All this time the wily Barbillus had not been idle. He knew too well the whole meaning of a wish of Domitian’s, particularly when the wish was expressed in such a manner, as his desire to conquer Cornelia had been. Besides, the priest had only too much reason to fear the Emperor, in relation to his high pretensions to prophetic powers. More than once had Domitian shown his aversion to Chaldaeans, mathematicians, and seers generally, and had banished them from Rome by special edicts. These edicts might at any moment be turned against Barbillus, even though he also officiated as the priest of a tolerated faith, and hitherto had had no cause to dread his imperial patron, whom he had found means to amuse and manage. Again, and above all, his vanity was at stake; he felt the failure of the elaborately-contrived mummery as personally humiliating, and longed to purge himself of the charge of clumsiness in the Emperor’s eyes.

On the following day, therefore, he set to work again, and began to reconnoitre the ground. His spies, under a variety of excuses, made their way into Cornelius’ house, eavesdropping and bribing the slaves. Now as a Syrian yarn-seller, now as a shipwrecked sailor humbly praying the ostiarius to admit him to shelter, or as a dealer in Egyptian charms—one or another of the indefatigable Oriental’s tools contrived to see and hear something, without their presence being thought strange in a house where so many came and went. Thus Barbillus learned many details as to Cornelia’s habits and mode of life, which might possibly prove of use, though he did not as yet see the connection they would have with his schemes.

However, the results of this system of espionage seemed more tangibly satisfactory when, on the second day after beginning operations, there was put into his hands the note which Caius Aurelius had written and left on the occasion of his nocturnal visit.

The slave-girl, who had not parted with it for anything less than gold, declared that she had plainly seen and heard Cornelia, when she took it from the Batavian and promised to deliver it to her uncle. Since it could hardly be doubted that it was a precautionary warning from a fellow-conspirator, it would not be difficult to make it appear that Cornelia must be a party to the plot. To an unprejudiced judge, it was indeed self-evident that Cornelia had no suspicion of the importance of this bit of writing; otherwise she would have taken better care of it, and would not have been so foolish as to leave it lying by the lamp when she went to bed. But all that Barbillus wanted was some valid excuse for a hold over the young girl.

When the note was put into his hands, the day was already waning. It was that same eventful day when, in the morning, the Batavian had so happily escaped, and at night the Christians were doomed to surprise and seizure. Barbillus decided not to waste an instant; he hurried off to the chamberlain’s house, where, after some ceremony on the part of the servants, he succeeded in gaining admission.

The courtier was entertaining a highly select circle. They had just risen from a magnificent supper, and he had conducted his guests into a handsomely-decorated room, where a variety of entertainments were provided for them. Some, heated with their potations of fine wines, went out into the cooler air of the peristyle; among these were Parthenius himself and Clodianus, who stood eagerly talking to the master of the feast.

“Come—let us talk no more of business;” said Parthenius, half in earnest and half in jest, when Clodianus paused for a moment. “I assure you, my noble friend, I am almost overwhelmed when I think of the work before us. I am half afraid, that with all these arrests we have loaded ourselves with a burden that we can hardly carry.”

“Why?” asked the adjutant coolly.

“Only think! the flower of the Senate and the Knights! It will hardly be wise to punish so many and such illustrious captives with death. Merely to banish them would be to endanger the Caesar’s power....”

“Then keep them in prison till further notice.”

“That will not do either. Do you suppose then, that their relations and friends would sit with their hands before them? It would be putting a dangerous weapon into the enemy’s hands.”

“Really, Parthenius, you talk as if the throne were already tottering. What can the anger of the accused, or the disaffection of their allies matter to us? Is not the Palatium strong enough? Are not our soldiers faithful? Is not Caesar one with all the true feelings of his people?”

“Again I say, put off all serious discussion till to-morrow,” replied the chamberlain, offering his hand to the adjutant. “The duties of a host now claim my attention....”

At this moment a servant led the way for a priest of Isis.

“My lord,” said Barbillus, bowing, “I have come on the business you know of. Caesar commissioned me....”

“Ah! now I recognize you!” exclaimed Parthenius after looking at him closely for a moment. “You are Barbillus, the stage-manager and prompter at the Temple of Isis. Charmed, by the gods, I am sure!”

Barbillus, who was not particularly pleased at this reception, looked down in embarrassment. He did not know whether to take up a jesting tone in reply, or to try to be dignified and haughty; so as to impress the adjutant, at any rate, even if it were impossible with the chamberlain, who was cognizant of his miserable failure.

“Do you recollect,” continued Parthenius, turning to Clodianus with a meaning glance, “that charming creature, whose coarse-fisted slave had the audacity....”

“To be sure. Caesar told me of that wonderful intrigue. I always used to be his right-hand man in such little affairs.”

“Then you know the lovely joke about the mask of Osiris?”

“Of course. But let this man speak; he is evidently in a hurry.”

“You are right,” said Barbillus with dignified calm. “In spite of the inconvenient hour I have ventured to disturb the illustrious Parthenius, in order to inform him that I have found the ways and means....”

“My friend,” interrupted the chamberlain, “I see there my friend Latinus, the actor, who is looking anxiously for me. Every second of my time is precious. Clodianus, would you have the kindness to hear what this worthy priest has to say, and in case of need to give him your always valuable advice. Then, when my actors have done, you can tell me what he proposes. And at any rate, Barbillus, if your plans should not necessitate immediate action, pray remain as my guest.”

He waved a polite hand and turned away with a light step. Clodianus drew the priest a little on one side.

“Now,” he said: “What is your news?”

“My lord,” said Barbillus, “to begin at the beginning, it would seem that you too know of the commission with which Caesar has honored me. I am to make up for that little mishap the other evening. Well, I have discovered how to solve the problem; this note, if judiciously used, will put the coy damsel entirely in your power—by right of law, without the slightest exercise or appearance of arbitrary dealing.”

“Show me!”The priest gave him the note. “Caius Aurelius,” he said, “gave her this note a few hours before he fled.”

Clodianus read every word slowly and thoughtfully, and muttering to himself: “The Batavian to the noble Cornelius greeting. There is danger in delay. Remember Rodumna!”

Then a ray of intelligence lighted up his features, and his eyes sparkled with sudden fire. Rodumna! as it happened, he knew the little town, and one of his clients was a native of the place. In the self-same instant it struck him, that Rodumna was not far from Lugdunum, and this was like a flash of revelation; Rodumna, of course, was the head-quarters of the conspirators.—For that a conspiracy existed, none could doubt after all that had occurred, and Cinna’s well-known connection with Gallia Lugdunensis made the choice of that province as a base of operations probable on the face of it.

Clodianus breathed hard. His keen wit took in the whole situation at once. If the contents of this note could be kept secret, if he could succeed in turning the Emperor’s suspicions in another direction, this unhoped-for discovery would be of incalculable value. It was but a point to be sure, but that point might serve as the fulcrum from which to lift the world off its hinges. If his schemes with Stephanus and the Empress should fall through, here was a new lever ready to his hand, and stronger, more reliable, more splendid than the first.

Clodianus made up his mind in an instant. He put on an expression of almost ferocious gravity.

“Barbillus,” he said with excessive sternness: “You are my prisoner!”

“You are joking!” exclaimed the priest in dismay.“By no means! This note reveals a secret which, if it became known, would nullify all the measures taken by the government. Till this moment, not a soul but Caesar and those in his confidence knew that the conspirators were to meet at Rodumna. Accident has put you, too, in possession of the information. I must have you in safe-keeping.”

“That would be an ill return for the zeal I have shown in the matter.”

“I am very sorry, but consideration for you must yield to my care for the safety of the State. The secret must be kept at any cost. Nothing but your imprisonment will be a sufficient guarantee. Come into the house with me, and I will consider where to send you.”

“You are resolved on my ruin!” cried Barbillus in despair. “A priest of Isis in prison! only consider; my office, my position, my influence will be utterly lost. Do you suppose, that all these years and in such a place as mine I have not learnt to hold my tongue? Silence is the first virtue of a priest.”

The adjutant seemed to waver.

“If I could trust you.—But no. It will not do; I cannot undertake such a responsibility.”

“You can, you may in all confidence. You may throw me to the wild beasts, if a rash word ever passes my lips. Only spare me this irremediable disgrace. I am thought by every matron in Rome to be specially favored by the goddess. You are destroying my very existence.”

“That would no doubt be a misfortune,” said Clodianus relenting. “Well, be it so; once more I will be fool enough to be good-natured. But woe to you, if you abuse my kindness.”“Thanks, thanks, my lord!” exclaimed Barbillus, raising the crafty courtier’s hand to his lips.

“The letter itself I will destroy at once,” continued Clodianus. “Parthenius himself must know nothing of its contents, or he would undo all my precautions. Swear to be secret by all you hold most sacred.”

“I swear by the precious head of Barbillus,” said the priest, laying his hand on his heart.

“Very good; now come with me. You must tell the chamberlain some fib. That you hope to persuade the fair one to yield willingly, or anything else that comes into your head. I will take care of the rest.”

“Would it not be wise, if we were to discuss the details of the fib? I am anxious not to blunder, for I have already angered Caesar once.”

“Then go, keep out of it, and leave the whole matter to me. I will let you know what I have settled in the course of the evening.”

“That will, I think, be the safest plan. My appearing here at so late an hour might excite suspicion: Farewell, my lord. I will never forget the grace you have shown your humble servant.”

“The best thanks will be in silence.”

Barbillus took his leave. Clodianus took a few more turns up and down the colonnade, rubbing his hands with satisfaction; then he returned to the reception-rooms.

When the extremely witty, but extremely licentious comedy had been acted to the end, amid the wild laughter of the audience, Parthenius found time to speak a few words in private with Clodianus. The adjutant had thought out his scheme and devised a fable, too simple to seem doubtful, to justify the priest’s unexpected visit.

The lovely Lycoris—who looked more bewitchingly than ever from under her long lashes—was just coming towards them, with the intention of thanking their amiable host for the delightful treat he had given them, and the amusement she had derived from it, and Parthenius was turning to meet her, when his attention was once more claimed in an opposite direction. A note from the city-prefect informed him of the escape of the Batavia and the disaster of the Charybdis. The letter also reported the most positive information, that the Batavia was bound for Liguria. This was inferred from the fact, that after that luckless encounter she took her course northwards rather than to the west. The city-prefect had sent express messengers to Ostia, that the chase might, if possible, be renewed immediately.

Clodianus, to whom the chamberlain handed the note with a shrug of vexation, understood the position at once and took advantage of it. The city-prefect’s mistake as to the direction the fugitives had taken, must be confirmed by spurious evidence and by an affectation of entire conviction, and Parthenius, who was just now very open to persuasion, must be talked over as soon as possible.

“Of course, it is obvious!” said he, as though to himself. “Savo[81] or Albium Ingaunum[82] are the only possible spots.—Well planned, on my word! Their route lies straight there, no islands in the way, and the vast curve of the coast makes it impossible to head them by land. From Liguria they will easily reach the Germanic Highlands, where the Batavian has powerful friends.—I see the whole plot. They will inveigle Germania and march across northern Italy with their flaxen-haired mercenaries and down upon the capital.”

“Your keenness is wonderful,” said Parthenius. “To be sure, the whole thing is as clear as day. But what then, what can I do? The order for the pursuit has been issued, and I can but approve, though I am perfectly convinced that it is too late.—Here in Rome one never has a minute to oneself? Go, slave, tell your master I am obliged to him.—And now, enchanting Massilian, by Cypria! but if the ship those conspirators have sailed in had a heart, it would sail straight to Gaul to meet your sisters in beauty.[83]—Tell me now, what you found to criticise in our comedy.—I see a curl of Attic irony playing round your rose-bud lips.”

Lycoris did in fact make a few sarcastic remarks on the piece and the performers; but from that she went off into harmless chat of such delightful gaiety and sweetness, that Parthenius could not weary of listening to her melodious voice or of gazing at her round and snow-white shoulders. Never before had she seemed to him so perfectly enchanting; her lips smiled promise and her eyes flashed passion. Parthenius—a finished connoisseur in all the tricks and graces of the stage of the time—never suspected that this lavish display of her charms and fascinating wiles was a branch of the art; that Lycoris was acting a comedy, and that Stephanus was the manager of the drama. Stephanus himself, no doubt, was but a puppet in the hands of this witch, whose ambition aimed at the highest mark that ever dazzled the fancy of a Roman—at the sceptre of the world.

Stephanus himself was one of the guests, and with him all was couleur de rose. While Lycoris was devoting herself to entangling the chamberlain, Stephanus was exchanging a few polite phrases with the adjutant.

“Listen,” said Clodianus in a low voice, as Stephanus turned to leave him; “I wish to warn you—Cneius Afranius is on the list of the proscribed, but this in no way prevents Caesar from taking the opportunity you know of....”

“What!”

“Gently—we are watched. Will you come to see me in the course of the week? I will let you know the day and hour.—Good; now enjoy yourself, and of all things trouble yourself last about me—take no notice of me.”

New, and still new surprises, had been provided to entertain the company. A whole troupe of very slightly-attired dancing-girls from Gades, with butterfly-wings and floating hair, crowded into the lower end of the hall, and began their mazy dance. When this was ended, a shower of rose-scented spray,[84] that fell from above like a fine mist, cooled the revellers deliciously; and finally soft music invited the company out into the pleasure-grounds, where a brilliant display of fireworks turned night into day.Through all these entertainments, the blasÉ adjutant made a great show of enthusiastic enjoyment. He laughed immoderately, he shouted, he even sang, and praised their liberal and amiable host in a stirring speech—their host, who, in the midst of his pressing cares and unresting exertions, could still find time to make a study of amusing and delighting his friends. He devoted himself to winning the good graces of a young Greek girl, who had lately come to Rome from the island of Cypris. He affected a fervent accent, as he called her Cypria in person; swore by the sanctuary of Paphos[85] that a smile from the lovely Myrrhina would outweigh for him all the treasures of India, and quoted the famous line of Catullus:[86] “Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love.”

“On my word, that Clodianus is a true son of Epicurus, as he represents himself in his book!” exclaimed a client of the house, who had modestly held aloof.

“And no wonder,” retorted another. “Wealth and good fortune are poured into his lap! His whole life is sunshine. Even the affairs of state hardly trouble him at all; he has no ambitions—no fears—no anxieties. He plucks the present[87]—carpe diem, as Horace sings, and never for an instant troubles himself about the future. Who would not change with him!”