NeAEra: A Tale of Ancient Rome

CHAPTER XIII.

Away from his haunts in the Imperial city, where his wits were kept ever bright and sharp by the friction of crowded humanity, the Suburan had fallen under the lethargic influence of utter inoccupation in a comparatively lifeless provincial town. His mind, latterly, may be said to have only smouldered.

It has been seen how instantaneously and unexpectedly it was roused into high excitement and activity from a state of mere passive existence. Just as the blast of a forge-bellows kindles, in an instant, a dull smoking heap of black ashes into a glowing fiery mass, so the sight of Domitius Afer inflamed the listless spirit of Cestus.

Fearing lest he should betray some symptoms of his perturbed mind to the keen eyes around the supper-table at home, he wandered along aimlessly until the time for that meal should pass, and his thoughts become more serene. To assist the latter process he visited one or two wine-shops which crossed his random path, and fortified himself with some hearty draughts of liquor. Thence he passed on to the outskirts of the town and sought the silent roads and darkness. Here were solitude and the brooding stars, circumstances most apt for philosophising.

His ignorance of the actual position of affairs left him a prey to the most distracting surmises. It was in vain he argued and proved to himself continually, that his secret lay, for the present, safe with himself and the potter only; and that Afer could no more have any knowledge or suspicion of the girl’s identity than a bird of the air. This was assured, he said; and yet what was it that brought his quondam patron to the potter’s shop? Was it to buy? No; that [pg 255]was a mere pretence. What did he want with such wares? What he had bought he had thrown away. Even in his harassment the Suburan’s face twisted with a grin, as he recalled the scene in the shop, and the expression of the knight’s face when acquainted with the price of the vases.

The conclusion, therefore, forced itself on the mind of Cestus, and would not be dislodged, that NeÆra was the object of the ominous visit. And, again, how was it, and from whom had he learnt of the existence of the girl in such an out-of-the-way corner of the town, where his foot was never likely to tread of its own accord? It was true that Masthlion had a certain reputation for his work, and that the beauty of NeÆra being known, it might have reached the knight’s ears amidst other tattle. This might have prompted his curiosity; but the coincidence was too strong for the reasoner’s peace of mind, and no argument was potent to comfort him. His thoughts, restricted to such a narrow field of inquiry, writhed and twisted in torment. Then at length, exhausted and chagrined with the fruitlessness of his efforts, he gave way to a paroxysm of rage. He shook his clenched fists, and his mouth vomited the most frightful curses on the head of his treacherous patron and all appertaining to him, including the impenetrable island, whose sealed silence held him at bay. The first glimpse of his would-be murderer had aroused and added fuel to his mingled fear and detestation. This, combined with the sense of his insecurity and comparative powerlessness in his present situation, put him almost beside himself for a few delirious moments. No one passed him at this point, or they might have been superstitiously affrighted at the fierce gestures and the shrill, hissing notes of this shadowy form in the dark road.

The short frenzy, however, sufficed to purge his veins somewhat, and when its fury had fled it left him comparatively calm and collected. He became aware of an appetite which needed appeasing, and he turned his steps homeward. When he entered the house, he found that the time had flown considerably beyond his reckoning, and that the family were all in bed. He was not sorry, however, at this, and, after eating the supper which had been left standing for him, he went to bed, where his excited thoughts kept him from sleep till nigh the time when early risers were beginning [pg 256]to stir between the bedclothes, and collect their thoughts for a new day’s labour. Then indeed he slept heavily, and came down late, to find every one busy in their daily occupations—Masthlion, as usual, locked in his workshop.

Whilst eating his breakfast NeÆra came in, fresh and fair as the morning itself, but with anxious thought in her lustrous, gray eyes.

‘You did not return yesterday until we had all gone to bed,’ she said. ‘It was because you are persisting in what you said about your presence being the cause of my father’s trouble of mind.’

‘Not at all,’ replied Cestus, whose mind was too fully weighted with other matter to trifle with this question, ‘I met with an old friend, and we sat talking about old times till late—that’s all.’

‘You vexed me by saying what you did.’

‘I was rude,’ replied Cestus, as he rose from the table, ‘and I am sorry. Your father cannot do without me for a time yet, and I do not intend to quit you. I was joking—I am too comfortable and you are too kind.’

‘Ah, then you know what ails him?’

‘I have been thinking, and I have an idea; but I will find out and tell you. It is a fine day—I must be off out into the sunshine. What a pleasant morning for a trip from Capreae.’

He looked sidelong at her, and marked the faint tinge which rose to her cheek.

‘You remember that man who came into the shop yesterday,’ she remarked.

‘Yesterday!’ murmured Cestus, with lack-lustre eyes.

‘Yes! you looked at him and his slave as if you took an interest in them; then you hurried away and came back when they had gone.’

‘Oh—ah!’

‘You said you knew them.’

‘I know that I have seen him in Rome, and that he lives on the Esquiline; but what he does here I don’t know. Very likely on the same errand as my poor self—change of air and a holiday.’

‘Is he a great man?’

[pg 257]

‘In his own estimation, doubtless—he is of knightly rank, I believe.’

‘His behaviour did not keep pace with his rank then—I hope he may not pay us another visit.’

‘’Tis very likely he may if he has come to sojourn here for a time. If he does don’t fail to tell me of it, and of all he says. He is one of your well-dressed scamps, and thinks that every good-looking poor girl is fair prey—the city swarms with such. But let me know, and don’t be afraid. I am city-bred like himself, and know a thing or two, and will soon put an end to his little game if he means anything.’

Cestus squared his shoulders as he uttered this brave speech, and went, with something of a swagger in his gait, to reach down his cloak.

‘Oh, I’m not afraid,’ replied NeÆra calmly, ‘and I have my father at hand.’

‘Ay, that’s true!’ said Cestus slily, ‘and another still better, who could tear the cur limb from limb—nevertheless, don’t fail to let me know. I have some previous knowledge of the fellow, which makes me curious, and I may easily be useful.’

Thus delivering himself he went forth into the bright sunlight and the crisp keen air. Instinctively his feet turned in the direction of the road which led to the southern promontory of Minerva. It was a customary route of his, but it was also on a main line of communication with the island, and the desperate chance of meeting with somebody, or something, which might afford a glimmer even of news, burned stronger than ever in his breast. This something was, however, painfully vague, and the somebody really limited itself to only one person. The sight of Martialis would have been as joyful to him as rain to the thirsty in the desert, taking even into consideration, that what the Centurion could impart, even if he should prove to have the inclination, would hardly be likely to throw any light upon his peculiar needs. Added to this was the fact of the young soldier’s aversion. But Cestus was not easily abashed or discouraged, and had no fear of being able finally to command attention.

He reached his observatory and sat down to rest and deliberate. Capreae lay before him amid the blue sea, with [pg 258]the white gleam of its palaces tipping its rugged peaks and peeping amid its terraced groves. With this lovely picture filling his vision, he sat for full an hour absorbed in thought, and then noting the position of the sun, he rose and walked away homeward. He had reconciled himself to his position, and had come to the conclusion that his only policy was to wait and be watchful. He also determined, on the least suspicion of danger, to carry off the potter and his family to Rome—NeÆra at least; if, however, he could persuade them to go at once so much the better. He could do nothing at Surrentum; he was tired of it, and he would feel safer in the city, whither he would eventually be obliged to go to carry out his scheme. Why not, therefore, go at once and wait there? The thought also tormented him, that something might occur which might rob him of his revenge. He burned and itched to set the wheels of his machinery in motion, however slightly, and he resolved that day to take the first step for that end. If it was no more than a mysterious hint to certain people, that something was in the wind, it would be sufficient for a commencement. His spirits rose and his steps quickened as this determination was arrived at, and, re-entering Surrentum, he proceeded to the dwelling of a professional scribe near the Marina. He entered and found that individual busy at his table, inditing an epistle to the dictation of a young and good-looking woman, who instantly became silent and turned away her head at the Suburan’s entrance. The writer, who was a bald, shrivelled, and short-sighted old man, did not immediately perceive the cause of the sudden stoppage of his customer’s eloquence, and casting a longing look at a large open book at his elbow, cried out testily, ‘Well, well, what next?—oh it’s you, is it? you’ll have to wait outside till I’ve finished!’

‘A love letter, eh! All right, I’m sorry to interrupt,’ replied Cestus, giving a leer at the young female who tossed her head.

He went outside and waited till she came forth, and then returned to take her place at the scribe’s table.

‘Well!’ snapped the old man, tearing his eyes from his book with a vicious wrench, as if the patronage which brought him his livelihood were a nuisance instead of a thing to be thankful for.

[pg 259]

‘Tablets, wax and thread of your best, old man; bring them out and let me see them,’ answered Cestus. ‘I and a comrade have a good joke in hand, and I want you to write a line or two of mystery. You must put your best finger foremost, and shape your letters so as to make them look as if they came from some aristocrat.’

He drew a piece of silver from his pouch and threw it across the table to the scribe, whose watery, old eyes glinted as his grimy fingers caused the coin to vanish with an astounding celerity. Cestus laughed, and the same grimy talons selected the articles required, which the Suburan took into his hands. He examined them carefully, not with a view of satisfying himself of their quality, about which he knew nothing whatever, but for the purpose of assuring himself that they bore no mark or impress which might afford a clue to their origin. This proving to his satisfaction, he told the old man to go on with his reading, whilst he considered upon the style the document was to take. After a few minutes’ deliberation he bade the scribe take his pen and write the following with every care:—

‘You may praise the gods and rejoice, Fabricius. When thieves fall out then may honest men look to get their own. The treasure you lost shall return to you. Prepare to receive it and deal vengeance. These tablets ere you receive them shall touch her very hand. You have often been deceived, but now wait the truth. Do you recognise this ribbon? Keep it carefully till the remainder is forthcoming. Patience and, above all, silence! I am beset; and to breathe a word would be destruction to me and to her. Beware, therefore!’

‘That’s all—now read it out!’ said Cestus; and the old scribe did so accordingly.

The Suburan laughed in his most boisterous style, and rubbed the palms of his thick, strong hands together vigorously with every appearance of satisfied delight at his composition.

‘Bravo!’ he exclaimed; ‘that’s just it, to the very letter—tolerably plain and tolerably mystified. If this don’t turn out the best frolic of my life call me a chuckle-headed fool. Get you the thread and wax ready, father!’

He stepped aside meanwhile, and took from his bosom a small package. Out of this he drew a faded piece of ribbon [pg 260]and cut off a small portion, putting it between his teeth, whilst he tied up and replaced the package again.

He laid the piece he had severed on the table, and said, ‘Put that inside and seal up carefully.’

‘There—that’s all right!’ said Cestus, thrusting the tablets into his breast. ‘Farewell, father!’

The scribe, who was already poring over his book, with his long peaked nose nearly touching the leaves, gave merely a rusty grunt as his customer stepped out into the passage.

‘Stay!’ cried Cestus, coming back, ‘Hark’ee, father!—would you not like to hear this pretty joke of mine?’

‘Pish!’ snapped the scholar, with savage contempt; and with an indescribable series of shrugs of his lean body, he huddled himself irritably over his book. The Suburan’s guffaw shook the small dwelling as he turned away and proceeded to the nearest wine-shop. Small as was the commencement, he had, nevertheless, entered on his campaign. So he drank his wine and water with unusual satisfaction and elation.

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