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A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

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[80] A shawl worn over the stola.

"I am very sorry to tell you, Quintus, that I fear your wedding with
Cornelia cannot be celebrated as soon as you hoped."

"Must be postponed!" exclaimed the young man, in alarm; and Cornelia
dropped her arm, and stared at her uncle in dismay.

"I fear so," said Lentulus, dryly. "I have done my best to husband the
fortune Caius left his daughter; but, as perhaps you know, I invested
a very large part of it in the tax farming syndicate for farther
Spain. The speculation seemed safe, but local wars have so reduced the
profits that they amount to nothing, and it will be some time before
the principal is set free. Of course, in ordinary times I would make
up the sum from my own means, but I have had very heavy expenses
lately; consequently, I fear you cannot marry Cornelia until I am in a
position to pay over her dowry."

Drusus burst out into a hearty, boyish laugh.

"My dear uncle," cried he, "for do let me call you so, I would have
you know that when I take Cornelia I have dowry sufficient. Thanks to
old Vibulanus's will, I may call myself passing wealthy. As far as I
am concerned, you may pay over the marriage portion to my heirs, if so
you wish."

Lentulus seemed considerably relieved. Claudia broke out with loud
ejaculations to the effect that Drusus, she always knew, was a
generous, affectionate fellow, and she loved him dearly. Cornelia,
however, looked disturbed, and presently exclaimed:--

"It isn't right, Quintus, that I should come into your house with not
a sesterce in my own name, as if you had married some low farmer's
daughter."

"_Phy!_ pish!" replied Drusus. "You always scold the Greeks, my good
mistress, and yet, like them, you hold that a marriage between people
of unequal means is unhappy. A penny for your scruples! I have more
money to-day than I know what to do with. Besides, if it will make you
happier, your uncle can doubtless pay over the dowry before a great
while."

"It's certainly very kind of you, Quintus," said Lentulus (who had
quite made up his mind that if the young man could wait for what was a
very tidy fortune, through sheer affection for Cornelia, he would be
pliable enough in the political matter), "not to press me in this
affair. Rest assured, neither you nor my niece will be the losers in
the end. But there's one other thing I would like to ask you about.
From what Calvus told me in Rome, Curio and certain other still worse
_Populares_[81] were trying to induce you to join their abominable
faction. I trust you gave those men no encouragement?"

[81] The party in opposition, since the time of Tiberius Gracchus,
to the Senate party--Optimates; at this time the _Populares_ were
practically all Caesarians.

Drusus was evidently confused. He was wishing strongly that Cornelia
was away, and he could talk to her uncle with less constraint. He felt
that he was treading on very dangerous ground.

"It is true," said he, trying painfully to answer as if the words cost
him no thought. "Antonius had met many of my father's old comrades in
Gaul, and they had sent a number of kind messages to me. Then, too,
Balbus invited me to a dinner-party and there I met Curio, and a very
pleasant time we had. I cannot recall that they made any special
efforts to enlist me as a partisan."

In this last, Drusus spoke truly; for he had already thrown in his lot
with the Caesarian cause. But Lentulus knew enough of the case to
realize that he was receiving not the whole truth but only a half; and
being a man of a sharp temper that was under very imperfect control,
threw diplomacy to the winds, and replied vehemently: "Don't attempt
to cover up your folly! I know how you have put yourself in the power
of those conspirators. Are you planning to turn out another Catilina?"

"My dear sir," expostulated Drusus, doing his best to retain his
outward calm, "I cannot understand of what fault I have become guilty.
Is it wrong in Rome to accept a kindly invitation from an old family
friend to a dinner? Am I responsible for the persons the host summoned
to meet me there?"

Drusus had been simply sparring to ward off the real point at issue;
like many persons he would not assert his convictions and motives till
fairly brought to bay. But that moment came almost instantly.

"Don't equivocate! _Mehercle!_" cried Lentulus, getting thoroughly
angry. "Can't you speak, except to lie and quibble before my face?
Have you joined the gang Curio is rallying for Caesar?"

Drusus was losing his own patience now.

"Yes! And we shall shortly see whether the Republic is to be longer
ruined by incompetence and corruption!"

"Uncle! Quintus!" implored Cornelia, forcing herself between them, and
casting out of her wide-open eyes on each a look full of distress.
"Don't contend! For my sake be friends!"

"For your sake!" raged Lentulus, his florid face growing redder and
redder. "I will take care to keep you out of the clutches of a man who
deliberately chooses to associate with all that is base and villanous.
Until your handsome lover throws over connections with Caesar and his
fellow-conspirators, let him never ask for your hand!"

"Sir," burst in Drusus, flushing with passion, "do you dare to set at
naught the will of your brother and its express commands? Dare you
withhold from me what is legally my own?"

"Legally?" replied Lentulus, with sharp scorn. "Don't use that word to
a consul-elect, who has the whole Senate and Pompeius behind him. Laws
are very dangerous tools for a young man to meddle with in a case like
this. You will be wise not to resort to the courts."

"You defy the law!" thundered Drusus, all the blood of his fighting
ancestors tingling in his veins. "Do you say that to a Livian; to the
heir of eight consuls, two censors, a master of the horse, a dictator,
and three triumphators? Shall not _he_ obtain justice?"

"And perhaps," said Lentulus, sinking into an attitude of irritating
coldness, "you will further press your claim on the ground that your
mother was a Fabian, and the Fabii claim the sole right to sacrifice
to Hercules on the Great Altar[82] in the Cattle-market by the
Flaminian Circus, because they are descended from Hercules and
Evander. I think the Cornelian gens can show quite as many death-masks
in its atria, and your mock heroics will only stamp you as a very bad
tragedian."

[82] _Ara Maxima_.

"Uncle! Quintus!" implored Cornelia again, the tears beginning to
start from her eyes. "Cease this dreadful quarrel. Go away until you
can talk calmly."

"Quintus Livius," shouted Lentulus, dropping the "Drusus," a part of
the name which was omitted in formal address, "you can choose here and
now. Forswear your Caesarian connections, or consider my niece's
betrothal at an end!"

Drusus stood looking in blank dismay from one to the other of the
little company. Claudia had started to speak, but closed, her lips
without uttering a word. Lentulus faced him, hot, flushed, and with a
cynical smile of delight, at the infliction of mental torture, playing
over his face. Cornelia had dropped down upon a chair, buried her
pretty face in her hands, and was sobbing as if her heart would break.
It was a moment Drusus would not soon forget. The whole scene in the
atrium was stamped upon his memory; the drops of the fountain seemed
frozen in mid-air; the rioting satyr on the fresco appeared to be
struggling against the limitations of paint and plaster to complete
his bound; he saw Cornelia lift her head and begin to address him, but
what she said was drowned by the buzzing and swirl which unsteadied
the young man's entire faculties. Drusus felt himself turning hot and
cold, and in semi-faintness he caught at a pillar, and leaned upon it.
He felt numbed mentally and physically. Then, by a mental reaction,
his strong, well-balanced nature reasserted itself. His head cleared,
his muscles relaxed their feverish tension, he straightened himself
and met the cool leer of Lentulus with a glance stern and high; such a
glance as many a Livian before him had darted on foe in Senate or
field of battle.

"Lucius Cornelius," said he, his voice perfectly under command, "do
you propose to defy law and right and refuse me the hand of your
niece, unless I do your will?"

Lentulus thought that in this unimpassioned speech he detected the
premonitions of a capitulation on the part of Drusus, and with a voice
of ill-timed persuasion, replied, "Be reasonable, Drusus; you have
everything to gain and nothing to lose by not thwarting my wishes."

"Your wishes!" retorted Drusus, with a menacing step forward. "Your
wishes! You are consul-designate. You have the Senate, you have your
tool, Pompeius, you have the gangs of gladiators and street ruffians
and all the machinery of your political clubs to invoke to defy the
law! I grant it; but though you deny me Cornelia, though by your
machinations you bring me any other loss or shame, the grandson of the
murdered Marcus Drusus will do that which is right in his own eyes,
and accept no mandate from you or any man, against his will!"

"Cornelia," cried Claudia, infinitely distressed, "speak to Quintus,
reason with him, implore him, pray him not to resist the requests of
your uncle."

"Yes, girl!" said Lentulus, savagely, turning livid with sheer rage,
"use all your arts on that graceless would-be conspirator now, or see
his face no more!"

But Cornelia interposed in a most summary and unexpected manner. Her
face was very white; her nails pressed into her smooth arms, her
breath came thick and spasmodically, and her eyes flamed with the
intense passion of a strong spirit thoroughly aroused.

"Go, Quintus," she cried, with a strained, loud voice, "go, and never
see my face again, until my uncle repents of his cruel madness! He is
master here; only woe will come from defying him. Do not anger him
further; depart."

"Depart?" burst from Drusus.

"Depart!" replied Cornelia, desperately; "if you stay I shall go mad.
I shall beg you to yield,--which would be base of me; and if you heard
my prayers, it would be more base in you."

"Fool," shouted Lentulus, "don't you know you will be the first I'll
mark for slaughter in the next proscription? You, mistress, go to your
room, if you cannot keep a civil tongue! And you, sir, get you gone,
unless you wish the slaves to cast you out."

"Farewell, Cornelia!" gasped the young man; and he turned his back,
and started out into the colonnade.

"Oh, Quintus, return!" shrieked Claudia, wringing her hands. "All the
gods blast you!" muttered Lentulus, quivering with fury; then he
shouted at the top of his shrill, harsh voice: "My enemies are my
enemies. You are warned. Take care!"

"And do you take warning! A Livian never forgets! _Mars regat!_ Let
War rule!" cried Drusus, turning at the vestibule, and brandishing a
knotted fist. Lentulus stared after him, half furious, half
intimidated. But Claudia glanced back into the room from the just
emptied doorway, and gave a scream.

"The servants! Help! Water! Cornelia has fainted!"


III

Drusus strode down the long avenue of shade trees. The gardener stared
after him, as the young man went by, his face knitted with a scowl of
combined pain and fury, with never a word in reply to the rustic's
kindly salutation.

"_Papae!_"[83] muttered the man, "what has befallen Master Quintus? Has
he fallen out with her ladyship?"

[83] "Strange! Marvellous!"

Drusus kept on, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left,
until he found himself past the boundary stone between his own estate
and that of the Lentuli. Then he stopped and passed his hand over his
forehead. It was damp with an unhealthy sweat. His hands and frame
were quivering as if in an ague. He seated himself on a stone bench by
the roadway, and tried to collect his faculties.

"Bear up, Drusus; be a Livian, as you boast yourself," he declaimed
frantically to himself. "Cornelia shall still be yours! All things are
possible to one who is young and strong, with a clear conscience!"

If this self-debate did not actually stimulate cheerfulness, it at
least revived the embers of hope; and Drusus found himself trying to
look the situation fairly in the face.

"You have thrown away your right to marry the dearest, loveliest, and
noblest girl in the world," he reflected bitterly. "You have made an
implacable enemy of one of the most powerful men of the state. In
short, your happiness is gone, and perhaps your life is in danger--and
for what? A dream of reform which can never be realized? A mad
conspiracy to overthrow the commonwealth? Is Caesar to be saviour or
despot? For what have you sacrificed yourself?"

Lentulus, he knew perfectly well, was really above law. No jury would
ever convict the leader of the Senate party. Drusus could never
contract lawful marriage with Cornelia, so long as her guardian
withheld consent. And for one moment he regretted of his
determination, of his defiance. Then came reaction. Drusus called up
all his innate pride, all the strength of his nobler inspirations.

"I have set my face toward that which is honourable and right," cried
Drusus to his own soul; "I will not doubt. Whether there be gods, I
cannot tell. But this I know, the wise and good have counted naught
dear but virtues; and toward this end I will strive."

And by a strong effort at self-command, he forced himself to arise
from the bench and walk back to his own estate, and soon he was
pouring the whole story into the sympathetic ears of Mamercus,
Pausanias, and other worthy retainers.

The scene that had taken place at the villa of the Lentuli, soon was
reported through all the adjacent farms; for several slaves had been
the mute witnesses of the angry colloquy, and had not been slow to
publish the report. The familia of Drusus was in a tumult of
indignation. All the brawny Germans and Africans whom the young master
had released from the slave-prison, and had since treated with
kindness, listened with no unfavourable ear to the proposal which
Titus Mamercus--more valorous than discreet--was laying before them:
to arm and attack Lentulus in his own villa, and so avenge their lord
in a summary fashion.

But the elder Mamercus dashed the martial ambitions of his son.

"Fool," cried the veteran, emphatically, when the project came to his
ears, "do you wish to undo yourself and Quintus too? No power short of
Jove could protect you and him, if aught were to befall Lentulus, in
the way you propose."

"But what can we do, father?" replied Titus, sorry to see his scheme
for vengeance blocked; "shall that despicable tyrant defy law and
justice, and refuse to give Mistress Cornelia to Quintus?"

"Silence your folly!" thundered the other, who was himself quite
nonplussed over the situation, and felt Titus's bold chatter would
goad him into something desperate.

The truth was, neither Pausanias nor any other of Quintus's friends
could see any means of coercing the consul-elect into receding from
his position. He was practically above law, and could not with safety
be attacked in any way. Pausanias could only counsel moderation and
patience; perhaps some fortunate chance would alter matters. Drusus
spent the evening in a pathetically forced attempt to read his
Callimachus. He was weary physically, and intended to retire early.
AEmilia, who felt sorry enough for the plight of her rather distant
cousin, had tried to console him and divert him with guitar[84] music,
and had called in an itinerant piper,[85] but these well-meant efforts
at amusement had been dreary failures. Drusus had just bidden his
body-servants undress him, when he was informed that Agias had come
from the Lentulan villa, and wished to see him.

[84] _Cithara_.

[85] Itinerant pipers have existed in Italy from earliest times;
they still survive, albeit in alien lands and with less tuneful
instruments.

Agias was full of protestations of delight at beholding his
intercessor and ransomer. Drusus could hardly recognize in the
supple-limbed, fair-complexioned, vivacious lad before him, the
wretched creature whom Alfidius had driven through the streets.
Agias's message was short, but quite long enough to make Drusus's pale
cheeks flush with new life, his sunken eyes rekindle, and his languor
vanish into energy. Cornelia would be waiting for him by the great
cypress in the gardens of the Lentulan villa, as soon as the moon
rose.

Drusus prepared himself hurriedly, and refused all the entreaties of
Titus to take him along as a body-guard. Time coursed on winged feet,
as the young man hastened out into the night, and half ran down the
familiar pathway. The day had been only moderately warm for the
season, and the night was cool, though not cold. A soft east wind was
blowing down from the distant Apennines, and all the trees were
rustling gently. Up to the giant arm of a gnarled oak, fluttered an
owl, which hooted noisily as the young man hurried beneath. The
crickets were chirping. A little way off was a small stream plunging
over a dam; from it came a liquid roar; and the little wall of white
spray was just visible in the darkness. Out from the orchards drifted
the fragrant scent of apple, pear, plum, and quince. Still more sweet
was the breeze, as it swept over the wide-stretching rose-beds.
Overhead Orion and Arcturus were glittering in that hazy splendour
which belongs to the heavens on a summer's night.

Drusus kept on, only half noting the beauty of the darkness. When he
entered the groves of the Lentulan villa, almost all light failed him,
and but for his intimate knowledge--from boyhood--of the whole
locality, he could never have kept the path. Then the moonlight began
to stream up in the east, and between the trees and thickets lay the
long, yellow bars of brightness, while all else was still in gloom.
Drusus pushed on with confidence, and soon the gurgle of the tiny
cataract told him that he was near the old cypress. A few steps more,
and a figure rose from out the fern thicket. It was Cornelia. Her hair
was tumbling loosely over her shoulders; she wore a soft, light-blue
dress that covered her arms and her feet. In the moonlight her face
and hands appeared as bloodless as white marble.

"I knew you would come, Quintus," she cried. "I couldn't say farewell
to you, in the presence of my uncle!"

"My beautiful!" cried Drusus; and he caught her in his arms.

The moments that followed were as bitter-sweet as may be conceivable.
Each knew that they had small hope of an honourable realization of
their love one for another; that the moment of parting would soon
come. But for the instant they were in Elysium, caught out of mortal
care and mortal sorrow, and knowing nothing but the pure delight of
the other's presence. Then, at last, their talk became less
enraptured; the vision of Olympus faded little by little; the stern
reality confronted them in all its seriousness.

"Cornelia," said Quintus, at length, "you are still a very young
woman. This day's heart-breakings may, perhaps, be long painful to
you; but the pangs will grow faint in time. You and I may still
cherish fondness in our hearts for each other, but how dare we
reasonably hope for more? Evil times are at hand. If your uncle's
party prevail in the struggle, my ruin is assured. But not yours.
There are many worthy men who would be proud to take in marriage the
niece of the next consul; and with one of these you can live happily.
Do not try to forget me. I don't ask that. But do not let my
misfortune cast a shadow over your dear life. Marry some honourable
man. Only think kindly of me sometimes."

They had been sitting beside the brooklet, on the soft green-sward.
Cornelia had been resting both her hands in Drusus's, but now she drew
them back, and sprang to her feet, as if swept away by a gust of
anger.

"How dare you!" she cried, "how dare you bid me throw away all that my
heart has turned on, and my hopes depended on, and my imagination
dreamed of, since our fathers were slain side by side; and more
especially since you came back from Athens? Why might not I bid you
renounce your adherence to Caesar's cause, and say, 'There is no need
of blasting your career by such a sacrifice; remember Caesar and his
party kindly, wish them well, but do not dwell too much thereon;
submit cheerfully to what is inevitable'? Shall I argue thus? Have I
argued thus? If you will, abandon me, and wed some other maiden, and
many there are, fair, wealthy, noble, who will be glad to be given in
marriage to a Livius Drusus. But till you thus repudiate your father's
will, no power of gods or of men shall drive me to violate that of
mine."

"Cornelia," said Drusus, in a husky voice, "do you know what you are
saying? What resistance to threats and unkind treatment your resolve
will mean?"

"I both know the future and accept it," answered the maiden firmly,
looking fairly into his face.

"Then by all the powers of earth, sky, and Hades!" cried the young
man, lifting one arm toward heaven, and throwing the other about his
sweetheart, "I will defy Lentulus, defy Pompeius, defy Senate, army,
mob, or any other human might. Hitherto I have thought to play the
patriot in espousing Caesar's cause. Now let love and fury fire my
ardour. When the party of violence and tyranny falls, then too will
fall the power of Lentulus to outrage your right and mine! Ours shall
be a triumph of Venus as well as of Mars, and until that time, may you
and I endure faithful unto our fathers, ourselves, and one another!"

Hardly had he spoken ere loud voices were heard calling through the
grove. Torches were glaring among the trees, and the harsh tones of
Lentulus burst out:--

"Take the wretched girl into the house when you find her; but as for
her lover, let him not escape!"

"My uncle!" groaned Cornelia, quivering with terror; "one of my maids
has betrayed me! Flee! run! He has called out all his slaves; they
will kill you!"

"Kill me?" gasped Drusus, incredulously; "commit deliberate murder?"

"Yes," moaned Cornelia; "he dares anything. He is all fury and
violence. Escape! Do not throw yourself away in vain!"

The lights flashed nearer; the slaves were shouting and blundering
through the bushes.

"Two philippi to the man who strikes Drusus down!" bawled Lentulus.

It was no time for delay and affectionate leave-taking. The young man
threw his arms around Cornelia, kissed her once, twice, and then
bounded into the thicket. A moment later several of the servants came
splashing over the little stream, and found Cornelia alone beside the
great cypress, pale and trembling and sobbing. Drusus caught one last
sight of her, surrounded by the torches of the pursuers. Then he
struck off into the grove, and thanks to his perfect local knowledge
easily avoided meeting Lentulus or his slaves. Lentulus he would
gladly have confronted alone. What would have followed, the athletic
young man could only surmise grimly; but he was unarmed, and for
Cornelia's sake he must take no risks.

Close to the confines of his own land he met the Mamerci, father and
son, and several slaves and freedmen, all armed and anxious to know
whether the din that had been raised over at the Lentulan villa
betokened any danger to their young master.

Drusus satisfied them that he had suffered no injury. The personal
peril through which he had passed brought a reaction of excitement
which raised his spirits, and he went to bed in a mood at least
tolerably cheerful. If he could not enjoy his love, he had at least
something else to live for--vengeance; and he told himself that he had
a whole mature lifetime left in which to make Lentulus repent of his
folly and tyrannical cruelty. He awoke late the next morn in a calm
frame of mind, and was able to receive with outward equanimity the
news that early in the morning Lentulus had taken his sister-in-law
and niece, and a large part of his household, back to Rome. This was
only to have been expected, and Drusus listened to the information
without useless comment.




Chapter VI

Pompeius Magnus


If we had been painting an ideal heroine, gifted with all the virtues
which Christian traditions of female perfection throw around such
characters, Cornelia would have resigned herself quietly to the
inevitable, and exhibited a seraphic serenity amid tribulation. But
she was only a grieved, embittered, disappointed, sorely wronged,
Pagan maiden, who had received few enough lessons in forbearance and
meekness. And now that her natural sweetness of character had received
so severe a shock, she vented too often the rage she felt against her
uncle upon her helpless servants. Her maid Cassandra--who was the one
that had told Lentulus of her mistress's nocturnal meeting with
Drusus--soon felt the weight of Cornelia's wrath. The young lady, as
soon as Lentulus was out of the way, caused the tell-tale to receive a
cruel whipping, which kept the poor slave-girl groaning in her cell
for ten days, and did not relieve Cornelia's own distress in the
slightest degree. As a matter of fact, Cornelia was perpetually goaded
into fresh outbursts of desperation by the tyrannical attitude of her
uncle. Lentulus boasted in her presence that he would accomplish
Drusus's undoing. "I'll imitate Sulla," he would announce, in mean
pleasure at giving his niece pain; "I'll see how many heads I can have
set up as he did at the Lacus Servilius. You can go _there_, if you
wish to kiss your lover."

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