Not far from the shadow of the Capitoline, and nigh the Forum of Caesar, Plautia dwelt in a small, but handsome mansion. Her wealth, although not as great as that squandered by her spendthrift brother, was yet ample, and in her hands better controlled. Her entertainments were not very frequent, but, nevertheless, were famous amongst a certain set for their enjoyableness, which was due, not alone to the exquisite fare provided, but more to the tact of the hostess in selecting her guests. We have already attempted to describe the attractions of her brilliant, though voluptuous, style of beauty. Of lovers she had no lack. Her manners with all of them were perfectly free and familiar. So misleading, that more than one, ere now, encouraged and inflamed thereby to presumption, became sorrowfully aware of the claws which lay sheathed in velvet.

She was a mystery, therefore, and a tantalising one. Whispers and rumours were perennial; but yet absolute proof was wanting to substantiate the fame which people awarded her. She, herself, was indifferent, and could return as haughty and unembarrassed a stare as any which the proudest patrician matron bent upon her. Even those individuals, proverbial for the possession of the most secret information—namely, her handmaids and domestics—were at fault; so secret, variable, and contrary were her actions and humours.

One morning, two or three days later in our story, she was going forth to take the air, and she came to the porch of her house, where her litter, borne by four powerful slaves, stood awaiting her. This litter was roofed in, and of sufficient size to admit of the occupant lying at full length if necessary. It was also furnished with curtains, which could be drawn so as [pg 104]to secure perfect immunity from observation. This contrivance for conveyance, so common in ancient Rome, was standing on the ground, and Plautia stepped therein, before the admiring gaze of the pedestrians who thronged the causeway. Lydia, a young female, who was half lady’s-maid, half companion, was about to follow, but her mistress waved her hand and said she wished to be alone that day. With that she drew the curtains partially to hide her face and yet not to interrupt her view. The maid withdrew into the house abashed; it was the third consecutive morning she had been so treated; such behaviour was unwonted, and being filled with fears and doubts of all kinds, she forthwith began to weep heartily.

The four slaves, not at all grieved to lose the weight of the discomfited girl, bore off their mistress toward the Esquiline Gardens. The human beasts of burden dared no more than exchange a fleeting look. It was, likewise, the third consecutive morning they had been given the same direction.

To the north of the gardens lay that portion of the plain which was called the field of the Viminal. This extended to the Pretorian camp, and was, therefore, the natural drill and exercising ground of the troops. Thither the litter of Plautia was carried by her direction; skirting the outside of the rampart of Servius, after it had passed through the Esquiline Gate.

There were a number of the guards in the plain, busily engaged in exercising. Approaching within convenient distance for witnessing their movements, the slaves were ordered to set down the litter and rest themselves. Plautia, reclining with the curtains withdrawn, scanned the cohorts eagerly and keenly. After a lengthened survey a look of disappointment gathered gradually on her face. She ordered her litter to be raised, and from her elevated position once again scrutinised the moving ranks. She seemed to get no more satisfaction than before, and gave the word to return homeward.

The morning was bright and bracing, and the streets were full of citizens. As her litter passed through the crowded Subura it was rudely jostled in a narrow way, and in danger of being overturned by a crowd of slaves, who preceded the litter of some presumably great personage. Amid the struggle, [pg 105]clamour, and curses of angry voices, the litter of Plautia was rocked and tilted, so violently, that she gave vent to a cry, more in anger than fear. She thrust her face outside the curtains to look on the turbulent scene, and grasped the side of her litter with her hand, in imminent dread of being thrown out. Such struggles were very common in the narrow streets, and called for no particular interference; but the sight of her handsome face, perhaps, inspired the friendly interference of a tall young man, who, along with a crowd of people, had been dammed up by the contention. He hastily thrust himself forward, and Plautia’s face became suffused with a deep flush when she perceived it was Lucius Martialis. With one hand he grasped one of the foremost poles of her litter, and raised it, so as to allow the burly slave, who held it, to recover his overweighted grasp and position, whilst, with the other arm, he thrust back the foremost of the opposing menials. There was something in the stern resistless strength of the action which bade them think better of their uncompromising manner of proceeding, and they edged away more to one side, though not without much abuse. In another moment both parties were free and disentangled, and the great personage, who had never thought fit to show himself and notice the squabble, was carried on.

Plautia’s countenance was brilliant in colour, and her proud eyes soft and lustrous as they dwelt on the Centurion, who was clothed as a private citizen. She thanked him for his service, and her voice was tremulous and rich. He merely bowed, and muttered some commonplace words in return, and, ere she could say more, he turned away and disappeared amid the throng of passers-by.

Plautia gazed after him for a few moments, and then sank back on her cushions in a deep reverie, which, judging by the smile resting on her lips, seemed pleasant enough to entertain her agreeably for a much longer time than sufficed to bring her to her own door.

The lady entered her favourite apartment, which was pervaded by the perfume of the costly wood burning in a brazier on the hearth. The appointments of the room were as rich and brilliant in colour as herself, and on a small carved citron-[pg 106]wood table stood a delicate basket, tastefully packed with the most beautiful flowers.

Lydia took them up and presented them to her mistress, saying, ‘Martialis sent these with best greetings.’

‘Which Martialis—there are two?’ asked Plautia, receiving them with a smile.

‘Why, Caius Martialis!’ replied the handmaiden in surprise.

‘Humph!’ ejaculated the lady, dropping the basket carelessly, almost flinging it on the table again. ‘They are not such as please me; take them yourself. Who is that without?’

‘Glaucus, your freedman,’ answered a voice at the door, ‘with news!’

‘Enter, Glaucus, with your news!’ cried the lady, relinquishing her outer cloaks and wraps to the care of Lydia, who retired. The freedman entered—a low thick-set man, having a rough, but yet intelligent look about him.

‘Well,’ said the lady, warming herself at the fire, ‘what sort of news—private or public?’

‘I have reason to think that, at present, it is pretty well private,’ replied the freedman, with an air of self-satisfaction and importance, ‘but ere long it will be public enough, that is very certain. I have learned that the Prefect Sejanus has obtained Caesar’s consent to his marriage with Livia.’

Glaucus paused, as if to allow the lady to take breath and recover from the effects of his communication.

‘Well,’ said she, as unmoved as marble, ‘is that all?’

‘All!’ echoed Glaucus, staggering back in astonishment and disgust. ‘Why, not half a score of people have yet heard a breath of it!’

Plautia burst into a fit of hearty laughter as she watched the fall of his countenance. ‘Psa, you fool!’ she said, ‘every one knew that the mighty Prefect was angling in the Imperial waters long ago. What reliance can I place on your information? Where did you get it?’

‘In the camp itself, and from the lips of the Prefect’s own eunuch—Lygdus himself.’

‘Truly he might be expected to know; but he is a cunning rogue.’