CHAPTER XX.

The little procession slowly made its way through the brushwood;

Euterpe, indefatigable, led the way. In her left hand she carried the

dark lantern, with which now and again she lighted up some especially

perilous spot, while with her right hand she held aside the boughs of

the shrubs. The gale was still blowing through the dripping trees, and

squalls of rain swept over them with a rush and roar. After a short

but difficult walk they reached the foot-bridge, and turned off to

the east, leaving the brook Almo behind them, and then by degrees the

forest grew thinner.

When at last they reached the open, they saw before them the arches of

the Claudian aqueduct,[353] stretching black and ponderous across the

plains. The wind had parted the clouds here and there over the eastern

horizon, and a few stars shone fitfully through the rifts, but this

made the darkness, which brooded over the whole creation, all the more

sensible.

Again they went over a wooden bridge--then under an arch of the

aqueduct, and a few minutes after through that of another, the Aqua

Marcia.[354] So far they had kept to the road. Now, however, they

quitted it, and for a time cut across fields and meadows, over wide

pools and ditches, and through brushwood. A quarter of an hour, half

an hour, a whole hour of this toil, and they had not yet reached the

Labicanian Way,[355] towards which they were marching.

Diphilus held out bravely, but Blepyrus, who was not of the strongest,

and who was accustomed only to the lightest toil, panted so painfully,

that Quintus could not bear to see it.

“Give me hold,” he said with rough good nature. “Why, you are groaning

like a mule dragging blocks of stone.”

“My lord!” said Blepyrus out of breath. “You see I can hold out a

little longer.”

“I see just the reverse. Stop a minute, Diphilus--there! now get your

breath again, Blepyrus, and fill your lungs. In ten minutes we will

change again.”

“But, my lord, what are you thinking of?”

“Do not talk, but save your wind.”

Euterpe, always thoughtful, offered the exhausted man a draught of

mead. Blepyrus drank it eagerly, and the strange convoy went on its way

again through the silent night.

They were indeed a strange party for any one who could have seen them!

A youth of senatorial rank serving as litter-bearer to one slave, while

another walked idle by his side! Quintus thought of his friends and

equals, and could not help smiling; but with his next breath he sighed,

for he thought of his father. He knew indeed, that Titus Claudius would

not have hesitated to lend a hand if needed for the rescue of the

meanest of his dependents; Titus Claudius, no less, would have bent his

shoulder to the strap of a slave’s litter in case of need. And yet,

what bitter grief, what implacable resentment would that generous man

feel, if only he could see--could guess...!

Quintus gazed vaguely up at the driving clouds, that scudded wildly

along like a host of uneasy spirits. They packed and tumbled together,

hiding the few stars which had peeped forth in the dark sky.

“I cannot help it,” thought Quintus, tightening his lips. “I have no

choice in the matter. If the whole world round me crumbles into eternal

night--I cannot help it!”

The wounded man, exhausted by his too eager talk with Thrax, lay

meanwhile silent and motionless on his couch. Even when Quintus slipped

the straps on to his own shoulders he seemed indifferent to the fact;

only a faint cry of surprise betrayed, that he had not swooned or

fallen asleep.

They had gained the Via Labicana at last, and were toiling up the

slippery way. Blepyrus was just going to take his master’s share of the

burden again, when he suddenly became aware of a shade at a few paces

distance, which at first stole stooping down close to the hedge, and

then suddenly made for the open country, bounding across the road with

long steps.

“What was that?” asked Quintus, who had also observed the noise and

running figure.

“Some wild creature perhaps,” said Euterpe.

“It was a man,” said Eurymachus.

Quintus stopped and gazed out into the darkness; then, turning to

Eurymachus, he asked with evident anxiety:

“When did you first see him?”

“This minute, as we came upon the road.”

“I saw him before,” said Blepyrus in a whisper, as though a similar

shade might at any moment start forth in the gloom. “Out there, by that

bush in the middle of the field something moved and scudded past. I

thought it was some night-bird.”

“They are sitting snugly in their nests,” said Diphilus. Blepyrus did

not answer; he was considering.

“It seems to me,” he said at length, “that I have seen that peculiar

skulking walk and sudden disappearance before. He vanished like

lightning.”

“And he meant no good,” added the flute-player. “In short, it was a spy

sent out by the slave-catchers, and before we can reach the gate the

town-watch will be upon us.”

“Then we must be doubly careful,” said Quintus, forcing his pulses to

beat more calmly. “We must toil across country again as far as the Via

Praenestina.[356] It will be heavy walking, almost up to our knees in

the soil.--But listen! is not that the tramp of horses? Coming from the

city--not a thousand paces away.”

“Lord and Saviour!” groaned Euterpe. “The man must have flown like the

wind.”

“He must indeed, if these horsemen have come at his call. No, the

swiftest cannot be so swift as that. It is all the same; forewarned is

forearmed. What is that to the right of the road?”

“A fountain, or something of the kind,” replied Blepyrus.

“We will hide behind the wall, till the horsemen have passed.”

In a few seconds they had reached the fountain, of which the basin was

raised about three feet above the ground. By day it would have been a

perfectly unavailing shelter, but in the darkness it was a sufficient

cover. If the horsemen should have lanterns, to be sure--and this could

not yet be seen for a rise in the ground--they might easily detect the

track of the fugitives across the weeds and grass, and then....

For the first time in his life Quintus was aware of the presence of

a great danger. Although he felt certain, that the unknown runner

could not possibly have fetched the horsemen, who were now close upon

them, there was an infinity of possibilities, of which the mere

thought seized his heart with a cold grip. Even accident might here

have played an important part. If the riders were really agents of the

slave-takers, or even soldiers of the town-watch, the next few minutes

were fateful indeed. The sinister vision that had passed them had made

him anxious and undecided, and gloomy forebodings weighed on his mind.

The thought flashed through his brain: How if you were now at home,

standing by your own triclinium? Would you now appeal as you did to

Blepyrus, or would you not rather seek some excuse for evading the work

of rescue? But the question left him clear of all doubt; he did not

regret the step he had taken, and let what might await him, he would

persist now in the road on which he had started. This short meditation

restored his peace of mind; he still was anxious, but it was not on his

own account; it was for the task he had undertaken, the fugitive who

lay in silence on the drenched couch, the faithful and brave souls who

crouched with him for shelter. Suddenly he felt a trembling hand clasp

his own, and press it with passionate fervor to quivering lips. It was

Eurymachus, whose heart, in spite of every dread, was overflowing with

exalted feeling. The slave’s grateful kiss fired a sacred glow through

the young man’s veins, and it was with a sense of supreme indifference

to all the sports of fate, that he heard the trample of hoofs coming

nearer and nearer.

Blepyrus and the stalwart Diphilus held themselves in readiness to meet

a possible onslaught. Euterpe sat on a low stone, half paralyzed; her

heart beat audibly, her hands trembled convulsively.

The horses were now close upon them. Quintus leaned forward, and saw

five or six dark forms mounted on small, nimble beasts. They were

riding cautiously, at a short trot. Now they were passing the spot

where the fugitives had turned aside from the high-road--Quintus

fancied he saw them check their pace, and hastily felt for the weapon

in his bosom. But it was a mistake. The riders trotted on, and did not

diminish their pace till at some distance to the south-east, where the

road mounted a hill. The hated sound of hoofs gradually died away in

the distance.

“God be praised!” sighed Euterpe.

Diphilus hastened to reload himself.

“We might have spared ourselves the fright,” he said to Eurymachus. “In

this darkness....”

“It was only on account of your fugitive,” said Blepyrus. “It may be,

that the riders were only merchants or other harmless folk....”

“It is all the same,” interrupted Quintus. “Any man is to be regarded

as suspicious. Do not lose another minute! Off! towards the Praenestian

Way.”

And once more the little procession set forth across bog and briar.

Thus they reached a foot-path, which led them past vineyards and at

length down to the high-road. The Via Praenestina was little frequented

at night, even in fine weather; the main traffic led past the towns

of Toleria and Aricia. So they went on, relieved in mind, towards the

town, which was still at about an hour’s distance. By degrees the

south-westerly gale spent itself and lulled, no longer rushing in

wild blasts across the plain, but blowing softly and steadily, like a

long-drawn sigh of respite. The black clouds rolled away to the east

and north, and the waning moon showed a haze-veiled sickle on the

horizon.

Eurymachus as before lay in total silence; and neither Quintus, whose

spirit was tossed by a thousand new and strange feelings, nor Blepyrus,

who was straining every nerve to conceal his utter exhaustion, uttered

a word as they walked on. Only Diphilus and Euterpe exchanged a few

words in low tones. The flute-player described her terror; never in

her life had she quaked so as on the stone by that fountain. After

passing through such perils, she seemed to feel the need of showing all

her love and good feeling to her worthy mate, and she even wished to

relieve him of the litter straps, as Quintus had relieved Blepyrus, and

harness her own shoulders. But Diphilus laughed shortly, and scorned

the idea.

“Yes,” he growled good humoredly, “that is a good notion! You want

to score your white shoulders with the marks of the strap. Think of

business, child! Why, to-morrow you are to play at the house of the

captain of the body-guard; you need not spoil your beauty to-night. It

was mad enough, that you would not stay at home such a night as this.”

They were now close to the limits of the suburbs of Rome. The buildings

on the Esquiline, dimly lighted by the moon, stood out sharper as they

approached them against the western sky. Passing by the field, where

Philippus, the son of Thrax Barbatus, lay buried, they made their way

through the empty streets to the Caelian Hill, and at last reached the

back entrance of the house inhabited by Caius Aurelius. The narrow

path, which led to it across the hill, was entirely deserted; the

houses stood detached, each in the midst of its garden, and shut off

from the road by high walls.

Quintus went forward and knocked three times at the postern gate. The

bolt was instantly drawn, and Magus, the Gothic slave, came joyfully to

meet the strangers.

“Welcome, my lord,” he said in a whisper. “Your arrival relieves us of

the greatest anxiety. I have been listening here at the gate these two

hours.”

“Yes, yes--” said Quintus equally softly, “we are very late; but it

could not be helped. Come, good people, make no noise--go in front,

Magus.”

They all went into the garden, and the Goth barred the door again.

Then they crossed the xystus[357] to the peristyle, and went along a

carpeted corridor to the atrium. Here they were met by Herodianus, who

with difficulty suppressed an exclamation of joy.

“At last!” he said, bustling to and fro with delight, like a busy

mistress receiving guests. “We had begun to think, that you must have

met with some misfortune. Aurelius, my illustrious friend, is in the

greatest anxiety. But softly, for pity’s sake softly! everyone is sound

asleep, and foresight is the mother of prudence.”

A light was shining in one of the rooms that surrounded the court-yard;

before they could reach it, Aurelius appeared in the doorway and

hurried out to embrace Quintus.

“What a fearful night!” he said with a sigh of relief. “How anxious I

have been for you, my dear Quintus! A hundred possibilities, each more

terrible than the last, have racked my brain. Be quick, Magus, lift the

wounded man from his litter! Come, you must be quite tired out.--Such

torrents of rain! Your cloak is as heavy as lead And here is our sweet

little musician, as tender as a baby.--Come, warm yourselves, refresh

yourselves!”

Herodianus had meanwhile hastened to open a cubiculum farther on in

the corridor, while Magus took the place of Blepyrus, who was utterly

exhausted. Eurymachus was laid in bed and soon fell asleep, after

Euterpe and Diphilus had applied a fresh bandage and given him a cup of

refreshing drink. Blepyrus, incapable of standing even a moment longer,

threw off his cloak and sank at full-length on to one of the cushioned

benches in the colonnade; he begged Herodianus, as he passed, to throw

a coverlet over him. “I am more dead than alive,” he said. “When my

master goes home, wake me.”

The freedman tried to persuade him to go into one of the rooms and lie

on a bed; but Blepyrus heard no more. Deep, blank sleep had overpowered

him at once. So Herodianus fetched a couple of warm rugs, in which

he carefully wrapped the weary slave and then he joined Aurelius and

Quintus.

The Gothic slave stayed to watch Eurymachus. Leaning back in a chair,

resting his feet on a stuffed footstool, he sat gazing in the sleeper’s

face which, faintly lighted by the glimmer of a small bronze lamp, was

the picture of worn-out nature, but at the same time, of contentment

and peaceful rest. Magus knew all the history of the hapless slave.

He knew how Domitia’s steward had for years made life a burthen to

him, and had at last condemned him to a martyr’s death. The immutable

steadfastness of the sufferer had excited the enthusiastic admiration

even of the simple Goth, and strange thoughts were surging in his soul.

“How still he lies there with his eyes tight shut,” thought the

Goth, “quite shut, and yet I could fancy he saw through the lids.

Veleda,[358] the prophetess, had just such eyes! When I was carrying

him across the hall he looked up, and it was like a flash of fire, and

yet soft and mild like the blue sea when the sun shines. If he were

fair, he would be just like the priest in the grove of Nerthus.[359]

He indeed was a favorite of the gods; he knew everything on earth and

above the earth. I feel as if this man too must know all secrets, which

make such men wise above all others. It is written on his forehead.--If

only he were not so pale and feeble--if he had limbs as strong as mine,

and hale northern blood in his veins! Odin should melt us down to make

one man.--There would be a hero!”

So thought the worthy Gothic slave, while his eyes remained fixed on

the features of the sleeper; but before long his own eyes also closed,

and the ideas that had roused him to unwonted excitement remained in

his mind in the realm of dreams. He saw Odin, with his wolves and

raven, rushing down through the woods on the shores of the distant

Baltic. He himself, Magus, was standing in the shadow of a sacred

beech-tree, hand-in-hand with the wounded slave, who had dragged

himself painfully through the underwood. As the god rushed past them,

he lightly touched them with his sword; and they flowed and melted, as

it were, into one, each feeling as though this had been their destiny

from the beginning of things. And now, as the newly-created two-in-one

looked up, behold! the mighty sword of the god hung to a branch of

the beech-tree. He put out his hand, took it down, and with a giant’s

strength, whirled it round his head. A flash of light shone through

the grove, and the newly-formed being felt that he was stronger and

mightier than all mortals, from the rising of the sun to the setting

thereof.

“A foolish dream!” Magus whispered to himself, as he suddenly started

wide awake. He gave his charge, who had begun to stir, a draught of

water, and then fell asleep again.

Euterpe and Diphilus had meanwhile gone away, though the Batavian had

begged them to take a change of clothes and rest under a comfortable

roof for the rest of the night. After Quintus had changed his dress and

refreshed himself with food and drink, he also wished to return home.

But Aurelius detained him.

“Listen,” he said, in a tone of strange timidity: “With regard to our

journey to-morrow to Ostia, I have a proposal to make to you. It is

very true, that the mere fact that I am sending my ship off on her

return to Trajectum is a sufficient reason--still--people might....

To be plain with you, my intimacy with Nerva and Cinna has attracted

notice in certain quarters--I fear I may be watched, and therefore

it would perhaps be better to give the whole affair the aspect of a

pleasure excursion--if you only could persuade your sister, and perhaps

your betrothed to accompany us. I have such a perfect disguise for

Eurymachus, that neither of the young ladies can have the faintest

suspicion. Besides--who troubles himself about a slave? It seems to me

the plan is as admirable as it is simple.”

“It is masterly!” exclaimed Quintus. “Cornelia is crazy about the sea,

and Claudia and Lucilia will have no objections. If only the weather

improves...”

“Oh! the day will be splendid,” said Aurelius, going into the hall.

“The wind has quite gone down, and the clouds are parting. I asked

Magus just now.”

“The idea is delightful. The more openly and boldly we go to work, the

better. About what hour should we start?”

“I thought about three hours after sunrise.”

“Very good. I will let Cornelia and my sisters know; the rest I leave

entirely to you, my dear Caius.”

“You shall not be disappointed,” said Aurelius, radiant with

satisfaction.

“And where shall we meet? Out beyond the tomb of Cestius?”

“It will perhaps be better that you should come here, and we will

proceed all together to the place where vehicles wait; that will look

least suspicious and most natural.”

“So be it: we will go to the gates in a little party. Now farewell--I

am very tired, and wish I had my litter.”

“Shall I...?” Aurelius began.

“I should think so indeed! What! risk all that our exertions have so

far accomplished for the sake of my selfish limbs! Nay, nay. I shall

live through it, never fear. Farewell again, my dear Aurelius.”

The friends embraced. Blepyrus, awakened by Herodianus, who lent him

a dry cloak, came dizzy with sleep, down the corridor and followed

his master with a faint groan. Quintus, in spite of all he had gone

through, walked on fresh and eager, and in five minutes they were at

home.

FOOTNOTES:

[353] THE CLAUDIAN AQUEDUCT (_Aqua Claudia._) Built by the Emperor

Claudius 50 A.D. was twelve miles and a half long, and reached

to Sublaqueum, (now Subiaco.)

[354] AQUA MARCIA. Built 146 B.C. by the Praetor Q. Marcius Rex, was

twelve miles long, and extended to the Sabine Hills. Its water

was considered the best in all Rome. Ruins of it, as well as

of the Aqua Claudia, exist at the present day.

[355] THE LABICANIAN WAY. (_Via Labicana_) led through Toleria,

Ferentinum, Frusino and Fregellae to Teanum (north of Capua)

where it entered the Via Appia.

[356] THE VIA PRAENESTINA was a road for local intercourse. Just

beyond Praeneste (now Palestrina,) it entered (at Toleria) the

Via Labicana.

[357] XYSTUS (Συστός--Hall) the name of the luxuriously-adorned garden

back of the peristyle. See Cic. _Acad._ II, 13.

[358] VELEDA. (Vĕlĕda or Vĕlēda) a German prophetess belonging to the

Bructerian people, took part in the war against Rome under

Civilis (A.D. 69) and afterwards roused her countrymen to another

insurrection, but was captured and dragged to Rome. See Tac.

_Hist._ IV, 61, 65; V, 23, 24, and Tac. _Germ._ 8.

[359] THE GROVE OF NERTHUS. Nerthus, an ancient German divinity,

the personification of mother earth, specially revered in the

north of Germany. Her principal grove was at Rügen.