When Caius Aurelius had finished the fourth canto of the Thebais, Octavia put an end to the reading; breakfast was waiting in the little dining-room. The young man was invited to join them, and they passed a pleasant hour over the meal. They were all accustomed to their father’s absence, for business had lately so completely absorbed him, that he would hardly give himself time to drink a glass of Falernian, as he sat at work, or to snatch a morsel of food. Octavia lamented it, but, on the other hand, she was proud of it as well; she rejoiced too in the confident anticipation of a long period of rest and enjoyment to succeed this last great effort. Lucilia found dinner without him very dull, as she took an opportunity of whispering very pointedly to her sister. This was, in fact, rather strange, for Aurelius, whose tongue seemed to have been loosed by the reading of the heroic poem, displayed the greatest aptitude for all the accomplishments of social life. The triclinium positively sparkled with good humor, even Lucilia belied herself, for more than once she broke out into a merry laugh, the very reverse of dull. Herodianus, who had come to escort his master home, and who had the honor of being invited to share the meal, was astonished at the brilliancy of the young man, who was usually so silent and glanced suspiciously at the crystal cup, as if that might be accountable for so strange a phenomenon. And Baucis swore by the great Isis, that never in her life had she known a Roman knight with such delightful qualities as Aurelius, who had a kind word even for her, a stupid old woman, and who read poetry so divinely.

The Batavian took his leave about mid-day; he sent his respectful greetings through Octavia to the master of the house, fearing to disturb so busy a personage at this hour of the day.

“And what next?” cried Lucilia, as the door closed upon Aurelius. "Shall we lie down to sleep, sweet Claudia, or order the litter to go to the Campus Martius?"[299]

“Just which you please. The day is fine, and we might walk for an hour under the colonnade of Agrippa."[300]

“Will you come with us, dear mother?” asked Lucilia.

“How can I,” said Octavia smiling. “I must be on the spot, when your father leaves his work. If you are not content to go alone, Baucis may....”

“Oh no, no!” interrupted Claudia. “The worthy Baucis may remain at home. When we get into the laurel groves[301] we shall walk, and Baucis is so slow that she would be a hindrance.”

The litter was soon ready. Four Numidians, with waving feathers in their heads, marched in front, and they proceeded northwards, by the same way which Quintus had taken two days since, in the moonless night.“I am glad that we left Baucis at home,” said Claudia in Greek. “We can talk undisturbed for once. You are so dreadfully sleepy, when we go to bed....”

“And with good reason,” replied Lucilia, also in Greek. “I am tired out and over-excited. The amusements of the last few days are telling on my nerves. First, there was the evening at Cornelia’s; then a recitation for two hours from the charming Claudia on the merits of Caius Aurelius....”

“I beg your pardon, but you are reversing the position. It was mistress Lucilia, who went on talking about Caius Afranius.”

“Indeed! and why? Simply and solely as a counterpoise, an antidote to Aurelius. Besides, with your kind permission, his name is not Caius, but Cneius Afranius. Of course, you have nothing but Caius running in your head.”

“That is just like you now,” said Claudia with a sigh. “Lately there has been no speaking a rational word to you.”

“I am over-tired,” Lucilia repeated. "Two cantos of Statius yesterday morning, two more again this morning; to-morrow, two cantos of Statius, that involves a fourth! It is a mercy, that the Thebais consists only of twelve altogether, so it must come to an end at last! Certainly, when we have done Statius, he might read us Virgil[302] and afterwards the Battle of the Frogs and Mice."[303]“Go, Lucilia—you are quite odious—and I wanted to confess something to you.”

“A confession? my darling Claudia, a confession?” cried Lucilia, seizing her sister’s hand. “Will you own at last that you love him? That you are a perfect fool about him? Oh! silly child! did you not perceive, that I only wanted to punish you for trying to deceive me?”

Claudia colored deeply, and involuntarily drew the embroidered curtain, as if she feared that the litter-bearers might read her secret in her face.

“Not so loud!” she whispered, and then she softly kissed her cheek.

“You confess?” asked Lucilia. But the only answer was a closer caress and a fervent kiss on her lips.

“That is enough,” said Lucilia. “Your kiss says everything. No girl gives such a kiss as that, who is not desperately in love. It was meant for Caius Aurelius.”

“Hush!” Claudia entreated, laying her hand on the audacious girl’s mouth. “Promise me....”

“Not to mount the rostra[304] and proclaim in the Forum: Claudia is in love with Aurelius!...? You little fool! Just the reverse; I will keep it a dead secret, and do all I can to clear the road for you. For things will not run so smoothly as you think. A mere provincial knight, and Claudia, the daughter of the first senatorial house in Rome! You cannot take it ill in your father if he maintains the rights of his position, and intends his daughter to marry a consul."[305]“But if his daughter objects?”

“Then Titus Claudius must give way, or the gentle Claudia is not incapable of running away with Caius Aurelius.”

“What are you saying!” exclaimed Claudia horrified. Then she sat looking thoughtfully into her lap.

“Do you suppose,” she said presently, “that his allusion, yesterday, to Sextus Furius was meant seriously?”

“What else could it mean? The worthy man is three times too old for you, to be sure, but the names of his ancestors have been splendid for centuries. Only think of Furius Camillus, the glorious conqueror of the Volscians and Aequians. Sextus Furius, to be sure, has conquered no insurgent nations, but the consulate undoubtedly lies before him, and his wealth is enormous.”

“Ah!” sighed Claudia. “We Roman girls have a bad time of it. How rarely do we have a free choice in the tie which lasts one’s life-long! A stern father or guardian brings a husband on the scene, before our hearts have a chance of deciding. Such a betrothal as that of Quintus and Cornelia is as rare as a white raven. How beautiful, how honest by comparison is the custom in the North, where the lover first wins the affection of a girl, and then seeks the approval of her parents. Aurelius has told me wonderful stories of the fidelity of the tawny-haired Rugian to the wife of his choice, and of how the treasure is often won in fights to the death, after years of constancy. It must be glorious to be loved and wooed in that northern fashion! Do you know that Aurelius has some Germanic blood in his veins...?”

“Indeed?” said Lucilia surprised.

“Yes, really. His grandmother was a Frisian, from the shores of the Baltic, where the Weser falls into the sea. There are large and wealthy families among them, valiant warriors and chiefs, who will bow their necks to no Roman consul. If only they were of one mind, Aurelius says, Rome herself might tremble before these tribes. But, strangely enough, though in their family life they are so loving and constant, their feuds are perennial, tribe against tribe and prince against prince. It is only under stress of imminent peril, that they league themselves under one banner, and woe then to the foe they turn upon! You have read of Varus[306] and how his legions were cut to pieces in the Saltus Teutoburgiensis, while he fell on his own sword?”

“Yes, Baucis has told us the story. But after all—who cares what goes on in Germania!—our legions are constantly engaged in fighting on the frontier, now against the Dacians and now against the Parthians[307]—I do not trouble myself about the where and the why. Moral struggles, the battles we must fight at home, interest me far more....”

“Particularly the law pleadings in the Senate, and before the court of the Centumvirate!” said Claudia smiling.

“Certainly! out there, brute force decides the matter, but in the Forum it is superior intellect that wins the day.”

“And one of the boldest champions is Cneius Afranius.”

“It is quite true; his whole individuality, his undaunted honesty, his unfailing energy....”

“Hey day! what eloquence. Before long we shall see you in the Basilica among the candidates for applause.”

“Laugh away, by all means! I assert my right and liberty to admire all that is noble. If I were better looking, I should very likely exert myself to achieve a conquest, for I frankly confess that I regard the future wife of Afranius as a woman to be envied.”

“You are frank indeed.”

“I always am. And I find it all the easier, since I do not allow my consciousness of my defects to destroy my peace of mind. The Gods are unjust? For aught I care! You have a mouth like a rose-bud, I have a muzzle like a Cantabrian bear![308] Fate we call that, or Ananke![309]—Well, it is a lovely day for us both alike! Just see what a crowd and bustle there are out here; I think we had better walk. There is the portico with its hundred columns.”

Claudia stopped the bearers, and the two girls walked on to the magnificent hall of Agrippa, followed at a short distance by the Numidian slaves. Arm in arm they walked along the arcades, by the famous mural paintings,[310] representing in the highest style of art, scenes from the stories of the Greek divinities—the rape of Europa, Cheiron the Centaur, and the voyage of the Argonauts. To the right they saw the marble enclosures—Septa[311] they were called—in the midst of which the Roman people assembled when the centuria[312] were called upon to vote. Lucilia hoped she might one day be present at some stormy debate here. Claudia found it more interesting, to linger over the gay booths[313] and bazaar for luxurious trifles at the northern end of the portico, where the precious produce of the remotest provinces of the empire was displayed.Thus, chatting and laughing, they reached the shady avenues of plane and laurel, which extended almost to the shores of the river and, with their temples, columns, terraces and works of art, were the scene of enjoyment for a numerous throng of citizens. Here hundreds of handsome chariots—most of them with two wheels—rushed to and fro on a broad causeway; graceful horsemen dashed along the gravelled way, while the motley crowd of pedestrians slowly loitered along the side alleys. Here a following of young men pressed round the litter of some woman of rank; there a grave and morose-looking pedagogue led his flock to a grass-plot, where boys were exercising themselves in wrestling or throwing the discus.[314] Pairs of lovers strolled away hand in hand to remoter bowers; slaves—male and female—with their owners’ children, crowded round a juggler’s booth, applauding the skill with which Masthlion[315] balanced a heavy pole on his bare forehead, or the strength Ninus[316] displayed in supporting half a dozen boys upon his shoulders. Among the mob a legion of fruit and cake sellers wriggled and squeezed themselves; fortune-tellers twitched at the robe of the passer-by, urgently pressing their services on them; shipwrecked sailors sat begging by the wayside, with tablets on their knees[317] relating the history of their woes; flute-players piped their latest tunes from Gades; dark Egyptians exhibited tame snakes, which twined round the body, neck and arms of the owner to the measure of a dismal tom-tom.

Lucilia and Claudia followed the shady alley, that ran parallel to the main road, greatly amused at the dazzling, noisy and ever-new scenes that met them at every turn.

“Supposing we should meet your Aurelius—” said Lucilia.

“My Aurelius! My sweet child, pray do not get into the habit of saying such things.”

“Well, then—Caius Aurelius.”

“It is not likely. He rarely comes now to the plain of Mars.”

“Indeed. What has he to attend to of so much importance.”

“He is studying hard; and for the last few days he has been a good deal with Cornelius Cinna, who generally admits him at this hour. Cinna thinks very highly of him.”

“Well, for my part, I must confess I should prefer a ride here under the green trees, to all the harangues of that perverse old man.”

“Aurelius finds him most interesting; he considers him quite a genius.”

“What next?—A genius in the art of seeing the whole world black!”

“Nay, quite seriously. Cinna is initiating Caius into the mysteries of state-craft, teaching him philosophy and history. Caius said, that in the few hours he had been permitted to converse with Cinna, he had learnt more than in many years of solitary study.”

“Well; then our Caius—you yourself called him simply Caius—will soon begin to wrinkle his brows and to scent ruin and misery in everything. Do you know, child, this Cinna....”

She broke off suddenly, for some one called her by name; she looked round and saw Quintus, who came out from among the trees.

“Well? Are you often to be met out here? And always close to the highway! You must take an extraordinary interest in fine horses....”

“We do indeed!” said Lucilia pertly. “For instance, look at that noble grey just now turning into the avenue. What a head! what a mane!”

Claudia squeezed her saucy sister’s arm, for the rider, who came galloping towards them, was none other than Caius Aurelius. By his side rode Herodianus, rather roughly exercised on a tall, high-stepping steed; his empurpled face betrayed but little liking for the performance. Aurelius, by contrast, looked all the more radiant, guiding his noble horse as if it were child’s-play among the throng of vehicles, and enjoying to the utmost the sense of power and security.He now caught sight of Claudia, and the blood mounted to his brow. He was so much occupied in looking at the two girls, to whom he bowed in agitated confusion, that he did not notice, that one of the very small horses, called by the Romans "mannie,"[318] was rushing towards him like an arrow. Its rider, a boy of about twelve, tried to turn the pony’s head, but not soon enough to avoid the grey, which tossed its head aside. So the pony’s mane just tickled the horse’s lower jaw, and the boy only escaped a violent collision by ducking widely on one side. The Batavian’s horse, at all times an irritable beast, gave an ominous snort, and reared straight up, trembling in every muscle, and in the next instant would inevitably have fallen backwards if Quintus had not made a bold leap over the brushwood, seized the horse by the bridle, and after a short struggle brought him to a stand-still on all fours again. Herodianus, meanwhile, who was frightened out of his senses, was thrown up from his saddle by a sudden spring of his steed, and reseated in front of it; he threw his arms round the beast’s neck, and remained a comical picture of woe. After Quintus had quieted the Batavian’s excited grey, he came to the freedman’s help.

“By Jove the avenger!” cried Herodianus, shuffling back into his saddle with much difficulty, “this wild horse of the Sun[319] was within a hair’s breadth of trampling me under his hoofs. Thanks, earnest and warmest thanks, heroic Quintus Claudius! I will drink a dozen bowls to your health this evening.”“I have to thank you too,” said Aurelius with feeling. “If it is ever in my power to render you such a service....”

“By all the gods!” said Quintus. “It might be supposed....”

“Nay, but I saw how close my horse’s hoofs were to your head.”

“Really? However, do you know who the little dare-devil was who shot by you at such a pace? That was Burrhus, the son of Parthenius;[320] a scatter-brained little rascal. He inherits it from his mother.”

“Burrhus?—the boy that Martial praises so extravagantly?”

“The very same. He flatters the son, and so touches the father.”

“Well, if he hears that Burrhus nearly rode me down, it may perhaps afford him materials for fresh adulation. I, at any rate, have reason to be glad that his heroic attempt was not altogether successful; that I owe to you, my valiant and fearless friend! As I say, if ever you are in a position....”

“Say no more about such a trifle, I beg of you,” said Quintus. “Though indeed,” he added smiling, “it is not impossible, that I may claim your kind offices sooner than you expect, though not as a return for my performances as a horse-tamer.”

“I am happy to hear it. Come when you will, I am entirely at your disposal.”“Very well then,” said Quintus with emphasis; “expect me this evening by the end of the second vigil.”

“Unfortunately I am engaged at that hour.”

“Later then, an hour before midnight?”

“That will do; I will expect you,” said Aurelius.

The two girls had stood quite still during this short dialogue. Claudia was still struggling with the remains of her agitation, even Lucilia had turned pale. Aurelius now stammered out a confused apology, bid them farewell, and set spurs to his horse, while the freedman dragged with all his might at the wolf’s-tooth bit[321] of his hard-mouthed jade. They vanished in the crowd, Aurelius as straight and free as a young centaur, and his companion like a clumsy bale of goods incessantly tossed and jolted.

“You are a fine fellow!” cried Claudia, clasping her brother’s hand with eager emotion. “What strength, what courage, what promptitude! Oh! my heart nearly stood still with terror, when the rearing brute’s hoofs hung just above your head—I shall never forget it!”

“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, my dear little sister. It is a long time, since I last heard you speak to me in such an enthusiastic key. Confess, Claudia—the fact that the rider’s name happened to be Caius Aurelius, does not diminish your ardent appreciation of the feat?”

“You may laugh at me, if you will. I respect and admire you, and forgive all your former sins.”“Are you coming with us?” asked Lucilia.

“For ten minutes; then I must turn back again. Clodianus expects me at the Baths.”

“And where do you dine to-day?” asked Claudia.

“With Cinna.”

“It is a long time since you dined with us.”

“I will to-morrow, if it is convenient. I will see whether he will allow me to bring Cornelia with me....”

“Hardly,” said Lucilia. “Since the day before yesterday he has been in a desperately bad humor. This morning early I had a note from Cornelia, begging me to go and rescue her from the depths of melancholy.”

“What does Cornelia wish for?” said Quintus. “In my presence she is always cheerfulness itself.”

“That is the magic of love,” replied Lucilia. “Its charms conquer all griefs.”

“You seem highly experienced!”

“Theory—pure theory.”

They walked on towards the river. There they stood for a few minutes, watching the boats and gondolas, which gently drifted down to the Aelian bridge or struggled up stream under the stout strokes of the oarsmen. Beyond the opposite shore the beautiful hills, strewn with gardens and villas, smiled invitingly down on them, and farther off still rose the five peaks of Soracte.[322]

“They will soon be crowned with snow,” sighed Claudia.

“Yes, it is wearing into autumn,” said Quintus. “But now, my children, you must amuse yourselves without me. Till we meet to-morrow.”

“You fellows,” said Claudia, turning to the Numidians, when Quintus was lost in the crowd. “Do you know what? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, down to the very ground. If it had not been for Quintus, Aurelius would have been under the horse’s hoofs. Cowards! By the gods, but I am minded to have you punished, that you may remember this hour!”

The Africans opened their wide thick mouths, and stared at their mistress as if some marvel had happened. None of her slaves had ever heard such words before from Claudia’s lips.

“That comes of her being betrothed to that rich Furius,” whispered one of them. “I always told you, that the gentlest turn haughty when there is a husband in sight.”