Neæra: A Tale of Ancient Rome

by Joel Chandler Harris

  CHAPTER XIII.

  Away from his haunts in the Imperial city, where his wits were kept everbright and sharp by the friction of crowded humanity, the Suburan hadfallen under the lethargic influence of utter inoccupation in acomparatively lifeless provincial town. His mind, latterly, may be said tohave only smouldered.

  It has been seen how instantaneously and unexpectedly it was roused intohigh excitement and activity from a state of mere passive existence. Justas the blast of a forge-bellows kindles, in an instant, a dull smokingheap of black ashes into a glowing fiery mass, so the sight of DomitiusAfer inflamed the listless spirit of Cestus.

  Fearing lest he should betray some symptoms of his perturbed mind to thekeen eyes around the supper-table at home, he wandered along aimlesslyuntil the time for that meal should pass, and his thoughts become moreserene. To assist the latter process he visited one or two wine-shopswhich crossed his random path, and fortified himself with some heartydraughts of liquor. Thence he passed on to the outskirts of the town andsought the silent roads and darkness. Here were solitude and the broodingstars, circumstances most apt for philosophising.

  His ignorance of the actual position of affairs left him a prey to themost distracting surmises. It was in vain he argued and proved to himselfcontinually, that his secret lay, for the present, safe with himself andthe potter only; and that Afer could no more have any knowledge orsuspicion of the girl's identity than a bird of the air. This was assured,he said; and yet what was it that brought his quondam patron to thepotter's shop? Was it to buy? No; that was a mere pretence. What did hewant with such wares? What he had bought he had thrown away. Even in hisharassment the Suburan's face twisted with a grin, as he recalled thescene in the shop, and the expression of the knight's face when acquaintedwith the price of the vases.

  The conclusion, therefore, forced itself on the mind of Cestus, and wouldnot be dislodged, that Neaera was the object of the ominous visit. And,again, how was it, and from whom had he learnt of the existence of thegirl in such an out-of-the-way corner of the town, where his foot wasnever likely to tread of its own accord? It was true that Masthlion had acertain reputation for his work, and that the beauty of Neaera being known,it might have reached the knight's ears amidst other tattle. This mighthave prompted his curiosity; but the coincidence was too strong for thereasoner's peace of mind, and no argument was potent to comfort him. Histhoughts, restricted to such a narrow field of inquiry, writhed andtwisted in torment. Then at length, exhausted and chagrined with thefruitlessness of his efforts, he gave way to a paroxysm of rage. He shookhis clenched fists, and his mouth vomited the most frightful curses on thehead of his treacherous patron and all appertaining to him, including theimpenetrable island, whose sealed silence held him at bay. The firstglimpse of his would-be murderer had aroused and added fuel to his mingledfear and detestation. This, combined with the sense of his insecurity andcomparative powerlessness in his present situation, put him almost besidehimself for a few delirious moments. No one passed him at this point, orthey might have been superstitiously affrighted at the fierce gestures andthe shrill, hissing notes of this shadowy form in the dark road.

  The short frenzy, however, sufficed to purge his veins somewhat, and whenits fury had fled it left him comparatively calm and collected. He becameaware of an appetite which needed appeasing, and he turned his stepshomeward. When he entered the house, he found that the time had flownconsiderably beyond his reckoning, and that the family were all in bed. Hewas not sorry, however, at this, and, after eating the supper which hadbeen left standing for him, he went to bed, where his excited thoughtskept him from sleep till nigh the time when early risers were beginning tostir between the bedclothes, and collect their thoughts for a new day'slabour. Then indeed he slept heavily, and came down late, to find everyone busy in their daily occupations--Masthlion, as usual, locked in hisworkshop.

  Whilst eating his breakfast Neaera came in, fresh and fair as the morningitself, but with anxious thought in her lustrous, gray eyes.

  'You did not return yesterday until we had all gone to bed,' she said. 'Itwas because you are persisting in what you said about your presence beingthe cause of my father's trouble of mind.'

  'Not at all,' replied Cestus, whose mind was too fully weighted with othermatter to trifle with this question, 'I met with an old friend, and we sattalking about old times till late--that's all.'

  'You vexed me by saying what you did.'

  'I was rude,' replied Cestus, as he rose from the table, 'and I am sorry.Your father cannot do without me for a time yet, and I do not intend toquit you. I was joking--I am too comfortable and you are too kind.'

  'Ah, then you know what ails him?'

  'I have been thinking, and I have an idea; but I will find out and tellyou. It is a fine day--I must be off out into the sunshine. What a pleasantmorning for a trip from Capreae.'

  He looked sidelong at her, and marked the faint tinge which rose to hercheek.

  'You remember that man who came into the shop yesterday,' she remarked.

  'Yesterday!' murmured Cestus, with lack-lustre eyes.

  'Yes! you looked at him and his slave as if you took an interest in them;then you hurried away and came back when they had gone.'

  'Oh--ah!'

  'You said you knew them.'

  'I know that I have seen him in Rome, and that he lives on the Esquiline;but what he does here I don't know. Very likely on the same errand as mypoor self--change of air and a holiday.'

  'Is he a great man?'

  'In his own estimation, doubtless--he is of knightly rank, I believe.'

  'His behaviour did not keep pace with his rank then--I hope he may not payus another visit.'

  ''Tis very likely he may if he has come to sojourn here for a time. If hedoes don't fail to tell me of it, and of all he says. He is one of yourwell-dressed scamps, and thinks that every good-looking poor girl is fairprey--the city swarms with such. But let me know, and don't be afraid. I amcity-bred like himself, and know a thing or two, and will soon put an endto his little game if he means anything.'

  Cestus squared his shoulders as he uttered this brave speech, and went,with something of a swagger in his gait, to reach down his cloak.

  'Oh, I'm not afraid,' replied Neaera calmly, 'and I have my father athand.'

  'Ay, that's true!' said Cestus slily, 'and another still better, who couldtear the cur limb from limb--nevertheless, don't fail to let me know. Ihave some previous knowledge of the fellow, which makes me curious, and Imay easily be useful.'

  Thus delivering himself he went forth into the bright sunlight and thecrisp keen air. Instinctively his feet turned in the direction of the roadwhich led to the southern promontory of Minerva. It was a customary routeof his, but it was also on a main line of communication with the island,and the desperate chance of meeting with somebody, or something, whichmight afford a glimmer even of news, burned stronger than ever in hisbreast. This something was, however, painfully vague, and the somebodyreally limited itself to only one person. The sight of Martialis wouldhave been as joyful to him as rain to the thirsty in the desert, takingeven into consideration, that what the Centurion could impart, even if heshould prove to have the inclination, would hardly be likely to throw anylight upon his peculiar needs. Added to this was the fact of the youngsoldier's aversion. But Cestus was not easily abashed or discouraged, andhad no fear of being able finally to command attention.

  He reached his observatory and sat down to rest and deliberate. Capreaelay before him amid the blue sea, with the white gleam of its palacestipping its rugged peaks and peeping amid its terraced groves. With thislovely picture filling his vision, he sat for full an hour absorbed inthought, and then noting the position of the sun, he rose and walked awayhomeward. He had reconciled himself to his position, and had come to theconclusion that his only policy was to wait and be watchful. He alsodetermined, on the least suspicion of danger, to carry off the potter andhis family to Rome--Neaera at least; if
, however, he could persuade them togo at once so much the better. He could do nothing at Surrentum; he wastired of it, and he would feel safer in the city, whither he wouldeventually be obliged to go to carry out his scheme. Why not, therefore,go at once and wait there? The thought also tormented him, that somethingmight occur which might rob him of his revenge. He burned and itched toset the wheels of his machinery in motion, however slightly, and heresolved that day to take the first step for that end. If it was no morethan a mysterious hint to certain people, that something was in the wind,it would be sufficient for a commencement. His spirits rose and his stepsquickened as this determination was arrived at, and, re-enteringSurrentum, he proceeded to the dwelling of a professional scribe near theMarina. He entered and found that individual busy at his table, inditingan epistle to the dictation of a young and good-looking woman, whoinstantly became silent and turned away her head at the Suburan'sentrance. The writer, who was a bald, shrivelled, and short-sighted oldman, did not immediately perceive the cause of the sudden stoppage of hiscustomer's eloquence, and casting a longing look at a large open book athis elbow, cried out testily, 'Well, well, what next?--oh it's you, is it?you'll have to wait outside till I've finished!'

  'A love letter, eh! All right, I'm sorry to interrupt,' replied Cestus,giving a leer at the young female who tossed her head.

  He went outside and waited till she came forth, and then returned to takeher place at the scribe's table.

  'Well!' snapped the old man, tearing his eyes from his book with a viciouswrench, as if the patronage which brought him his livelihood were anuisance instead of a thing to be thankful for.

  'Tablets, wax and thread of your best, old man; bring them out and let mesee them,' answered Cestus. 'I and a comrade have a good joke in hand, andI want you to write a line or two of mystery. You must put your bestfinger foremost, and shape your letters so as to make them look as if theycame from some aristocrat.'

  He drew a piece of silver from his pouch and threw it across the table tothe scribe, whose watery, old eyes glinted as his grimy fingers caused thecoin to vanish with an astounding celerity. Cestus laughed, and the samegrimy talons selected the articles required, which the Suburan took intohis hands. He examined them carefully, not with a view of satisfyinghimself of their quality, about which he knew nothing whatever, but forthe purpose of assuring himself that they bore no mark or impress whichmight afford a clue to their origin. This proving to his satisfaction, hetold the old man to go on with his reading, whilst he considered upon thestyle the document was to take. After a few minutes' deliberation he badethe scribe take his pen and write the following with every care:--

  'You may praise the gods and rejoice, Fabricius. When thieves fall out then may honest men look to get their own. The treasure you lost shall return to you. Prepare to receive it and deal vengeance. These tablets ere you receive them shall touch her very hand. You have often been deceived, but now wait the truth. Do you recognise this ribbon? Keep it carefully till the remainder is forthcoming. Patience and, above all, silence! I am beset; and to breathe a word would be destruction to me and to her. Beware, therefore!'

  'That's all--now read it out!' said Cestus; and the old scribe did soaccordingly.

  The Suburan laughed in his most boisterous style, and rubbed the palms ofhis thick, strong hands together vigorously with every appearance ofsatisfied delight at his composition.

  'Bravo!' he exclaimed; 'that's just it, to the very letter--tolerably plainand tolerably mystified. If this don't turn out the best frolic of my lifecall me a chuckle-headed fool. Get you the thread and wax ready, father!'

  He stepped aside meanwhile, and took from his bosom a small package. Outof this he drew a faded piece of ribbon and cut off a small portion,putting it between his teeth, whilst he tied up and replaced the packageagain.

  He laid the piece he had severed on the table, and said, 'Put that insideand seal up carefully.'

  'There--that's all right!' said Cestus, thrusting the tablets into hisbreast. 'Farewell, father!'

  The scribe, who was already poring over his book, with his long peakednose nearly touching the leaves, gave merely a rusty grunt as his customerstepped out into the passage.

  'Stay!' cried Cestus, coming back, 'Hark'ee, father!--would you not like tohear this pretty joke of mine?'

  'Pish!' snapped the scholar, with savage contempt; and with anindescribable series of shrugs of his lean body, he huddled himselfirritably over his book. The Suburan's guffaw shook the small dwelling ashe turned away and proceeded to the nearest wine-shop. Small as was thecommencement, he had, nevertheless, entered on his campaign. So he drankhis wine and water with unusual satisfaction and elation.