days. Plautia held to his shoulder, and her cloak was gripped by her slave, and, in this manner, they gained the cottage, with their garments dripping and their faces smarting with the wind, rain, and hail. As soon as her voice could be heard, Plautia’s attendant began volubly to testify to her delight at the success of her expedition, in which she had almost compelled the grumbling Tucca to join; but Plautia curtly checked her and called for some wine, which she drank copiously. Tasting a mouthful of food she then retired to her room, followed by her faithful retainer, who would have given her chance of freedom to have had her burning curiosity satisfied as to the errand of her mistress that night. But the pale, pre-occupied, stern face of the lady, together with an ominous, fretful impatience of manner, daunted her, so she proceeded in silence with her duties of disrobing and preparing for rest.

Plautia lay and tossed the night through, till nearly dawn, in sleepless wretchedness. The shrieking of the storm around the creaking, shuddering cottage seemed a fitting accompaniment to the incessant gnawing of her bitter disappointment, and it was long ere sheer exhaustion brought an uneasy slumber to her relief.

A loud knocking at the outer door of the house awoke her. She could scarcely realise that her eyes had closed at all, and sat up to listen. The narrow little window, near the ceiling, was faintly luminous with the struggling light of very early day, and, though the wind was still high, it had palpably moderated. She could hear the loud, regular snore of Tucca within, as yet undisturbed by the early caller, whoever it might be; and it was not until the pounding of the door had been repeated thrice, that the slumberer’s voice was heard demanding the name and business of the visitor. Plautia’s suspicions were keenly excited, and she rose from her pallet and placed her ear to the crevice of the door.

‘Who is it, and what do you want at this time?’ asked Tucca.

‘Open the confounded door and see!’ was shouted in reply.

‘Is it you, noble Zeno?’

‘It is, noble Tucca.’

The bar of the door was undone, and Tucca said, ‘I thought it was your voice, good Zeno – come in, but don’t speak so loud lest you waken – ’

Plautia could hear no more, but she easily supplied the remainder of the speech.

‘It is just what I came to do,’ returned the other; ‘I am grieved to do it at such an unseasonable hour, on such an unseasonable morning, as well for my own sake as hers, but I have no option. Go, knock her up, and tell her who waits to speak with her. While you are doing that I will keep the cold out with a drink of your best, Tucca.’

Plautia heard the old man remove the trap-door, which covered the steps descending to his cellar, and upon his return he came and tapped at her door.

‘Well!’ she asked.

‘So please you, noble lady, I am loth to disturb you, but I am bidden to it by Zeno, Caesar’s steward, who has come to have speech with you, and waits even now.’

These words caused her an involuntary thrill. Martialis was right, and she felt that she had been betrayed. Her suspicions were confined to a very narrow range, and the angry flash of her eyes, and clenching of her hand upon her bosom, were eloquent indications which boded ill for Tigellinus. Her native dauntlessness impelled her instinctively to adopt a bold, unshrinking policy. A woman of weaker nature would probably have been tossed and whirled hither and thither amid the eddies of shuffling timidity, and finally stranded on the doomed reef of hysterical stubbornness; but Plautia’s high spirit rose with danger. The recklessness of unhappiness and despairing thoughts, moreover, is a stimulant which is apt to outrun calm fearlessness into temerity and bravado.

‘Tell Zeno, Caesar’s steward, to come again at a more fitting time of day,’ she said loudly and peremptorily.

The Greek heard, and, approaching the door of her apartment, answered for himself in the softest and most persuasive of his tones.

‘I have to crave your pardon, most gracious lady, for the untimely interruption to your sweet slumbers. But, alas! I have no option but to obey my instructions, which were to have a few words with you on behalf of Caesar.’

‘I will come.’

She quickly enveloped herself in a loose mantle and stepped forth into the main apartment, where Tucca had lighted an oil lamp to assist the gray, uncertain light of dawn. The old man himself was down on his knees, vigorously blowing at a fire he had placed in a brazier on the hearth, whilst his wife was invisible in the depths of the sleeping box or crib, opening from the other end of the room.

Zeno had withdrawn more into the centre, and saluted the appearance of Plautia with an obeisance of extreme deference. It partook of the profound humility offered to an oriental potentate, and had the dexterous Greek searched the world through he could not have found a more perfect incarnation of haughtiness than in the youthful beauty before him, who trod the earthen floor of the hovel in her deshabille, as if she were a Semiramis clad in splendour and stepping to her throne of state.

She regarded him for a few moments with a gaze such as a sovereign might have fastened upon a trembling wretch waiting for judgment. Zeno, having recovered from his deep inclination, stood with his head slightly bent and his eyes cast down to the floor with an expression of respectful attention. He was of that race so notorious in the Imperial city for its matchless facility and address in framing its face for all occasions; and it cost him no more effort to play the lowly vassal to the imperiousness confronting him, than it did to assume the petty tyrant among the frightened scullions of his household. His dissimulation, at the same time, did not interfere with the indulgence of an amount of personal vanity before the eyes of a lovely woman. He posed his slender figure in its most graceful attitude, and turned his face in the best light for the display of its symmetrical beauty and soft complexion.

‘You are sent by Caesar to me?’ began Plautia.

‘I am, gracious lady; I am the steward of his household,’ replied Zeno, in his softest voice.

‘And a Greek?’

Zeno bowed.

‘Of Athens,’ said he.

‘You must be mistaken in coming here to me.’

‘I was bidden to come to Tucca’s cottage and address myself to the noble Plautia, newly come from Rome,’ was the bland response.

‘Most strange! How could Caesar know my name and my presence here?’

‘I know not, lady, nor seek to know.’

‘I am a stranger to Tiberius in every way. There is no more about me and my business now, than there has ever been to concern him. What can he want with me?’

‘What is in Caesar’s heart Caesar’s servants dare not seek to know. To hear is to obey. But the ruler of the world has a heart for every one of his subjects; why then should Plautia, one of the most beautiful, be surprised at receiving the Imperial notice?’

Plautia smiled in lofty scorn, but the gravity of Zeno’s face was unmoved.

‘Say, then, what you have to say without further question,’ said she.

‘My master’s own lips bade me say that, having heard of your arrival, it was neither to his credit nor to his own satisfaction that so lovely and accomplished a visitor to the island of Capreae should be allowed to remain lodged in the hut of a husbandman,’ said Zeno, sweeping his hand and eyes round with an expression of disgust and contempt; ‘he therefore despatched me, at the earliest, with his greeting, and instructions to convey you to the villa Jovis, where you may command such attention as befits your position, until you think fit to bring your visit to Capreae to a close. May it please you, therefore, to attire yourself, that Caesar’s bidding may be fulfilled as quickly as possible, and that your gracious self may be rid of this vile place. The morning is stormy, but the rain has ceased, and a covered litter waits outside, in which the slaves will bear you under the shelter of the palace roof in but a few minutes.’

‘You may return at once to the palace, and tell Tiberius that I thank him for the proffer of his hospitality,’ said Plautia, in the same calm, lofty manner; ‘but my stay in Capreae is so short that this cottage will amply suffice for my accommodation for the remainder of the time. I am no less grateful to him, however.’

The steward’s face assumed an expression of deeper gravity than ever – of palpable sorrow indeed. His fingers restlessly played with the hem of his cloak during a few moments of silent hesitation, and his eyes moved uneasily from one object to another, until at last they rested, with an appealing look, upon the face of Plautia herself.

‘To do as you tell me,’ he said, – ‘to return to the palace, leaving you here, would prove my instant disgrace and ruin.’

‘What have I to do with that? I sought not to have anything to do with you or your master.’

‘I crave your pardon for speaking of my unworthy self,’ said Zeno humbly, in a lower tone. ‘It is indeed of little consequence what happens to me; but if Plautia will understand me, what I sought to impress upon her was, what she probably fully comprehends already, that Caesar’s word must be fulfilled at the cost of anything and everything if need be. I dare not return without you.’

‘Which means that my desires were never meant to be consulted – that your orders were to take me, willingly or unwillingly,’ said Plautia disdainfully. ‘Why did you not deliver your mandate at once, without all this false mockery of deference?’

‘Alas, no, by your leave, gracious Plautia, neither mandate nor mockery!’ cried the Greek, who seemed struck with horror at the idea. ‘I should deserve to die like a dog if my clumsy tongue had caused you to harbour such a thing in your mind. I should be flung from the cliffs had I dared. Ah no, therefore, I beseech you in mercy to your servant, dismiss those fatal words. Deference and homage are the natural prerogatives of Plautia; and is it possible, that a nameless slave could make a mockery of what will flow sincerely from Caesar himself? No, it cannot be!’

‘Psaw!’ uttered Plautia, impatiently turning from the histrionic abjuration of the steward. ‘Whom have you with you?’

She swept to the door, and, unlatching it, looked out upon the dismal landscape. A raw, cold wind dashed in her face; the trees tossed and waved, and the foam-streaked sea and sky seemed to mingle in a cheerless, dismal hue of gray. Under the lee of the cottage was a covered litter set down, whilst a dozen or more slaves were huddled close by, making the most of their rough woollen cloaks and the shelter of the friendly wall.

The half-closed eyes of the Greek followed her, and his lips curved in silent laughter. As she stepped back he sprang to close the door for her.

‘A few slaves only,’ he said apologetically.

‘I expected to see a gang of Pretorians with swords and chains,’ she replied, with as much sarcasm as her hauteur would admit.

Zeno suffered his humility to make bold with a smile, which disclosed his white teeth.

‘Ah no!’ he softly said, ignoring the biting allusion to swords and chains; ‘I and my slaves had the better fortune. Centurion Martialis and his Pretorians would have been as rejoiced as I am to have had the honour of escorting you, but they have privileges enough, without robbing your humble slave of a grateful task; they are even now hard at work with their exercises, as is their custom, within the walls of the villa Jovis.’

‘It is enough that I am to go with you, most worthy steward,’ returned she coldly. ‘You have more than sufficient force with you to compel me, as well as to guard me, if need be.’

Her mention of the Pretorians suggested to the Greek the artful introduction of the name of Martialis, and he raised his eyes to her face with an unconcerned glance to try and discover some effect of his words. But he was totally disappointed, and she retired at once into her own apartment.

During the colloquy the ancient Tucca had contrived to allow the fire to retain his attention, blowing a few puffs now and then to excite the sluggish flames, and piling here and there an ember, being to all appearances absorbed in the task. As the door closed upon the Roman beauty he turned up his shrivelled, leathery countenance toward the Greek with a leer, which seemed to extinguish his eyes in the dirt-engrained wrinkles of his face.

‘Worshipful Zeno!’ he chuckled, rising from his knees and lifting his filthy hands in exceeding admiration; ‘worshipful Zeno!’

‘It is all fair and smooth now, old wine-presser,’ returned Zeno in a guarded voice, giving him a playful buffet on the shoulder in high good humour. ‘What a high and mighty goddess it is! Why, the granddaughter of old Tiberius up yonder is a mere cottage girl to this! But the villa is a rare mill for such! She leaves Capreae soon – ha, ha!’

‘And you know how I helped you?’ rejoined Tucca.

‘Truly!’ replied the other, and he went to the door and signed to his slaves.

Returning, he finished his wine, and then paced thoughtfully up and down the floor till the object of his care should make her appearance. In a few minutes she entered, attired for her short journey and followed by her female slave.

‘I am ready,’ she said briefly, and Zeno opened the door.

The litter was set down opposite, and his hand drew back one curtain, whilst a slave, on bended knee, drew back the other.

As she set her foot inside a whining voice bade her ‘A fair journey.’

‘Ah, I forgot!’ said Plautia, turning back to the cringing Tucca in the doorway; ‘here is payment for my lodging.’

‘By your leave, gracious Plautia, not a sesterce!’ interposed the vigilant Zeno; ‘he shall receive his due.’

‘Yes, from me – Caesar may add what he please!’ rejoined she haughtily. ‘Stand back – I would speak with him!’

They retired a few steps at her bidding, and she held out a gold coin toward the old man.

‘Here – this for your trouble!’

He clutched the shining piece in his filthy, horned fingers with a grasp of surprise and delight, and thereupon she added in a lower tone,

‘You have betrayed me, wretch!’