Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

CHAPTER XXV

Martialis awoke, or rather came gradually to consciousness, next morning, with a dull torpor weighing on him like lead, and a brain confused and racking with pain. Zeno’s sleeping potion, whatever it was, had been mixed with a liberal hand. Memory came slowly back through the stupor which clogged his senses, and he instinctively felt for the despatches of which he had charge. They were there all right, and he turned his heavy aching head toward the little table. A jug stood thereon along with the victuals he had left untouched the night before. To his joy he found it had been replenished with water. His mouth was parched and his lips dry and cracked, and he drank with avidity. The grateful draught restored him vastly, and he also partook of some bread and fruit. Then lying back again on the bed he gave himself up to his poignant reflections, and awaited what should follow.

He had ever the most strict injunctions to deliver papers and despatches to no one but the Prefect himself, whenever he was employed as their bearer, therefore there arose the idea in his mind, and a hope also, that his commander would be one of the first to visit him, if allowed. At any rate, captive as he was, he determined not to give up his charge to any one but the Prefect himself, or to some one authorised by the Prefect, in writing, to receive the same. Thus he might be able, perhaps, to cause his commander to visit him in person, an act he was earnestly desirous of, since he hoped to gain his influence in his behalf, and more especially in that of Neæra. Of her his mind was filled with fears and imaginings which tortured him with sufferings of suspense too deep to be described. He knew nothing of the time, whether it was night or day, since he was beneath ground; but he had been lying long awake when he heard a key put into the door. To his joy his conjectures were realised by the entrance of Sejanus. The Prefect was genuinely troubled at the situation of his favourite officer, and drew from him a detailed relation of what had occurred.

‘You were ill-advised in being so bold and desperate,’ said Sejanus, shaking his head. ‘A calmer method would have been more politic.’

‘I think not, though I never stayed at the time to deliberate,’ returned Martialis sternly. ‘Being too late to deliver her ere she reached this accursed place, I knew that no escape but death remained for her – therefore I gave her the means. But for a cunning trick all had been successful, and you, Prefect, would now have been lacking a Centurion and a few Pretorians.’

‘Humph, it is better as it is, Martialis – we must have you free of this place again.’

‘Preserve her, Prefect; I care little for myself if I am assured of her safety. Do this for me, I adjure you; for I have spared nothing in your service. Pray and entreat him, and if he be still pitiless, do as I did, and find the means of providing her with a secret weapon of freedom. She will bless you as I will – promise me, Prefect, in mercy to her – to us both! The gods only know what agony of mind is mine. The torture of thinking of the pure, sweet girl in the power of those wretches above us – to imagine her shrinking in their foul, pitiless hands – oh!’ The young man shook his clenched fists and then buried his face in his hands.

His distress, and the poignant groan which closed his speech moved his commander’s heart, albeit not over sensitive in such matters.

‘My best efforts shall not be wanting,’ he replied. ‘Think better of it. It is early yet, but as soon as Caesar is stirring, I will put this matter right, depend upon it – why, I cannot do without thee.’

Martialis uttered his thanks, and, after some more questions in connection with his mission to Rome, the Prefect buckled the courier’s belt underneath his cloak and departed from the cell.

The weary time lagged on until the prisoner once more rose from his recumbent position to greet his commander, who returned with a grave look on his dark handsome face. Martialis beheld it with a failing heart.

‘I have done what I could, and have gone as far as I could, with safety; but you have provoked him in no light fashion,’ said Sejanus, shaking his head.

‘And she?’ cried the young man.

‘Well, as to her, you may rest easy. She is no longer in the palace, but has been sent away to the household of Livia for safe keeping.’

‘Thank heaven! And to you, thanks are all I am able to give for your good offices,’ cried Martialis.

His voice choked – his lip trembled. The revulsion of feeling was too much for his overstrung nature to bear, and tears stopped his voice.

‘There is nothing due to me,’ said the Prefect; ‘the transfer was already accomplished; but, being where she is, she shall not fail of careful watching. The noble Livia, as you may have heard, becomes my bride ere long.’

‘I knew it not, but wish you every joy,’ said Martialis, yet without warmth; for he could not help recalling to his thoughts the Prefect’s divorced wife Apicata, who had been frivolously put aside, no doubt to make way for his present betrothal. ‘It may be I have only a few hours to live, but the sting of death is gone since I know my Neæra is safe. Tell her, Prefect, that my last thoughts were of her and for her.’

‘Humph, Caesar is ruffled without doubt, but he does not make away with my Pretorians so easily,’ said Sejanus, with a proud curl of his lip; ‘you may leave your last will and bequest over for a space yet.’

‘It is all in your hands, Prefect,’ returned the other.

Sejanus retired, and Martialis was left once more alone with his thoughts. They were tranquil and even buoyant to what they had been, and he began to conjecture and weigh arguments in the discussion of his own case. He had no craven fear of death, but, at the same time, he was young and an ardent lover, and life had gone pleasantly with him. It cost him a deep pang to think on what might have been, and Neæra being out of peril, his hold on the hope of liberty was strengthened in spite of himself. He knew the stern relentless nature of Tiberius, but he relied on the influence of the commander, who he was certain would hazard much in his defence.

So he ruminated and turned these things over and over in his mind, wondering when he should again see the light of day. Zeno, with a guard, paid him a visit to attend to his wants, and bring him a fresh supply of provisions, but the worthy Greek was singularly uncommunicative.

When they were gone the prisoner ate and drank more heartily than he had hitherto done, and, lying down again, fell asleep.

He was awakened by a touch on his shoulder. Opening his eyes he saw, to his extreme surprise, the Emperor himself standing by his side. He started up and perceived they were alone together. His heart beat quickly, and wild thoughts began to rise. There was the tyrant defenceless before him – the cause, as he believed, of the present situation of himself and Neæra, – an old man, whom he could crush like a nutshell, delivered to his hand. Whilst his mind flamed with this idea, his eye instinctively sought the door, to ascertain whether it was closed upon them. Tiberius, meanwhile, stood motionless before him. He read the young man’s passing thoughts quite readily – not a motion or glance escaped him.

‘We are alone, and it occurs to you that I am now in your power,’ said he, with the utmost calmness; ‘I admit it.’

A flush arose to the cheek of Martialis. It needed no words of Caesar to show him that he had little to gain from such a desperate act, save a momentary satisfaction of savage revenge.

‘I have been sorely tried,’ he replied, drawing a deep breath; ‘if such an idea flashed into my mind it died on the instant – you need have no fear.’

‘I knew it,’ said Tiberius; ‘I love my Pretorians, and an officer and youth of such prowess as you have proved yourself to possess, is well worthy of the mature consideration of a ruler. The circumstances of your case are so unusual that my interest has led me to visit you personally.’

Martialis bowed his head.

‘One thing seems to demand forbearance, and that is your youth, with its hot unreasoning blood. Without thought, scruple, or calculation of a moment, you plunge headlong into my chamber, amid my guests and servants, utterly regardless of everything, in pursuit of your sweetheart, just as you would, doubtless, have rushed into the midst of a band of Satyrs.’

‘You are right – I was excited to desperation – I would have followed her anywhere – nor do I now repent,’ said the young man frankly; ‘the welfare of my betrothed is more to me than life itself.’

Tiberius nodded gently, with a countenance as impassive as the Sphinx.

‘I entreated your pardon, Caesar, for my rude intrusion into the privacy of the Imperial chamber, and I humbly submit my fault once more for your forbearance and forgiveness,’ added Martialis quickly.

‘It was a fault which set at defiance all discipline, authority, and respect. What then is the punishment? You, as a soldier, ought to know.’

‘I am well aware that my offence brings me within the extreme punishment of all. Caesar is master of life and death.’

‘Is there any reason why the penalty should not be enforced?’

‘I am ready,’ said Martialis, calmly returning the gaze of the Emperor. ‘But, as a soldier, who has ever done his duty, two requests might be mercifully granted.’

‘Name them.’

‘That I suffer no dishonourable death, and that the maiden may be returned to her people in safety and honour. Or, if these be too much, grant, at least, the latter, and deal with me as you will as regards the former.’

‘I have said that your headstrong youth claims an amount of indulgence, and I grant both requests.’

‘Thanks from my heart.’

‘Your betrothed shall not be harmed – she is now in safe keeping. There is the first condition settled.’

‘Then I am at peace.’

‘And for the other, you shall name yourself the manner of your death.’

‘A single sword-thrust here,’ said the Centurion, laying his hand over his heart. ‘I bear an old and honourable name.’

Tiberius bent a long and searching gaze upon him, and then rising to his feet, paced up and down the cell for some moments.

‘I love my Pretorians, and cannot bear to see them come to harm,’ he muttered. The words reached the ears of Martialis, whose heart throbbed with renewed hope which would not be denied. Then Caesar returned to his seat and said, ‘The Prefect has spoken to me concerning you – has he seen you here?’

‘He came for the despatches I bore,’ answered the Centurion; ‘I know he would speak favourably of me.’

‘He did so – you often act as his courier?’

‘Very frequently.’

‘I remember to have seen you before in that capacity.’

‘I have often had the honour of carrying important letters between the Prefect and yourself.’

‘Yes, you are favoured with his confidence. Do your missions ever include any diplomatic or political business?’

‘No – I know nothing of either, and have no desire to learn. My profession suffices to fill my entire attention.’

‘Good,’ said the Emperor approvingly; ‘you are a soldier, pure and simple, as you ought to be. It is all the more pity you have committed this fault.’

He rose from his seat and walked the cell again. Martialis watched him anxiously.

‘It is strange that you, a man of noble blood, should stoop to a girl of a base artisan,’ said Tiberius. ‘Do you say you are betrothed, and meant to marry her?’

‘I did,’ replied the other, with a little sternness; ‘you have already passed your word for her safety, and that is sufficient assurance: but I have reason to believe, Caesar, that she is not the potter’s child.’

‘I have already heard that – it requires proof, however – give it me,’ said Tiberius, with an incredulous smile curling his lip.

‘I cannot prove it,’ returned Martialis; ‘but at least I can tell you all I know.’

And he accordingly related the slender facts committed to him the previous night.

‘And this man, Cestus, whom she supposes to be her uncle – is he still in Surrentum?’

‘I cannot tell. But his last words were, that he would hasten away to Rome at once – I presume to reveal all to her relatives.’

‘Did he not say who these were?’

‘I should have said relative,’ replied Martialis; ‘according to his tale there is only one remaining – her grandfather, Fabricius, who lives on the Janiculum.’

‘Fabricius of the Janiculum,’ repeated Tiberius, tapping his forehead; ‘Fabricius belongs to other days, but if I am not mistaken, his heir is fully with the times. Is he not the worthy Domitius Afer, the bosom friend of the Prefect?’

Martialis was confused and silent, for he saw he had unwittingly betrayed what Cestus had particularly enjoined him to keep secret.

‘If this is so, then the tale certainly grows in interest,’ continued Tiberius, with a dark twinke of his eyes; ‘it lends it more substance and probability.’

‘I made a breach of trust in causing the name of Afer to be revealed,’ said Martialis anxiously; ‘were he to know, it might prove a risk to her.’

‘Be at peace, Centurion – I have such sympathy with the knight, that I could ill bear the matter to be interrupted for his sake.’

Caesar smiled grimly, and then his brows knitted in deep thought. He remained thus for some minutes without speaking. The young man’s heart throbbed fast, and it needed a great effort to retain an outward appearance of composure.

‘Centurion,’ said Tiberius, at length raising his head from his breast, ‘I love my Pretorians, and to deal hardly with them pains my heart. I have pondered on your case, and find much in excuse of your conduct – the inconsiderate rashness and haste of your youth, and the overwrought state of your feelings, which was only to be expected. I will not say I pardon you, but I will give you a chance of redeeming your liberty.’

The Centurion faltered out his thanks from a heart overflowing with joy.

‘Anything that may be honestly undertaken I will strain body and mind to accomplish, and prove my sense of your clemency,’ he said.

‘You will find it to your taste, Centurion,’ said Tiberius, speaking with a polished affability which proved irresistible to his astonished prisoner. ‘I propose that you busy yourself in establishing the identity of your betrothed with the granddaughter of Fabricius of the Janiculum. The fate of your endeavours will determine your own.’

Dumfounded with excess of wonder and joy, Martialis was speechless for a few moments. It seemed too good to be true, and he gazed in Caesar’s face with a lurking suspicion that, perhaps, he was, after all, the object of a bitter joke.

‘Do you accept?’ asked Tiberius, smiling.

‘Ah, if I were sure you do not jest.’

‘Should you fail in proving your point you will eventually find it no jest.’

‘It shall not be for the want of a trial – but how am I to commence, and when?’

‘Proceed on your task in the manner you think best; you shall be set at liberty to-night. Since you are so swift and faithful a courier, I will also entrust something of my own to your care. It will, therefore, be necessary for you to proceed to Rome direct. I do not choose it to be known that I have broken the law, which demands that you should be punished – it would be impolitic. It is, therefore, necessary that you depart in absolute secrecy. That will be arranged for you. At nightfall you will be removed to the villa Neptune, whither I am about to start within an hour. I will, again, see you there, and, till then, breathe not a word, or your hope will be cut off at once – nay, you must even continue to appear the downcast prisoner whose hours are numbered.’

‘I will attend to the very letter of your instructions – Caesar will never be better served,’ replied the Pretorian; ‘I only wish you gave me a better opportunity to prove my gratitude.’

‘You are hasty – you have nothing but the tale of an idle vagabond to rely on. If I were in your place, I should have preferred the chance of facing a cohort single-handed. You know the terms – consider them in the interval.’

So saying Tiberius left the cell, and Martialis flung himself on the bed to think on what had passed.

Was this the cruel Tiberius? It was hardly to be realised! It was so extraordinary that his heart failed, as the sickening thought crept into his mind that he was the victim of refined cruelty. His senses were on the alert, with an expectation which was positive pain. If Caesar were as good as his word, he would be breathing the pure air of heaven in a few hours. The thought filled him with the glowing warmth and comfort of wine. On Cestus everything depended. Had he left for Rome? Should he meet him at the house of Fabricius? Had he the proofs, as he asserted, and would they be conclusive and satisfactory to the old man? Was she really anything but the simple girl he had always known her? The potter’s wife said she never had a child of her own. Her beauty seemed never to spring from such lowly parents. She bore no resemblance to them, and her lofty courage was such as comes with the proud blood of ancient ancestry.

Thus, with a multitude of thoughts vivid and wild, presumptive, yet inconclusive, he waited and burned for the hour of his deliverance. It came, at last, in the person of Zeno and half a dozen Pretorians.

The Centurion played his part well, and asked various questions as to his destination and fate; but, when they produced bonds to fasten him, he drew back.

‘No – not those,’ said he proudly; ‘I will go with you, comrades, without giving you the trouble of a knot or a buckle.’

They assented, and presently all left the cell and marched down to the Marina. Here they took boat, and were rowed to the north-west side of the island, where the villa Neptune stood. Ascending the cliffs by a narrow flight of steps cut in the rock, they reached the level ground above and entered the villa. Martialis was conducted to a cell beneath ground, and very similar to the one he had left, save that it was somewhat larger. Wine and food was brought him, and he proceeded at once to make a hearty meal. The fresh air had invigorated him, and dispelled, in a great measure, the vapours with which his drugged drink had filled him. Moreover, it was dusk by the time they had entered the villa, and he expected and hoped to encounter a night’s toil. He had just finished eating when the key rattled in the lock, and Caesar entered.

‘Have you eaten well, for you have a long journey before you?’ asked Tiberius.

‘I am ready,’ replied Martialis.

‘Then listen! On your own concern, proceed as you think best, but first of all you must carry and deliver a letter for me.’

‘I will ride without a single stop.’

‘Wait until you hear, for this business must be carried out in a different manner, else I had not brought you here. It is necessary, for the reasons already given, that your absence be not known to any one. Whilst you are leagues away, the guard will still be stationed at the upper end of the corridor, under the belief that you are a prisoner. Provisions will still be supplied, and all details will go on, in order that no suspicion may be aroused. I, myself, and the Prefect are journeying down the coast, southward, for a few days, so that no one will interfere – you comprehend fully?’

‘Quite.’

‘This letter you must deliver at the earliest,’ said the Emperor, drawing a small packet from his bosom. ‘Never rest until you have placed it with your own hands in those of the lady to whom it is addressed. Guard it and care for it as your own life. I never wrote a more important and weighty despatch. You see, I place implicit faith in you.’

‘You will have no occasion to repent your faith,’ replied Martialis, who now began to perceive that something more than personal interest in himself was answerable for his ruler’s clemency and strange proceeding.

‘That I fully expect,’ said Tiberius, ‘and, as your absence from confinement is not to be revealed here, it follows, naturally, that your presence must not be known in the city. Were it known there it would speedily be known here. For that end, therefore, you must not stir abroad in the city in daylight. That is all. It is simple. You will deliver the packet promptly at the first nightfall possible. The second night after that you will go and receive an answer and return straightway. The mean time you may use for your own concern; but I forbid you to run any risk of betraying your presence.’

The Emperor clapped his hands and Zeno entered. He bore an armful of clothing, and proceeded to disguise the outward appearance of the Centurion. The cuirass, high boots, and all vestiges of the military profession, were exchanged for the loose garments of a trader, in the breast of which the nimble-fingered Greek adroitly concealed and secured the secret missive of his master. To complete all, a wig was drawn over the close, curling locks of the Centurion, which more than all effected a transformation in the young man’s appearance.

‘’Twill not blind every one, unless the Centurion can manage to alter his speech and bearing to suit,’ said Zeno.

‘It will serve his purpose sufficiently well. Let him never speak until compelled,’ said Tiberius. ‘Now you may start, Centurion. Here in writing is the name and place required for the delivery of the letter. Keep it in your pouch, and do not preserve it longer than necessary. Here is money, also, without which you cannot move. Do not spare it. Go now and be secret. Zeno will conduct you.’

Tiberius nodded, and, Martialis turning round, saw, to his astonishment a narrow opening in the cell wall opposite to the door, and beside it Zeno standing smiling, with a lantern in his hand, ready to conduct him.

‘It leads to the grotto beneath, and so avoids busy eyes above,’ said the Emperor. ‘Vale.’

The steward went through the secret opening, and Martialis followed down a narrow subterranean way for a considerable distance. The descent was continuous, and in some places by means of broad shallow steps. A door closed the exit, and when Zeno opened it he gave the key to his companion.

‘You must return to Capreae by no other way than this. On the upper door you will find a small knob on the left hand side; press it and you will be able to enter your cell again.’

Then desiring him to stand still lest he should fall into the water, the steward lit a torch, with which he had provided himself, and Martialis perceived they were in the largest of those wonderful caverns or grottoes which exist in various places in the island, along the foot of the sea-washed cliffs. As one of the wonders of the island he had been in it before, though, of course, entering from the sea; and had seen with delight and wonder the dazzling effects of the blue refraction of the light in daytime, and the lovely silvery colour which the deep water lent to every object immersed therein. The torch of Zeno gave sufficient light by which to unmoor a light skiff which floated beside the little landing-place on which they stood. The red glare fell on the still, dark, deep water, but failed to pierce to the lofty roof, or yet to the full circuit of the cavern, which nature had curiously domed out of the rock. The Centurion got into the boat and Zeno gave him the torch, advising him, at the same time, to be careful to provide himself with another on his return as well as the means of lighting it. He pushed off the shallop, and the impetus was sufficient to bring it to the outlet of the cavern. This was an orifice of small dimensions, and so low that it did not admit of even a sitting posture in the boat. Guiding his skiff therein, Martialis threw his torch into the water and uttered a farewell which rolled in hollow echoes through the cavern. Then he lay down at full length in the boat, and giving a vigorous shove, swept out into the open moonlit sea without.