Afer had gauged with tolerable accuracy the depth to which he had stirred the heart of Plautia, in spite of her efforts to counterfeit indifference. Indeed, with the actual knowledge he possessed of her feelings towards the Centurion Martialis, he could scarcely be misled.

‘She will go straightway and lock herself up alone, to give it all vent,’ he thought to himself, with a grin, ‘and quite right that she should know the flavour of what she deals so liberally to others.’

What the knight thus shrewdly conjectured was actually the course which Plautia followed. No sooner had she quitted him, than, impatiently refusing all the attentions of her women, she closed the door upon them, and gave a full rein to the feelings which choked her.

Furious resentment against the betrayer of her confidence was uppermost; and reflection on the consequences of publicity was maddening to one whose intense pride had never been thwarted in any particular. She would now be haunted by the covert smile, the half-hidden sneer and giggle, though masked by the obsequious court and service which hung upon her nod. She shook her clenched fists in dull fury.

It was the nervous dread of this which formed the obstacle to her burning desire of making personal inquiries into the extent of the evil. To watch the smile on a menial’s face in answer to her questions, would be truly insupportable; but, more than all, would her pride disdain to betray the least token that the matter gave her concern, even to the extent of a simple question. The thoughts, therefore, which remained to comfort her in some degree, may easily be perceived. Her fevered mind was filled with the form of the imagined author [pg 313]of her trouble. ‘Coward, coward!’ she muttered from time to time, in the accents of the deepest rage and contempt, though once or twice it fell whispered from her lips, like an echo of reproach and despair, rounded by a half-hysterical sob.

But all such passing weaknesses were swallowed up in the overpowering resentment which thirsted for revenge. What mischief had already been done it was impossible to remedy. Nothing was left to her but a counter scheme, which might eventually enable her to cry quits. With this intention in full possession of her mind she paced the room, yet was without a sufficiently plausible idea to work upon, when the customary invitation to the supper-table of Caesar arrived. Her first impulse was to remain in seclusion, but, on second thoughts, she reproached herself with want of courage, and determined to boldly accept her position at once. The hour for the meal being near at hand, she summoned her attendants for the business of her toilet.

There was seldom much change in the party at the Imperial supper-table. Plautia, therefore, met the familiar faces, amongst whom were Afer and the Prefect. The task of appearing utterly indifferent and unobservant when, at the same time, the breast is unusually susceptible and sick with nervous dread, is so difficult as to be seldom or never acted with success. The result with Plautia was, that her bearing became haughty and stiff to an unusual degree. Her distempered mind appropriated every smile and jest as in some way connected with herself. Her disordered fancy even reached to the slaves behind her back, furnishing them with imagined nods and winks, and sotto-voce jokes. The exclusive demands on her vigilance by this morbid sensitiveness naturally engendered an abstraction from the conversation of the company, which was particularly noticeable, in contrast to her customary mood. As she was moreover, somewhat pale, Tiberius expressed a fear that she was unwell. Assuring him to the contrary, she made a spasmodic attempt to recover her sprightliness, but, unable to sustain it, she gradually relapsed into her former mood. No further notice, however, was taken.

When the business of eating was over, and the conversation began to lag somewhat, Zeno, whose watchfulness had a [pg 314]care for everything, leaned over the Imperial couch and whispered in his master’s ear. Tiberius nodded.

‘’Tis an artisan from Surrentum, friends, who desires to show me something—some extraordinary discovery. It may amuse us to see what it is,’ said the Emperor.

In a few moments the Greek returned, followed by Masthlion, who seemed to be dazzled for a moment by the lights and glitter of the luxuriously-appointed apartment. The Surrentine’s eyes had never been suffered to fall upon such magnificence crowded within the limits of four walls. When to this was added the scrutiny of the richly-attired guests at table, whom he concluded to be people of the highest rank, including Caesar himself, his temporary embarrassment was only natural. As he stepped inside the room, he made a deep obeisance towards a confused gleam, mingled with forms and faces. But speedily recovering himself, his keen eye roved swiftly round, and noted every particular and face, even of the slaves who stood clustered aside. Thence his gaze returned and rested on the pale, blotched face and brilliant eyes, which, by repute, he knew belonged to his ruler.

‘Approach!’ said Tiberius.

The potter stepped forward into the middle of the floor opposite to the table, and on his flanks, at the same time, moved the Pretorian of the guard, who had attended him into the room. He was dressed in his best dark woollen tunic, and carried in his hand a wallet. His striking face, with its pale massive brow and deep-set bright eyes, caught the attention of all and he stood calmly sustaining the scrutiny of every eye.

‘We are ready to see what you have to show, artisan, and to hear what you have to say,’ said Caesar. ‘Who and what are you?’

‘I am a potter of Surrentum, and well known to the townsfolk. My name is Masthlion, so please you, Caesar.’

Plautia started in surprise as the name fell on her ears, and she roused with eager attention to what should follow. She found the glance of Afer also resting on her, and he slightly raised his eyebrows and smiled.

‘Proceed, then, Masthlion the potter,’ said Tiberius.

‘May it please you, Caesar,’ responded Masthlion, ‘although [pg 315]a potter by trade, I have devoted much time to the art of making glass,—as much in the way of inclination as of making profit. Twenty-five years ago, whilst working under my old master, I chanced to fall upon a piece of glass of very strange quality, amongst a pile of fragments and rubbish of the workshop. It had been fused and formed by some strange accident, and ever since that time I have never ceased in trying to discover the secret of its formation. Within the last two or three days I have, by the favour of the gods, succeeded in my endeavours, and to you, Caesar, first after my own family, I considered it my foremost duty to show it.’

Tiberius nodded.

‘Twenty-five years! At any rate such wonderful perseverance should command respect,’ remarked Sejanus drily.

‘It was the belief that my labour, if successful, would prove a benefit to the world, that has upheld me under much disappointment and poverty.’

‘Very disinterested and laudable,’ said Afer, in a tone which brought a laugh to the lips of the Prefect.

‘You would seem to doubt my sincerity, noble sir,’ said the potter, bestowing a keen glance on the knight, and at the same time opening his wallet, ‘and without being selfish, I think that my long labour and sacrifices should meet with a just return, if the fruit of it prove of real service to others.’

‘Doubtless,’ quoth Afer.

‘Doubtless,’ murmured Caesar, and the knight became silent.

‘This is the specimen I have made to test my words,’ proceeded Masthlion, as he drew out a plain bowl of dull-coloured glass. He handed it to Zeno, who stood by, and the Greek took it to his master who briefly examined it. With a shrug of his shoulders it was handed back to the steward. A smile rested on the lips of the potter.

‘It is true that its appearance has nothing to commend it,’ said the latter, ‘but I will explain that, by saying, that it was made in haste during the past night, that I might hasten hither to-day. It is not the appearance of the glass I wish your highness to judge of—that can be made to suit every taste, with better appliances than my humble workshop possesses. The same principle which constructs this poor bowl can be [pg 316]applied to produce such costly and priceless articles as those I see there,’—he pointed to some magnificent vases on the table. ‘It is the nature of the material which forms my secret. You know of what worth those vases would be if flung on the floor; they would be shivered to a million atoms. Will Caesar bid the strongest slave take this poor bowl of mine and dash it on the floor with all his might, that he may see the result?’

Tiberius turned his head slightly toward his gigantic Nubian servant who stood behind him. The black went round and took the cup from Zeno. Raising it to the full height of his arm, he dashed it down on the marble floor with terrific force. The derisive smile on his thick lips changed to complete surprise, for, instead of the expected crash was a dull thud. He stooped quickly and lifted on high the bowl with one side completely flattened in.

Exclamations and murmurs of wonder arose, and the bowl was given over once more to the inspection of Caesar, from whom it was passed to the others.

‘Good,’ said Tiberius. ‘What next?’

‘I will proceed to restore it to its original shape, if Caesar will permit.’

Receiving the customary nod, the potter took from his wallet a small block, slightly concave on one surface, together with a mallet and a piece of wood, which had one end fashioned like a wedge, and the other broad and round like a pestle. Placing the bowl on the hollow side of the block, he proceeded to distend the crushed glass with the thin end of the wedge, and, when sufficient space had been made, he inserted the blunt end, and so hammered the malleable glass to its original shape.

Springing up Masthlion once more passed the bowl for examination.

‘This virtue is my discovery, Caesar,’ said he with pride. ‘That frail glass is made well-nigh indestructible. That is my feat accomplished at last. To others who follow it will be easier to further develop the principle.’

The potter and his novel exhibition had now aroused very considerable curiosity in the spectators. Plautia’s interest was in the man rather than in his work, not only by reason of the [pg 317]relation he bore to the affair which absorbed her mind, but also by the natural inclination of her sex. The Prefect was genuinely interested, whilst Afer assumed an amused indifference. Tiberius himself betrayed evident attention to Masthlion’s work, and asked many questions in reference to its qualifications and fitness for further development, not omitting to draw from the inventor brief details concerning himself.

At length the potter received the signal to retire, and Zeno was instructed to retain him in the villa until further notice. One old man at table had kept his peace, watching all and hearing all, with knitted brows and pursed mouth. He was one of the philosophers whose company was so much affected by the Emperor, and his profession was the abstruse science of astrology, a pursuit whose attributes of mystery and superstition especially recommended it to his master’s favour.

‘Look how rapt in meditation is our worthy Thrasullus,’ remarked Sejanus, with ill-concealed raillery; ‘his mind is amid the stars. Say, learned sage of Chaldean mysteries, if this new birth of plastic glass pots has been recorded in the heavens?’

‘In the eternal stars are written all things, but few only of their inscrutable secrets fall within the narrow scope of the human understanding,’ responded the philosopher, in a low tone. ‘My own poor powers have been engaged in tracing weightier destinies than that of a wretched potter.’

‘Oh, for a lesson therein from your learned lips, Chaldean!’

‘Nothing is sacred to the ears of a scoffer,’ said the old man. ‘Thou wilt know well enough some day all that I could tell thee now, Prefect.’

‘And much more too—it requires no planets to tell us that,’ said Sejanus derisively.

Thrasullus smiled scornfully and, without deigning to reply, turned to the Emperor and said, ‘What does Caesar think of this new species of glassware, which would seem to be practically indestructible?’

‘Indestructible material must ever have the preference over the perishable.’

‘Yes, when there is tolerable equality in other respects. For the kitchen and tables of the poor, the ware that is proof against time and usage is priceless. But how, if, as this potter [pg 318]says, the principle can be applied to works of the highest beauty and art, such as deck the boards and mansions of the noble and wealthy, the chosen of mankind?’

‘It does not alter the circumstances. I should prefer to have this precious vase before me safe from all possible fracture.’

‘And so would the rest of mankind owning such a treasure. Thus then, this union of beauty and economy becoming universal, to what esteem and value will the precious metals sink? Look to it, Caesar, and great ones of the earth, possessors of the priceless wealth of gold and silver! This poor potter with his bowl is a leveller and cheapener of ye all.’

‘Thank heaven ’tis a danger I am quit of,’ quoth Afer, in a tone which raised a laugh; and, after Plautia retired a few minutes later, the discussion upon the very plausible theory put forward by Thrasullus was continued with animation some time longer.

The appearance of Masthlion in the character of an inventor struck Plautia as a very extraordinary coincidence, and added fresh fuel to her excited thoughts. She lay sleepless for hours, turning restlessly from side to side with the sharply graven image of the potter rooted in her brain. The mystery of the man’s daughter tormented her. A mental portrait of her she had formed long ago, but now a fierce desire to see with her own eyes took possession of her. She must visit Surrentum—she would request it of Caesar—nay, she would demand it. The old man was infatuated and would grant her any wish—any whim. A thought struck her, and she started up with the blood tingling through her veins. Would not this man’s lovely daughter be a more acceptable and interesting object in the villa than his glassware! Fool she was not to think of it before!

To find the cherished flower—the paragon of loveliness within the fatal walls of the villa when he returned! Ha, then would Martialis have his due. She sank back with a sinister laugh.

When the morning came she despatched a messenger to Priscus, a knight and personal friend and follower of Tiberius. He had been of the party at the supper-table the previous evening. In half an hour he entered the apartment, newly-[pg 319]shaven, curled, fresh and wreathed in smiles. She had chosen her man well, for in all matters domestic he was Caesar’s confidant. With political matters he meddled not, repelled alike by inclination and prudence. But in the daily minutiÆ of the personal and private occupations of his Imperial friend and ruler he was indispensable, inestimable as thinker, provider, arranger—a true lion’s jackal.

He was barely middle-aged, with regular, comely features, which a puffy face and pasty complexion marred considerably. His figure exhibited the same overload of fat, and, altogether, he presented the idea of a man, whose habits of life might more wisely have lain in the way of increased bodily exercise and Spartan fare. He used his hands very freely to accentuate his speech, but, more probably, because they were very small, plump, white, and soft.

‘Plautia’s message reached me in the midst of important business, but at the very moment of relief I came,’ he said, with a charming smile and wave of his white hand.

‘It is more than I deserved, so trifling are my requirements,’ replied Plautia. ‘I left the table last night somewhat early, and I am anxious to know whether I missed anything in the affair of that wonderful potter and his glass. See how interested I am, when I presume so far as to bring you hither at the sacrifice of your own affairs to enlighten me.’

‘Ah,’ replied Priscus, with a smirk, a bow, and a flash of his snowy fingers, ‘would to heaven your summons came oftener to bid me attend your presence. In the matter of the potter and his glass, which was, as you say, so highly remarkable, there followed a long discussion, of which, to my deep sorrow, I am utterly unable to give you a detailed account. I believe the fellow is still detained during Caesar’s pleasure, and the decided opinion last night was, that his new fashioned glass, if brought into general use, would sadly interfere with the more highly esteemed metals. So that, in case this opinion be retained, I should say the unlucky man will have small cause to rejoice in his invention.’

‘A very hard fate, no doubt, after his toil.’

‘Doubtless,’ said Priscus, shrugging his shoulders; ‘but it cannot be helped. If his invention be disadvantageous, Caesar must interdict it in the interest of all.’