A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

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"Take me to your master!" repeated Fabia, puzzled by the gesture. "I
am not weary. You say he waits me?"

"He will be here," replied the servant, with another bow.

"Here?" exclaimed the Vestal, now really alarmed. "Here? He, a man
sick unto death?"

"Certainly; here!" broke in a strange voice; and forth from behind a
pillar stepped Publius Gabinius, all pomaded and rouged, dressed only
in a gauzy, many-folded scarlet _synthesis_.[108]

[108] The "dinner coat" of the Romans.

Fabia gave a scream and sprang back in instinctive alarm. In the
twinkling of an eye it flashed over her that for some purpose or other
she had been trapped. Gabinius she knew barely by sight; but his
reputation had come to her ears, and fame spoke nothing good of him.
Yet even at the moment when she felt herself in the most imminent
personal peril, the inbred dignity and composed hauteur of the Vestal
did not desert her. At the selfsame instant that she said to herself,
"Can I escape through the atrium before they can stop me?" recovering
from her first surprise, and with never a quiver of eyelash or a
paling of cheek, she was saying aloud, in a tone cold as ice, "And
indeed, most excellent Gabinius, you must pardon me for being
startled; for all that I know of you tells me that you are likely to
find a sombre Vestal sorry enough company."

Gabinius had been counting coolly on a very noisy scene, one of a kind
he was fairly familiar with--an abundance of screaming, expostulation,
tearing of hair, and other manifestations of feminine agony--to be
followed, of course, by ultimate submission to the will of
all-dominant man. He was not accustomed to have a woman look him
fairly in the eye and speak in tones, not of bootless fury, but of
superior scorn. And his answer was painfully lacking in the ascendant
volubility which would have befitted the occasion.

"Forgive me; pardon; it was of course necessary to resort to some
subterfuge in order--in order to prevent your attendants from becoming
suspicious."

Fabia cast a glance behind her, and saw that before the two doors
leading to the atrium her conductor and another tall slave had placed
themselves; but she replied in a tone a little more lofty, if
possible, than before:--

"I cannot well, sir, understand you. Are you a friend of Titus Denter,
who is sick? I do not see that any subterfuge is necessary when I am
to receive the deposit of a will from a dying man. It is a recognized
duty of my office."

Gabinius was still more at a loss.

"You should certainly understand, lady," he began, cursing himself for
having to resort to circumlocutions, "that this is my own villa, and I
have not the pleasure of knowing Titus Denter. I sent the letter
because--"

"Because, my worthy sir," interrupted Fabia, not however raising her
voice in the least, "you are weary of Greek flute-players for
sweethearts or such Roman young ladies as admire either the ointments
or the pimples of your face, and consequently seek a little diversion
by laying snares for a sacred Vestal."

Gabinius at last found free use for his tongue.

"Oh, lady; Lady Fabia," he cried, stretching out his arms and taking a
step nearer, "don't misjudge me so cruelly! I will forsake anything,
everything, for you! I have nothing to dream of day or night but your
face. You have served your thirty years in the Temple, and can quit
its service. Why entertain any superstitious scruple against doing
what the law allows? Come with me to Egypt; to Spain; to Parthia;
anywhere! Only do not reject me and my entreaties! I will do anything
for your sake!"

Critical as was her situation, Fabia could not refrain from a sense of
humour, when she saw and heard this creature--the last intimate she
would select in the world--pressing his suit with such genuine
passion. When she answered, an exasperating smile was on her lips.

"By Castor!" she replied, "the noble Gabinius is not a bad tragedian.
If he has nothing further to inform me than that I am favoured by his
good graces, I can only decline his proposals with humble firmness,
and depart."

"By the immortal gods!" cried Gabinius, feeling that he and not his
would-be victim were like to go into a frenzy, "you shan't go! I have
you here. And here you shall remain until I have your word that you
will quit the Temple service and fly with me to Egypt. If you won't
have me as your slave, I'll have you as your master!" And again he
advanced.

"What restrains me here?" queried Fabia, sternly, the blood sinking
from her cheeks, but by step or by glance quailing not in the least.
"Who dare restrain or offer harm to a Vestal of the Roman Republic?"

"I!" shouted Gabinius in mad defiance, with a menacing gesture.

Fabia took a step toward him, and instinctively he fell back.

"You?" she repeated, her black eyes, ablaze with the fire of a holy
indignation, searching Gabinius's impure heart through and through.
"You, little man? Are you fond of death, and yet lack courage to drink
the poison yourself?"

"I dare anything!" cried Gabinius, getting more and more uncontrolled.
"This is my house. These are my slaves. The high walls will cut off
any screams you may utter in this court. I have you in my power. You
have placed yourself in my hands by coming here. Refuse to do as I
say, and a charge will be laid against you before the _pontifices_,[109]
that you have broken the vow which binds every Vestal. All the
appearances will be against you, and you know what will follow then!"

[109] College of chief priests.

Fabia grew a shade paler, if it were possible, than before.

"I know," she replied, still very gently, "that an unfaithful Vestal
is buried alive in the Campus Sceleratus; but I know, too, that her
seducer is beaten to death with rods. Accuse me, or attack me, and
whatever be _my_ fate, I can say that which will send your black soul
down to Tartarus with guilt enough for Minos to punish. Your
delicately anointed skin would be sadly bruised by the stripes falling
upon it. And now, if these creatures will stand one side, I will leave
you."

And Fabia drew her mantle about her, and walked straight past the
awestruck slaves into the atrium, where she unbolted the door and
passed out. Gabinius stood gazing after her, half-fascinated,
half-dazed. Only when the door closed did he burst out to one of the
slaves:--

"Timid dog, why did you let her escape?"

"Dominus," whimpered the menial, "why did _you_ let her escape?"

"Insolence!" cried Gabinius, seizing a staff, and beating first one,
then the other, of his servants indiscriminately; and so he continued
to vent his vexation, until Fabia's litter was well inside the Porta
Capena.

II

Fabia had thus escaped from the clutches of Gabinius, and the latter
was sullen and foiled. But none the less the Vestal was in a tremor of
fear for the consequences of her meeting with the libertine. She knew
that Gabinius was determined, dexterous, and indefatigable; that he
was baffled, but not necessarily driven to throw over his illicit
quest. And Fabia realized keenly that going as she had unattended into
a strange house, and remaining there some time with no friendly eye to
bear witness to her actions, would count terribly against her, if
Gabinius was driven to bay. She dared not, as she would gladly have
done, appear before the pontifices and demand of them that they mete
out due punishment on Gabinius for grossly insulting the sanctity of a
Vestal. Her hope was that Gabinius would realize that he could not
incriminate her without ruining himself, and that he had been so
thoroughly terrified on reflection as to what might be the
consequences to himself, if he tried to follow the intrigue, that he
would prudently drop it. These considerations hardly served to lighten
the gloom which had fallen across Fabia's life. It was not so much the
personal peril that saddened her. All her life she had heard the ugly
din of the world's wickedness pass harmlessly over her head, like a
storm dashing at the doors of some secluded dwelling that shielded its
inhabitants from the tempest. But now she had come personally face to
face with the demon of impurity; she had felt the fetid touch almost
upon herself; and it hurt, it sickened her. Therefore it was that the
other Vestals marvelled, asking what change had come over their
companion, to quench the mild sunshine of her life; and Fabia held
little Livia very long and very closely in her arms, as if it were a
solace to feel near her an innocent little thing "unspotted of the
world."

All this had happened a very few days before the breathless Agias came
to inform Fabia of the plot against her nephew. Perhaps, as with
Cornelia, the fact that one near and dear was in peril aided to make
the consciousness of her own unhappiness less keen. None could
question Fabia's resolute energy. She sent Agias on his way, then
hurried off in her litter in quest of Caius Marcellus, the consul.
AEmilius Paulus, the other consul, was a nonentity, not worth appealing
to, since he had virtually abdicated office upon selling his
neutrality to Caesar. But Marcellus gave her little comfort. She broke
in upon the noble lord, while he was participating in a drunken
garden-party in the Gardens of Lucullus. The consul--hardly sober
enough to talk coherently--had declared that it was impossible to
start any troops that day to Praeneste. "To-morrow, when he had time,
he would consider the matter." And Fabia realized that the engine of
government would be very slow to set in motion in favour of a marked
Caesarian.

But she had another recourse, and hastened her litter down one of the
quieter streets of the Subura, where was the modest house occupied by
Julius Caesar before he became Pontifex Maximus. This building was now
used by the Caesarian leaders as a sort of party headquarters. Fabia
boldly ordered the porter to summon before her Curio--whom she was
sure was in the house. Much marvelling at the visit of a Vestal, the
slave obeyed, and in a few moments that tribune was in her presence.

Caius Scribonius Curio was probably a very typical man of his age. He
was personally of voluptuous habits, fearfully extravagant, endowed
with very few scruples and a very weak sense of right and wrong. But
he was clear-headed, energetic, a good orator, a clever reasoner, an
astute handler of men, courageous, versatile, full of recourse, and on
the whole above the commission of any really glaring moral infraction.
He was now in his early prime, and he came before Fabia as a man tall,
athletic, deep-chested, deep-voiced, with a regular profile, a clear,
dark complexion, curly hair carefully dressed, freshly shaven, and in
perfect toilet. It was a pleasure, in short, to come in contact with
such a vigorous, aggressive personality, be the dark corners of his
life what they might.

Curio yielded to no man in his love of Lucrine oysters and good
Caecuban wine. But he had been spending little time on the dining couch
that evening. In fact he had at that moment in his hand a set of
tablets on which he had been writing.

"_Salve! Domina!_" was his greeting, "what unusual honour is this
which brings the most noble Vestal to the trysting spot of us poor
Populares."

And, with the courtesy of a gentleman of the world, he offered Fabia
an armchair.

"Caius Curio," said the Vestal, wasting very few words, "do you know
my nephew, Quintus Drusus of Praeneste?"

"It is an honour to acknowledge friendship with such an excellent
young man," said Curio, bowing.

"I am glad to hear so. I understand that he has already suffered no
slight calamity for adhering to your party."

"_Vah!_" and the tribune shrugged his shoulders. "Doubtless he has had
a disagreeable time with the consul-elect, but from all that I can
hear, the girl he lost was hardly one to make his life a happy one.
It's notorious the way she has displayed her passion for young Lucius
Ahenobarbus, and we all know what kind of a man _he_ is. But I may
presume to remark that your ladyship would hardly come here simply to
remind me of this."

"No," replied Fabia, directly, "I have come here to appeal to you to
do something for me which Marcellus the consul was too drunk to try to
accomplish if he would."

Fabia had struck the right note. Only a few days before Appius
Claudius, the censor, had tried to strike Curio's name from the rolls
of the Senate. Piso, the other censor, had resisted. There had been an
angry debate in the Senate, and Marcellus had inveighed against the
Caesarian tribune, and had joined in a furious war of words. The Senate
had voted to allow Curio to keep his seat; and the anti-Caesarians had
paraded in mourning as if the vote were a great calamity.

Curio's eyes lit up with an angry fire.

"Lump of filth! Who was he, to disoblige you!"

"You will understand," said Fabia, still quietly; and then briefly she
told of the conspiracy against the life of Drusus, so far as she had
gathered it.

"Where did you learn all this," queried Curio, "if I may venture to
ask?"

"From Agias, the slave of Cornelia, niece of Lentulus."

"But what is Drusus to her?" demanded the marvelling tribune.

"He is everything to her. She has been trying to win her way into
Ahenobarbus's confidence, and learn all of the plot."

A sudden light seemed to break over the face of the politician. He
actually smiled with relieved pleasure, and cried, "_Papae!_ Wonderful!
I may be the farthest of all the world from Diogenes the Cynic; but a
man cannot go through life, unless he has his eyes shut, and not know
that there are different kinds of women. I was sorry enough to have to
feel that a girl like Cornelia was becoming one of Clodia's coterie.
After all, the world isn't so bad as we make it out to be, if it is
Curio the profligate who says it."

"But Drusus, my nephew?" exclaimed Fabia. "He is in frightful danger.
You know Dumnorix will have a great band of gladiators, and there is
no force in Praeneste that can be counted on to restrain him."

"My dear lady," said Curio, laughing, "I am praising the happy Genius
that brought you here. We Caesarians are taught by our leaders never to
desert a friend in need; and Drusus has been a very good friend to us,
especially by using all his influence, very successfully, for our
cause among the Praenestians and the people of those parts. When did
you say that Dumnorix would pass through the town?"

"Early to-morrow, possibly," replied the Vestal.

"_Phui!_ Dismiss all care. I'll find out at once how many gladiators
he took with him to Anagnia. Some of his gang will be killed in the
games there, and more will be wounded and weak or disabled. I am
tribune, and I imagine I ought not to be out of the city over
night,[110] but before daybreak to-morrow I will take Antonius and
Sallustius and Quintus Cassius; and perhaps I can get Balbus and our
other associates to go. We will arm a few slaves and freedmen; and it
will be strange indeed if we cannot scatter to the four winds
Dumnorix's gladiators, before they have accomplished any mischief."

[110] This was the law, that the tribunes might always be ready to
render help (_auxilium_) to the distressed.

"The gods reward you!" said Fabia, simply. "I will go back to the
Temple, and pray that my nephew be kept from harm; and you also, and
your friends who will defend him."

Curio stood in the atrium a long time after the Vestal had left.

"The gods reward you!" he repeated. "So _she_ believes in the gods,
that there are gods, and that they care for us struggling men. Ah!
Caius, Caius Curio; if the mob had murdered you that day you protected
Caesar after he spoke in the Senate in favour of the Catilinarians,
where would you be to-day? Whence have you come? Whither do you go?
What assurance have you that you can depend on anything, but your own
hand and keen wits? What is to become of you, if you are knocked on
the head in that adventure to-morrow? And yet that woman believes
there are gods! What educated man is there that does? Perhaps we
would, if we led the simple lives our fathers did, and that woman
lives. Enough of this! I must be over letters to Caesar at Ravenna till
midnight: and then at morn off to gallop till our horses are
foundered."

Chapter X

Mamercus Guards the Door

I

Agias left Phaon in the clutches of the landlord and his subordinates
and was reasonably certain that since the freedman had not a farthing
left with which to bribe his keepers, he was out of harm's way for the
time being. The moon was risen, and guided by its light the young
slave flew on toward Praeneste without incident. Whatever part of the
conspirator's plans depended on Phaon was sure to collapse. For the
rest, Agias could only warn Drusus, and have the latter arm his
clients and slaves, and call in his friends from the town. With such
precautions Dumnorix could hardly venture to risk himself and his men,
whatever might be the plot.

Thus satisfied in mind, Agias arrived at the estate of the Drusi,
close to Praeneste, and demanded admittance, about two hours before
midnight. He had some difficulty in stirring up the porter, and when
that worthy at last condescended to unbar the front door, the young
Greek was surprised and dismayed to hear that the master of the house
had gone to visit a farm at Lanuvium, a town some fifteen miles to the
south. Agias was thunderstruck; he had not counted on Drusus being
absent temporarily. But perhaps his very absence would cause the plot
to fail.

"And what time will he return?" asked Agias.

"What time?" replied the porter, with a sudden gleam of intelligence
darting up in his lack-lustre eyes. "We expect he will return early
to-morrow morning. But the road from Lanuvium is across country and
you have to skirt the Alban Mount. He may be rather late in arriving,
drives he ever so hard."

"Hercules!" cried the agitated messenger. "My horse is blown, and I
don't know the road in the dark. Send, I pray you--by all the gods--to
Lanuvium this instant."

"Aye," drawled the porter, "And wherefore at such an hour?"

"It's for life and death!" expostulated Agias.

The porter, who was a thick-set, powerful man, with a bristly black
beard, and a low forehead crowned by a heavy shock of dark hair, at
this instant thrust out a capacious paw, and seized Agias roughly by
the wrist.

"Ha, ha, ha, young cut-throat! I wondered how long this would last on
your part! Well, now I must take you to Falto, to get the beginning of
your deserts."

"Are you mad, fellow?" bawled Agias, while the porter, grasping him by
the one hand, and the dim lamp by the other, dragged him into the
house. "Do you know who I am? or what my business is? Do you want to
have your master murdered?"

"_Perpol!_ Not in the least. That's why I do as I do. Tell your story
to Falto. _Eho!_ What's that you've got under your cloak?" And he
pounced upon a small dagger poor Agias had carried as a precaution
against eventualities. "I imagine you are accustomed to use a little
knife like this." And the fellow gave a gleeful chuckle.

It was in vain that Agias expostulated and tried to explain. The
porter kept him fast as a prisoner, and in a few moments by his shouts
had aroused the whole sleeping household, and stewards, freedmen, and
slaves came rushing into the atrium. Candelabra blazed forth. Torches
tossed. Maids screamed. Many tongues were raised in discordant shout
and question. At last order was in some measure restored. Agias found
himself before a tribunal composed of Falto, the subordinate
_villicus_,[111] as chief judge, and two or three freedmen to act in
capacity of assessors. All of this bench were hard, grey-headed,
weazened agriculturists, who looked with no very lenient eye upon the
delicate and handsome young prisoner before them. Agias had to answer
a series of savagely propounded questions which led he knew not
whither, and which he was almost too bewildered to answer
intelligently. The true state of the case only came over him by
degrees. These were the facts. Drusus had known that there was a
conspiracy against his life, and had taken precautions against
poisoning or being waylaid by a small band of cut-throats such as he
imagined Ahenobarbus might have sent to despatch him. He had not
expected an attack on the scale of Dumnorix's whole band; and he had
seen no reason why, accompanied by the trusty Mamerci and Cappadox, he
should not visit his Lanuvian farm. The whole care of guarding against
conspirators had been left to Marcus Mamercus, and that worthy
ex-warrior had believed he had taken all needed precautions. He had
warned the porter and the other slaves and freedmen to be on the
lookout for suspicious characters, and had let just enough of the
plot--as it was known to him--leak out, to put all the household on
the _qui vive_ to apprehend any would-be assassin of their beloved
young master. But with that fatuity which often ruins the plans of
"mice and men," he had failed to inform even his subordinate Falto of
the likelihood of Agias arriving from Rome. It had obviously been
desirable that it should not be bruited among the servants that
Cornelia and Drusus were still communicating, and when Agias was haled
into the atrium, his only identification was by some over-zealous
slave, who declared that the prisoner belonged to the familia of
Lentulus Crus, the bitter foe of their master.

[111] Farm steward.

With senses unduly alert the porter, as soon as he was aroused from
his slumbers, had noticed that evening that Agias had come on some
unusual business, and that he was obviously confused when he learned
that Drusus was not at home. With his suspicions thus quickened, every
word the luckless Greek uttered went to incriminate him in the mind of
the porter. Agias was certainly an accomplice in the plot against
Drusus, sent to the house at an unseasonable hour, on some dark
errand. The porter had freely protested this belief to Falto and his
court, and to support his indictment produced the captured dagger, the
sure sign of a would-be murderer. Besides, a large sum of gold was
found on Agias's person; his fast Numidian horse was still steaming
before the door--and what honest slave could travel thus, with such a
quantity of money?

Agias tried to tell his story, but to no effect; Falto and his
fellow-judges dryly remarked to one another that the prisoner was
trying to clear himself, by plausibly admitting the existence of the
conspiracy, but of course suppressing the real details. Agias
reasoned. He was met with obstinate incredulity. He entreated, prayed,
implored. The prejudiced rustics mocked at him, and hinted that they
cared too much for their patron to believe any tale that such a
manifest impostor might tell them. Pausanias, the Mamerci, and
Cappadox, the only persons, besides Drusus, who could readily identify
him, were away at Lanuvium.

The verdict of guilty was so unanimous that it needed little or no
discussion; and Falto pronounced sentence.

"Mago," to the huge African, "take this wretched boy to the
slave-prison; fetter him heavily. On your life do not let him escape.
Give him bread and water at sunrise. When Master Drusus returns he
will doubtless bid us crucify the villain, and in the morning Natta
the carpenter shall prepare two beams for the purpose."

Agias comforted himself by reflecting that things would hardly go to
that terrible extremity; but it was not reassuring to hear Ligus, the
crabbed old cellarer, urge that he be made to confess then and there
under the cat. Falto overruled the proposition. "It was late, and
Mamercus was the man to extort confession." So Agias found himself
thrust into a filthy cell, lighted only by a small chink, near the top
of the low stone wall, into which strayed a bit of moonlight. The
night he passed wretchedly enough, on a truss of fetid straw; while
the tight irons that confined him chafed his wrists and ankles.
Needless to add, he cursed roundly all things human and heavenly,
before he fell into a brief, troubled sleep. In the morning Mago, who
acted as jailer, brought him a pot of water and a saucer of uncooked
wheat porridge;[112] and informed him, with a grin, that Natta was
making the beams ready. Agias contented himself by asking Mago to tell
Drusus about him, as soon as the master returned. "You are very young
to wish to die," said the Libyan, grimly. Agias did not argue. Mago
left him. By climbing up a rude stool, Agias could peer through the
loophole, which by great luck commanded a fairly ample view of the
highway. Drusus he naturally expected would come from the south,
toward Praeneste. And thence every moment he trembled lest Dumnorix's
gang should appear in sight. But every distant dust-cloud for a long
time resolved itself sooner or later into a shepherd with a flock of
unruly sheep, or a wagon tugged by a pair of mules and containing a
single huge wine-skin. Drusus came not; Dumnorix came not. Agias grew
weary of watching, and climbed painfully down from the stool to eat
his raw porridge. Hardly had he done so than a loud clatter of hoofs
sounded without. With a bound that twisted his confined ankles and
wrists sadly, Agias was back at his post. A single rider on a handsome
bay horse was coming up from the direction of Rome. As he drew near to
the villa, he pulled at his reins, and brought his steed down to a
walk. The horseman passed close to the loophole, and there was no
mistaking his identity. Agias had often seen that pale, pimpled face,
and those long effeminate curls in company with Lucius Ahenobarbus.
The rider was Publius Gabinius, and the young Greek did not need to be
told that his coming boded no good to Drusus. Gabinius looked
carefully at the villa, into the groves surrounding it, and then up
and down the highway. Then he touched the spur to his mount, and was
gone.

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