CHAPTER IX
THE ROMAN
[Initial I]
It is time to give some account of Esca's anomalous position in thecapital of the world--to explain how the young British noble (for that wasindeed the rank he held in his own country) found himself a slave in thestreets of Rome. In order to do so it is necessary to take a glimpse atthe interior of a patrician's house about the hour of supper; perhaps alsoto intrude upon the reflections of its owner, as he paces up and down thecolonnade in the cool air of sunset, absorbed in his own thoughts, anddeep in the memories of the past.
His mansion is of stately proportion, and large size, but all itsornaments and accessories are chastened by a severe simplicity of taste.An observer might identify the man by the very nature of the objects thatsurround him. In his vestibule the columns are of the Ionic order, andtheir elaborate capitals have been wrought into the utmost degree offinish which that style will allow. In the smaller entrance-hall or lobby,which leads to the principal apartments, and which is guarded by an imageof a dog, let into the pavement in mosaic, there are no florid sculpturesnor carvings, nor any attempt at decoration beyond the actual beauty ofthe stonework and the scrupulous care with which it is kept clean. Thedoors themselves are of bronze, so well burnished as to need no mixture ofgold or silver inlaid to enhance its brightness; whilst in the principalhall itself, the room in which friends are welcomed, clients received, andbusiness transacted, the walls, instead of frescoes and such gaudyornaments, are simply overlaid with entablatures of white and polishedmarble. The dome is very lofty, rising majestically towards the circularopening at the top, through which the sky is visible; and round thefountain or cistern immediately below this are ranged four colossalstatues, representing the elements. These, with the busts of a long lineof illustrious ancestors, are the only efforts of the sculptor's artthroughout the apartment. A large banqueting-hall, somewhat moreluxuriously furnished, opens from one side of the central room, and asmuch as can be seen of it displays considerable attention to convenienceand personal comfort. Frescoes, representing scenes of military life,adorn the walls, and at one end stands a trophy, composed of deadlyweapons and defensive armour, arranged so as to form a glittering andconspicuous ornament. Large flagons and chalices of burnished gold, someof them adorned with valuable jewels, are ranged upon a sideboard; but itis evident that no guests are expected to-night, for near the couchagainst the wall has been drawn a small table, laid for one person only,with a clean napkin, and a cup and platter of plain silver thereon. Thatperson is none other than the master of the house, bodily pacing up anddown his own colonnade in Rome, mentally gazing on a fair expanse of woodand vale and shining river, drinking in the cool breezes, the fragrantodours, and the wild luxuriant beauty of distant Britain.
Five-and-twenty years! and yet it seems but yesterday. The brow wrinkles,the hair turns grey, strength wastes, energy fails, the brain gets torpid,and the senses dull, but the heart never grows old. Business, ambition,pleasure, dangers, duties, difficulties, and successes have filled thatquarter of a century, and passed away like a dream; but the touch of ahand, the memory of a face, have outlived them all. Caius Lucius Licinius,Roman patrician, general, praetor, consul, and procurator of the Empire, isthe young commander of a legion once more, with the world before him, andthe woman he loves by his side. This is what he sees now, as he has seenit so often in his dreams by night, and his waking visions by day.
An old oak-tree, a mossy sward soft and level as velvet, delicate fernbending and whispering in the summer breeze, fleecy clouds drifting acrossthe blue sky, and a graceful form, in its white robes, coming shyly up theglade, with faltering step, and sidelong glance, and timid gesture, tokeep her tryst with her Roman lover. She is in his arms now. The richbrown curls are scattered over his breastplate, and the blue eyes arelooking up into his own, liquid with the love-light that thrills to aman's heart but from one pair of eyes in a lifetime. She is, indeed, nocontemptible prize, in the glory of her beauty and the pride of herblooming womanhood. With the rounded form, the noble features, and thedazzling colour of her nation, she possesses the courage and constancy ofa highborn race, and a witchery half imperious, half playful, peculiarlyher own. There are women who find their way to the core of a man's heart,who pervade it all, and saturate it, so to speak, with their influence.
"Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorem(4) Testa diu"----
The vessel that has once held this rich and rare liquid is ever afterimpregnated with its fragrance, and even when it has been spilt everydrop, and a fresh infusion poured in, the new wine smacks strangely andwildly of the old. She is one of them; he knows it too well.
They should have nothing in common, these two, the British chieftain'sdaughter and the Roman conqueror. But there is a truce between thenations; a truce in which the elements of discord are neverthelesssmouldering, ready to blaze out afresh at the first opportunity, and theyhave seen each other accidentally, and been thrown together bycircumstances, till curiosity has become interest, and interest grown intoliking, and liking ripened into love. The British maiden might not be wonlightly, and many a tear she wept in secret, and sore she strove againsther own heart; but when it conquered her at last she gave it, as suchwomen will, wholly and unreservedly. She would have lived for him, diedfor him, followed him to the end of the world. And Licinius worshipped heras a man worships the one woman who is the destiny of his life. Most menhave at some time or other experienced this folly, infatuation, madness,call it what you will. They are not likely to forget it. Possibly--alas!probably--the bud they then watched opening has never expanded into bloom,at least for _them_. The worm may have destroyed it, or the cold wind cutit to the earth, or another's hand may have borne it away in triumph togladden another's breast; but there is something in the May mornings thatreminds them of the sweet flower still, and they wander round the fairestgardens of earth rather drearily to-day, because of the memory that hasnever faded, and the blank where _she_ is not.
'Licinius holds the British maiden to his breast']
Licinius holds the British maiden to his breast, and they discourse oftheir own happiness and revel in the sunny hour, and plan schemes for thefuture--schemes in which each is to the other all in all, and dream notthat when to-day is past for them there will be no to-morrow. The woman,indeed, heaves a gentle sigh at intervals, as though in the midst of herhappiness some foreboding warned her of the brooding tempest; but the manis hopeful, buoyant, and impetuous, playful in his tenderness, and joyousin his own triumphant love. They parted that evening more reluctantly thanusual. They lingered round the oak, they found excuse after excuse foranother loving word, another fond caress. When at last they went theirseveral ways, how often Licinius turned to look after the receding formthat carried with it all his hope and all his happiness! Little did hethink how, and when, and where, he would see Guenebra again.
Ten years went heavily by. The commander of a legion was the chief of anarmy now. Licinius had served Rome in Gaul, in Spain, in Syria. Men saidhe bore a charmed life; and, indeed, while his counsels showed theforethought, the caution, and the patience of a skilful officer, hispersonal conduct was remarkable for a reckless disregard of danger, whichwould have been esteemed foolhardy in the meanest soldier. It wasobserved, too, that a deep and abiding melancholy had taken possession ofthe once light-hearted patrician. He only seemed to brighten up into hisformer self under the pressure of imminent danger, in the confusion of arepulse, or the excitement of a charge. At other times he was silent,depressed, preoccupied; never morose, for his kindly heart was open to thegriefs of others, and the legionaries knew that their daring general wasthe friend of all who were in sorrow or distress. But the men talked himover, too, by their watch-fires; they marvelled, those honest oldcampaigners, how one who was so ready in the field could be so sparing ofthe winecup; how the leader who could stoop to fill his helmet from therunning stream unde
r a storm of javelins, and drink composedly with a jestand a smile, should be so backward in the revel, should show such adisinclination to those material pleasures which they esteemed the keenestjoys of life.
One old centurion, who had followed his fortunes from the Thames to theEuphrates, from the confines of Pannonia to the Pillars of Hercules,averred that he had never seen his chief discomfited but once, and thatwas on the day when he had been accorded a triumph for his services in thestreets of Rome. The veteran used to swear he never could forget thedejected look upon those brows, encircled with their laurel garland, northe weary listlessness of that figure, to which all eyes were directed inits gilded chariot; the object of admiration to the whole city, and, forthat day, scarcely second even to Caesar himself. It was a goodly triumph,no doubt; the spoils were rich, the car was lofty, the people shouted, andthe victims fell. But what was glory without Guenebra? and the hero's eyecould not rest in peace on one of all those gazing thousands, for lack ofthe loving face framed in its rich brown hair.
On the very night Licinius and Guenebra parted, a long-meditated risinghad broken out among the islanders--conquered, but not subdued. Nothing butthe cool courage of its young commander, and the immovable discipline ofthe legionaries, saved the Roman camp. Ere morning, Guenebra had beenforced away by her tribe many miles from the scene of action; the Britons,too, retired into their strongholds, those natural fastnesses impregnableby regular troops. The whole country was once more in a state of openwarfare. Prompt and decisive measures were taken; Publius Ostorius, theRoman general, in execution of a manoeuvre by which he preserved his lineof operation, despatched Licinius and his legion to a different part ofthe island, and with all his exertions and all his influence, the youngofficer could never obtain tidings of Guenebra again. It was after thisevent that the change came over Licinius which was so commented on by thesoldiers under his command.
Ten years of brilliant and successful services had elapsed when hereturned to Britain. Nero had but lately succeeded to the purple, nor hadhe then degenerated into the monster of iniquity which he afterwardsbecame. Until sapped by his ungovernable passions, the Emperor'sadministrative abilities were of no mean order; and he selected Liciniusfor the important post assigned to him, as being a consummate soldier, andexperienced in the country with which he had to deal. The latter acceptedthe appointment with alacrity; through all change of time and fortune, hehad never forgotten his British love. Under the burning skies of Syria, bythe frozen shores of the Danube, at home or abroad, in peace or war,Guenebra's face was ever present to him, fond and trustful as when theylast parted under the old oak-tree. He longed but to see it once more. Andso he did. Thus--
A partial insurrection had been quelled beyond the Trent. The Romanvanguard had surprised the Britons, and forced them to fly in greatconfusion, leaving their baggage, their valuables, in some cases eventheir arms, behind. When Licinius came up with the main body of hisforces, he found, indeed, no prisoners taken, for everything animate hadfled, but a goodly amount of spoil, over which Roman discipline had placeda strong guard. One of his tribunes approached him with a list of thecaptured articles; and when his general had perused it, the officerhesitated as though there was still some further report to make. At lasthe spoke out--
"There is a hut left standing within the lines of the enemy. I would notorder it to be destroyed till I had provided for the burial of a dead bodythat lies beneath its shelter."
Licinius was counting the arms taken.
"A dead body!" said he carelessly; "is it an officer of rank?"
"'Tis a woman's corpse," answered the tribune; "a fair and stately woman,apparently the wife of some prince or chieftain at the least."
For Guenebra's sake, every woman, much more every British woman, was anobject of respect and interest to Licinius.
"Lead on," said he. "I will give directions when I have seen it;" and thegeneral followed his officer to the place already indicated.
It was but a rude hut made of a few planks and branches hastily throwntogether. It seemed to have been erected at a moment's notice, probably toshelter an inmate in the last stage of dissolution. Through a wide rent inthe roof the summer sun streamed in brilliantly, throwing a sheet of lighton the dead face below. The prostrate form was swathed in its white robe,the bridal garment of the destroyer. A band of white encircled the headand chin, and the brown hair was parted modestly on the smooth foreheadcalm and womanly as of old. It was Guenebra's face that lay there sostrangely still. Guenebra's face, how like and yet how changed! As hestooped over it, and looked on the closed eyes beneath their archingbrows, the fair and noble features chiseled by the hand of death--the sweetlips wreathed even now with a chastened loving smile--he could not but markthat there were lines of thought upon the forehead, streaks of silver inthe hair, the result it might be of regrets, and memories, and sorrows,and care for _him_.
Then the warm tears gushed up into the soldier's eyes, the pressure on hisheart and brain seemed to be relieved. As when the spear is drawn out of awound and the red stream spouts freely forth, the previous agony wassucceeded by a dull hopeless resignation, that in comparison seemed almostakin to peace. He pressed his lips hard upon the cold dead forehead, andturned away--a man for whom from henceforth there was neither good tocovet, nor evil to be feared.
And thus it was that here, on earth, Licinius looked once more upon hislove.
Fresh victories crowned his arms in Britain--a fresh triumph awaited hisreturn to Rome; but still as of old with Licinius, the glory seemed tocount for nothing, the service seemed to be all-in-all. Only, now, therestless, eager look had left his face. He was always calm and unmoved,even in the uncertainty of conflict or the triumph of success. Stillkindly in his actions, his outward demeanour was very stern and cold. Hekept aloof from the intrigues, as from the pleasures, of the Court; butwas ever ready to serve Rome with his sword, and on many occasions by hiscoolness and conduct redeemed the errors and incapacity of his colleaguesor predecessors. Fortune smiled upon the man who was insensible to herfrowns. Honours poured in on the soldier who seemed so careless of theirattainment; and Caius Lucius Licinius was perhaps the object of morerespect and less envy than any other person of his rank in Rome.
It fell out that shortly before the death of Nero, the general, intraversing the slave-market on the way from the Forum, felt his sleeveplucked by a notorious dealer in human wares, named Gargilianus, whobegged him earnestly to come and examine a fresh importation of captiveslately arrived from Britain. To mention their country was at once toexcite the interest of Licinius, who readily acceded to the request, andspoke a few kind words in their native language to the unhappy barbariansas he passed through their ranks. His attention was, however, especiallyarrested by the appearance of one of the conquered, a fine young man ofgreat strength and stature, who seemed to feel painfully the indignity ofhis position, placed as he was on a huge stone block, whereon his owntowering height rendered him a conspicuous object in the throng. He hadbeen severely wounded, too, in several places, as was apparent from thescars scarce yet healed over. Indeed, had it not been so, he would neverprobably have been here. There was something in his face, and theexpression of his large blue eyes, that roused a painful thrill in theRoman general's breast. He felt a strange and undefinable attractiontowards the captive, for which he could not account, and, pausing in hiswalk, scanned him with a wistful searching gaze, which was not lost on thepractised perceptions of the dealer.
"He should have been shown in private," whispered Gargilianus, with animportant and mysterious air. "Indeed, my man was just taking him away,when I saw you coming, my honoured patron, and I called to him to stop.Ay! you may examine him all over--tall, young, and healthy. Sound, wind andlimb, and stronger than any gladiator in the amphitheatre. They are men ofiron, these barbarians, that's the truth, and he has only just come over.There! look for yourself, noble general; you will see the chalk-marks(5)on his feet."
"But he is badly wounded," observed Licinius, beginni
ng to scan him, asthe other instinctively felt, with the eye of a purchaser.
"That is nothing!" exclaimed Gargilianus. "Mere scratches, skin deep, andhealed over now. You will not be able to run your nail against them in aweek. Eyesores, I grant you, to-day, otherwise I would ask two thousandsesterces at least for him. These islanders are cheap at any price."
"I will give you a thousand," said Licinius quietly.
"Impossible!" burst out the dealer, with a quiver of his fingers, thatexpressed a most emphatic negative. "I should lose money by him, generouspatron! What! A man must live. Caesar would give more for him to die in thecircus. Look at his muscles! He would stand up for a good five minutesagainst the tiger!"
This last consideration was probably not without its influence. After alittle more haggling, the British captive became the property of Liciniusat the cost of fifteen hundred sesterces;(6) and Esca found the mostindulgent and the kindest-hearted master in Rome.
We must return to that master, pacing thoughtfully up and down thecolonnade, in the cool and pleasant evening air.
It is, perhaps, one of the most consoling and merciful dispensations ofProvidence that the human mind is so constituted as to dwell on pastpleasures, rather than past pain. The sorrow that is done with, returnsindeed at intervals vividly and bitterly enough; but every freshrecurrence is less cruel than the last, and we can look back to oursufferings at length with a calm and chastened humility which is the firststep towards resignation and eventual peace. But the memory of a greathappiness seems so interwoven with the imperishable part of our being,that it loses none of its reality by the lapse of time, none of itsbrightness from the effect of distance. Anger, sorrow, hatred,contentions, fleet away like a dream; but the smile that gladdened us longago, has passed into the very sunlight of noonday; the whisper thatsoftened our sternest moods, steals with the breeze of evening to ourheart, gently and tenderly as of yore, and we know, we feel, that whilecrime, and misery, and remorse, are the temporary afflictions of humanity,pardon, and hope, and love are its inheritance for evermore.
Licinius, pacing his long shadowy colonnade, dwells not on the anxieties,and the separation, and the sorrows of years; on the loss of his dearesttreasure and its possession by another; not even on the calm dead facebound with its linen band. No; he is back in Britain once more with hisliving love, in the green glade where the bending ferns are whisperingunder the old oak-tree.
A step in the hall rouses him from his meditations, and a kind grave smilesteals over the general's face at the approach of his favourite slave.
The Roman patrician looks what he is--a war-worn veteran, bronzed andhardened by the influence of many campaigns in many climates. He is notyet past the prime of his bodily vigour, and there is a severe beautyabout his noble features, and beard and hair already touched with grey,that possesses considerable attraction still. Valeria, no mean judge,asserts that he is, and always will be, a handsome man, but that he doesnot know it. She respects him much, likes him a good deal, and he is theonly person on earth for whose good opinion she has the slightest value.In truth, though she would not confess it even to herself, she is a littleafraid of her good-hearted, brave, and thoughtful kinsman.
A man who has reached mature age without forming family ties is always toa certain extent in a false position. No amount of public interest willstop up the little chinks and corners, so to speak, which are intended byNature to contain the petty cares and pleasures and vexations of domesticlife. Without the constant association--the daily friction--of wife andchildren, a cynical disposition becomes selfish and morose; a kind one,melancholy and forlorn. Licinius feels a blank in his existence, whichnothing he has yet found serves to fill; and he often wonders in himselfwhy the barbarian slave should be almost the only creature in Rome forwhom he entertains a feeling of interest and regard.
As he takes his place on the couch by the supper-table, Esca gives him todrink; and the patrician cannot help thinking the while, how he would liketo have such a son, tall and handsome, with so warlike an air; a son whomhe could instruct in all the intricacies of his glorious profession, whosemind he could educate, whose genius he could foster, and whose happinesshe could watch over and ensure. They converse freely enough during thegeneral's temperate meal--an egg, a morsel of kid, a few grapes, and aflask of common Sabine wine. Esca tells his master the encounter of theprevious evening, and the friendship he had made in consequence, afternightfall. Licinius laughs at his account of the skirmish, and theeunuch's discomfiture.
"Nevertheless," says he, "I trust he did not recognise you. It can havebeen none other than Spado, whom you treated so unceremoniously; and Spadois just now a prime favourite with Caesar. I might find it difficult toprotect you if he knew where to find you, for charms and philtres aredeadlier weapons in such hands as his, than sword and spear in yours andmine. Did he take note of your person, think you, Esca, ere he went down?"
"I can hardly believe it," answered Esca. "The evening was dark, and theconfusion great. Moreover, I fled with the poor girl they had surrounded,the very instant I could snatch her out of the throng."
"And you saw these Jews in their home, you say?" pursued Licinius gravely."I have heard much of that people, and, indeed, served against them inSyria. Are they not morose, cruel, bloodthirsty? Slayers of men, devourersof children? Have they not fearful orgies in which they feast upon humanflesh? And one day in the week that they devote to solitude and silence,and schemes of hatred against all mankind? Are you sure that yourentertainers belonged to this detestable nation?"
"Christians and Jews," replied Esca, who had caught the sound of theformer title in the course of his conversation with Calchas.
"Are they not the same?" returned Licinius, and to this question thebarbarian was unable to furnish a reply.
The Gladiators. A Tale of Rome and Judæa Page 11
