A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

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"Quintus Livius Drusus," replied Agias.

"Who?" cried the philosopher, starting up.

"Quintus Drusus, of Praeneste," repeated the other.

"_Ai! Ai!_ In the name of Zeus!" cried Pisander, dropping the beaker,
and spilling the wine all over his threadbare himation. "Oh, such a
plot! Such a crime! Was ever anything so villanous ever heard of
before!"

"My dear Pisander," exclaimed Agias, all amazement, "what _is_ the
matter? Your speech is as obscure as Cinna's[92] poem called 'Zmyrna,'
which I've heard was ten years in being written, and must be very
fine, because no one can understand it. No more can I fathom you."

[92] A poet at that time of some little reputation.

"What a stroke of fortune!" raved the philosopher. "How we will be
revenged on that rascal, Pratinas! O Destiny, thy decrees are just!"

Again Agias expostulated, and at last brought out of Pisander a
tolerably coherent account of the conversation which he had heard
between Valeria and Pratinas. Then, indeed, the merry slave-boy was
troubled. Accustomed to a rather limited ambition in life, he had
attached himself with implicit devotion to Cornelia; first because his
preserver, Drusus, had so enjoined him, and second because each day he
grew more drawn to her personally. The peril which yawned before the
unfortunate Drusus menaced at the same time the happiness of his
mistress and his own welfare,--for if Lucius Ahenobarbus had his way,
Agias himself would become the slave of that not very gentle
patrician. Cornelia and Drusus had had troubles enough before; but in
the present crisis, actual destruction stared Agias's saviour in the
face. The situation was maddening, was sickening. Agias wrung his
hands in anguish. Then came the healthy reaction. Drusus was still
alive and well. He could be warned. The plot could be thwarted.
Pratinas and Ahenobarbus were not yet beyond the reach of retribution.
He--Agias--was no longer to be a mere foot-boy and lackey; he was to
match his keen Greek wits in subtle intrigue against foemen worthy of
his steel. He would save Drusus's life, would save Cornelia's
happiness. If he succeeded, who knew but that his owner would reward
him--would give him freedom. And with a natural rebound of spirits,
Agias's eyes glittered with expectation and excitement, his cheeks
flushed, his form expanded to a manly height.

"_Euge!_ Well done, old friend!" he cried, with the merriment of
intense excitement. "No matter if you say you were only able to hear a
small part of what our dear fellow-Hellene, Pratinas, told Valeria. I
have gathered enough to defeat the plotters. Leave all to me. If you
learn anything new, send word to the house of Lentulus Crus, and ask
to see me. And now I must forsake this pleasant wine untasted, and
hurry away. My mistress will bless you, and perhaps there will be some
reward."

And leaving the bewildered Pisander to wipe the wine from his dress,
Agias had darted out of the tavern, and was lost in the hurly-burly of
the cattle-market.

How Agias had forced his way into Cornelia's presence we have related.
The young Greek had stated his unpleasant intelligence as
diplomatically and guardedly as possible; but Cornelia had borne this
shock--following so soon upon one sufficiently cruel--grievously
enough. After all, she was only a girl--perhaps more mature for her
years than the average maiden of her age of to-day, but almost
friendless, hopeless, and beset with many trials. And this new one was
almost more than she could bear. We have said that to her suicide had
but just before appeared a refuge to be desired; but to have Quintus
die, to have him taken out of that life that ought to be so fair for
him, no matter how darksome it was for her; to have him never realize
her ambition that he become a statesman, warrior, philosopher, in
short her ideal hero--this was unbearable! This phase of the question
was so overpowering that she forgot to feel rage against Ahenobarbus
and his wily ally. Cornelia threw herself down upon the floor, and
cried to Agias to slay her quickly. She did not care to live; she
could endure no more.

Agias here manifested exquisite tact. Instead of attempting any
ordinary means of expostulation, he pleaded with her not to give way
to despair; that Drusus was not yet at the mercy of his enemies; that
she, if she would, could do an infinite deal to assist him.

"I save Quintus?" questioned Cornelia, with white, quivering lips.

"You can do much, my lady," replied Agias, kindly taking her by the
hand, and with gentle pressure forcing her to sit on the divan. "You
can do what neither I, nor Pisander, nor any one else can accomplish.
You can make Lucius Ahenobarbus betray his own plot. You, and you
only, can penetrate the final plans of the conspirators. Therefore be
strong, and do not despair."

"I? What can _I_ do?" cried Cornelia, staring at him with sad,
tearless eyes.

"Lady Cornelia," said Agias, delicately, "Drusus would never receive
back his life if it were to be purchased by any sacrifice of honour on
your part. But this is not needed. Lucius Ahenobarbus--forgive my
plain speech--worships the ground whereon you tread. A smile from you
raises him to Olympus; a compliment from you makes him feel himself a
god; a soft word from you creates him the peer of Zeus. Lady, I know
you hate that man; but for Master Drusus's sake make Ahenobarbus
believe that you are not indifferent to his advances. Slander Drusus
before him. Complain of the provisions of your father's will that,
despite your uncle's intention, will make it difficult to avoid a
hateful marriage. If in the past you have been cold to Ahenobarbus,
grow gracious; but not too rapidly. Finally, at the proper time, do
not hesitate to urge him to commit the act we know he is meditating.
Then he will make you a full partner of his plot, and Pratinas and he
can be permanently thwarted."

"You say that Drusus can be saved by this?" asked Cornelia, steadying
herself as she rose from the divan;

"I will warn him at once," replied Agias. "Any premature attempt on
his life will certainly fail. But it is not Ahenobarbus that I fear;
it is Pratinas. Pratinas, if baffled once, will only be spurred on to
use all his cunning in a second trial. We must enmesh the conspirators
so completely that when their stab is parried, not merely will their
power to repeat it be gone, but they themselves will be in danger of
retribution. And for this, some one must be confederate to their final
plan."

"Agias," said Cornelia, quietly, "Quintus said that you would be a
faithful servant to him and to myself. I believe he was right. You
have asked a great thing of me, Agias. I would not do it unless I
believed that you were unlike other slaves. I might imagine that
Lucius Ahenobarbus had bribed you to tell me this story, in order that
I should put myself in his power. But I trust you. I will do anything
you say. For you Hellenes have wits as keen as sharp steel, and I know
that you will do all you may to repay your debt to Quintus."

Agias knelt down and kissed the robe of his mistress. "My lady," he
said gently, "it is no grievous thing to be a slave of such as you.
Believe me; I will not betray my trust. And now if you can let me
leave you, I will hurry to Praeneste, and for the present our minds may
be at rest. For old Mamercus will, I am sure, be able to take good
care of Master Drusus for yet awhile."

"Go, and the gods--if there be gods--go with you!" replied Cornelia.
Agias kissed her robe a second time, and was gone. His mistress stood
in the middle of the empty room. On the wall facing her was a painting
of "Aphrodite rising from the Foam," which Drusus had given her. The
sensuous smiles on the face of the goddess sickened Cornelia, as she
looked upon it. To her, at the moment, laughter was more hideous than
any sobbing. Outside the door she heard the gay, witless chatter of
the maids and the valets. They were happy--they--slaves, "speaking
tools,"--and she with the blood of the Claudii and Cornelii in her
veins, a patrician among patricians, the niece of a consul-elect, a
woman who was the heiress of statesmen and overturners of
kingdoms,--_she_ was miserable beyond endurance. Cornelia paced up and
down the room, wishing she might order the giggling maids to be
flogged and their laughter turned into howling. Then she summoned
Cassandra.

* * * * *

Cornelia had never before tried to play the actress, but that night
she flung herself into the game for life and death with all the
earnestness of an energetic, intelligent, and spontaneous woman. She
had been barely civil to Lucius Ahenobarbus before; to-night the young
man began to persuade himself that the object of his affections was
really a most adorable coquette, who used a certain brusqueness of
speech to add to her witchery. He had heard that there had been some
very disagreeable scenes at Praeneste, when Lentulus had told his niece
that Drusus, on account of his dangerous politics, was unfit to be her
husband. But Ahenobarbus was sure that either these accounts were
exaggerated, or more likely, Cornelia, like most women, was quick to
fall in love and quick to leave an old sweetheart for a new one. Be
that as it may, Lucius felt that night on good terms with himself and
all the world. Phormio had consented to continue his loans--until his
debtor could realize on "certain property." Pratinas had said that
Dumnorix would shortly start with a band of gladiators for some local
festival at Anagnia, a little beyond Praeneste; and on the way back, if
nothing went amiss, the prearranged programme could be carried out.
Some pretext must be found for keeping Drusus on his estate at the
time when Dumnorix would march past it, and that task could be
confided to Phaon, Lucius's freedman, a sly fox entirely after his
patron's own heart.

Cornelia, to whom the dinner-party at Favonius's house began as a
dreary enough tragedy, before long discovered that it was by no means
more easy to suck undiluted sorrow than unmixed gladness out of life.
It gratified her to imagine the rage and dismay of the young exquisite
whose couch was beside her chair,[93] when he should learn how
completely he had been duped. Then, too, Lucius Ahenobarbus had a
voluble flow of polite small talk, and he knew how to display his
accomplishments to full advantage. He had a fair share of wit and
humour; and when he fancied that Cornelia was not impervious to his
advances, he became more agreeable and more ardent. Once or twice
Cornelia frightened herself by laughing without conscious forcing. Yet
it was an immense relief to her when the banquet was over, and the
guests--for Favonius had ordered that none should be given enough wine
to be absolutely drunken--called for their sandals and litters and
went their ways.

[93] Women sat at Roman banquets, unless the company was of a
questionable character.

"And you, O Adorable, Calypso, Circe, Nausicaa, Medea,--what shall I
call you?--you will not be angry if I call to see you to-morrow?" said
Ahenobarbus, smiling as he parted from Cornelia.

"If you come," was her response, "I shall not perhaps order the slaves
to pitch you out heels over head."

"Ah! That is a guarded assent, indeed," laughed Lucius, "but farewell,
_pulcherrima!_"[94]

[94] Most beautiful.

Cornelia that night lay down and sobbed herself to sleep. Her mother
had congratulated her on her brilliant social success at the
dinner-party, and had praised her for treating Lucius Ahenobarbus as
she had.

"You know, my dear," the worthy woman had concluded, "that since it
has seemed necessary to break off with Drusus, a marriage with Lucius
would be at once recommended by your father's will, and in many ways
highly desirable."

II

Only a very few days later Lucius Ahenobarbus received a message
bidding him come to see his father at the family palace on the
Palatine. Lucius had almost cut himself clear from his relations. He
had his own bachelor apartments, and Domitius had been glad to have
him out of the way. A sort of fiction existed that he was legally
under _the patria potestas_,[95] and could only have debts and assets
on his father's responsibility, but as a matter of fact his parent
seldom paid him any attention; and only called on him to report at
home when there was a public or family festival, or something very
important. Consequently he knew that matters serious were on foot,
when he read in his father's note a request to visit Domitius's palace
as soon as convenient. Lucius was just starting, in his most spotless
toga,--after a prolonged season with his hairdresser,--to pay a
morning call on Cornelia, and so he was the more vexed and perturbed.

[95] Sons remained under the legal control of a father until the
latter's death, unless the tie was dissolved by elaborate ceremonies.

"Curses on Cato,[96] my old uncle," he muttered, while he waited in
the splendid atrium of the house of the Ahenobarbi. "He has been
rating my father about my pranks with Gabinius and Laeca, and something
unpleasant is in store for me."

[96] Cato Minor's sister Portia was the wife of Lucius Domitius.
Cato was also connected with the Drusi through Marcus Livius Drusus,
the murdered reformer, who was the maternal uncle of Cato and Portia.
Lucius Ahenobarbus and Quintus Drusus were thus third cousins.

Domitius presently appeared, and his son soon noticed by the affable
yet diplomatic manner of his father, and the gentle warmth of his
greeting, that although there was something in the background, it was
not necessarily very disagreeable.

"My dear Lucius," began Domitius, after the first civilities were
over, and the father and son had strolled into a handsomely appointed
library and taken seats on a deeply upholstered couch, "I have, I
think, been an indulgent parent. But I must tell you, I have heard
some very bad stories of late about your manner of life."

"Oh!" replied Lucius, smiling. "As your worthy friend Cicero remarked
when defending young Caelius, 'those sorts of reproaches are regularly
heaped on every one whose person or appearance in youth is at all
gentlemanly.'"

"I will thank you if you will not quote Cicero to me," replied the
elder man, a little tartly. "He will soon be back from Cilicia, and
will be prodding and wearying us in the Senate quite enough, with his
rhetoric and sophistries. But I must be more precise. I have found out
how much you owe Phormio. I thought your dead uncle had left you a
moderately large estate for a young man. Where has it gone to? Don't
try to conceal it! It's been eaten up and drunk up--spent away for
unguents, washed away in your baths, the fish-dealer and the caterer
have made way with it, yes, and butchers and cooks, and greengrocers
and perfume sellers, and poulterers--not to mention people more
scandalous--have made off with it."

Lucius stretched himself out on the divan, caught at a thick, richly
embroidered pillow, tossed it over his head on to the floor, yawned,
raised himself again upright, and said drawlingly:--

"Y-e-s, it's as you say. I find I spend every sesterce I have, and all
I can borrow. But so long as Phormio is accommodating, I don't trouble
myself very much about the debts."

"Lucius," said Domitius, sternly, "you are a graceless spendthrift. Of
course you must have the sport which all young blood needs. But your
extravagance goes beyond all bounds. I call myself a rich man, but to
leave you half my fortune, dividing with your older brother Cnaeus, who
is a far steadier and saner man than you, would be to assure myself
that Greek parasites and low women would riot through that part of my
estate in a twelvemonth. You must reform, Lucius; you must reform."

This was getting extremely disagreeable in spite of his expectations,
and the young man yawned a second time, then answered:--

"Well, I presume Uncle Cato has told you all kinds of stories; but
they aren't at all true. I really never had a great deal of money."

"Lucius," went on his father, "you are grown to manhood. It is time
that you steadied in life. I have let you live by yourself too long.
You are even too indolent to engage in politics, or to go into the
army. I have come to a determination. You must marry the woman I have
selected for you."

Ahenobarbus pricked up his ears. As a matter of fact, he had surmised
what was coming, but he had no intention of admitting anything
prematurely.

"Really, father," he said, "I hope you won't use your legal right and
force a wife on me. I have no desire to tie myself up to a decent
married life."

"I hardly think," said Domitius, smiling, "that you will resist my
wishes long. I have seen Lentulus Crus the consul-elect, and he and I
agree that since your mother's distant kinsman Quintus Drusus of
Praeneste is an unsuitable husband for Cornelia, Lentulus's niece, on
account of his very dangerous political tendencies, no happier
alliance could bind our families together than a marriage between
Cornelia and yourself."

Lucius yawned a third time and fell back on the couch.

"It's true," he ventured, "I have cared a good deal for Cornelia; and
I've thrown over that little Greek Clyte and all the others for her;
but then, to make a girl your sweetheart and to make her your wife are
two very different things. _Vina Opimia_ is best; but because one
drinks a _cyathus_[97] of that, why should he forego a good nil of
Thasian or Caecuban? If I could have but one choice, give me plenty of
the good, and I'll give up my few drops of the best."

[97] About one-twelfth pint.

"Come, come," said Domitius, a little impatiently, "you must
positively reform. Besides, while appearances must be kept up, there
is no need for leading the life of a Stoic. You won't find Cornelia a
hard companion. You have your pleasures and she hers, and you will
live harmoniously enough and not the least scandal."

And with this remark Domitius closed the matter, and Lucius was
actually delighted at the situation. What his father had said had been
true enough; half, nay, nearly all, Rome lived in the manner Domitius
had guardedly proposed for his son and intended daughter-in-law.
Marriage was becoming more and more a mere formality, something that
was kept up as the ancient state Pagan worship was kept up by the
remnants of old-time superstition, and as a cloak to hide a multitude
of sins. Fifty-nine years before, the consul Metellus Numidicus had
declaimed, "Quirites, we would fain be free from all this annoyance
(of marriage); but since nature has so brought it about that it is
neither possible to live pleasantly with our wives nor by any means to
live (as a race) without them, we ought to consider the welfare of the
future rather than the mere passing pleasure of the present." And ever
since that day Romans had been striving desperately to make the
married state as endurable as possible; usually by reducing the
importance of lawful wedlock to a minimum.

Of course the announcement of the informal betrothal was soon spread
over Rome. The contracting parties were in the very highest life, and
everybody declared that the whole affair was a political deal between
Lentulus Crus and Domitius. It was commonly reported, too, how
Cornelia had broken with Drusus, and every one remarked that if the
young man had cared to enforce her father's will in the courts, his
claim to her hand and fortune would be valid unless--and here most
people exchanged sly winks, for they knew the power of Domitius and
Lentulus Crus over a jury.

And how had Cornelia borne it--she at whom Herennia had stared in
amazement, when that "dear friend" discovered the friendship the other
was displaying to Lucius Ahenobarbus? Cornelia had received the
announcement very quietly, one might almost say resignedly. She had
one great hope and consolation to support her. They would not force
her to marry Lucius Ahenobarbus until Drusus was dead or had reached
the age of five-and-twenty. The marriage formula with Ahenobarbus once
uttered, while Quintus lived, and by no possibility, save by an open
spoliation that would have stirred even calloused Rome, could Lucius
touch a sesterce of his intended victim's property. Cornelia's hope
now, strangely enough, was in the man she regarded as the most
consummate villain in the world, Pratinas. Ahenobarbus might have his
debts paid by his father, and forego risk and crime if he did not
absolutely need Drusus's fortune; but Pratinas, she knew, must have
planned to secure rich pickings of his own, and if Ahenobarbus married
permanently, all these were lost; and the Greeks never turned back or
let another turn back, when there was a fortune before them. It was a
fearful sort of confidence. Drusus had been warned promptly by Agias.
Old Mamercus had straightway taken every precaution, and forced his
foster son to put himself in a sort of custody, which was sufficiently
galling, in addition to the ever present sense of personal danger. The
villa at Praeneste was guarded quietly by several armed slaves and
peasants; not a morsel or drop passed Drusus's lips that had not been
tested and tasted by a trusty dependent. The young man was not to go
to Rome, despite his infinite yearning to see Cornelia, for every
opportunity would be given in the dark city streets for an assassin.
In fact, Drusus was virtually a prisoner in his own estates, for only
there could he feel reasonably safe from attack.

All these precautions Cornelia knew, for Agias was a master at
smuggling letters in and out. She had told Drusus frankly all that had
passed, and how that she was acting as she did only for his sake. She
asked him to trust her, and he wrote back that no doubt of her
fidelity to him had crossed his mind; he was not worthy of such love
as she had for him; it did not matter very much if Ahenobarbus did
kill him, except that it would give her new grief and pain, and the
thought of that he could not bear. Cornelia had replied that if Drusus
was murdered, she was woman enough and Roman enough to stab Lucius
Ahenobarbus on their marriage night, and then plunge the dagger into
her own breast. And there the fearful matter had rested; Cornelia
smiled by day, and dazzled all she met by her vivacity, and her
aggressive queenliness; and by night cried with tearless sobs, which
came out of the depths of her heart. And all the time she waited for
Agias to foil the plot, and assure Drusus of his life. Let Quintus
once be safe, and then--how could she resist the irresistible pressure
that would be brought to bear to force her into a hated marriage,
which Ahenobarbus--balked though he might be of a fortune--would no
longer care to defer? And when Cornelia thought of this, and when she
was alone, she would open a little casket, of which no other had the
key, and touch the ivory-carved hilt of a small damascened knife. The
blade was very sharp; and there was a sticky gum all along the
edge,--deadly poison; only a very slight scratch put one beyond aid of
physician.

The bitterest cup of all was the attitude she felt forced to assume
toward Lucius Ahenobarbus. There were limits of familiarity and
simulated affection beyond which she could not drive herself to go.
Lucius was with her at all hours and in all places. The more she saw
of him the more she abhorred his effeminate sensuality and lack of
almost every quality that made life worth the living. But she
must--she must learn the plot against Drusus, and precisely how and
when the trap was to be sprung. And in a measure, at least so far as
Lucius was concerned, she succeeded. By continually and openly
reviling Quintus, by professing to doubt the legality of a marriage
contracted against the terms of her father's will, by all but
expressing the wish that her late lover were out of harm's way, she
won her point. In a fit of half-drunken confidence Ahenobarbus assured
her that she would not be troubled by Drusus for long; that he would
soon be unable to annoy her. And then came a great disappointment.
When Cornelia asked--and how much the request cost her, only she
herself knew--to be let into the plot, Lucius owned that he had left
the details in the hands of Pratinas, and did not himself know just
how or when the blow was to fall. In Pratinas--whom Cornelia met very
seldom--she met with a sphinx, ever smiling, ever gracious, but who,
as if regretting the burst of confidence he had allowed Valeria, kept
himself closed to the insinuations and half-questions of every one
else. The truth was, the lanista Dumnorix was unwilling to do his part
of the business until the festival at Anagnia brought him and his band
through Praeneste, and this festival had been postponed. Consequently,
the projected murder had been postponed a few days also. Agias had
tried to penetrate into the secrets of Pratinas, but found that
judicious intriguer had, as a rule, carefully covered his tracks. He
spent a good deal of time and money, which Cornelia gave him, trying
to corrupt some of the gladiators of Dumnorix's band and get at the
intentions of their master; but he was not able to find that any of
these wretches, who took his gold greedily enough, really knew in the
least what were the appointments and engagements of the Gallic giant.
As a matter of fact, the boy began to feel decidedly discouraged.
Pisander had nothing more to tell; and, moreover, the worthy
philosopher often gave such contradictory accounts of what he had
overheard in Valeria's boudoir, that Agias was at his wit's end when
and where to begin.

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