  “I never made a greater mistake in my life,” said Longa Duilia, “and I cannot think how you allowed me to make it.” “What mistake?” asked the ChaldÆan. “The mistake of inviting the uncle in place of the nephew to my little supper. As to that supper, I flatter myself it was perfect—so finished in every detail, as becomes our position; so delicately flavored with reserve, as became my position as a widow; and you recommended me to invite Flavius Sabinus, the PrÆfect,—and now he has been. That delicate little supper thrown away, and my attentions so nicely adjusted to the circumstances, all that trouble and thought gone for nothing. Do you know that Flavius Sabinus is now in bits? He has been positively hacked to pieces. It is not the supper itself I regret, and my best Falernian wine—but I gave him a gold signet-ring with a cameo, representing Daphne. It had belonged to my dear Corbulo, and was valuable. But I considered it as a means to an end. And now—where is that ring? But for your counsel, I might have invited the nephew.” “Madam, I counselled aright.” “You have the face to say that? Do you not know that Sabinus has had his head struck off, and his body [pg 155] “Lady, I do see into what is to be, and counsel accordingly.” “Oh, yes! glimpses as of light in a wood through thick foliage. Plenty of obscurity, very little light.” “Madam, consider. Had you not invited the PrÆfect who has been, you would not have seen the nephew who is, and who came in at the supper to call his uncle away. It was thus he arrived at a knowledge of your house, and your friendly disposition, and thus it was that he was induced to throw himself on your protection.” “There is something in that,” observed Duilia. “But how much better had the invitation been sent to Domitian himself.” “On the contrary, that would not have been judicious, therefore I did not recommend it. Had the nephew come here along with his servants, immediately his escape from the Capitol was discovered, and they were tortured to disclose his place of concealment, they would have betrayed this house: but as it has happened they could not suppose he would take refuge here.” “There is a good deal in that,” answered Duilia meditatively. “Well, it is only the ring that I regret. If I had but known—something of inconsiderable value but showy would have sufficed. Moreover, I might have done without that dish of British oysters—very expensive, and, as you see, thrown away. Yet! well, I enjoyed them.” “Even that ring is not lost.” [pg 156]“How so?” “It is on Domitian’s finger.” “You really say so?” “When the PrÆfect bade his nephew and sons attempt to escape from the Capitol, he recommended the former to engage your protection, and in token of this, he put the ring that you had given him, on his nephew’s finger, that he might present it to you—should there be mistrust, in pledge that he came from Flavius Sabinus. I encountered Domitian in the street, I knew him and conducted him to your door, and obtained his admission. There was no necessity for him to show his ring, as I stood sponsor for him.” “You are a good old creature,” said Duilia, “I withdraw any offensive expressions I may have used. To gratify you, I will pay that old woman, Senecio, his wage and bid him pack.” “Then, madam, my services shall be amply repaid. The man himself is harmless. Engage him as a clown,—he is consumed with conceit, and so renders himself a laughing-stock. That is all he is qualified to be.” “Go—send me Domitia. She has behaved like a fool.” Shortly after the girl entered the room where was her mother. The latter at once exclaimed:— “My dear, the ring is not lost. Domitian has it. By the foresight of the Gods, Sabinus removed it from his finger, and confided it to his nephew, before unhappy circumstances arose which might have led to the ring getting into the hands of any Cyrus or Dromo.” “Was it to hear this that you sent for me?” asked Domitia sullenly. “No, it was not. Your conscience must upbraid you. [pg 157] “Mother, I do not like him.” “Ye Gods of the Capitol!—confound them, by the way, they are all burnt! O Tellus and Terminus! Do you suppose we are to see and be courteous only to those whom we like? What cared I for that paragon of virtue, Flavius Sabinus, who talked to such an extent that I could not get in a word edgeways. But I gave him a nice little supper—and oysters from Britain, my best Falernian, and that ring of your father’s, because I thought he might be useful. And now Titus Flavius Domitianus is our guest—in hiding till matters are settled one way or the other—and you insult him to his face. It is not conduct worthy of your mother. You interfere with my plans.” “What plans?” “My dear child, Vespasian is old—about sixty I think, and has but two sons, of whom Domitian is the youngest. The elder, Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus has but a daughter. Do you not see? Do you not smell?” “I do neither, mother.” “More the pity. You sadly take after your father, who had no ambition. Give the old fellow ten years before he becomes a god; the eldest son, if the worst comes, may succeed and be Augustus for another ten, and then,—the second son, Domitian, will be prince. My dear, what opportunities! What gorgeous opportunities!” “Opportunities for what?” [pg 158]“For push, my dear, push to the purple. Your dear father, ah, well! We are not all made of the same clay.” “Mother, that is precisely what fills me with dread. He will then be the eighth, for these adventurers of a few months do not count,—the new Nero.” “But consider—the purple. My dear, do you remember how Valeria caught the dictator Sulla. She sat behind him in the theatre, and picked some flue off his toga. He turned round and caught her doing it. ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘I am but endeavoring to get to myself some of the luck that adheres to you!’ I could have loved that woman. It was so happy, so neat. That bit of wool drew Sulla and the Dictatorship to her. You, what a blunderer you are. You have offended Domitian, who may some day be greater than was Sulla, when you had it in your power by a word, a look, a dimpled smile, to win him, and with him the purple.” “Mother, I do not covet it. You forget—I am promised to Lucius Ælius Lamia.” “Oh! Lamia! He could be bought off with a proconsulship.” “I do not desire to be separated from him. I love him, and have loved him since we were children together.” “Well, you have done for your chances. If I surmise aright, the young man entertains a great grudge against you.” At that moment Eboracus came in. “Madam,” said he, “the Illyrian legions have entered the city, under Primus, and there is fighting in the streets. The people on the housetops cheer on [pg 159] “Well—those things happen. We shall know for certain which shall be uppermost, and if fate favors Vitellius—Then, daughter, I shall not scruple to give the young man up.” The condition of the capital was frightful. Vitellius had called in levies from the country to support him, and the prÆtorian soldiers stood firm. But many men of direction were with the partisans of Vespasian, who advanced steadily over the bodies of the troops opposing them. Fifty thousand persons lost their lives in these eventful days of the Saturnalia. The legions under Primus succeeded in recapturing the Capitol, which was still smoking, and pushed forward into the Forum. Meanwhile, Vitellius, in the Palatine palace, a prey to irresolution, had filled himself with wine, and then fled along with his cook and pastrycook to his wife’s house on the Aventine. Then deceived by a false report that his troops were successful, he returned to the Palatine, and found it deserted, but a roar of voices rose from the Forum below, and from the Capitol the cries of the legionaries were wafted towards him along with the smoke. He hastened to collect all the gold he could lay his hands on, stuffed it into his cincture, assumed an old ragged suit, and then again attempted to escape; but now he found every avenue blocked. Filled with terror he crawled into the dog-kennel where the hounds, resenting the intrusion, fell on him and bit his neck and hands and legs. But now Vespasian’s soldiery invaded the palace, and a tribune, Julius Placidius, dis[pg 160] “Thou, who thus addressest me—a tribune thou art, remember I was once thy commander!” Thereupon a German soldier, desirous of shortening his misery, struck him down with a blow of his sword, and in so doing cut off the ear of the tribune who had insulted the fallen Emperor. At once the body of the prince, from whom the life was not sped, was dragged to the Gemonian stair, a flight of steps down which the corpses of malefactors were flung, and there he was despatched with daggers. Longa Duilia had been kept well informed as to all that took place. No sooner was she assured that Vitellius was dead, than she rushed into the apartment given up to Domitian. “Salve, CÆsar! As the Gods love me, I am the first to so salute you, son of the Augustus! Oh, I am so happy! And it might have been otherwise, but you they never would have reached save over my body.” |
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