CHAPTER IX.

The morning was already grey over the distant Sabine hills[190] when

Quintus, followed by his clients and slaves,[191] left the scene of

festivity. With him came Clodianus and the poet Martial; the former

accompanied, like himself, by a number of dependents and satellites,

the latter by a single slave, whose smoky little lamp looked absurd

enough by the side of the handsome lanterns and torches of the rest of

the escort.

“A mad night!” sighed Martial, looking up. “The stars are already

twinkling like eyes dim at leave-taking. Illustrious Clodianus, you

will make my excuses to my patron, the chamberlain Parthenius, if

I should fail to offer my morning greeting. Getting up early is my

greatest torment,[192] even when I have crept between the coverlets at

betimes, and to-day, after this unpardonable dissipation....”

Clodianus laughed.

“I will explain it to him,” he roared out in the fresh morning air.

“However--I shall hardly see him before noon. I am as tired myself, as

if I had been sawing stone all night.”

“Yes, it is frightful to be so tired! I would give ten years of my

life, if I might only sleep half the day. But on the contrary, before

cock-crow, I must be out of bed, fling my toga over my shoulders, and

be bowing to noblemen! By Castor! if I were not an ass, I should long

since have fled to the peace and quietness of my native town!”

“Well, sleep to-day till sundown! Just now Parthenius will be most

willing to excuse you, for his head is so full of business, and Caesar

makes such incessant claims upon his time, that he is glad when his

best friends leave him in peace.”

“I heard the same thing from my father,” added Quintus. “Some great

stroke seems to be in hand. Is nothing known of the facts?”

“Pah! it is the talk of the town. Plots dangerous to the state, treason

to religion and society, conspiracies against Caesar....”

“But the facts--the details...?”

“You know,” said Clodianus laughing, “that in affairs of state, silence

is as important, as valor is in battle!”

“Well said!” cried the poet.[193] “With a little suitable

embellishment, that may be turned into a brilliant epigram. Now, noble

friends, I will bid you farewell. Our roads are no longer the same. I

must climb up here to the temple on the Quirinal, while you go down

into the valley. In life it is just the reverse. Apollo preserve you!”

He hastily turned up the street, while Clodianus and Quintus went on

along the ‘Long Way.’

“Aye!” said the crafty Clodianus. “I have constantly to remind myself

of the duty of silence; more than once has my rash tongue run away with

me. I come of an easy-tempered race, which are apt to talk without

stopping to think. It is wrong, by Hercules!--it is wrong!”

They had now reached the Subura.[194] The height of the five, six, or

more-storied houses,[195] and the narrowness of the way here, only

allowed the day to dawn slowly and late, and deep gloom still prevailed

in the numerous taverns[196] and entries. At the same time busy life

was already stirring on all sides; itinerant bakers[197] were wandering

from door to door crying their fresh bread. Pedagogues,[198] with

their writing implements and clay lamps, were leading files of boys to

school. Here and there, from a side alley, might be heard the croaking

chant of a teacher, and the babble of spelling children.[199] Groups

of worshippers, on their way to perform their morning devotions in the

neighboring temple of Isis, hurried across the loudly-echoing pavement.

“Day is coming upon us apace,” said Quintus, as he stopped in front of

the entrance to the “Cyprius street”[200] and held out his hand to the

adjutant.

“Our roads part here, and we must make haste if we mean to reach home

before sunrise.”

“Will you be at the Baths at about noon?”

“Possibly.--If I get up in time.”

“Well then--let us hope that the wine-cup of Lycoris may leave you free

of headache.”

“The same to you! Farewell.” And with these words Quintus went on his

way, while Clodianus turned off to the right.

“Cyprius street” grew at every step more select and consequently more

deserted; to the left the Baths of Titus stood up, a sharply-defined

mass, against the rose-tinted sky. Each time that Quintus Claudius

walked up the street, this vast pile seemed to have a fresh spell for

him. The contrast between the ponderous mass, and the tender flush of

Autumn dawn behind him, filled him with pleasurable admiration, and his

eye followed a flock of pigeons, which for some few minutes soared to

and fro above the great building and then, with sudden swiftness, flew

across the road.

“They came from the left,” said he to one of his companions. “Now, if

I believed in augury from the flight of birds, I should be forced to

suppose that some evil was hanging over me.”

He was still speaking, when from the same side, where a narrow path

came down from the great Baths, a muffled figure rushed upon him and

hit him a blow with a bare poniard. Happily the ruffian at the same

instant slipped on the sloping pavement--which was rendered even more

slippery by the early morning dew--so that the dagger missed its aim,

and instead of piercing the young man’s throat, passed across his

left shoulder and through the folds of his toga, which it cut through

as sharply as a razor. And before Quintus quite understood what had

happened, the assassin had glided away between the slaves with the

suppleness of a panther, and vanished in the direction of the Subura.

The young man gazed at his arm, where the toga and under-garment hung

in long strips; the wound was but skin-deep, a spot of blood had here

and there oozed out.

“Let it be!” said Quintus to the slaves, who had crowded round him

when their first stupified astonishment was over. “I know very well

where that blade was sharpened, and for the future I will be more

cautious. But one thing I must say to you; my good people, each and

all, be silent as to this attack. You too, my excellent friends and

clients--you know how easily my noble father is alarmed. If he knew

that there was in all Rome a villain, who had threatened my life, he

would never know another moment’s peace.”

“My lord, you know us!” exclaimed the slaves and freedmen, and the

clients too professed their devotion.

“His revenge is prompt!” thought Quintus, as he went onwards. “I always

knew him to be an example of audacity and ruthlessness--still, such

impatience as this is somewhat a surprise to me.”

Then suddenly he stood still, as a new and almost impossible idea

flashed across his mind.--“If it were ... supposing.... Could

Domitia...?”

He pressed his hands over his eyes, and that which had at first seemed

so plain, intelligible and obvious, now sank back into the mists of

doubt and conjecture.

The slaves had by this time extinguished their torches and

lanterns.--Broad daylight shone in cloudless beauty over the

widely-spread city of the Seven Hills. The great temple of Isis lay

flooded with gold; a procession of priests,[201] bearing the image of

the goddess, came marching down the street.

“Get on!” cried Quintus. “I am tired to death. It was a folly,

Blepyrus, to dismiss the litters.”

“It was wisdom, my lord!” said the slave. “If I still am honored with

your confidence, I would again repeat....”

“Ah well!” Quintus interrupted. “Very likely you are right--you leeches

are always right.[202] If only you attain a proportionate result! But

if exercise were everything, I should be the lightest-hearted man in

Europe. Nay, my good Blepyrus, this dissatisfaction, this intolerable

sense of ill lies deeper....”

In a few minutes they had reached home. The ostiarius[203] was standing

at the door, as if the master of the house were impatiently expected.

Quintus was about to cross the threshold, when he heard himself loudly

called by name.

“What do I see? Euterpe! All hail to you--so soon returned to Rome?”

“Yes, my lord, since yesterday,” answered the flute-player hastily.

“And ever since I came, I have been incessantly trying to find you. Do

you still remember,” she went on in a low voice, “what you promised me

at Baiae?”

“Certainly, my pretty one. Quintus Claudius sticks to his bargain ...

besides.... But who is the grey-headed old man with you there? Your

husband or your father?”

“My husband is young, and my father is dead.--This is Thrax Barbatus,

Glauce’s father.”

“And who is Glauce?”

“What--did I never tell you about Glauce--out there, on the hills by

Baiae? I must have forgotten in the midst of all my trouble. Glauce is

to be married to our Eurymachus....”

“Ah! the heroic sufferer, that Stephanus had flogged?”

“The very same, my lord! And you promised me to remember....”

“True, true--come to me in the course of the afternoon....”

“Ah! my lord, but that will be too late. Eurymachus is in danger of his

life....”

“What, again!”

“Oh! be merciful, most noble Quintus! Give us only five minutes

audience! You alone can save him.”

“Come in, then!”

He led the way through the atrium into his private room.

“My lord,” the flute-player began again, “I will tell my story shortly.

Eurymachus rebelled against the Empress’ steward, who wanted to

persuade him to all sorts of disgraceful conduct. Stephanus flogged

him first, and then obtained permission to crucify him at the next

festival. This I heard from the gate-keeper. But there was no festival

fixed for yesterday, so there is still some hope, and we entreat

you....”

“Be calm--for the present your friend is in safety.”

“Impossible--he is lying in chains....”

“He _was_ lying in chains. His execution was fixed for yesterday, but

at the last moment he was snatched from the jaws of peril.”

“What?” cried Thrax Barbatus, speaking for the first time. “Did I hear

you rightly, snatched from his fetters! Then Glauce was able to carry

out what she proposed.”

“Free?” said Euterpe, looking up at Quintus in bewilderment.

“As I tell you.”

“Oh, now I see it all!” cried Thrax Barbatus. “This pretended journey

to Ostia--what had your husband to do in Ostia? And Philippus, my son,

who has hardly been in Rome a week--why should he want to accompany

Diphilus....” Then, seized with terror, he sank on the ground before

Quintus and threw his arms round his knees.

“Oh, my lord! do not take advantage of the rash words of a miserable

father!” he exclaimed vehemently. “Do not betray, what my tongue let

slip in my fear and anxiety.”

“Be easy, old man!” said Quintus benevolently. “I am not one of the

spies of the city-guard. Your friend is a hero, and courage always

commands my sympathy.”

“Thanks, thanks!” sobbed the old man, covering the young noble’s

hands with kisses. “But tell me, pray, how it all happened; how is it

possible that, in the midst of such a crowd of servants....”

“All is possible to those who dare all. What I heard--and the

merest accident prevented my being an eye witness--aroused as much

astonishment in me, as in you. All the bystanders seemed to have been

paralyzed. It was like an eagle in the Hyrcanian mountains,[204]

swooping down on a lamb. One man particularly, a stalwart,

broad-shouldered fellow, did wonders of valor....”

Thrax Barbatus drew himself up with the elasticity of youth. Happy

pride sparkled in his eyes, and an expression--a radiance, as it were,

of beatific affection illuminated his rugged and strongly-wrinkled

features.

“That was Philippus, my son!” he said with a trembling voice. “Oh! it

was not for nothing, that he fought for years against the Dacians, not

in vain that he endured frost and heat. There is not a man in all the

legion that is his match in skill and strength; not one that can beat

him in running or in lance-throwing. But speak, my lord; you look so

grave, so sad! What is it? Oh, for God’s sake, in Christ’s name--it

is impossible! My son, my Philippus!--but he could stand against

twenty--speak, my lord, or you will kill me....”

“Poor old man,” said Quintus much moved, “what good will it do to

conceal the truth from you? Your son is dead. Scorning to fly, he

exposed himself too long to his foes. He died like a hero.”

Thrax Barbatus uttered a soul-piercing cry, and fell backwards to the

ground; Euterpe flung herself upon him and clasped his head to her

heart, weeping bitterly.

“Thrax--dear, good friend,” she sobbed out: “Control yourself, collect

yourself! Show yourself strong in this terrible trouble! Consider, you

will have Glauce, and Eurymachus, who loves you like a son.”

The old man slowly pulled himself up; he pushed Euterpe violently

aside, and then sinking on to his knees, raised his hands in

passionate appeal to Heaven. His lips moved in prayer, but no sound was

heard. Quintus, lost in astonishment, stood leaning against a pillar,

while Euterpe wept silently, her face buried in her arm. A terrible

storm seemed to be raging in the old man’s soul; his breast rose and

fell like a wind-tossed sea, and a wild fire glowed in his eyes. But

by degrees he grew calmer, and his features assumed an expression

of sorrowing and silent resignation. It was as though a tender and

beatific ray of forgiveness lighted them up, growing clearer each

moment. After a time he rose.

“Pardon me, my lord,” he said slowly. “I was stricken down by the

vastness of my grief. He fell like a hero, you said? And Eurymachus is

safe?”

“He escaped,” replied Quintus, “which, alas! is not quite the same

thing. Every effort will be made to recover possession of the fugitive.

Well, we must see what can be done. Accident has enlisted me on your

side, and I will play the part out to the end. For the present leave

me; I am tired out, and a tired man is of no use as an adviser; but

this evening, about the second vigil,[205] I will find my way to your

dwelling, unaccompanied.”

“Father in Heaven, I thank Thee!” cried Thrax Barbatus vehemently.

“Blessings, oh! blessings on the head of this noble and generous youth!

Farewell, my lord! Never, never will I forget your gracious kindness to

us helpless wretches.”

With these words he left the room, and Euterpe followed him. Quintus

went at once to his curtained cubiculum,[206] undressed with the help

of the faithful Blepyrus and soon fell asleep.

FOOTNOTES:

[190] SABINE HILLS. The Sabines, an old Italian people, were the

neighbors of the Latins. Their country extended northward to

the domains of the Umbrians, southward to the Anio river.

[191] FOLLOWED BY HIS CLIENTS AND SLAVES. Aristocratic people rarely

appeared in public without a train of followers.

[192] “GETTING UP EARLY IS MY GREATEST TORMENT.” See Martial, _Ep._

X 74, where the poet, as the sole reward for his verses, begs

to be permitted to sleep as long as he likes in the morning.

[193] “WELL SAID!” CRIED THE POET. Martial often flattered his

superiors, even to servility. See Mart. _Ep._ XII, 11, where

he praises the poetic gifts of Parthenius.

[194] SUBURA. A densely-populated district between the Forum Romanum

and the Vicus Patricius, occupied by the poorer classes.

[195] HOUSES. For the height of the houses in ancient Rome see

Friedlander I, 5 etc.

[196] TAVERNS. All sorts of booths, stands, work-shops, taverns and

barbers’ shops stood in front of the houses in the smaller

streets, greatly impeding the passers-by. The confusion at

last increased to such an extent, that Domitian found himself

compelled to have the most obtrusive structures removed in

certain quarters of the city. One of Martial’s epigrams (VII,

61) is founded on this incident.

[197] ITINERANT BAKERS. Mart. XIV, 223:

“Arise; the baker is selling the boys their breakfast.”

The breakfast probably consisted of _adipata_, _i.e._ pastry

or cakes made with fat. Bread was baked at home till the last

years of the Republic; afterwards there were public bakehouses

for the poorer classes.

[198] THE PEDAGOGUE was a slave, whose duty it was to take children

to school.

[199] THE BABBLE OF SPELLING CHILDREN. The Romans attached great

importance to a distinct and accurate pronunciation; reading

was taught twice a day, and children began to learn before the

age of seven.

[200] THE CYPRIUS STREET (_vious Cyprius_) led from the Subura to

the Flavian amphitheatre.

[201] A PROCESSION OF PRIESTS. Solemn processions of priests through

the city formed one of the principal features in the worship

of Isis.

[202] YOU LEECHES ARE ALWAYS RIGHT. Blepyrus, as his master’s

constant companion, would watch over his health, if not as a

qualified physician, at any rate, as an empirical adviser. The

household leech in noble families was almost always a slave or

freedman, and those who practised independently were often in

the same position.

[203] OSTIARIUS. The porter, who sat in a niche of the

entrance-corridor (_ostium_).

[204] HYRCANIAN MOUNTAINS. Hyrcania was the name of a rough

mountainous region near the Caspian Sea.

[205] THE SECOND VIGIL. The Romans divided the time from sunrise to

sunset into four vigils (night-watches) of three hours each.

[206] CUBICULUM. Sleeping-room.