‘Neither, Siccius. How are things with you all in the island?’

‘Pretty well; a trifle more bustle and stir since the Prefect came. He is going to be the son-in-law of Tiberius.’

‘Ay, ay! that grows stale, but do you happen to know how Caesar’s humour runs this evening?’

‘I have heard no complaint, and if the weather is foul it spreads, as a rule, pretty fast.’

‘Good, then I will go in. Good-night, Siccius!’

‘We shall see you later on,’ pleaded the sentinel, ‘to tell us the talk and the news of Rome—sweet Rome?’

‘It depends; if I can I will,’ returned Tigellinus, going inside the door. Passing through the gardens he reached a long and lofty portico of two stories, from which two or three doors opened. Two more sentinels were on guard here, underneath the portico, but perceiving who the visitor was, they merely exchanged a few whispered words with him. Tigellinus chose one of the entrances which led him into a narrow passage, thence into a court, open to the sky, and surrounded by offices. The kitchen, in one corner, with its blazing fires, the adjacent servants’ hall, as well as other open doors, threw their stream of light into the central space, in aid of the various torches which were stuck around the walls. To and fro across this court busy slaves passed and repassed in the execution of their duties. Others, free for the time from responsibility, were assembled in the servants’ hall, full of laugh and chatter. The cooks were resting from their labours beside their fires, amid the yet uncleared disorder of their apparatus, and, together with a company of equally idle scullions and waiting slaves, were busily and pleasantly engaged in nibbling at the fragments of dainties returned from the Imperial table. These signs did not escape the keen-witted Tigellinus, who concluded, therefrom, that the business of Caesar’s evening repast had come to an end. After scanning the faces inside the various offices he quitted the court by a short passage on the left, meeting one or two more domestics on the way, each bearing a load of table furnishments. By these he was satisfied, on inquiry, that the Emperor was at ease after his meal, and he went on into a peristyle or open hall, of magnificent proportions, surrounded by a pillared [pg 145]portico. With the exception of the portico it was open to the sky, and the reflection of the glittering stars danced in the waters of the fountain, which splashed in the basin in the centre of the marble floor. Around the basin was arranged a miniature flower garden, and throughout the whole of the space a soft clear light was diffused from silver lamps, which burned perfumed oils at frequent intervals around the circuit of the portico.

Of the numerous doors which opened therefrom, one at the south side was guarded by the inevitable armed Pretorian. From the frequent passing in and out of stealthy-footed slaves this would seem to be the Imperial supper-room, but, instead of proceeding thither, Tigellinus pushed open a door within a yard of the passage by which he had entered. It was a kind of office containing only a bench and table, at which was seated a man engaged in reading, what seemed to be, a paper of accounts. Disturbed by the sound of the incomer he looked up and gave an ejaculation of surprise, ‘What, Tigellinus! At last! I have been looking for you long.’

His accent was distinctly Greek. His figure was slender and supple, and his complexion fair. His features were perfectly handsome, but a cold penetrating expression of eye overbore their beauty with an air of repellence.

‘Yes, Zeno; it is no other than myself,’ replied Tigellinus, closing the door behind him; ‘and, old comrade, how go things with yourself?’

‘Just in the humour for fellowship such as yours,’ answered Zeno.

‘Delighted at the compliment,’ rejoined the new-comer; ‘but Caesar first and you next, worthy steward. Are the omens favourable that I see my royal patron this evening?’

‘Without fear,’ said the steward.

Drawing their heads together they conversed in whispers for a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time Tigellinus drew a signet ring from his finger and gave it to his friend. Zeno departed and Tigellinus awaited his return, which did not occur until fully twenty minutes had elapsed. ‘Come!’ said the steward, thrusting in his head at the door. In the meantime the sentinel had changed his post to another door [pg 146]in the peristyle. Through this Tigellinus was ushered by the warrior, and the steward returned to his accounts.

Within the apartment, which was simply enough appointed, the ruler of the world sat awaiting his agent, with his cheek resting on his hand. At his feet a newly-kindled fire of wood burned brightly, and close to his elbow was a small table, upon which stood a gold cup filled with wine. Tigellinus stepped forward into the Imperial presence and knelt down, but not without giving a swift and anxious glance to read, if possible, his master’s mood.

To a stranger, the countenance which met his gaze would surely have caused apprehension by reason of its stern lowering appearance, but, in reality, it was nothing more than its native, unruffled expression, which Tigellinus was well accustomed to, and consequently relieved to see.

The Emperor had now almost completed the allotted age of man. The weight of threescore years and ten had been aided by the undermining of continued excesses, of which we have such dark and doubtless exaggerated tales. Yet both had failed to break the iron constitution of the man. It was certainly the result most naturally to be expected; but here was prodigy of physical organisation, which still remained unimpaired under the strain of age and a ruler’s cares, as well as the self-imposed waste of vicious indulgence.

But not without the deep indelible traces of the long conflict appearing externally. His tall form had contracted a stoop, and was shrunk almost to emaciation. His head was bald, except some thin locks which grew low down upon his neck. Thus far might honest age be accountable; but to see the offensive ulcerous eruptions stuck over with plaster, which blotched his pale face, was to awaken suspicion of polluted habits. Yet from the midst of this unattractive physiognomy there shone the undimmed brilliance of his large eyes. Their beauty had outlived the once acknowledged comeliness of his face, as well as the athletic proportions of his large frame. Somewhat heavy lidded and slow moving, their glance, nevertheless, when it became fixed, seemed to pierce the inward thoughts of him they rested upon. Their depths were as fathomless as the ocean, save when lit with a sudden magnetic flash of wrath, which his minions ever [pg 147]watched for in trembling. Nothing, throughout the wide empire, received such unwearying catlike watch and ward as these basilisk orbs which gathered more than they emitted.

In his manner, the Emperor was, by nature, silent and reserved, which increased for him a reputation for intractable pride and malignance. He was of the Claudian family, and were they not ever proud and insufferable? He spoke as little as possible, and his words were delivered slowly and deliberately, with an accompanying motion of his forefinger.

Such were the most particular personal characteristics of the tyrant who, for some occult reason, had foresworn the seat of his empire, and had secluded himself in a rocky islet. His energy and watchfulness were unabated in affairs private and public. His continued absence, taken in conjunction with the busy ambition of the Prefect, was fruitful of rumours in no way favourable to the supremacy of Caesar. But who could penetrate the matchless craft, the profound dissimulation which enshrouded the despot’s mind? Without some miracle of light, which might illumine, for one brief moment, the secret solitude of his brooding thoughts, it were idle to conjecture and speculate upon their tenor.

The Emperor held out the signet ring which Tigellinus had sent in as an intimation of his arrival. The owner rose and took it with humble obeisance. At a sign from the eloquent forefinger of Caesar, he went and unloosed the folds of a large curtain which he drew across the door, thereby effectually guarding against any chance of their voices travelling outside. This little task completed, he returned, and stood awaiting Caesar’s pleasure.

‘So, you have come—Priscus never bade me expect you,’ said Tiberius, speaking as if it needed an effort to find his voice.

‘I know not that, Caesar, but I sent him word as usual,’ replied Tigellinus, whose obsequious, not to say cringing, manner in the Imperial presence, bore a very striking contrast to his cool authoritative deportment elsewhere.

‘Well, it is no matter whether you did, or whether he forgot to tell me—when did you come?’ asked Tiberius.

‘Only this very night, illustrious, since sundown.’

‘Where did you land, and what have you come with? [pg 148]Use your tongue and spare mine, good Tigellinus,’ continued the Emperor, with the faintest wrinkle of his eyebrows.

‘Yes, I was about to!’ rejoined Tigellinus, brisking up at his master’s tone. ‘I have those with me that I have chosen with my best endeavours to be worthy of Caesar’s household. I landed at the same place as usual, not far from the Scopuli, and left my companions of the voyage on board the galley, while I came on hither to wait upon you, Caesar, without delay. Meanwhile I sent up to the villa Jovis, and, no doubt, the noble Priscus will see them removed and safely bestowed at once.’

‘Humph! I shall be able to judge of your efforts when I go to the villa. Meanwhile what have you to tell me of—come nearer!’

Tigellinus approached a step or two as desired, and replied, ‘There is little or nothing that I have been able to gather since I was last here. The people seem to be full at present with the Prefect’s visit here—it is whispered everywhere that he is to be honoured with the hand of the noble Livia, for which reason he has come hither.’

‘Well!’

‘Does Caesar wish me to say exactly what is commonly said in Rome?’

‘Exactly!’

‘I will speak then without fear. It seems still to pass as a joke, presumptuous and incredible as it may appear, that the Prefect Sejanus is called the autocrat, and you, Caesar, the governor of an island.’

Tigellinus seemed not altogether at ease in imparting this scandal, but Caesar gazed into the fire with a face as unmoved as granite. Not a sparkle rose to his eyes, not a curl to his lip.

‘Is that all?’ he said dreamily.

‘Yes; except that the Romans seem to believe in it.’

‘Any more?’

‘Nothing, I grieve to say, illustrious; for you only instructed me to collect what floats from citizen’s mouth to citizen’s mouth.’

‘If you did more I would have you flung from the walls of the villa into the sea,’ observed Tiberius, with the same placidity of manner.