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‘Ah!’ said Cestus, ‘but observe, I spoke only assuming you to be successful. If you haven’t enough faith in your own discovery to give you hope, then, of course, there is an end.’

‘I have faith, and great faith! Else would I have toiled so long and wearily? Its worth is plain to the dullest sense; but when success comes, then it will be time to allow the mind to run riot. Nevertheless, Cestus, it may astonish you to know, that ere you spoke, I had already resolved on a plan of making my discovery known, which very much resembles the plan you advise – and without need of leaving my home.’

The Suburan shook his head.

‘Simple being as I am, I have already the idea that a good patron is necessary.’

‘Of course.’

‘Then, since that is settled, I have resolved that my patron shall be the most powerful of all – the ruler of the world, in fact. To-morrow, if I can be ready, I will go and show the fruit of my labour for the approval of Caesar himself.’

‘What – Caesar!’ cried Cestus, starting violently.

‘Caesar – Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar,’ replied Masthlion, with a quiet smile at the blank amazement on the features of his companion.

‘Biberius Caldius Mero Caesar – phew!’ muttered Cestus, mechanically giving the Emperor his well-known nickname, which his Imperial wine-bibbing propensities had earned for him.

So murmuring, the Suburan sank back again into his reclining posture against the bench, glaring at the potter.

‘Why, it would seem that I have taken a bolder flight than even the city wit and cleverness of my Roman kinsman could devise.’

‘There is such a thing as taking too bold a flight for one’s welfare,’ replied the other, recovering his voice; ‘and country ignorance will plainly do many a thing which city wit would call folly. Had it been the last Caesar now – had it been Augustus, perhaps you would have been sensible. But this one! To go to Capreae – to run the risk of being drowned, or spitted, ere you set foot in the tiger’s lair – or, failing that, to be hauled before the tiger himself, and straightway hurled from the cliffs into the sea for a mad-brained potter! Gods preserve us, Masthlion – have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘I may have seemed like it some minutes back, but I have returned into my usual sober spirit now. At all events, I have the wit to see clearly what I intend to do.’

‘You would never see Caesar – you would never be allowed to approach within eyeshot – not even to set foot on shore!’

‘Nonsense, kinsman! Do you think we of Surrentum know not better than to believe an idle tale such as that? Do you think we are not better acquainted with our neighbours in Capreae, at our very doors here, than to be affrighted at such an ogre’s fable as yours? I will both set foot on the island and see Caesar to boot. Is it not often done by the folk along the coast here, whenever business demands?’

‘And who never return. What of the dozens who are tortured and strangled and flung to the sharks by the blood-thirsty old hermit?’

‘Would the people ever continue to go if that were the case?’

‘Do you say none are treated in the way I say?’

‘There may be some so unlucky if they have offended; and Caesar is somewhat harsh and imperious as tyrants often are. But I am a neighbour and a Surrentine, and can make a fair reason for permission to go into Caesar’s presence – I have no fear or uneasiness. Stercus of the vineyard up there, frequently goes to Capreae and enters the Imperial presence.’

‘By Hercules! I would I had known this before,’ quoth Cestus eagerly; ‘would it be possible for me to do the same thing?’

‘I should not like to say,’ answered Masthlion, shaking his head; ‘strangers, from a distance, seem to be out of favour on the island. We natives have more license. Why, I know not; but strangers – especially those who go without authority, or business – will most likely rue their boldness. If you, a Roman, were to make a visit, out of sheer curiosity, you would, most likely, meet with rough handling.’

‘Humph, then there is some advantage in being a Surrentine and not a Roman,’ said Cestus ironically.

‘So it would seem, in this instance,’ replied the potter.

‘Then you may claim it with pleasure. It is hardly worth having when it includes the probability of becoming a meal for the fishes. And even what I have heard the Surrentines themselves say of old Tiberius, gives me no better relish for him than I had before. Therefore I say, don’t go! Take your wares to a safer market. Even suppose you were safe enough in the ordinary way of things, as a native, a little matter might upset the Imperial humour – a slip, a word, heaven knows what! The royal humour might be upset even before you had the first chance at it, and then what next? What glass pot would save you then?’

‘I would never run the risk. I have the means of lying by till the sky is favourable,’ returned Masthlion, with a calm smile.

‘You are resolved then?’

‘Quite.’

‘A wilful man will have his way,’ growled Cestus, pulling at his beard nervously. He was very ill at ease, and he knew enough of the potter’s nature, to be well aware of the uselessness of any arguments to turn his determination when once arrived at. He felt no confidence in what he had heard concerning the peculiar privileges in Capreae toward the natives of the district, and, in fact, was more than half assured, in his own mind, that his kinsman was running as great a risk, as if he were going empty-handed to a lion in its den. What if he never came back – if he was never heard of again? It would be to lose the most important witness in his case. That would be a terrible misfortune. The Suburan’s heart was a load within him for heaviness. Perplexity worried him very soon into a temper, and he stood with brows clenched, and teeth grinding under his bearded lips, whilst Masthlion proceeded calmly with the preparations for his expedition.

It seemed to increase Cestus’s irritation to watch his tranquillity.

‘You seem to be tolerably easy, in your own mind, I must confess,’ he snarled at length.

Masthlion looked round, and noted the ill-humoured expression of his companion’s countenance with some surprise.

‘Easy in my own mind,’ said he; ‘I am, truly enough – I feel more contented and happy than I have done for many a day; and I have good reason too, I think.’

‘Be sure it is not an evil omen,’ said Cestus.

‘Of what?’

‘Ruin – death!’

‘Tush – you are talking nonsense. Set your mind at rest; I know what I am about, and nothing shall stop me from carrying out what I have fixed upon.’

‘Then if I cannot teach you common prudence, perhaps you will listen to some one else. Your life and your carcase are your own, and you can do what you like with them; but there are matters other than your own, and also people dependent on you, who ought to have some consideration. Have you told your wife and the girl what you mean to do?’

‘No; but it means only the telling,’ replied Masthlion, with the faintest hesitation.

‘I am not so sure of that; and besides it is your duty not to run any risk on their account.’

‘Nothing venture nothing win. As I have told you, you have got silly fancies into your head. The risk I run does not trouble my conscience on the score of those I leave behind me; so have done, Cestus, and trouble me no more.’

Cestus approached him, and taking his arm with one hand he pointed to the door with the other. ‘Do you forget, also, what duty you owe to the girl singing within there? You say you love her like your own child – do you forget that you are one of the chief witnesses in the task of restoring her to her proper station?’

A shadow fell on the potter’s face and his frame shivered. ‘No, I do not forget – how could I?’ he murmured, as his head fell on his breast. ‘You will take her from me.’

‘I will take her to Rome – it will be necessary for you and Tibia to accompany us. Where, then, is the separation? You settle in Rome, and carry on your work nigh at hand. The matter is ripe and will wait no longer. Within these two days I had resolved to tell you. I have written to her grandfather to expect her, and we must go. Come, let us go in to supper and settle it; but without, as yet, telling the reason. You cannot but see that all this suits you in every way – nothing better.’

Masthlion remained silent for a few moments, with his head cast down and his fingers twining themselves nervously. Then he went apart, and stooped low on his bench, with his face in his hands. Here he remained for several minutes motionless, during which time Cestus began to pace impatiently up and down the floor. At length the potter stood up. The old care and heaviness was back on his face once more, from the burden of which he had had such a brief respite.

‘Cestus,’ he said huskily, ‘for my sake and my wife’s, and it may be for hers for all that I can tell, I wish occasion had never been to have brought you back again. We must suffer; but that is nothing if it be for her good. I have of late thought over what you have said. In one way and another it seems fated that she must leave us. I have also thought that our home here would be very dark without her, or even the consolation of knowing that she was within easy reach. I had half resolved, therefore, to follow to the city. She may be lost to us, it is true; but still they could not rob us altogether of the sight of her. That – that, at least, would be a comfort. This will decide me then. As soon as I return from Capreae we will go, and, at least, make a trial of a new home – though it is a hard task to transplant old trees.’

‘As soon as you return from Capreae!’ echoed Cestus, his incipient satisfaction giving way in a breath to disgust. ‘You will still persist in that madness. It must never be! You have no need of Caesar – what benefit to you is a man who lives like a hermit on a rock? The rich nobles in Rome will be a thousand times the service to you – you shall not go!’

‘I will!’ cried Masthlion, stung into anger and despair by the fierce tone of his kinsman; ‘I will do my duty to the labour of my life – its fame shall be mine and shall cling to me though everything fall away.’

‘Life included,’ sneered Cestus.

‘Let it, if it be so fated. It seems less bright than it did.’

CHAPTER XV

When they were called in to supper the two women were awaiting them, bright-eyed and radiant, at a modest, but well-filled table. Their new-found cheerfulness, however, was doomed to a brief existence. Cestus remained silent and gloomy; and Masthlion, equally taciturn, despatched his meal rapidly, as though it were a task to be well rid of. Their dampened spirits were still more depressed, when the potter, immediately on swallowing the last mouthful, announced, in a blunt, matter-of-fact way, his intended visit to Capreae. With a certain amount of dismay they at once expressed their disapprobation of the undertaking. It oppressed them with a sense of dread – it was of too great a magnitude. The very name of Caesar filled them with awe. They used their best efforts to dissuade the potter, assisted by the interjectory remarks and sarcasms of Cestus; but they plainly saw that their efforts were doomed to be vain. Masthlion bade them put away their fears, and, with something of his natural manner, clapped his wife gently on the shoulder as he went back to his workshop. Without being reassured, the women went silently about their work of removing the supper things, their hearts as heavy as before they had been cheerful.

‘Have you put this into his head?’ demanded Tibia suddenly of her brother. Her glance was suspicious and her tone unusually sharp.

‘Have I put it into his head?’ replied Cestus, with concentrated scorn. ‘Oh, to be sure. Had I put it into his head, in the first place, I should hardly have taken the trouble I have to drive it out again.’

His sister being silenced he said no more, and sat tilting himself backward and forward, in moody silence, on his stool.

Neæra bestowed on him one or two lofty glances, which plainly showed that her ideas flowed in the same direction as the dame’s. She said nothing, however, and glided hither and thither, in and out, in her occupation. Presently she went quietly to the door of the workshop, and, tapping gently, asked for admission. Cestus caught the sounds and stopped his restless motion. The door creaked open, and by and by it closed again, and Neæra returned into the passage. The Suburan’s quick ear heard the voices of the two females mingling outside. There was a smothered sob, and presently a light foot sped up the stairs. Tibia then came into the room to give a parting touch to its arrangements before retiring for the night. Her face was more dejected than ever.

‘She has been in to see him,’ observed Cestus.

Tibia nodded yes.

‘And did no good, I can tell.’

The dame this time shook her head, and remained standing, with one hand on her hip and the other underneath a kind of apron which she wore over her gown, as if ready to lift it to stanch the drops which struggled into her patient eyes.

‘Very well, then,’ continued her brother, ‘we may as well give the matter up, for the man will go his own way. It’s of no use to show him his madness. That being the case, there is something you must know without any further delay, since he is determined to throw himself away. Wait and I will bring him in.’

‘He is busy, Cestus,’ dissuaded she.

‘He will have to make a few moments’ leisure, however,’ was the reply, and the Suburan went accordingly to summon the potter.

The latter obeyed without demur on learning the reason for his required presence. Cestus shut the door and took his former position on his stool.

‘Brother-in-law, since you will not listen to reason concerning this errand of yours to Capreae, and since I have small hope of ever seeing you return, Tibia must hear, in your presence, what I have already told you alone. Your life is your own, and if you are determined to shorten it at once you can do so, I suppose. That is your own matter, and you can settle it with or without your wife’s help. But in the matter of the child called Neæra, I am concerned; and as you are about to rob me of my best witness in her case, I must arrange matters as best I may, so as to be able to do without you.’

‘You put it in a pleasant way, kinsman,’ returned Masthlion, smiling; ‘but as you are bent on putting me to death I won’t argue the point. Nevertheless I agree with you that it is time Tibia should know what we know about our child – I still call her ours, you see. It was only at your wish that I have kept silence as long as this. Tell her the story – I cannot.’

Tibia sat looking from one to the other in her mute way, her hands lying folded in her lap, and her eyes full of anxious curiosity. What new trouble was this which was about to be launched upon her? Was it the secret which had darkened her husband’s face so long? Was it not enough to be told that he was about to throw away his life on the morrow? Cestus, her brother, was the cloud upon her house. It was time he left it, since matters had seemed to go strangely wrong with the hour of his arrival. What of the child Neæra? He had brought her there – did he want to take her away again?

Her gaze fixed on the Suburan as this thought broke upon her slow brain. Her brows knitted slightly, and her eyes seemed to contract and congeal, for a moment, into lifeless glassy balls. She had a manner of meeting bitter trouble, as it were, with a motionless, voiceless, passive numbness. It resembled the action of some animals and reptiles when seized in the grip of a ferocious enemy. The functions of body and brain seemed withdrawn into an impenetrable inner casket, leaving all else relaxed, lifeless, and torpid. It is the supreme effort to resist exquisite torture, this power of self-paralysation, this contraction of all sense into the numbness of oblivion; whilst to the beholder the spectacle of mute suffering is the most heartrending of all.

Cestus, without further delay, began the same narrative he had already related to Masthlion. Tibia sat like a carven image, with her hands clenched in her lap and her head half bowed. Once only during the recital she started slightly, when she heard the noble parentage of the child she had tended, and she gave a swift, half-startled glance, first at Cestus, and then at her husband. When the end came and the speaker’s voice ceased, and she heard the decree that Neæra was to be given up to her own people, her fingers twitched nervously for a time.

‘This, then, is what has haunted thee and darkened the house!’ she cried out sharply to her husband, as she threw her apron over her head.

The anguish of her glance cut the potter to the heart. A silence fell on the room for a minute. Masthlion could not summon a word, and Cestus swung uneasily on his stool. Then the latter cleared his throat and tried to smooth matters, with arguments already familiar to the reader.

‘Why, Tibia, you have tended the child till she has become like your own, and it is hard, I admit, to hear she must leave you. But consider, she was bound to go, for the Centurion will marry her and take her away to Rome, at all events. Why trouble them? The only way, if you cannot abide without being near her, is to go after her. I have already told Masthlion this, with all the common sense one can be capable of, and shown him how it is the best place for employment in all his work.’

‘I have already agreed; if Tibia is willing we will go to the great city,’ said Masthlion.

‘Ay – but not now – not at once!’ replied Cestus sharply. ‘Only, as you say, when you come back from Capreae. That is another thing altogether. It is a promise on condition with a vengeance, when there is every chance you will not be alive to perform it. Hark’ee, Tibia, I am eager for us all to go at once, for this reason, that I am anxious concerning the girl. There have been a couple of fellows from Capreae in the shop lately, for nothing in the world but to see the child herself. I saw them, heard them, watched them. What does this mean? Why, that some fine night your house may be broken into, and the girl carried off to the island by a gang of Caesar’s blackguards. Once there, you may cry for ever to get her back. Is it not time, think you, to be moving such a good-looking lass out of the reach of the tiger’s claws? Will you leave her to the chance of such a fate, for the sake of a fool’s errand, on the score of a glass bowl?’

‘The fool’s errand shall be carried out, look you,’ interposed Masthlion sternly, ‘so no more of that. Nevertheless, if you scent danger so close, there is nothing to prevent you all taking ship or horse to-morrow, if need be. I will follow when I am ready to bid farewell to Surrentum.’

‘And that is your determination?’

‘It is – I leave the rest to Tibia.’

‘Then she and the girl and myself will go hence without delay.’

‘Speak for yourself, brother,’ said Tibia, standing. ‘When I go my husband goes also.’

‘The girl, then, I shall take alone,’ cried Cestus furiously.

‘If she will go with thee,’ said Tibia.

He started up so violently that he upset his stool, and he stood, for a moment, stuttering with passion. Failing to produce an intelligible sound, he stamped his foot savagely and rushed out of the room.

Masthlion gave a grim sort of a smile and went to his workshop. Ere he could shut the door, Tibia slipped silently after him.

CHAPTER XVI

To return to Plautia, whom we left on the way from Tucca’s cottage to the villa Jovis, in the stormy, gray dawn.

Her litter was set down at a side door of the palace, and Zeno, the steward, stood by to hand her out. His proffered courtesy was loftily ignored, so he turned on his heel and led the way inside.

Not a living soul was to be seen; it was, doubtless, before the usual hour for any one of the Imperial household to be astir about the duties of the day.

The Greek brought them into a small peristyle close at hand. He threw open the door of a handsomely appointed room, and the noise brought forward, from within, three or four young female slaves, particularly noticeable for their good looks.

‘My prison?’ ejaculated Plautia grimly.

The Greek’s face grew pitiable with an injured look.

‘Caesar has ordered these apartments for your use; and these slaves will be under your orders,’ said he, bowing her in with a deep obeisance. Plautia gave a haughty nod and passed in with her own attendant. Zeno gently closed the door upon them, and his deprecating look gave place to a satisfied grin, as he hurried away to a different portion of the palace, in order to report to his master.

Plautia found that the room formed one of a suite. After the unwonted experience of a husbandman’s kennel, the space and luxurious arrangements of these apartments could not fail to draw from her a sigh of satisfaction, in spite of her position.

The state of her mind was indeed unenviable.

After the horror and misery of the night in her wretched quarters, the brief moments of slumber, which fell, finally, on her exhausted senses, had not sufficed to relieve her fevered mind. They had seemed, instead, to have only sunk her faculties into the first leaden state of suspension, – to have lulled the wakefulness of her tortured brain, and plunged it into the horrors of a narcotic sleep, amid whose heavy vapours, her struggling reflections became the distorted phantasms of an oppressive dream.

Even yet her mind had not recovered sufficient elasticity to entirely throw off this soporific load. Stupor still seemed to clog her senses and maintain her in a condition of waking sleep. The scenes of the past night still floated through her brain and mingled with what was actually occurring, as if on common ground of unsubstantiality. The pale, soft crescent of the moon hung phantom-like in her distempered mind, just as it had struck upon her gaze over the Pretorian’s shoulder; save that now its bulk swam magnified, and its paleness shone intensified to ghastliness. Then the play of his warm breath on her forehead, and one or two of his gestures, which lived, as if fire-impressed in her brain – all the sharper, in relief to the dark, blurred, frenzied moments of sudden agony and despair which had followed, like a gulf of blackness. After this her mental awakening in the pitchy darkness and crash of the sudden storm, the misery of the night, the phantoms of her short drowsiness, the coming of Caesar’s messenger, the cold gray of sea and sky, the palace – it was all like the unbroken course of a shadow-play.

She moved through the rooms, and, in the furthest, found the marble basin of a bath with all appliances. With more animation, she turned instantly, and bade the flock of young slaves prepare it for her immediate use. To have been obliged to forego, for a considerable period, this luxury so necessary to a Roman, had been not the lightest privation she had incurred in her headstrong expedition.

The crystal water, foaming and flooding out of the brazen dolphin’s mouth into the polished basin, was so welcome a sight as to rouse her not a little. Whilst preparing to enjoy it, one of the slaves answered a summons at the outer door, and brought back a message, saying, that Caesar would pay her a visit in an hour.

Infinitely revived and invigorated, Plautia returned from the bath to eat and drink. She had recovered also so much of her ancient humour, as to visit with a sharp word and a frown, a slight clumsiness on the part of the trembling girl who served her on bended knee. The lady’s face had lost some of its customary richness of colour, whilst dark rings showed under her eyes, as evidences of the night’s passionate tumult; but to one of her physical robustness and wanton health, it required an enormous and continuous strain to make any material inroads on her outward appearance. The slaves apportioned to her, who had dwelt in secret on the splendid form and beauty of their new mistress, wondering what princess she might be, and whence she had come, now marked the imperious flash of her eyes with inward quaking.

Plautia dismissed them, and awaited the coming of her Imperial visitor. The thoughtful knitting of her brows and lips were beginning to relax under the drowsiness which crept over her, when the pale, blotched face, and tall, stooping form of Tiberius glided slowly into her presence.

He stopped in the middle of the room, and his brilliant eyes fixed themselves upon her with a scrutiny which she seemed to feel in every part of her frame. Not a sign, however, glimmered in their depths, or stirred the gravity of his countenance, to show that her appearance in any way moved him.

She rose from the couch and gave a slight obeisance of her head, which he returned. He was familiar enough to her by sight; but now, on close personal contact, there was something which struck her uncomfortably. Whether it was the piercing ruthlessness of his gaze she knew not. She began to think uneasily, that she had been wise if she had listened to the advice she had scouted more than once already. Her keen feminine perceptions flashed out upon him. It was the odour of the tiger of which she had been so heedless; and yet, withal, an old, stooping, emaciated, unsightly man. Her thoughts, from some curious fancy, momentarily left her own concerns, and conjured up alongside Caesar the form of his handsome, ambitious, dashing Prefect. The comparison left its mark on her mind. Returning to herself, her indignation and her courage, she awaited to hear him speak.

‘Plautia, I bid you welcome to my house,’ he said, in his slow way. ‘Not until last night did I know you had favoured the island with your beautiful presence. I have hastened, therefore, to give you a more fitting reception than the hovel of a husbandman can afford. It was unkind thus to steal upon my island home with the intention of leaving it again as silently.’

‘I have no claim upon your hospitality, Caesar,’ replied Plautia; ‘I came hither on a trifling concern of my own, and sought to disturb no one. The poor house in which I lodged was freely chosen, and willingly endured for the short time of my stay. To-day was to have seen my departure, and indeed will do so. I am grieved that you should have learnt of my presence, and so caused you kindly trouble on my account. If my intrusion into Capreae is wrong and impertinent, I crave your gracious pardon and indulgence. Indeed, no disrespect was intended.’

‘Dismiss all that from your mind,’ said Tiberius; ‘the only fact which gives me pain is, that you should have sought to deprive us of the delight of your fair presence; I repeat, it was unkind.’

‘It is not for me to thrust myself upon a stranger’s hospitality – much less upon Caesar’s.’

‘Hospitality despised is the grievance, Plautia.’

The old Emperor’s manner was highly-bred, perfectly graceful, and polished, and a smile gently parted his lips. Nevertheless, in spite of the delicate, deprecating speech which fell so softly, slowly, but fluently from his honied tongue, every word seemed but the tinkling of artifice. Had she dared to retort as she felt, she would have said that hospitality enforced was as grievous a burden as hospitality despised.

With this idea firmly in possession of her mind, she recognised her jailer before her, and felt the grim hardness of the captor’s hand toying with her through the soft sheathing of ceremony and politeness. Nevertheless it was not her nature to feel fear, and she never quailed.

‘That is all past,’ continued the Emperor; ‘youth and loveliness are right and might in themselves. In their presence it is possible for no ruffle of the mind to remain unsmoothed. Now that you have graciously honoured my house, all is well, and – ’

‘Pardon, Caesar! I was brought hither, favour or no favour,’ interrupted Plautia majestically.

‘But now since you have honoured me,’ continued he, with the same unruffled smile, ‘my spirit is at rest. Be pleased to use my house and all it contains, as if it were your own. Your will shall be law within the limits of Capreae. Small as this island is, it contains some beauties, which we shall be eager to show, and which have been deemed worthy of notice. It may be you have never visited them before.’

‘Once as a child, I think,’ replied Plautia, with a rigid aspect. ‘Your proffered kindness is beyond words of mine to acknowledge, but I regret that my engagements will not allow to take advantage of it. I must return home without further delay – it is imperative.’

Tiberius shook his head and forefinger at her playfully.

‘I could not allow you to carry out a determination which you would regret to your dying day. The island would grow black with scowls were I to suffer the fair Plautia to quit it in such haste. Besides which, the furious wind and sea renders it impossible. Hark, how the storm roars!’

‘I will risk the sea and the wind – I fear them not!’

‘Possibly; but it is otherwise with those whose business it would be to transport you to the opposite shore. Nor would I consent for one moment to the hazard – and though a feeble old man, I am obeyed somewhat.’

‘No one shall run any hazard for me, if it come to that. I will pay any fisherman the cost of his boat twice over, and go myself.’

Tiberius suffered an expression of admiration to gleam on his face as the deep colour flushed in her cheeks, and the mettle sparkled in her eyes.

‘Permit me, fair Plautia!’ said he, stepping forward and raising her hand to his lips; ‘what have I lost in not knowing you before? What so delightful to aging eyes as the spectacle of youth and beauty and high spirit? Doubly grateful to me the assurance, that the spirit of my people will hardily live and flourish. ’Tis such women as you who have nourished the masters of the world, and with such as you left behind me, I may die in the comforting knowledge that dominion will not leave them. But to cross those miles of stormy water alone! Ah, it is wonderful courage – it conquers me! But it cannot be – it is madness! Were I to allow it I would esteem myself your murderer. No, no, you must live, and be the mother of heroes!’