  The entrance of one of the household domestics, bringing a physician, roused the young man from the first stupor of his shocked feelings. He rose to his feet and assumed a stoical calmness. ‘I am a physician,’ said the new-comer, breathing somewhat heavily, by reason of the pace at which the slave had hurried him thither. Martialis made a gesture toward the dead man and sank his chin on his breast. It needed no more than a moment for the practised eye of the mediciner to see that life had been suddenly and utterly snatched away. ‘I can do nothing,’ said he, letting the hand of Apicius fall. ‘Out of which cup did he drink?’ Following a slight motion of the young man’s head, he went and picked up the jewelled goblet, which remained on its side, near the edge of the table, where Apicius had thrown it. He put his nose to it and sniffed the dregs. There was no odour but that of wine, yet the man of science shrugged his shoulders significantly. ‘There still remains in the cup enough for the death of two or three, most noble sir,’ said he. ‘I might do worse than try to prove your words,’ remarked Martialis bitterly. ‘The gods forbid! Aesculapius himself could not save you if you did!’ ‘To whom and to what place am I to send if I should want you again?’ ‘I should be ever grateful for your notice, noble Martialis. I am Charicles, and may be found without difficulty in the Vicus Tuscus.’ [pg 49]Martialis nodded, and Charicles, with much humility and expression of sympathy, withdrew. ‘’Twas for himself then,’ he muttered, as he passed quickly through the deserted hall. ‘O precious drug, swift and sure as light, when did you ever fail or disgrace me!’ The eye of Martialis fell on the casket which Apicius had bequeathed him. He stood regarding it for a few moments, and then turned to a slave who remained, and said, with renewed vigour of faculties, ‘Let the kinsfolk of Apicius be brought hither at once, if not already sent for—Plautia, his sister, Sabellus, his uncle; and go you, yourself, bring with you back, in all haste, Festus the lawyer, from nigh the forum of Caesar—haste!’ The slave disappeared and left him once more alone. He stood and gazed on the face of the dead, and his grief broke beyond his control. Half-smothered sobs broke from his lips, and his eyes were blind with hot pouring tears. ‘Oh Apicius,’ he groaned, ‘if thou wert weary of the world, hadst thou so little regard for our love and companionship? This is thy retreat from men so easily found! Easy indeed—thou didst not err. All may reach it when they list, gods be praised! For in whose ear can I whisper, as I whispered in thine, all that oppressed me? Gone—gone, Apicius! Thou hast forsaken thy friend—selfish—selfish! Did you deem the void would be filled by another of your blood? Oh, miserable thought!’ He lay stretched on a couch murmuring in broken sentences, but, as the leaden minutes lagged on, he became more composed. The sound of a voice without made him leap to his feet. The next instant the heavy curtains were thrust back, and a young, richly-attired female stepped into the apartment. Despite the crushing blow the heart of Martialis had received, it gave a bound at the entrance of the new-comer. Her stature was above the feminine standard, and her figure large and voluptuous, but perfect in symmetry and grace. Whilst giving the impression of robustness and vigour, its stately carriage admirably matched the brilliant and haughty beauty of her face. The gaze of Martialis was riveted on her. Scarcely deigning to return the look, she swept up to the suicide and bent over him. Drawing herself up again she [pg 50] ‘Speak, Martialis, what led him to do this?’ ‘I know no more, Plautia, but what he said before us all here but now,’ answered the young man, sweeping his hand toward the table; ‘he was tired of life—he had spent his patrimony—poverty haunted him—so he drank and died, ere one could move or speak.’ ‘Poverty!’ echoed she. She looked round again upon the extravagance which glowed in every part of the room, and her red lips curled in scornful incredulity. ‘Even so,’ he rejoined. The farewell and eccentric gifts of the dead host to his guests were yet remaining on the table where they had been put. Her eyes rested on them in curiosity. ‘What are these?’ she demanded again. Martialis explained their presence, and, being particularly interested, she was not satisfied until she had learnt to whom each article had been appropriated. ‘And that he gave to you?’ said she, pointing to the bronze casket. ‘He did,’ replied Martialis. ‘Know you what it contains?’ ‘I can only guess.’ ‘Well?’ ‘With his last breath he bequeathed to me all that remains of his effects. The box, doubtless, contains the documents relating thereto,’ said the young man, in a voice trembling with emotion. ‘Doubtless—you were his nearest friend and companion,’ remarked the lady; ‘of me, his sister, doubtless, he said nothing. What little there was in common between us was not much tempered with love and good-humour.’ ‘Alas, Plautia, take what there is! I want it not—I would give it a hundred times over to gain one kind look from your eyes. He was your brother—born of the same mother[pg 51] ‘Martialis, you knew his intention before this night,’ said she, disregarding his pleading tone as she would the whining of a dog. ‘No, before Heaven—or maybe we had never seen this bitter night.’ ‘’Tis strange, and you two secretless friends, as I have heard you say.’ ‘This, at least, was dark to me, as to every one else, until he drank from yon fatal cup and fell back where he lies.’ Plautia took up the cup from the table where Charicles had placed it, and, with a natural curiosity, smelled at it, as he had done. ‘Take care!’ ejaculated Martialis, as the golden rim seemed to graze her ripe lips. ‘There is yet sufficient left to harm more than one—so the physician has said—beware lest a drop smear thy lip.’ ‘Tush, Martialis!—I am not so tired of life,’ she replied contemptuously, setting down the goblet; ‘who comes?’ ‘Festus, the lawyer, or thy uncle, Sabellus.’ ‘Festus?’ He pointed to the box, and, at the same time, an old man entered, wrinkled, grave, and thin. He made a profound obeisance, and then looked inquiringly from one to the other. ‘Martialis summoned thee, he hath need of thee, Festus,’ exclaimed Plautia haughtily; and, passing to the door, she summoned the domestics. ‘It is true I sent for thee,’ said Martialis briefly. ‘This is a woeful sight,’ said the lawyer, as the slaves crowded in, and, under the directions of the lady, lifted their dead master and bore him away to his own room. ‘It was only this very morn that I saw him and spoke with him in the forum of Caesar, as well and content as ever he was, to all seeming.’ Martialis took the key of the casket and placed it in the lawyer’s hand. ‘Open the box—it was the gift of Apicius to me, his friend.’ [pg 52]Plautia took up her position on one of the couches, stretching her magnificent form on the place and cushions which had before been occupied by Sejanus the Prefect. The long, loose, flowing drapery of the Roman female clung and moulded itself to the voluptuous curves of her figure. Gems and trinkets of gold glittered amid the wreathed and plaited masses of her bluish-black hair, and numberless jewels flashed upon the fingers of her dainty white hands. Her features were slightly aquiline, but perfect and delicate in outline, and her ivory-like skin was warm and glowing with the tints of a ripe peach. With her bold, imperious, black orbs she looked like a queen as she reclined, the most apt and brilliant centrepiece of that apartment of gorgeous splendour. The grave, elderly Festus, as he opened the casket, cast at her a glance filled with admiration. Martialis buried his face in his hands, as if fearful of allowing his hungry eyes to rest upon her, except at intervals, when the matter in hand called for some remark. When the lawyer opened the casket he found therein several papers. After glancing at each in turn, he took one up and said, ‘This is the will of M. Gabius Apicius, bequeathing his property solely to Caius Julius Martialis, knight, his friend.’ ‘Read!’ said that unhappy personage in a hollow tone. Festus obeyed. The task was brief and did not occupy many minutes. The remaining papers were found to be informal inventories of effects. Martialis bade him read them also. They were long; including, as they did, everything of value in the house. Plautia signified her impatience long before it was ended, and, during its progress, a slave entered to announce that Sabellus of the Aventine was not to be found. When the wearisome monotone of the lawyer at length ceased, Martialis raised his pale face from his hands. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed the lawyer suddenly; ‘here I find the value of the whole computed. Deducting the debts due, and a few minor bequests, the balance amounts to an estimate of ten thousand sestertia.’3 Plautia started on her cushions at the statement. [pg 53]‘What!’ she demanded, contracting her fine black brows; ‘ten thousand sestertia, free?’ ‘Absolutely, as the will expressly states,’ replied Festus. ‘The whole total reaches a huger sum, but there are debts, as before mentioned. No money is spoken of—these inventories must be realised.’ ‘Was this the poverty he fled from? Why, it is a fortune—a heaven to the greater part of mankind!’ she exclaimed. ‘Ay, but not to the mind of Apicius,’ interrupted the voice of Martialis; ‘for remember—scarce a coined piece within his coffers. Everything gone but what the walls of the house compass. Had Apicius lived it was necessary to live as hitherto. To do that he must needs have despoiled his home—the noblest in Rome—of its treasures. Rather than strike, to all, the note of disgrace and ruin, he did as he did. It was pride, not fear—it is too plain. But small or great as the remnant may seem to thee, Plautia, thou art his nearest of kin—to thee, therefore, it belongs. I have no claim but what the love of a friend has given me. I render it up—take it therefore.’ ‘A noble deed!’ quoth Festus. The glance of Plautia softened a little, and she held out her jewelled, white hand to the young man. With eyes aflame he seized it, and covered it with kisses. ‘It is truly high-minded and generous of thee, Martialis,’ she said. ‘Take it—I need it not!’ he answered eagerly. ‘Foolish!’ she rejoined, drawing her hand away and accompanying her words with a mocking smile. ‘Bid Festus teach thee to be wiser than rob thyself.’ ‘It is a question for his own heart to decide,’ remarked the lawyer, replacing the papers in the box. ‘Festus has done his part and I will keep him no longer—say no more!’ said Martialis. The lawyer rose at this hint, and at the same moment a voice came from the doorway. Looking thither they beheld a tall cloaked figure standing in the doorway, regarding them and their surroundings with keen eyes. Martialis started. ‘Lucius!’ he exclaimed. ‘Even so, brother,’ returned the new-comer. [pg 54]It was indeed the Centurion, bearing the stains of hard travel on his garments and a jaded air on his face. Plautia rose to her feet. Her cheeks were suffused with a sudden flood of crimson, and her bosom stirred her tunic with deeper and more rapid pulsations. A delicious tremor seemed to melt her natural stateliness of carriage. Her eyes, so full of haughtiness and will, encountering the calm gaze of the Pretorian, sank like a timid child’s, shaded beneath a deep sweeping fringe of eyelashes. A deadly sickness crept about the heart of Caius Martialis, for his senses, preternaturally sharpened, saw all. ‘Do you seek me?’ he demanded, scarcely able, or caring, to conceal the bitterness of his tones. The Centurion dropped his cloak from his shoulder and stepped forward, whilst, at the same time, Festus, the lawyer, glided from the room. The resemblance between the brothers was traceable in the mould of their features. But, whilst those of the soldier were scarcely so finely carved as were his elder brother’s, they were considerably more manly and decided. The expression of spirit and determination which was characteristic of his bronzed face and fearless glance, were less perceptible on the countenance of the civilian. The vigour and robustness of the younger eminently fitted him to press forward in the battle and strife of the world; whilst the characteristics of the elder were of a more delicate organisation, which seeks the calmer atmosphere and placid occupations of retirement and study. The personal appearance of the Centurion, which has already been alluded to, spoke for his habits. His commanding stature, rude health and strength and perfection of physical training were all at the service of the readiness and resource of mind which seemed to lie charactered in the glances of his eyes. On the other hand, the person of Caius was medium-sized, and the signs of habitual ease, indulgence, luxury and pleasure, were only too plainly stamped on his face, to the deep injury of its native nobleness and delicacy. ‘Do you seek me?’ said the latter. ‘No—I seek the Prefect. Not at the camp, I was directed to follow him here. No porter in the lodge to tell [pg 55] ‘Sejanus has left some time ago—a long time.’ ‘Whither, then, Caius, do you know?’ ‘No—nor care—faith not I!’ was the careless and somewhat uncourteous answer. ‘You have travelled far?’ broke in Plautia’s voice; deeper, softer, and more melodious than hitherto. ‘I have, Plautia, and I trust the Prefect will not lead me much farther.’ ‘Whence have you come? You are fatigued—I see it in your face. You must, then, have ridden a prodigious distance; for your fame, as a horseman, has reached even me. You are a very centaur, so rumour tells me.’ ‘Rumour tells many idle and foolish things, but, as I have posted fifty leagues without stopping, save to change horses, since my last brief resting-place, I may claim to feel somewhat weary. I am thirsty too—with your leave, I will drink a cup of wine with infinite relish.’ He turned toward the sideboard where the wine-flagons stood; but, ere he could take a second step, she glided past him, and selecting one of the vessels, raised it with her own hands. Caius looked on and gnawed his lip. ‘I will be my own cupbearer,’ cried the Centurion; ‘you do me too much honour, lady.’ As he relieved her of the pitcher, he would have been scarcely human not to have dwelt with admiration on her brilliant beauty, which was unusually flushed and animated. She parted with the jar, and, at the same time, flashed a glowing glance upon him with her lustrous eyes. He turned round from those dangerous orbs to fill with the wine the nearest cup which stood on the table. The eyes of his brother Caius suddenly gleamed with a hard, steel-like glint, and his face turned, simultaneously, deathly white. Lucius half turned as he raised to drink from the cup he had filled. The bumper had barely reached his lips when a scream burst from the throat of Plautia. With the cry she sprang forward and dashed the vessel from his hand on to the polished floor. The wine splashed them both and the goblet fell with [pg 56] Transfixed with astonishment the Centurion gazed upon the beautiful girl, whose face crimsoned and paled, and whose bosom heaved and fell tumultuously. ‘It was the cup—the poisoned cup!’ ejaculated she. ‘The poisoned cup!’ cried he, looking with increased surprise from one to the other. A terrible revulsion of feeling swept through, and shook, the frame of the elder Martialis. At the look of his brother he gave a hysterical gasp and dropped his head into his hands. Plautia pointed to the fallen goblet with an impressive gesture, and said, ‘It has already taken the life of one man this night. Had you drunk therefrom you would have shared his fate. That cup yet reeks of the fatal drug. Though I saw you not fill it, fortune be praised that my poor eyes perceived it ere your lips touched its horrid brim.’ ‘How, the death of a man?’ repeated the bewildered Centurion. ‘Even so! From that very cup at the close of this night’s feast,’ said she, waving her hand over the glittering disorder of the table, ‘Apicius, of his own will, drank a poisoned draught.’ The young soldier was horror-struck. He looked around and shuddered. ‘Apicius—poisoned himself!’ he muttered. ‘This is a dreadful tale—and for what reason, in the name of the gods?’ ‘Your brother can tell you better than I—he was his bosom friend, and, moreover, was present,’ answered Plautia, turning away, as if to hide a sudden burst of feeling. ‘Nay!’ said Lucius hastily, and with deep sympathy, ‘I will trouble you no more with my presence. I will learn, in sad time enough, the terrible tale—I would spare you the pain of a fresh recital. Alas, I dreamt not what had happened, and yet I remarked it strange that Apicius was not here. You will pardon me, Plautia. ’Tis a sudden and bitter blow—farewell!’ He gathered up his cloak, and, as he turned to the door, he spurned the goblet with his foot, muttering some expressions of abhorrence and disgust. [pg 57]‘Stay, Centurion,’ said Plautia, ‘go not without quenching your thirst. If I was lucky enough to rob you of your first draught, here is wine enough, and of the purest.’ While she spoke, she quickly filled another drinking vessel with wine and water. ‘See,’ she said, coming forward with it, ‘I will be answerable for it. Drink without fear—I will be your taster.’ She accordingly drank two or three mouthfuls and offered him the ample remainder. He drank as briefly as herself and merely out of courtesy. ‘You said you were thirsty.’ ‘I was. It seems to have left me.’ ‘Had you drunk before, you would have been, now, far beyond all thirst on earth.’ ‘I am indebted to your keen eye and prompt arm for my life, therefore. I trust chance may enable me, some day, to repay the debt.’ ‘Tush, Centurion, you are jesting. You, the Pretorian Achilles, acknowledging to the hand of a weak girl!’ The young man bowed coldly, for the style of the speech was not very agreeable to his mind. ‘Farewell, Plautia. I trust you may speedily find comfort in your affliction. Do you come, brother? My way lies with yours for a space.’ Caius shook his head. ‘Nay!’ said Plautia, ‘he must remain, where my brother hath left him, in charge. But I will beg your escort, Centurion, as far as you will give it, through the streets; for I came hither in haste, with scarce a follower.’ ‘That shall be my task, Plautia. It belongs to me rather than to him,’ interposed Caius, starting up fiercely. ‘To whomsoever I choose to give it,’ said the lady, with an accent of supreme haughtiness. ‘It must be as Caius says, nevertheless,’ observed the Centurion quickly. ‘I have that about me which must be delivered without further delay, and I have dallied too long already. Forgive me the discourtesy, lady, for my duty must take me back to the camp, in such direction and haste as would prove inconvenient to you. It is unavoidable, and I must risk your displeasure in deference to my business. Farewell!’ [pg 58]Bowing toward her, the Pretorian abruptly left the apartment and the house. Plautia bit her lip and clenched her hand; and, when the voice of Caius uttered some remark, she turned suddenly and fiercely upon him. She shot a basilisk glance upon him and pointed, without a word, to the jewelled cup on the floor. His cheek paled and his eyes wavered, and finally fell before the incisive eloquence of her look and gesture. He essayed to speak and move toward her, but an imperious wave of her hand rooted him to his place in confusion. The next instant she was gone, and he was left, once more alone, to wrestle with the tortures of remorse, jealousy, and despair, which writhed together on the cold background of his grief. His brother, on quitting the gloomy house of Apicius, turned his tireless steps toward the permanent fortified camp, or barracks, which had been formed by the present emperor to accommodate the household troops, on the north-east edge of the city, beyond the slope of the Viminal and Esquiline and the wall of Servius. His road lay tolerably straight across the city, under the Carinae, partly through the Subura, and finally along the Vicus Patricius, which followed the valley between the Esquiline and Viminal hills. Then, directly in front of him, rose the ramparts and walls which harboured about ten thousand horse and foot. The origin of these celebrated troops is said to rest with Scipio Africanus, who, in the first instance, formed a company of picked men to guard his person. This cohort was exempted from all other duty and was granted larger pay. Their number was increased from time to time, until the Emperor Augustus established them in cohorts of a thousand men each, horse and foot, to protect his power and person. They were chosen only from Italy and the old colonies, and we have already hinted at their superior privileges, pay, and equipment. Careful to avoid any appearance of despotism, Augustus retained only a small portion of them in Rome, and scattered the rest among the neighbouring towns. It remained for the fears or craft of the Emperor, his successor, from whom our young Centurion now bore a despatch in his breast, to assemble them all into one body within their strong, fortified camp in Rome, [pg 59] Of these troops Sejanus was the commander, and entering the camp, the Centurion proceeded to his quarters to find, to his satisfaction, that his search was at an end. Sejanus was sitting thoughtfully in a chair, with his brows contracted and deep lines furrowing his forehead. ‘Ah, Martialis!’ he cried eagerly, as his eyes rested on the form of his officer; ‘I heard you had returned.’ ‘I followed you, Prefect, to the Palatine,’ replied Lucius. ‘To the Palatine! Ah, then you must know what has happened there. It will be all over Rome to-morrow. You have a despatch?’ He held out his hand, and the Centurion placed a sealed letter therein. Turning his back on the messenger, the Prefect tore open the cover and read the contents by the soft light of a silver lamp, which barely illuminated the luxurious apartment. Pleasure and delight straightway broke over his face like the first light of dawn shooting athwart the dark earth. He perused the epistle twice, and smoothed his countenance ere he turned to the waiting Centurion. ‘You have been an expeditious courier, as usual, my Lucius,’ he said, in a brisk, elated tone. ‘When did you leave Capreae?’ Martialis related the time and particulars of his journey. ‘Thou art made of iron, I verily believe,’ returned the Prefect smilingly; ‘after such fatigue I am loth to use thee again. I work thee too hard; but there is another service imminent, and I would have none perform it but whom I could trust.’ ‘I am ready. What fatigue I feel will pass with a night’s rest,’ answered his officer. ‘What should I do without thee? It is the willing horse gets ever the most work; but this matter is particular.’ Then before he told his officer the nature of the service required, he proceeded to put to him a number of questions in relation to his experiences during his mission. When he had exhausted his ingenuity concerning everything he could think of, pertaining to matters in the imperial household, he [pg 60] ‘Centurion!’ he said, at length, ‘Drusus leaves Capreae and comes to Rome shortly. To-morrow, after nightfall, take a troop of twenty men and ride to Ostia. Drusus will arrive there in a galley. You must stop it and arrest him. Bring him to Rome, under guard, at night, and place him in charge of the keeper of the palace on the Palatine. All will be in readiness to receive him. Be careful and secret. Leave and enter the city by night; and, when you have completed your mission, hasten to report the same to me without delay. Now to bed!’ Martialis was not loth to obey, and, seeking his room, was in a few minutes sleeping the profound slumber of tired limbs, an easy conscience, and bright hopes. |
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