A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

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"_Eho!_ Not so bold!" replied Cornelia, drawing back. "How can I give
you what you wish, unless I am safe from that awful Polyphemus up in
Praeneste?"

When Ahenobarbus went away, his thoughts were to the following effect:
"I had always thought Cornelia different from most women; but now I
can see that, like them all, she hates and hates. To say to her,
'Drusus is dead,' will be a more grateful present than the largest
diamond Lucullus brought from the East, from the treasure of King
Tigranes."

And it was in such a frame of mind that he met Pratinas by appointment
at a low tavern on the Vicus Tuscus. The Greek was, as ever, smiling
and plausible.

"Congratulations!" was his greeting. "Dumnorix has already started. He
has my orders; and now I must borrow your excellent freedman, Phaon,
to go to Praeneste and spy out, for the last time, the land, and
general our army. Let him start early to-morrow morning. The time is
ample, and unless some malevolent demon hinder us, there will be no
failure. I have had a watch kept over the Drusus estate. An old sentry
of a steward, Mamercus,--so I learn,--has been afraid, evidently, of
some foul play on the part of the consul-designate, and has stationed
a few armed freedmen on guard. Drusus himself keeps very carefully on
his own premises. This is all the better for us. Dumnorix will dispose
of the freedmen in a hurry, and our man will be in waiting there just
for the gladiators. Phaon will visit him--cook up some errand, and
inveigle him, if possible, well out in the colonnade in front of the
house, before Dumnorix and his band pass by. Then there will be that
very deplorable scuffle, and its sad, sad results. Alas, poor Drusus!
Another noble Livian gathered to his fathers!"

"I don't feel very merry about it," ventured Lucius. "I don't need
Drusus's money as much as I did. If it wasn't for Cornelia, I would
drop it all, even now. Sometimes I feel there are avenging
Furies--_Dirae_, we Latins call them--haunting me."

Pratinas laughed incredulously. "Surely, my dear fellow," he began,
"you don't need to have the old superstitions explained away again, do
you?"

"No, no," was his answer; Lucius capitulating another time.

So it came to pass that Pratinas had an interview with Phaon, Lucius's
freedman, a sleek, well-oiled Sicilian Greek, who wore his hair very
long to cover the holes bored in his ears--the mark of old-time
servitude. He was the darling of waiting-maids; the collector of all
current scandal; the master spirit in arranging dinners, able to tell
a Tuscan from a Lucanian boar by mere taste. He used also to help his
patron compose _billets-doux,_ and had, by his twistings and
scrapings, repeatedly staved off Phormio, Lucius's importunate
creditor. As for Phaon's heart, it was so soft and tender that the
pricks of conscience, if he ever had any, went straight through,
without leaving a trace behind. And when Pratinas now informed him as
to his final duties at Praeneste, Phaon rubbed his beringed hands and
smoothed his carefully scraped chin with ill-concealed satisfaction.

"And a word more in closing," said Pratinas, as he parted with Phaon
in the tavern--while Lucius, who had been drinking very heavily,
nodded stupidly over his goblet of amber Falernian, in a vain attempt
to gulp down eight _cyathi_ at once, one measure to each letter in the
name of Cornelia--"a word more. Dumnorix is a thick-skulled knave, who
is, after all, good for little but blows. I have made an arrangement
which will ensure having a careful man at his elbow in time of need.
You, of course, will have to do your best to save the unfortunate
Quintus from inevitable fate. But I have asked Publius Gabinius to
leave for Praeneste very early on the morning when Dumnorix passes
through that place. Gabinius has a small villa a little beyond the
town, and there will be nothing suspicious in a journey to visit one's
country house. He will meet Dumnorix, and be at his side when the
pinch comes. You see? He is an adventurous fellow, and will help us
just for the sake of the mischief. Besides, I believe he has a grudge
against the Drusian family as a whole, for he lately tried to pass
some familiarities with Fabia the Vestal, Drusus's aunt, and she
proved disgustingly prudish."

"And how much will you and I," said Phaon, with a sly smirk, "gain
out of this little business, if all goes well? Of course one should
help one's patron, but--"

"It is folly to divide the spoils of Troy before Troy is taken,"
laughed Pratinas. "Don't be alarmed, my good fellow. Your excellent
patron will reward us, no doubt, amply." And he muttered to himself:
"If I don't bleed that Lucius Ahenobarbus, that Roman donkey, out of
two-thirds of his new fortune; if I don't levy blackmail on him
without mercy when he's committed himself, and becomes a partner in
crime, I'm no fox of a Hellene. I wonder that he is the son of a man
like Domitius, who was so shrewd in that old affair with me at
Antioch."

* * * * *

So it came to pass that the next morning, long before Pratinas and
Ahenobarbus met in the Forum and reviewed the steps taken in the words
that gave Sesostris the key to the situation, Phaon was driving toward
Praeneste. Of course a mere freedman, on a journey preferably kept
quiet, travelled in not the least state. He rode alone, but had
borrowed from his patron two of those small but speedy Gallic horses
called mammi, that whirled his gig over the Campagna at a rapid trot.
Still there was no great call for haste. He wished to get to Praeneste
about dark, and there make a few inquiries as to the whereabouts and
recent doings of Drusus. Pratinas had had considerable espionage kept
up over his intended victim, and the last results of this detective
work were to be reported to Phaon by the slaves of Ahenobarbus
performing it. Perhaps there would be no real harm in driving straight
through to Praeneste in the open daylight, but it was better not to
show himself until the right time. So it was that, halfway on the
road, Phaon turned in to the tavern of the decaying little town of
Gabii, gave his team to the hostler, and rested himself by fuming over
the squalor and poor cooking of the inn.

II

Agias secured the fast Numidian from the stables of Gallus, and was
soon away. His frequent journeys between Rome and Praeneste, in service
of Cornelia and Drusus, made him a fairly expert rider, and his noble
mount went pounding past the mile-stones at a steady, untiring gallop.
The young Hellene was all tingling with excitement and expectation; he
would save Drusus; he would send the roses back into his beloved
mistress's cheeks; and they would reward him, give him freedom; and
then the future would be bright indeed.

But it grew late, fast as the horse bore him. He felt it his duty to
press on with all speed to Praeneste. He had still a very vague notion
of the final form of the conspiracy, especially of the role assigned
to Phaon. Of one thing he was certain: to intercept Phaon was to
deprive Dumnorix of an essential ally; but how to intercept the wily
freedman was nothing easy.

As the Numidian swept into Gabii, Agias drew rein, telling himself
that the horse would make better speed for a little rest and baiting.
The tavern court into which he rode was exceedingly filthy; the whole
building was in a state of decay; the odours were indescribable. In
the great public-room a carter was trolling a coarse ditty, while
through the doorway ran a screaming serving-maid to escape some low
familiarity.

A shock-headed boy with a lantern took Agias's bridle, and the Greek
alighted; almost under his eyes the dim light fell on a handsome,
two-horse gig, standing beside the entrance to the court. Agias gave
the vehicle close attention.

"It belongs to a gentleman from Rome, now inside," explained the boy,
"one horse went lame, and the veterinary[103] is coming." Agias's eye
caught a very peculiar bend in the hollow in the neck-yoke. He had
seen that carriage before, on the fashionable boulevards--along the
Tiber, in the Campus Martius--the carriage of Lucius Ahenobarbus.
Phaon was waiting in the tavern!

[103] _Equarius_.

"Care for my horse at once," remarked Agias, a little abruptly. "Time
presses." And he turned on his heel, and leaving the boy gaping after
him, went into the squalid public-room of the tavern.

The landlord of the establishment, a small, red-faced, bustling man,
was fussing over some lean thrushes roasting on a spit before the open
fire that was roaring on the hearth. The landlady, lazy, muscular,
corpulent, and high-voiced, was expostulating with a pedler who was
trying to slip out without settling. Four other persons, slaves and
peasants, were sitting on two low benches beside a small, circular
table, and were busy pouring down the liquor which a young serving-boy
brought them in tumbler-shaped cups, or eating greedily at loaves of
coarse bread which they snatched from the table. It was so late that
little light came into the room from the door and windows. The great
fire tossed its red, flickering glow out into the apartment and cast a
rosy halo over the hard brown marble pavement of the floor. Upon the
dingy walls and rafters hung from pegs flitches of bacon, sausages,
and nets of vegetables. Agias stopped in the doorway and waited till
his eyes were fairly accustomed to the fire-light. Over in a remote
corner he saw a lamp gleaming, and there, sprawling on a bench, beside
a table of his own, well piled with food and drink, he distinguished
in solitary majesty Phaon--too exquisite to mingle with the other
guests of the tavern.

The landlord quickly noticed his new customer, and sprang up from the
fire. Agias had on a coarse grey woollen cloak over his light tunic,
and he drew his hood up so as partly to cover his face as he stepped
into the room.

"_Salve!_" was the landlord's salutation. "What hospitality can the
Elephant[104] afford you?"

[104] Inns were known by such signs.

The good host did not think Agias anything more by his dress than a
common slave, and saw no need of excessive politeness.

Agias noticed that he was expected to join the other drinkers around
the centre table.

"_Eho_, mine host!" cried he, letting the fire give one glint on a
gold piece. "Can't you give me a seat at the other end of the room? I
don't know these good people, and they won't thank me for thrusting
myself on them."

"Certainly, certainly," exclaimed the landlord, all condescension.
"There is a gentleman from Rome drinking by himself at that table over
there. Perhaps he will not object."

Now was the crisis. Agias had seen Phaon many times with Lucius
Ahenobarbus; but he was reasonably certain that the freedman had never
degraded himself by taking any notice of the numerous slaves of
Lentulus's household. Without waiting for the host to continue, he
hastened over to the farther table, and exclaimed with all the
effrontery at his command:--

"_Hem!_ Phaon; don't you remember an old friend?"

The freedman for once was completely off his guard. He started up,
stared at Agias, and began to mutter excuses for a very short memory.

"Well, well," cried Agias. "You _have_ a poor recollection of faces!
Don't you remember how Pratinas took you to the Big Eagle restaurant,
down on the Vicus Jugarius, on the last Calends, and how you met me
there, and what good Lesbian and Chian wine there was? None of your
weak, sickening Italian stuff! Surely you remember Cleombrotus, from
whom you won four hundred sesterces."

Phaon, who remembered the tavern, a visit, and winning four hundred
sesterces at one time or another, tried to make himself believe that
he won them from a young man, like the one before him, and that his
name was Cleombrotus.

"Um! Yes, of course," he faltered. "I'm very glad to see you. What
brings you here?"

"Business, business," complained Agias; "my master's a grain merchant
with dealings at Puteoli, and he has sent me thither, to make some
payments." Phaon pricked up his ears. "The Via Appia is more direct,
but there is less chance of robbers by the Via Praenestina."

"I hope your master can trust you not to lighten his pouch on the
way," remarked Phaon.

"Well," chuckled Agias, "he'll have to take his risk. If it's lost on
the road, why, highwaymen stripped me. It is one of the fortunes of
trade." Phaon was fully convinced that here was a fine chance to do
some picking on his own account.

"Doubtless," he began, "you are not in such haste that you cannot
enjoy one of those thrushes that sheep of a landlord is roasting for
me. _Phui!_ What a nasty place to have one's horse give out in. You
will give me at least a little company to pass the time?"

Agias affected reluctance; then as the host brought up the birds,
savory and hot, on an earthen platter, he gracefully accepted the
invitation. The thrushes and the rest of the bill of fare, bacon,
sweet nut-flavoured oil, bread, and the cheap wine of the Campagna
were not unwelcome, though Phaon cursed the coarse food roundly. Then,
when hunger had begun to yield, Phaon suggested that Cleombrotus "try
to secure revenge for his losses on the Calends"; and Agias, nothing
loth, replied that he did not wish to risk a great sum; but if a
denarius were worth playing for, there was no objection to venturing a
few casts, and "he would ask the host to bring them the gaming
implements."

So the landlord brought dice and dice boxes, and Phaon--who had come
to the conclusion that he had to deal with a light-headed bumpkin, who
represented merely so much fair plunder--began to play with a careless
heart. The landlord brought more and more flagons of wine, wine that
was mixed with little water and was consequently very heady. But the
game--with some veering of fortune--went the freedman's way. He won a
denarius; then another; then a third; lost a fourth time; won back
everything and five denarii more; and finally his opponent, heated
with play, consented to stake two gold pieces.

"What did you say a minute ago to the landlord?" muttered Phaon,
feeling that the undiluted liquor was getting the best of him. "This
wine is very strong. It makes my head ache."

"_Phy!_" retorted Agias. "Who complains of good liquor? I only told
the host to set another lamp near us. Shall we play again?"

"By Zeus!" exclaimed the delighted freedman. "Here I have cast four
'sixes' once more." And again he drained the beaker.

"_Vah!_" sniffed Agias. "Luck will turn at last. Let us play for real
stakes. More wine, mine host! I will put down ten philippi. This will
be worth winning or losing."

"As you say," gleefully chuckled Phaon, tossing the gold on the table.
"Yes, more wine, I say too. One always enjoys play when his temples
are all athrob."

Agias quietly reached over, took up his opponent's dice box, and
rattled it, and appeared inspecting and fingering the _tali_.[105]
"You have won your throws fairly," he said, handing it back. "Now let
us invoke the decision of Fortune once more. A libation to the Genius
of Good Luck!" And instead of spilling out a few drops only, he canted
the flagon too far and spattered the wine on to the floor.

[105] Four-sided dice.

"Heracles!" growled Phaon, "what a poor hazard! I have thrown four
'ones'!"

"And I have all 'fours' and 'sixes,'" cried Agias, in delight,
sweeping the money toward him.

"The gods blast my luck," muttered the freedman, "I shall be ruined at
this rate." And he poured down more liquor. "I have hardly five
philippi left."

"Come," shouted Agias, jumping up; "I make a fair offer. Your five
philippi against all my winnings."

Phaon had a dim consciousness that he was getting very drunk, that he
ought to start at once for Praeneste, and that it was absolutely
needful for him to have some money for bribes and gratuities if he was
not to jeopardize seriously the success of his undertaking. But Agias
stood before him exultant and provoking. The freedman could not be
induced to confess to himself that he had been badly fleeced by a
fellow he expected to plunder. In drunken desperation he pulled out
his last gold and threw it on the table.

"Play for that, and all the Furies curse me if I lose," he stormed.

Agias cast two "threes," two "fours."

"I must better that," thundered the freedman, slapping the tali out on
to the table.

"'Ones' again," roared Agias; "all four! you have lost!"

Phaon sprang up in a storm of anger, and struck over the dice. "Three
of them are 'sixes,'" he raged. "I have won! You got loaded dice from
the landlord, just now, when he brought the wine!"

"Not at all, you cheating scoundrel," retorted Agias, who had already
scooped in the money, "I have you fairly enough."

"Fair?" shouted Phaon, dashing down the dice again, "they are loaded!
Lack-shame! Villain! Whipping-post! Tomb-robber! Gallows-bird! You
changed them when you pretended to inspect them! Give me my money,
thief, or--" and he took a menacing but unsteady step toward Agias.

The young Greek was ready for the emergency. He knew that Phaon was
almost overcome with his wine, and had no dread of the issue. A stroke
of his fist sent the freedman reeling back against the wall, all the
wind pounded from his chest. "You born blackguard," coughed Phaon, "I
won it." Agias was renewing the attack, when the landlord interfered.
Seizing both of the gamesters by their cloaks, he pushed them out a
side door into the court-yard. "Out with you!" cried the host.
"Quarrel without, if you must! This is no place for brawls."

Phaon staggered a step or two out into the dark, then reeled and fell
heavily upon the dirty pavement. Agias prodded him with his foot, but
he was quite insensible. For the present he was harmless enough.

"My good host," said Agias, to the disquieted landlord, "I did not ask
you to give us an unmixed wine and those dice for no purpose. This
excellent gentleman here seems sadly in need of a bed, where he must
stay for some time. But since I have won every sesterce he owns I must
needs pay for his board. Take good care of him, and here are six
philippi which are yours on condition that you keep him quiet until
to-morrow at this time, and suffer no one coming from Rome to see him,
or send him a message. To-morrow evening a messenger from Praeneste
will come here, and if your guest is still safe in your custody, you
shall have six more gold pieces. At that time, doubtless, you can let
him go; but don't violate my orders, or--"

"Your excellency pays like a senator," said the landlord, bowing, as
he fingered the gold. "Trust me that your wishes shall be obeyed."

"They had better be," hinted Agias. "I am not what I seem by my dress.
If you disobey, fear the wrath of a man before whom the world
trembles!"

"He must be an agent of Caesar, or Pompeius," muttered the landlord to
himself. And Agias, having seen two serving-boys tugging Phaon's prone
weight away to a secluded hay-mow, called for his refreshed Numidian,
clattered out of the filthy court, and rode away into the night, with
the stars burning above him.

Chapter IX

How Gabinius Met with a Rebuff

I

Publius Gabinius, the boon comrade of Lucius Ahenobarbus, differed
little from many another man of his age in mode of life, or variety of
aspirations. He had run through all the fashionable excitements of the
day; was tired of horse-racing, peacock dinners, Oriental sweethearts;
tired even of dice. And of late he had begun to grow morose, and his
friends commenced to think him rather dull company.

But for some days he had found a new object of interest. With Lucius
Ahenobarbus he had been at the Circus Flaminius, waiting for the races
to begin, when he startled his friend by a clutch on the arm.

"Look!" was Gabinius's exclamation. "Is she not beautiful?"

He pointed to where Fabia, the Vestal, was taking her seat upon a
cushion placed for her by a maid, and all the people around were
standing, very respectfully, until she was seated The priestess was
clothed in perfect white,--dress, ribbons, fillet--a notable contrast
to the brave show of purple, and scarlet, and blue mantles all about
her.

"Beautiful? Yes," repeated Lucius, rather carelessly. "But such birds
are not for our net."

"Are not?" repeated Gabinius, a little sharply. "What makes you so
sure of that?"

"I hardly think that you will find my dear friend Quintus Drusus's
aunt, for so I understand she is," said Ahenobarbus, "very likely to
reciprocate your devotion."

"And why not?" reiterated Gabinius, in a vexed tone.

"My dear fellow," answered Lucius, "I won't argue with you. There are
plenty of women in Rome quite as handsome as Fabia, and much younger,
who will smile on you. Don't meddle in a business that is too
dangerous to be profitable."

But Gabinius had been wrought up to a pitch of amorous excitement,
from which Ahenobarbus was the last one to move him. For days he had
haunted the footsteps of the Vestal; had contrived to thrust himself
as near to her in the theatre and circus as possible; had bribed one
of the Temple servants to steal for him a small panel painting of
Fabia; had, in fact, poured over his last romance all the ardour and
passion of an intense, violent, uncontrolled nature. Gabinius was not
the kind of a man either to analyze his motives, or express himself in
the sobbing lyrics of a Catullus. He was thrilled with a fierce
passion, and knew it, and it only. Therefore he merely replied to
Lucius Ahenobarbus:--

"I can't help myself. What does Terence say about a like case? 'This
indeed can, to some degree, be endured; night, passion, liquor, young
blood, urged him on; it's only human nature.'"[106]

[106] Terence, "Adelphoe," 467 and 471.

And all the afternoon, while the chariots ran, and wager on wager
marked the excitement of the cloud of spectators, Gabinius had only
eyes for one object, Fabia, who, perfectly unconscious of his state of
fascination, sat with flushed cheeks and bright, eager eyes, watching
the fortunes of the races, or turned now and then to speak a few words
to little Livia, who was at her side. When the games were over,
Gabinius struggled through the crowd after the Vestal, and kept near
to her until she had reached her litter and the eight red-liveried
Cappadocian porters bore her away. Gabinius continued to gaze after
her until Fabia drew the leather curtains of her conveyance and was
hid from sight.

"_Perpol!"_ reflected Gabinius. "How utterly enslaved I am!"

* * * * *

The following morning Fabia received a letter in a strange hand,
asking her to come to a villa outside the Porta Capena, and receive a
will from one Titus Denter, who lay dying. The receiving and
safe-keeping of wills was a regular duty of Vestals, and Fabia at once
summoned her litter, and started out of the city, along the Via Appia,
until, far out in the suburbs where the houses were wide apart, she
was set down before the country-house indicated. A stupid-appearing
slave-boy received her at the gateway. The villa was old, small, and
in very indifferent repair. The slave could not seem to explain
whether it had been occupied of late, but hastened to declare that his
master lay nigh to death. There was no porter in the outer
vestibule.[107] The heavy inner door turned slowly on its pivot, by
some inside force, and disclosed a small, darkened atrium, only
lighted by a clear sunbeam from the opening above, that passed through
and illumined a playing fountain. A single attendant stood in the
doorway. He was a tall, gaunt man in servile dress, with a rather
sickly smile on his sharp yellow face. Fabia alighted from her litter.
There was a certain secluded uncanniness about the house, which made
her dislike for an instant to enter. The slave in the door silently
beckoned for her to come in. The Vestal informed her bearers that she
was likely to be absent some little time, and they must wait quietly
without, and not annoy a dying man with unseemly laughter or loud
conversation. Then, without hesitancy, Fabia gathered her priestess's
cloak about her, and boldly entered the strange atrium. As she did so,
the attendant noiselessly closed the door, and what was further, shot
home a bolt.

[107] _Ostium_.

"There is no need for that," remarked the Vestal, who never before in
her life had experienced such an unaccountable sense of disquietude.

"It is my habit always to push the bolt," said the slave, bowing, and
leading the way toward the peristylium.

"You are Titus Denter's slave?" asked Fabia. The other nodded. "And
your master is a very sick man?"

"Your most noble ladyship shall judge for herself."

"Take me to him at once, if he can see me."

"He is waiting."

The two went through the narrow passageway which led from the outer
court of the atrium into the inner court of the peristylium. Fabia was
surprised to see that here all the marble work had been carefully
washed clean, the little enclosed garden was in beautiful order, and
in various corners and behind some of the pillars were bronze and
sculptured statues of really choice art. The slave stopped and pointed
to a couch upholstered in crimson, beside the fish tank, where tame
lampreys were rising for a bit of food.

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