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A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

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"Ah!" cried Cornelia, "if only these were to be real souls! But what
can we say? See my Lucretius here; read: 'I have shown the soul to be
formed fine and to be of minute bodies and made up of much smaller
first-beginnings than the liquid air, or mist, or smoke. As you see
water, when the vessels are shattered, flow away on every side, and as
mist and smoke vanish away into the air, believe that the soul, too,
is shed abroad, and perishes much more quickly and dissolves sooner
into its first bodies, when once it has been taken out of the limbs of
a man and has withdrawn.' O Quintus, is the thing within me that loves
you lighter, more fragile, than smoke? Shall I blow away, and vanish
into nothingness? It is that which affrights me!"

And Drusus tried as best he might to comfort her, telling her there
was no danger that she or he would be dissipated speedily, and that
she must not fret her dear head with things that set the sagest
greybeards a-wrangling. Then he told her about the political world,
and how in a month at most either every cloud would have cleared away,
and Lentulus be in no position to resist the legal claims which Drusus
had on the hand of his niece; or, if war came, if fortune but favoured
Caesar, Cornelia's waiting for deliverance would not be for long.
Drusus did not dwell on the alternative presented if civic strife came
to arms; he only knew that, come what might, Cornelia could never be
driven to become the bride of Lucius Ahenobarbus; and he had no need
to exact a new pledge of her faithful devotion.

So at last, like everything terrestrial that is sweet and lovely, the
slowly advancing afternoon warned Drusus that for this day, at least,
they must separate.

"I will come again to-morrow, or the next day, if Cassandra can so
arrange," said he, tearing himself away. "But part to-night we must,
nor will it make amends to imitate Carbo, who, when he was being led
to execution, was suddenly seized with a pain in the stomach, and
begged not to be beheaded until he should feel a little better."

He kissed her, strained her to his breast, and stepped toward the
landing-place. Cappadox had taken the boat out from the moorings to
minimize a chance of discovery by some one in the house. Drusus was
just turning for a last embrace, when many voices and the plash of
oars sounded below. Cornelia staggered with dread.

"It's Ahenobarbus," she gasped, in a deathly whisper; "he sometimes
comes back from Puteoli by boat. He will murder you when he finds you
here!"

"Can't I escape through the house?"

The words, however, were no sooner out of Drusus's mouth, than Lucius
Ahenobarbus, dressed in the most fashionably cut scarlet lacerna,
perfumed and coiffured to a nicety, appeared on the terrace. Some evil
genius had led him straight up without the least delay.

It was the first time that the two enemies had met face to face since
Drusus had declined the invitation to Marcus Laeca's supper. Be it said
to Lucius's credit that he sensed the situation with only the minimum
of confusion, and instantly realized all of Cornelia's worst fears.
Drusus had drawn back from the steps to the lower terrace, and stood
with stern brow and knotted fist, trapped by a blunder that could
hardly have been guarded against, no submissive victim to what fate
had in store. Cornelia, for once quite distraught with terror, cowered
on a bench, unable to scream through sheer fright.

"_Salve!_ amice," was the satirical salutation of Ahenobarbus. "How
excellently well met. _Heus!_ Phaon, bring your boatmen, quick! Not an
instant to lose!"

"Pity! mercy!" gasped Cornelia, "I will do anything for you, but spare
him;" and she made as if to fall on her knees before Ahenobarbus.

"Girl!" Drusus had never spoken in that way to her before; his tones
were cold as ice. "Go into the house! Your place is not here. If
Lucius Ahenobarbus intends to murder me--"

The boatmen and two or three other slaves that were always at
Ahenobarbus's heels were crowding up on to the terrace ready to do
their master's bidding.

"Throw me that fellow over the balcony," ordered Lucius, his sense of
triumph and opportunity mastering every fear that Flaccus would
execute his threat of prosecution. "See that he does not float!"

Cornelia found her voice. She screamed, screamed shrilly, and ran into
the house. Already the familia was alarmed. Two or three freedmen of
Lentulus were rushing toward the terrace. They were murdering Quintus!
He was resisting, resisting with all the powers of a wild animal
driven to its last lair. Outside, on the terrace, where but an instant
before she and her lover were cooing in delicious ecstasy, there were
oaths, blows, and the sharp pants and howls of mortal struggle. And
she could do nothing--nothing! And it was through his love for her
that Drusus was to go down to his untimely grave! The seconds of
struggle and anguish moved on leaden feet. Every breath was agony,
every sound maddening. And she could do nothing--nothing. Still they
were fighting. Phaon--she knew his voice--was crying out as if in
grievous pain. And now the voice of Lucius Ahenobarbus sounded again:
"One thousand denarii if you fling him into the sea!" and she could do
nothing--nothing! She tore down the purple tapestries around her bed,
and dashed from its tripod a costly bowl of opal Alexandrian
glass--all in the mere rage of impotence. And still they were
fighting. What was that ornament hanging on the wall, half hid behind
the torn tapestry? A scabbard--a sword, some relic of ancient wars!
And all the combatants were unarmed! The antique weapon was held by
stout thongs to the wall; she plucked it from its fastenings with the
strength of a Titaness. The rusty blade resisted an instant; she
dragged it forth. Then out on to the terrace. Really only a moment had
elapsed since she left it. One of the slaves was lying dead, or
stunned, prone on the turf. Phaon was writhing and howling beside him,
nursing a broken jaw. The other assailants had sunk back in temporary
repulse and were preparing for a second rush. Drusus was still
standing. He half leaned upon the stone pedestal of an heroic-sized
Athena, who seemed to be spreading her protecting aegis above him. His
garments were rent to the veriest shreds. His features were hidden
behind streaming blood, his arms and neck were bruised and bleeding;
but clearly his adversaries could not yet congratulate themselves that
the lion's strength was too sapped to be no longer dreaded.

"Come, you," was his hot challenge to Lucius Ahenobarbus, who stood,
half delighted, half afraid, shivering and laughing spasmodically, as
he surveyed the struggle from a safe distance. "Come, you, and have
your share in the villany!"

And again, for it was all the affair of the veriest moment, the slaves
rushed once more on their indocile victim. "Freedom to the man who
pulls him down!" was the incentive of Ahenobarbus.

But again Drusus, who, to tell the truth, had to contend with only the
flabby, soft-handed, unskilful underlings of Lucius, struck out so
furiously that another of his attackers fell backward with a groan and
a gasp. All this Cornelia saw while, sword in hand, she flew toward
the knot of writhing men. She pushed aside the slaves by sheer force.
She asked no civilities, received none.

"Pull her away!" shouted Lucius, and started himself to accomplish his
purpose. A rude hand smote her in the face; she staggered, fell; but
as she fell a hand snatched the sword out of her grasp. She released
her hold gladly, for did she not know that hand? When she rose to her
feet there were shrieks of fear and pain on every side. The slaves
were cringing in dread before him. Drusus was standing under the
Athena, with the keen steel in his hand--its blade dyed crimson; and
at his feet lay Ahenobarbus's favourite valet--the wretch literally
disembowelled by one deadly stroke.

"Fly, fly!" she implored; "they will bring arms! They will never let
you escape."

"I'll pay you for letting him kill Croesus," howled Lucius, facing
himself resolutely toward his enemy. "How can he fly when the house is
full of servants, and his boat is away from the landing? You give
yourself trouble for no purpose, my lady! Lentulus's people will be
here with swords in a moment!"

But as he spoke a blow of some unseen giant dashed him prostrate, and
upon the terrace from below came Cappadox, foaming with anxious rage,
his brow blacker than night, his brawny arms swinging a heavy paddle
with which he clubbed the cowering slaves right and left.

"Have they killed him! Have the gods spared him!" These two demands
came bounding in a breath from the honest servant's lips. And when he
saw Drusus, bleeding, but still standing, he rushed forward to fling
his arms about his master's neck.

"Fly! fly!" urged Cornelia, and out of the building, armed now with
swords and staves, came flocking the freedmen of the house and as many
slaves as they could muster.

"_Salve!_ carissima," and Drusus, who never at the instant gave
thought to the blood all over him, pressed her in one last kiss. He
gained the terrace steps by a single bound ahead of his armed
attackers. Cappadox smote down the foremost freedman with a buffet of
the oar. Ahenobarbus staggered to his feet as Drusus sprang over him,
and the latter tore a packet of tablets from his hand, never stopping
in his own flight.

Then down on to the little landing-place pursuers and pursued tumbled.
The large six-oared boat of Ahenobarbus was moored close beside
Cappadox's skiff.

Drusus was into the skiff and casting loose before Lucius could
descend from the upper terrace. The young Domitian was in a terrible
distress.

"The letters! The letters! Freedom to you all if you save them! Cast
off! Chase! Sink the skiff!"

But before any of the unskilful assailants could execute the order,
Cappadox had driven the butt of his paddle clean through the bottom
planking of the larger boat, and she was filling rapidly. The paddle
shivered, but it was madness to embark on the stoven craft.

The skiff shot away from the landing as though an intelligent soul,
rising equal to the needs of the crisis. The blue dancing water lapped
between her gunwale and the shore. Drusus stood erect in the boat,
brushed back the blood that was still streaming over his eyes, and
looked landward. The slaves and freedmen were still on the landing,
gazing blankly after their escaped prey. Ahenobarbus was pouring out
upon their inefficiency a torrent of wrathful malediction, that
promised employment for the "whipper" for some time to come. But
Drusus gave heed to none of these things. Standing on the upper
terrace, her hair now dishevelled and blowing in tresses upon the
wind, was Cornelia, and on her all her lover's gaze was fixed.

"Safe?" and the melodious shout drifted out over the widening stretch
of water.

"Safe! to live and to love!" And Drusus thought, with his keen lover's
eye, he could see the dimming face brighten, and the hands go up in a
gesture of thanksgiving.

It was all that was said. Another boat might be procured at any time
by Lucius Ahenobarbus; and with only one paddle Cappadox could make
but slow headway. Stiff and bruised, the young man flung himself on
the bottom of the skiff, and panted and nursed himself after his
mortal struggle. Now that the combat was over he felt weak and sore
enough, and was quite content to let Cappadox adjust such improvised
bandages as were available, and scull him toward Puteoli. Fortunately
none of the bruises was caused by any harder weapons than fists, and,
though his body was black and blue, he had sustained no serious hurt.
And so he rested his head on a wrap, and closed his eyes, and called
up before his mind the vision of Cornelia. How beautiful she had been
when he met her! How much more beautiful when she thrust her way
through the fighting slaves and put the sword in his hand, at that
moment of mortal combat, which he expected to be his last! Did he only
love her because her face was sweet, her voice was sweet, and the
touch of her hair was sweet? Happy was he, her lover;--he could say
"no," and have never a fear that his sincerity would be tested. And
Lucius Ahenobarbus? He hated him with a perfect hatred. A Roman who
was no Roman! A womanish man whom every true woman must despise! A
serpent who had not even the bright scales of a serpent! What would he
do to Cornelia? Drusus's face grew hard. Had he, Drusus, yet done any
injury worth mentioning to his enemy? Why had he not used the moment
when Lucius lay prostrate, and run the sword through his body?
Ill-timed, thoughtless mercy! But the letters, the packet he had
wrenched from Ahenobarbus's hand? Why was it so precious? Drusus had
flung it into the boat. He took up the packet. Doubtless some
_billet-doux_. Why should he degrade his mind by giving an instant's
thought to any of his enemy's foul intrigues? He could only open his
eyes with difficulty, but a curiosity that did not add to his
self-esteem overmastered him. The seal! Could he believe his
senses--the imprint of three trophies of victory? It was the seal of
Pompeius! The instinct of the partisan and politician conquered every
infirmity. He broke the wax, untied the thread, and opened. The
letters were in cipher, and at first sight illegible. But this did not
present any insuperable difficulty. Most classic ciphers were
sufficiently simple to be solved without very much trouble. Drusus
knew that in all Caesar's correspondence a cipher had been used which
consisted merely of substituting for each letter the fourth letter
beyond it, as D for A; and a little examination showed that the
present cryptogram was made on the same rude method. After a few
guesses he struck the proper substitutions, and was able to read.

"Pompeius Magnus, Imperator, to the most excellent Lucius Domitius
Ahenobarbus, Rome, tenth day before the Calends of January. If it is
well with you, it is well; I am well.[134] I write to warn you that we
are told that Quintus Drusus, your personal enemy and the friend of
our own foes, is in Campania. We need not add more, for we trust to
you to see to it that he stirs up no faction in favour of his master
in those parts. Be assured that you will not be long troubled by this
enemy. He is marked out as one of the earliest of those to pay with
their lives for their conspiracy against the Republic. If possible see
that Drusus is seized for some alleged offence, and lodged in prison
until the new consuls come into office. After that time he can work
little or no mischief. Use the uttermost endeavours in this matter;
check him and his schemes at all hazards. I trust your energy and
prudence, which your father and Lentulus Crus assure me will not fail.
_Vale!_"

[134] _Si vales bene est ego valeo_, written commonly simply
S. V. B. E. E. V.

Drusus lay back in the bottom of the boat, and looked up into the blue
dome. It was the same azure as ever, but a strange feeling of
disenchantment seemed to have come over him. For the first time he
realized the deadly stakes for which he and his party were playing
their game. What fate had been treasured up for him in the impending
chaos of civil war? If he perished in battle or by the executioner's
axe, what awaited Cornelia? But he had chosen his road; he would
follow it to the end. The battle spirit mounted in him.

The sky was darkening when the boat drew up to one of the busy quays
of Puteoli. Stars had begun to twinkle. Cappadox aided his bruised and
stiffened master to disembark.

"To-night rest," cried Drusus, forgetting all his wounds. "To-morrow
away to Rome. And at Rome--the war of the Gods and the Giants!"




Chapter XIV

The New Consuls


I

It had come--the great crisis that by crooked ways or straight was to
set right all the follies and crimes of many a generation. On the
Calends of January Lentulus Crus and Caius Clodius Marcellus were
inaugurated consuls. In solemn procession with Senate, priesthoods,
and people, they had gone up to the Capitol and sacrificed chosen
white steers to Jupiter, "Best and Greatest,"[135] and invoked his
blessing upon the Roman State. And so began the last consulship of the
Free Republic.

[135] _Optimus maximus_.

Rome was in a ferment. All knew the intention of the consuls to move
the recall of Caesar from his government. All knew that Curio had
brought a letter from Ravenna, the contents whereof he carefully
guarded. That same afternoon the consuls convened the Senate in the
Temple of Capitoline Jove, and every man knew to what purpose. All
Rome swept in the direction of the Capitol. Drusus accompanied his
friend, the tribune Antonius, as the latter's viator, for there was
need of a trusty guard.

The excitement in the streets ran even higher than when Catilina's
great plot was exposed. The streets were jammed with crowds,--not of
the idle and base born, but of equites and noble ladies, and young
patricians not old enough to step into their fathers' places. They
were howling and cheering for Pompeius and Lentulus, and cursing the
absent proconsul. As Drusus passed along at the side of Antonius, he
could not fail to hear the execrations and vile epithets flung from
every side at him and his friend. He had always supposed the masses
were on Caesar's side, but now every man's hand seemed turned against
the conqueror of the Gauls. Was there to be but a repetition of the
same old tragedy of the Gracchi and of Marcus Drusus? A brave man
standing out for the people, and the people deserting him in his hour
of need?

They reached the Temple. The Senate was already nearly ready for
business; every toothless consular who had been in public service for
perquisites only, and who for years had been wasting his life enjoying
the pickings of an unfortunate province--all such were in their seats
on the front row of benches. Behind them were the _praetorii_ and the
_aedilicii,_[136] a full session of that great body which had matched
its tireless wisdom and tenacity against Pyrrhus, Hannibal, and
Antiochus the Great, and been victorious. Drusus ran his eye over the
seats. There they sat, even in the midst of the general excitement, a
body of calm, dignified elders, severe and immaculate in their long
white togas and purple-edged tunics. The multitudes without were
howling and jeering; within the temple, reigned silence--the silence
that gathered about the most august and powerful assembly the world
has ever seen.

[136] Ex-praetors and ex-aediles.

The Temple was built of cool, grey stone; the assembly hall was quite
apart from the shrine. The Senate had convened in a spacious
semicircular vaulted chamber, cut off from the vulgar world by a row
of close, low Doric columns. From the shade of these pillars one could
command a sweeping view of the Forum, packed with a turbulent
multitude. Drusus stood on the Temple steps and looked out and in.
Without, confusion; within, order; without, a leaderless mob; within,
an assembly almost every member of which had been invested with some
high command. For a moment the young man revived courage; after all,
the Roman Senate was left as a bulwark against passion and popular
wrath; and for the time being, as he looked on those motionless,
venerable faces, his confidence in this court of final appeal was
restored. Then he began to scan the features of the consulars, and his
heart sank. There was Lucius Calpurnius Piso, with the visage of a
philosopher, but within mere moral turpitude. There was Favonius;
there were the two sanguinary Marcelli, consuls respectively for the
two preceding years; there was Domitius; there was Cato, his hard face
illumined doubtless by the near realization of unholy hopes; there was
Faustus Sulla, another bitter oligarch. Drusus saw them all, and knew
that the Caesarian cause had been doomed without a hearing. Caius
Marcellus, the new consul, sat in his separate seat, in all the
splendid dignity of his embroidered toga. Around him stood his twelve
lictors. But Lentulus, at whose behest the Senate had been convened,
and who was to act as its president, had not come. Drusus followed
Antonius over to the farther side of the house, where on a long, low
bench[137] the other tribunes of the plebs were seated. Quintus
Cassius was already there. The other tribunes darted angry glances at
their newly arrived colleague. Drusus remained standing behind
Antonius, ready to act as a body-guard, as much as to serve in mere
official capacity. Even as they entered he had noticed a buzz and
rustle pass along the tiers of seats, and whisper pass on whisper,
"There come the Caesarians!" "What treason is in that letter!" "We must
have an end of their impudence!" And Drusus ran his eye over the whole
company, and sought for one friendly look; but he met with only stony
glances or dark frowns. There was justice neither in the people nor in
the Senate. Their hearts were drunk with a sense of revenge and
self-willed passion; and Justice literally weighed out her bounty with
blinded eyes.

[137] _Subsellium_.

There was another hum and rustle. And into the hall swept Lentulus
Crus, in robes of office, with Scipio, the father-in-law of Pompeius,
at his side. Before him strode his twelve lictors bearing their fasces
erect. Not a word was spoken while Lentulus Crus seated himself in the
ivory curule chair of office. No sign marked the extreme gravity of
the occasion.

"Let the sacred chickens be brought," said Lentulus.

Never a lip twitched or curled in all that august multitude while
several public attendants brought in a wooden cage containing three or
four rather skinny specimens of poultry. Not even Drusus saw anything
really ridiculous when Lentulus arose, took grain from an attendant,
and scattered a quantity of it before the coop. Close at his elbow
stood the augur, to interpret the omen,--a weazened, bald-headed old
senator, who wore a purple-striped tunic,[138] and carried in his hand
a long stick,[139] curved at its head into a spiral. Drusus knew
perfectly well that the fowls had been kept without food all that day;
but it would have seemed treason to all the traditions of his native
land to cry out against this pompous farce. The hungry chickens pecked
up the grain. The augur muttered formula after formula, and Lentulus
took pains to repeat the meaningless jargon after him. Presently the
augur ceased his chatter and nodded to the consul. Lentulus turned
toward the Senate.

[138] _Trabea_.

[139] _Lituus_.

"There is no evil sight or sound!"[140] was his announcement, meaning
that business could be transacted.

[140] _Silentium esse videtur_.

Whereupon up from his seat sprang Marcus Antonius, flourishing in his
hand a packet. Loudly Lentulus bade him hold his peace; loudly the
tribunes who sided with the Senate party forbade him to read. But a
rustle and stir of eager curiosity ran along all the benches, and
first one voice, then many, cried out that the letter must be made
public. With very ill grace the consul declared that Antonius should
be allowed to read the communication from Caesar.

Antonius read, and all were astonished at the moderation of the
much-maligned proconsul. Caesar made it clear that he would stand on
his rights as to the second consulship; but to withdraw possibilities
of seeming to issue a threat, he would disband his entire army if
Pompeius would only do the same, or, if preferred, he would retain
simply Cisalpine Gaul and Illyria with two legions, until the consular
elections were over. In either event it would be out of his power to
menace the constitution, and the public tranquillity would remain
quite undisturbed.

But before the murmur of approbation at this unexpected docility wore
away, Lentulus burst forth into a fiery invective. All knew why the
Senate had been convened, nor would he allow a few smooth promises to
bring the state into danger. The law provided that a proconsul should
leave his province at a certain time; and if Caesar thought that a
special law exempted him from this requirement, it were well he were
disabused of the notion. The Senate had been convened because the
presiding consul felt that the continuance of Caesar in his
governorship was a menace to the safety of the Republic. Let the
Conscript Fathers express themselves boldly, and he, Lentulus, would
not desert them; let them waver and try to court the favour of Caesar
as in former times, and the consul would have to look to his own
safety--and he could make his own terms with Caesar.

Lentulus had started out with studied moderation. His harangue ended
with a stinging menace. A low mutter, difficult to interpret, ran
through the Senate. Again Antonius leaped to his feet.

"Conscript Fathers, will you not consider the mild offers of Caesar? Do
not reject them without debate."

"I ask the opinion of the Senate on my own proposition," broke in
Lentulus. "Metellus Scipio, declare what is your judgment."

"I protest at this unseemly haste," cried Antonius; "let us consider
the letter first!"

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Along the journey they manage to cure each other, and "none of them ever knew or suspected that the Fountain's waters carried no enchantment at all".

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