A \ B \ C \ D \ E \ F \ G \ H \ I \ J \ K \ L \ M \ N \ O \ P \ R \ S \ T \ U \ V \ W \Z

A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

W >> William Stearns Davis >> A Friend of Caesar




Demetrius had boldly come up to Rome on a light undecked yacht.[158]
The harbor masters had been given to understand that the captain of
the craft was an Asiatic princeling, who was visiting the capital of
the world out of a quite legitimate curiosity. If they had had any
doubts, they accepted extremely large fees and said nothing. The real
object of the venture was to dispose of a large collection of rare
gems and other valuables that Demetrius had collected in the course of
his wanderings. Despite the perturbed state of the city, the worthy
pirate had had little difficulty in arranging with certain wealthy
jewellers, who asked no questions, when they bought, at a very large
discount, bargains of a most satisfactory character. And so it came to
pass, by the merest luck, that the two cousins were thrown together in
a crowd, and partly Agias, through his dim childish recollections of
his unfortunate relative, and partly Demetrius, through memories of
his uncle's boy and the close resemblance of the lad to his father,
had been prompted first to conversation, then to mutual inquiries,
then to recognition.

[158] A _celox_ of one bank of oars, a small ship much used by
the pirates.

Demetrius had no intention of leaving Rome for a few days. Under
existing circumstances the chances of his arrest were not worth
considering. His cousin was eager to show him all the sights; and the
freebooter was glad of a little relaxation from his roving life, glad
to forget for an instant that his country was his squadron, his rights
at law were his cutlass. Moreover, he had taken a vast liking to
Agias; deeply dipped in blood himself, he dared not desire his cousin
to join him in his career of violence--yet he could not part with the
bright, genial lad so hastily. Agias needed no entreaties, therefore,
to induce his cousin to enjoy his hospitality.


III

Fabia the Vestal was in direful perplexity. Her heart had gone with
Drusus in his flight to Ravenna; she had wished herself beside him, to
be a man, able to fight a man's battles and win a man's glory. For the
first time in her life the quiet routine of the Temple service brought
her no contentment; for the first time she felt herself bound to a
career that could not satisfy. She was restless and moody. The younger
Vestals, whose attendance on the sacred fire and care of the Temple
she oversaw, wondered at her exacting petulance. Little Livia brought
her aunt to her senses, by asking why she, Fabia, did not love her any
more. The lady summoned all her strength of character, and resumed her
outward placidity. She knew that Drusus was safe with Caesar, and
exposed only to the ordinary chances of war. She became more at ease
as each successive messenger came into the city, bearing the tidings
of the Gallic proconsul's advance. Too innocent herself of the
political turmoils of the day to decide upon the merits of the
parties, her hopes and wishes had gone with those of her nephew; so
pure and unquestioning was her belief that he would espouse only the
right. And when the great panic came; when trembling consulars and
pallid magistrates rushed to the Temple of Vesta to proffer their last
hurried vows, before speeding away to Capua, their refuge; Fabia stood
all day beside the altar, stately, gracious, yet awe-inspiring, the
fitting personification of the benignant Hearth Goddess, who was above
the petty passions of mortals and granted to each an impartial favour.

Yet Fabia was sorely distressed, and that too on the very day of the
great exodus of the Senate. She had heard for some time past rumours
of the depredations of a certain band of robbers upon the Sabine and
AEquian country. It was said that a gang of bandits, headed by a
gigantic Gaul, had plundered some farms near Carsioli and infested the
mountain regions round about. Fabia had connected this gang and its
chieftain with Dumnorix and the remnant of his gladiators, who escaped
after their disastrous affray at Praeneste. As for Publius Gabinius,
who had on one occasion given her such distress, nothing had been
heard or seen of him since the Praeneste affair. It was generally
believed, however, that he was still with Dumnorix. And a few days
before the panic in the city, Fabia had received a letter. A strange
slave had left it at the Atrium Vestae, and had gone away without
explanations. It ran thus:--

"To the very noble Vestal, the Lady Fabia, greeting:--

Though I am now so unfortunate as to be barred from the doors of all
law-abiding men, do not imagine this will forever continue. In the
confusion and readjustments of war, and the calamities of many, the
affairs of some, one time enemies of Fortune, come to a happy issue.
Do not say that Mars may not lead Amor and Hymen in his train. All
things come to them who wait. I wait. Remember the life you spend in
the Temple is no longer obligatory. Be no cage bird who will not fly
out into the sunlight when the door is opened freely. Be surprised and
angry at nothing. _Vale_."

There was no date, no signature. The hand was distorted, evidently for
disguise. Fabia was in a dilemma. She did not need to be told that in
all probability--though she had no proof--the writer was Gabinius. She
was extremely reluctant to tell any one of her escape from his
clutches in the villa by the Appian Way. However, some confidant
seemed necessary. She knew that Fonteia, the senior Vestal, the
Maxima, would never treat her other than as a sister, and to her she
read the letter and imparted her story and fears. Fonteia did not
regard the matter in a very serious light. She was herself an old
woman, grown grey in the service of Vesta. She said that Fabia had
been most fortunate to remain in the Temple service so long as she had
and not be harassed by more than one impious and overbold suitor. The
only thing to do was to be careful and avoid anything that would give
false appearances. As for Fabia's fears that Gabinius would attempt to
carry her away perforce, as he had perhaps treated earlier
sweethearts, Fonteia scoffed at the suggestion. The Atrium Vestae was
in the heart of the city; there was a constant patrol on duty. For a
man to enter the Building at night meant the death penalty. Whosoever
did violence to a Vestal fell under a religious curse; he was a _homo
sacer_, a "sacred man," a victim devoted to the gods, whom it was a
pious deed to slay. And thus comforted, with the assurance that the
whole power of the Republic would rise for her personal defence, Fabia
was fain to put the disquieting letter from her heart.

Then followed the night of panic, and the succeeding day. There were
no longer any magistrates in Rome. The great palaces of the patricians
stood deserted, exposed to the unfaithful guardianship of freedmen and
slaves. The bankers' booths were closed, the shops did not raise their
shutters. On the streets swarmed the irresponsible and the vicious.
Men of property who had not fled barred their doors and stood guard
with their servants to beat back would-be plunderers. There were no
watchmen at the gates, no courts sitting in the basilicas. After the
great flight of the early morning, Rome was a city without warders,
police, or government.

Fabia did not realize this fact until late in the afternoon, when she
started forth, on foot and unattended, to visit a friend on the
Caelian. The half-deserted streets and barricaded houses filled her
with uneasy tremors. The low, brutish creatures that she met gave her
little heed; but the sight of them, alone and not offset by any more
respectable fellow-strollers, made her turn back to the Atrium Vestae.
As she hastened on her way homeward an uneasy sensation haunted her
that she was being followed. She halted, faced about. The street was
narrow, the light was beginning to fade. The figure of a man was
vanishing in the booth of some bold vintner, who had ventured to risk
plunder for the sake of sales. She proceeded. A moment later a half
glance over the shoulder and a straining of the eyes told her that the
stranger was continuing his pursuit. He kept very close to the side of
the buildings. His face and form were quite lost in shadow. Fabia
quickened her pace; the stranger increased his also, yet made no
effort to cut down the distance between them. The Vestal began to feel
the blood mantling to her cheeks and leaving them again. She was so
near to the Forum and the Atrium Vestae now that she could not be
overtaken. But why did the stranger follow?

There was a gap in the houses ahead. Through a narrow alley the dying
light was streaming. Fabia passed it, timed herself, glanced back. For
an instant, and only an instant (for the stranger walked rapidly), the
light glared full upon his face. But Fabia needed to see no more. It
was the face of Publius Gabinius. By a mighty effort she prevented
herself from breaking into a run. She passed into the doorway of the
Atrium Vestae, and sank upon a divan, shivering with fright.
Recollecting herself, she went to Fonteia and told her the discovery.
The Maxima, however, by that singular fatuity which sometimes takes
possession of the wisest of people,--especially when the possible
danger is one which never in all their long experience has come to a
head,--received her warnings with blank incredulity.

"You should not go out of the house and Temple," she said, "until
there is some proper policing of the city. No doubt Gabinius has come
back for the sake of riot and plunder, and having met with you by
chance could not resist the temptation to try to have an interview;
but you are in no possible danger here."

"But, Fonteia," urged the younger Vestal, "I know him to be a bold,
desperate man, who fears not the gods, and who from the law can expect
no mercy. And we in this house are but weak women folk. Our only
defence is our purity and the reverence of the people. But only the
evil wander the streets to-night; and our virtuous lives make us only
the more attractive prey to such men as Gabinius."

"Fabia," said the other Vestal, severely, "I am older than you. I have
beheld sights you have never seen. I saw the riots when Saturninus and
Glaucia came to their ends; when Marius was chased from Rome and
Sulpicius put to death; when Marius returned with Cinna; and all the
massacres and strife attending the taking of the city by Sulla. But
never has the name of Vesta been insufficient to protect us from the
violence of the basest or the most godless. Nor will it now. I will
trust in the goddess, and the fear of her, which protects her maidens
against all men. We will sleep to-night as usual. I will not send
anywhere to have guards stationed around the house and Temple."

Fabia bowed her head. The word of the aged Maxima was law in the
little community. Fabia told herself that Fonteia was right--not even
Gabinius would dare to set unhallowed foot inside the Atrium Vestae.
But the vision of the coarse, sensual face of her unloved lover was
ever before her. In ordinary times she would have been tempted to go
to one of the consuls and demand that Fonteia be overruled; but in
ordinary times there would not have been the least need of adding to
the already sufficient city watch. It lacked four hours of midnight
before she brought herself to take her tablets and write the following
brief note:--

"Fabia the Vestal to Agias her good friend, greeting. I am in some
anxiety to-night. Gabinius, Lucius Ahenobarbus's friend, is in the
city. He means, I fear, to work me some mischief, though the cause
whereby I have good reason to dread him is too long here to write. The
Atrium Vestae has nothing to protect it to-night--as you well may
understand--from impious, violent men. Can you not guard me overnight?
I do not know how. Gabinius may have all Dumnorix's band with him. But
you alone are equal to an host. I trust you, as Drusus and Cornelia
have trusted you. _Vale_."

Fabia called one of the young slave-girls who waited on the Vestals.
The relation between servant and mistress, in the Temple company, was
almost ideal in its gentle loyalty. The slaves were happy in their
bondage.

"Erigone," she said, putting the tablets in the girl's hand, "I am
about to ask of you a very brave thing. Do you dare to take this
letter through the city?" and she told her how to find Agias's
lodgings. "Come back in the morning if you dread a double journey. But
do not tell Fonteia; she would be angry if she knew I sent you, though
there is nothing but what is right in the letter."

"I will carry the tablets to Scythia for you, domina," replied the
girl, kissing the hem of her mistress's robe. "I know all the streets.
If I live, the letter shall be delivered."

"Go by the alleys," enjoined Fabia; "they are safer, for you will not
be seen. Speak to no one. Let none stop you."

Erigone was gone in the night, and Fabia went to her chamber. She was
reproaching herself for having sent the letter. Rome by darkness was
an evil place for a young maid to traverse, and never worse than that
night. Fabia repeated to herself that she had committed an act of
selfish folly, possibly sacrificing an implicitly loyal servant to the
mere gratification of a perfectly ungrounded panic. She was undressed
by her other women, and lay down with Livia fast asleep in her arms;
and she kissed the little one again and again before slumber stole
over her.


IV

Demetrius had been astonishing his cousin that evening by the quantity
of strong wine he could imbibe without becoming in the least tipsy.
Agias marvelled at the worthy pirate's capacity and hardness of head,
and, fortunately for his own wits, did not attempt to emulate the
other's potations. Consequently, as the evening advanced, Demetrius
simply became more and more good-natured and talkative, and Agias more
entranced with his cousin's narration of the Indian voyage.

The younger Greek was about to order his yawning servants to fill up
another _krater_,[159] when the conversation and drinking were
interrupted by the arrival of Erigone. She, poor girl, had set out
bravely enough; but once outside of the Atrium Vestae every shadow had
been a refuge of cutthroats, every noise the oncoming of goblins.
Fortunately for her, she did not know the contents of the tablets she
carried pressed to her breast, or she would have been all the more
timorous. Once a few half-sober topers screamed ribald words after
her, as she stole past a low tavern. She had lost her way, in the
darkness and fright, among the alleys; she had dodged into a doorway
more than once to hide from approaching night rovers. But at last she
had reached her destination, and, pale and weary, placed the letter in
Agias's hands. The young Greek read and grew grave. Even better than
Fabia he understood how reckless a profligate Publius Gabinius might
be, and how opportune was the night for carrying out any deed of
darkness.

[159] Wine-mixing bowl.

"Brave girl!" he said, commending Erigone for persevering on her
errand. "But how long ago did you leave your mistress?"

"It was the second hour of the night[160] when I started," she
replied.

[160] The Romans divided the night into 12 hours (from sunrise to
sunset); thus the length of the hour varied with the seasons: but
at the time here mentioned the "second hour" was about 8 P.M. The
water-clocks could show only regular, not solar, time.

Agias glanced at the water-clock.

"By Zeus!" he cried, "it is now the fourth hour! You have been two
hours on the way! Immortal gods! What's to be done? Look here,
Demetrius!"

And he thrust the letter before his cousin, and explained its meaning
as rapidly as he could.

Demetrius puffed hard through his nostrils.

"_Mu! mu!_ This is bad business. If there were time I could have
twenty as stout men as ever swung sword up from the yacht and on guard
to die for any relative or friend of Sextus Drusus. But there's not a
moment to lose. Have you any arms?"

Agias dragged two short swords out of a chest. Demetrius was already
throwing on his cloak.

"Those are poor, light weapons," commented the pirate. "I want my
heavy cutlass. But take what the gods send;" and he girded one about
him. "At least, they will cut a throat. Do you know how to wield
them?"

"After a fashion," replied Agias, modestly, making haste to clasp his
paenula.

Leaving Erigone to be cared for by the slaves and sent home the next
morning, the two Greeks hastened from the house. Agias could hardly
keep pace with his cousin's tremendous stride. Demetrius was like a
war-horse, which snuffs the battle from afar and tugs at the rein to
join in the fray. They plunged through the dark streets. Once a man
sprang out from a doorway before them with a cudgel. He may have been
a footpad; but Demetrius, without pausing in his haste, smote the
fellow between the eyes with a terrible fist, and the wretched
creature dropped without a groan. Demetrius seemed guided to the Forum
and Via Sacra as if by an inborn instinct. Agias almost ran at his
heels.

"How many may this Dumnorix have with him?" shouted the pirate over
his shoulder.

"Perhaps ten, perhaps twenty!" gasped Agias.

"A very pretty number! Some little credit to throttle them," was his
answer; and Demetrius plunged on.

The night was cloudy, there was no moonlight. The cold, chill wind
swept down the Tiber valley, and howled mournfully among the tall,
silent basilicas and temples of the Forum. The feet of the two Greeks
echoed and reëchoed as they crossed the pavement of the enclosure.
None addressed them, none met them. It was as if they walked in a city
of the dead. In the darkness, like weird phantoms, rose the tall
columns and pediments of the deserted buildings. From nowhere twinkled
the ray of lamp. Dim against the sky-line the outlines of the
Capitoline and its shrines were now and then visible, when the night
seemed for an instant to grow less dark.

They were close to the Atrium Vestae. All was quiet. No light within,
no sound but that of the wind and their own breathing without.

"We are not too late," whispered Agias.

The two groped their way in among the pillars of the portico of the
_Regia,_[161] and crouched down under cover of the masonry, half
sheltered from the chilly blasts. They could from their post command a
tolerably good view of one side of the Atrium Vestae. Still the
darkness was very great, and they dared not divide their force by one
of them standing watch on the other side. The moments passed. It was
extremely cold. Agias shivered and wound himself in his mantle. The
wine was making him drowsy, and he felt himself sinking into
semiconsciousness, when a touch on his arm aroused him.

[161] The official residence of the Pontifex Maximus.

"_St!"_ whispered Demetrius. "I saw a light moving."

Agias stared into the darkness.

"There," continued the pirate, "see, it is a lantern carefully
covered! Only a little glint on the ground now and then. Some one is
creeping along the wall to enter the house of the Vestals!"

"I see nothing," confessed Agias, rubbing his eyes.

"You are no sailor; look harder. I can count four men in the gloom.
They are stealing up to the gate of the building. Is your sword ready?
Now--"

But at this instant Demetrius was cut short by a scream--scream of
mortal terror--from within the Atrium Vestae. There were shouts, howls,
commands, moans, entreaties, shrieks. Light after light blazed up in
the building; women rushed panic-struck to the doorway to burst forth
into the night; and at the open portal Agias saw a gigantic figure
with upraised long sword, a Titan, malevolent, destroying,
terrible,--at the sight whereof the women shrank back, screaming yet
the more.

"Dumnorix!" shouted Agias; but before he spoke Demetrius had leaped
forward.

Right past the sword-wielding monster sprang the pirate, and Agias,
all reckless, was at his heels. The twain were in the atrium of the
house. A torch was spluttering and blazing on the pavement, shedding
all around a bright, flickering, red glare. Young Vestals and
maid-servants were cowering on their knees, or prone on cushions,
writhing and screaming with fear unspeakable. A swart Spanish brigand,
with his sabre gripped in his teeth, was tearing a gold-thread and
silk covering from a pillow; a second plunderer was wrenching from its
chain a silver lamp. Demetrius rushed past these also, before any
could inquire whether he was not a comrade in infamy. But there were
other shouts from the peristylium, other cries and meanings. As the
pirate sprang to the head of the passage leading to the inner house, a
swarm of desperadoes poured through it, Gauls, Germans, Africans,
Italian renegadoes,--perhaps ten in all,--and in their midst--half
borne, half dragged--something white!

"_Io triumphe!_" called a voice from the throng, "my bird will leave
her cage!"

"The lady! Gabinius!" cried Agias, and, without waiting for his
cousin, the young Greek flung himself forward. One stroke of his short
sword sent a leering negro prone upon the pavement; one snatch of his
hand seized the white mantle, and held it--held it though half a dozen
blades were flashing in his face in an eye's twinkling. But the
prowess of twenty men was in the arm of Demetrius; his sword was at
once attacker and shield; with a single sweeping blow he smote down
the guard and cleft the skull of a towering Teuton; with a lightning
dart he caught up the ponderous long sword of the falling brigand,
passed his own shorter weapon to his left hand, and so fought,--doubly
armed,--parrying with his left and striking with his right. And how he
struck! The whole agile, supple nature of the Greek entered into every
fence. He struck and foiled with his entire body. Now a bound to one
side; now a dart at an opponent's head; fighting with feet, head,
frame, and not with hands only. And Agias--he fought too, and knew not
how he fought! When a blow was aimed at him, Demetrius always parried
it before he could raise his sword; if he struck, Demetrius had felled
the man first; but he never let go of the white dress, nor quitted the
side of the lady. And presently, he did not know after how long--for
hours make minutes, and minutes hours, in such a melee--there was a
moment's silence, and he saw Publius Gabinius sinking down upon the
pavement, the blood streaming over his cloak; and the brigands, such
as were left of them, scurrying out of the atrium cowed and
panic-struck at the fall of their leader. Then, as he threw his arms
about Fabia, and tried to raise her to her feet, he saw the giant
Dumnorix, with his flail-like sword, rushing back to the rescue.

Four brigands lay dead in the atrium and none of the others dared look
the redoubtable Greek swordsman in the eyes; but Dumnorix came on--the
incarnation of brute fury. Then again Demetrius fought,--fought as the
angler fights the fish that he doubts not to land, yet only after due
play; and the Gaul, like some awkward Polyphemus, rushed upon him,
flinging at him barbarous curses in his own tongue, and snorting and
raging like a bull. Thrice the Greek sprang back before the monster;
thrice the giant swung his mighty sword to cleave his foeman down, and
cut the empty air; but at the fourth onset the Hellene smote the
ex-lanista once across the neck, and the great eyes rolled, and the
panting stopped, and the mighty Gaul lay silent in a spreading pool of
blood.

Already there were shouts and cries in the Forum. Torches were dancing
hither and thither. The slave-maids of the Vestals ran down the Via
Sacra shrieking and calling for aid. Out from the dark tenements
rushed the people. The thieves ran from their lairs; the late drinkers
sprang from their wine. And when the wretched remnants of Dumnorix's
band of ex-gladiators and brigands strove to flee from the holy house
they had polluted, a hundred hands were put forth against each one,
and they were torn to pieces by the frenzied mob. Into the Atrium
Vestae swarmed the people, howling, shouting, praising the goddess,
fighting one another--every man imagining his neighbour a cutthroat
and abductor.

Agias stood bearing up Fabia in his arms; she was pale as the driven
snow. Her lips moved, but no sound passed from them. Fonteia, the old
Maxima, with her white hair tumbling over her shoulders, was still
huddled in one corner, groaning and moaning in a paroxysm of
unreasoning terror, without dignity or self-control. A frightened maid
had touched the torch to the tall candelabra, and the room blazed with
a score of lights; while in at the doorway pressed the multitude--the
mob of low tapsters, brutal butchers, coarse pedlers, and drunkards
just staggering from their cups. The scene was one of pandemonium.
Dumnorix lay prone on a costly rug, whose graceful patterns were being
dyed to a hideous crimson; over one divan lay a brigand--struggling in
the last agony of a mortal wound. Three comrades lay stretched stiff
and motionless on the floor. Gory swords and daggers were strewn all
over the atrium; the presses of costly wood had been torn open, their
contents scattered across the room. There was blood on the frescoes,
blood on the marble feet of the magnificent Diomedes, which stood
rigid in cold majesty on its pedestal, dominating the wreck below.

Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

George Gibbs - "Dictionary of the Chinook Jargon, or, Trade Language of Oregon"

Thomas Preskett Prest - "Varney the Vampire"

Various - "New York Times Current History; The European War, Vol 2, No. 2, May, 1915"

Eric Moore Ritchie - "With Botha in the Field"

Review: The Thrift Book by India Knight
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Backchat: writerly boozing
Review: The Thrift Book by India KnightIndia Knight's guide to living well and saving money on everything from eyebrows to undies is highly persuasive, if a touch optimistic, writes Fay Weldon

Authors fight to preserve school library
What are the best descriptions of drunkenness - and its aftermath - in literature?