Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

‘Who do you mean?’ said Neæra absently.

‘Why, the man who will, before long, take you to Rome – the Centurion.’

‘I know not that he will take me thither, and what can you want with him?’ said Neæra.

‘Merely a question or two – you see he has but a poor opinion of me, I am afraid, and I would like to part better friends. I may be able to do him a service some day – who knows?’

‘He comes when he can,’ said Neæra.

‘Humph!’ replied Cestus, ‘that’s as sure as death; but can you give me nothing nearer?’

‘Nothing – he might be here to-day, or he might be a month. But what do you want to ask him?’

‘Nothing, except for a little information connected with some business of my own; and to tell him to get you away from here as soon as possible, so that I may be able to get a glimpse of you again before long in the city.’

He laughed and rose from his seat about to go forth into the town.

‘The proud dames of the Centurion’s order will perhaps pretend to sneer at you,’ he went on, ‘but you need not mind – you will have the laugh of them, for you will be the handsomest wife in the city. ’Twill be a great change from Surrentum to Rome – from a potter’s daughter to a noble name. But never fear; you will be as pat in the place as you are here. Proud dames and damsels! the handsomest wife in Rome – you will have the laugh of them.’

‘I seek to interfere with none of them,’ said Neæra; ‘you talk idly, uncle; I am still the potter’s daughter.’

‘That is so!’ said Cestus; ‘now I’m off!’

He stepped to the door of the shop, and, after the manner of many people, and more especially those whose time is not too fully occupied, he hesitated when he stood on the step, as if to collect his thoughts into a single steady current of deliberation before he finally advanced. This momentary halt for reflection was accompanied by an abstracted glance round the familiar objects out-of-doors. To the left was to be seen nothing but the moss and creeper-grown wall of the road, which crossed at right angles, some fifty yards away; to the right, the sparsely built and quiet lane trended away toward the town. The only signs of life therein, at that moment, were two or three groups of children playing, a couple of dames standing in the roadway to gossip, as they met carrying their water pitchers, and, at a distance of a hundred yards or so, two men leisurely advancing. Turning from the blank prospect on the left to the sight of these two individuals on the right, the lack-lustre, pre-occupied gaze of the Suburan snapped electrically into acute attention. Instinctively he shrank back behind the shelter of the broad doorpost, and, for the few brief moments, he assumed the functions of a savage animal, or its imitator, the savage hunter. His ears seemed to prick up; his body took an attitude bent slightly forward, with muscles braced and corded, and head thrust prominently out. His heavy thick brows were knitted down so low as almost to obscure his intense gaze, and his stiff stubbly-bearded lips were clenched and protruding. Altogether the change was so rapid, and his present appearance so menacing and absorbed, that Neæra, about to resume her occupation, was struck with surprise.

Her eyes naturally followed in the direction of his concentrated gaze, but owing to her backward position inside the shop, nothing met her view.

‘What is it?’ she said, stepping to his side to look.

Her voice recalled the Suburan to himself, and straightening himself up, he cast a parting glance at the new-comers, now close at hand, and turned away into the house, saying hurriedly he had forgotten something.

The strange behaviour of Cestus stuck in the mind of Neæra, and she stood in the doorway puzzling her brains for a reason. Suddenly she became aware that the two men had drawn within twenty or thirty yards, and were regarding her with a direct gaze. Recovering herself abruptly, she turned away inside, and remained with her back to the road, until they should pass on. But in this she was disappointed, for a foot sounded on the step, and a voice said, ‘You can wait, Erotion!’

In the meantime, Cestus left the shop, and rushed into the little room, previously described as a kind of state apartment, which lay between the shop on one side, and the kitchen on the other. Into the wall dividing this room from the shop was let a small square window, unglazed, which admitted air and light at second hand. It was rather high up, and a couple of small statuettes stood in the opening. Cestus bounded on to the couch which stood underneath, and, stepping unto the topmost pinnacle of its framework, he was enabled to bring his eyes sufficiently high to overlook what passed in the shop. He furthermore arranged the little statuettes closer together, in order to still more shield the small portion of himself from any possible chance of observation. All this was inspired by instinct, which never admitted of any doubt, and he had only just taken up his post, when Afer, and his Greek, Erotion, stopped before the door of the shop.

‘I knew it when I caught sight of them,’ muttered the Suburan, with burning eyes and tumultuous breathing. ‘What brings him here, of all places in the world? What is in his brain now? What does it mean? Does he know anything?’

He was quivering with intense excitement, and, but for the dark stain which he still used for his skin, his face would have been ashy white. A thousand fears and forebodings tore his mind, whilst nervous dread and hate shook him till his frame quivered like a leaf. With his faculties at their utmost stretch he watched and listened for what should follow.

After a close scrutiny, as if to assure himself, Afer entered the shop, and Cestus observed, with satisfaction, that the lynx-eyed Erotion remained in the roadway. The further the Greek was away the freer he breathed, for he knew his profound subtlety of old.

Neæra heard the leisurely step of the knight behind her, but did not turn until he spoke and called her attention to his presence. Then her gaze rested on the visitor, whose person was clothed in its accustomed perfection of style and taste, even to a fold, and whose white and carefully-kept hands glittered with gems. Customers of rank and position were not altogether new to her, since Masthlion had a certain reputation for the character of his work, so that she was in no wise disconcerted on account of the superior grade of the comer; but there was that in the expression of his closely-set, glistening, black eyes and supercilious lips, which affected her uncomfortably. He, moreover, treated her to a leisurely survey, which might have passed without remark, had its object been the merits of a horse or dog, but which the beautiful girl resented inwardly for its impertinent freedom and boldness. The half nodding, condescending approval which plainly showed on his face, roused her indignation even more, and, with a flush on her cheeks, she drew up her tall frame, and returned him a glance of high displeasure. Afer faintly smiled, evidently amused thereat. He curled his thin lips, and spoke again with a faint drawl in his tone, whilst Cestus, above at his post, ground his teeth in suppressed rage.

‘This is the shop of Masthlion the potter?’

‘It is!’ replied Neæra, briefly and coldly.

Afer scanned her over and smiled again – the girl was certainly favoured with good looks, but, at the same time, it was amusing to observe to what great extent the knowledge of the fact had increased her importance in her own eyes.

‘I have heard that he is skilful in his work, and I came to see for myself; these are his handiwork, I presume?’

He nodded to the ware with which the shelves were filled, and his query was answered in the affirmative.

‘I will look at them. You are his daughter; is it not so?’

‘I am,’ replied Neæra, and resolving to be rid of the company of this individual, whose impertinence and patronising air were so irritating, she added that her father should attend to his wants himself, and she accordingly turned to go to the workshop and fetch him.

‘No! no!’ exclaimed Afer, detaining her with his hand, and giving a slight laugh, ‘I have no consuming desire to make your worthy father’s acquaintance; and, besides, there is no occasion to take him from his work. He is industrious, and would not like it, and, moreover, knows very well that the care of his customers is in better hands as it is. I prefer – and who would not – to have your own fair hands submit these specimens for my approval, and your own fair lips to sound their praises.’

‘Will you please to look for yourself, noble sir, and see whether there be anything suitable?’ answered Neæra, curtly and loftily.

‘Naturally,’ he replied, with a cold smile, ‘but am I not to have your aid in my selection?’

‘I cannot perceive how I can be of help; you know your own taste better than I.’

‘It is true I have been thought to have some small share of taste in such matters, and to comprehend thoroughly what little I possess; but in the midst of such a bewildering collection of treasures as I see here around me, my perception is at fault, and requires strengthening. I require one specimen, and I leave the selection to your superior judgment.’

The knight allowed his eyes to sweep round at the ‘treasures’ with infinite scorn. Surrentine ware was well known, but it was only of a lower order, and held no place in the eyes of the art critic, or on the shelves of the wealthy.

Whether Neæra comprehended her customer’s tone or not, her face gave no sign; but, without the least hesitation, she stepped before him and reached down a vase, about twelve inches high, and held it to his hands. It was more elaborate in design, and more highly finished than any in the shop, and a fellow to it remained on the shelf.

‘This pair, then, is the best and the handsomest I can offer.’

‘I am content,’ he replied, with the faintest little sneer, as he touched the vase with the extreme tip of one of his white jewelled fingers, and turned it slightly to one side and then to the other; ‘they shall have a niche in my atrium on the Esquiline, and the rest of my wretched little Roman pots and pipkins shall bow down before them. And the price thereof, the paltry equivalent to such masterpieces?’

We have no record of the market price of Surrentine industry, but with the utmost readiness and sang froid, Neæra calmly named a price that caused the knight to start and frown portentously, being an undoubted authority on such matters, and a keen bargainer by nature as well as necessity.

Cestus, in his observatory, opened his mouth and eyes in blank astonishment for a moment; for, having passed no small portion of his idle time in the shop, he had learned tolerably well the prices of the simple goods, and of these articles now offered in particular. They had remained unsold since his arrival, whilst ranks of others of simple utility had found owners, in the meantime; so that Cestus, well acquainted with them, was amazed to hear the girl ask a price at least ten times greater than that which he knew to be their fixed value. He stared down from his loophole upon her, but she stood calmly waiting before her customer, and when the glance of the Suburan wandered to the expression on the face of the knight, his former patron, his delight was such as nearly caused him to laugh outright. ‘Now stand to your bargain, you cur,’ he muttered, amid many chuckles. ‘By Hercles, she’s touched him; she couldn’t have thrust deeper; she might have known him as I do – clever wench!’

‘You approve, then?’ said Neæra. ‘Shall I call your slave to take them?’ She made a move as if to take down the vase remaining on the shelf, but he raised his flashing fingers deprecatingly.

‘Stay,’ he replied, as his look of disgust relapsed once more into its former superciliousness; ‘I don’t question your taste for one moment, but I take leave to challenge your memory – you must surely be mistaken as to the price you put on these wonderful specimens. In my humble opinion it is quite prohibitive, and out of all proportion to the intrinsic value of the things.’

‘I have done as you desired me to do.’

‘Yes, yes; but the cost?’

‘Is what I have already told you, and I cannot alter it one penny.’

‘It is out of reason, and on that account, much as I would wish to profit by your judgment, I shall be compelled to forego it.’

‘Ah!’ snarled Cestus.

‘And truly,’ continued Afer, ‘the sum required is so large, that I doubt whether my slave’s purse contains sufficient to discharge the debt, even supposing I think right to incur it.’

‘Pah!’ was the muttered commentary of the Suburan, given with fathomless contempt, ‘the liar! He knows to a farthing what the fellow’s pouch has in it – nothing beyond a few copper coins, I’ll warrant; and woe betide him if he can’t square his reckoning when he gets home.’

‘In that case, I suppose, I should be right in saying that such a poor wretch as myself could never hope for credit,’ continued Afer, with a sneer.

‘You are a perfect stranger, sir,’ replied Neæra.

‘Exactly – with no recommendation. I shall, therefore, be compelled to select something more in keeping with my humble resources of ready coin, which, I am afraid, will be an impossible task, if prices are all levied at the same modest computation.’

‘This, then, perhaps you may approve of,’ said Neæra promptly; and going to the opposite end of the shop, she took and handed to him a small brown vessel, two or three inches high, without any more pretension to beauty than any ordinary glass bottle.

‘Ah, now you have hit my taste exactly,’ exclaimed Afer, receiving the plainest of plain articles in his hand with the blandest smile of exquisite irony; ‘you have indeed gauged my ideas to a nicety. The other articles were really as much beyond my artistic appreciation as their cost was above my poor purse; but this is delightful in its beautiful simplicity – I wait to hear you name its price.’

Neæra informed him. ‘Good! I accept,’ said he; ‘it is modest indeed. It is, I think, within my means, and I am relieved in mind. Hither, Erotion! Take this, and pay what is asked of you.’

While the young Greek was producing the two or three copper coins which were needed, his master arranged his cloak and took his leave. Neæra took the money from the slave, who bestowed upon her an admiring gaze, with something of the same license as his master.

‘I am glad to find your father’s fame has not been belied,’ observed Afer; ‘it is only too evident. The next time I come I shall come better provided; yet, even with this little treasure which I have been fortunate enough to secure, I shall no doubt be able to induce many others to follow my example.’

So saying, and showing his white teeth with a smile, he left the shop followed by Erotion, who, on his own account, turned as he passed through the door, and smirked behind him, leaving Neæra standing with the deepest indignation in her face.

They had scarcely passed from view when Cestus hurriedly re-entered the shop, and going to the door peered after them.

‘Did you see them – do you know them?’ exclaimed Neæra.

‘Yes, yes, I saw them come along – I have seen him somewhere before – I will try and think before I come back,’ answered Cestus hastily. ‘I will go through the fields, I think, for a stroll.’

He retreated through the house, and crossing the small patch of garden in the rear, emerged into a cart-track. This ran more or less parallel with the street, and skirted the gardens and little fields belonging to the houses. Here and there was a path for convenience of communication between the main and back thoroughfares, and Cestus ran ahead until he reached such an one which commanded a ready view from end to end. At the bottom of this he waited a few moments, until he saw the forms of Afer and his slave cross the upper end, and then, being sure he was in their rear, he walked up into the street. He either forgot his altered appearance, or had such small faith in its ability to mislead those whom he was now dogging, that he followed with the extreme care of a hunter tracking a wild animal through its native woods. He kept them in view at the furthest possible distance; stopped when they stopped, and cowered behind walls or anything which came handiest, to avoid the slightest chance of being noticed. One of the first actions he observed was that of Erotion, who, in answer to something which his master said, threw away to one side an article he carried. Cestus instinctively guessed what it was, and following on, passed the fragments of the small, recently-purchased pot lying at the foot of a wall. This act confirmed his suspicions, that his former patron’s object in visiting Masthlion’s shop was distinctly not that of buying of the wares it contained. The Suburan, in consequence, plunged still deeper into an agony of suspicion, and as often as he soothed himself with the fact that it was impossible that Neæra’s identity could be known, so often he plagued himself afresh with the question of its probability.

Step by step he pursued the leisurely track of the knight until they reached the centre of the town, where Afer visited one or two shops. After this they entered the baths, and Cestus was left to cool his heels for a considerable time outside. He was a sleuth-hound of undaunted mettle, however, when once on a scent, and there being a wine-shop at no great distance, whence he could watch the door of the building his quarry had entered, he proceeded thither, and sat patiently over a bowl of thin wine. He was determined to see the last of them, since he could neither live nor move in peace, if haunted by the possibility of encountering them at any chance time face to face. After a long delay his patience was rewarded by the sight of the knight issuing refreshed from the bath, and taking his way, followed by his retainer, toward the Marina. Here they perhaps meant to take boat to the island, thought Cestus, with a sigh of relief. But no, he was disappointed; for they entered an inn of considerable pretensions, and the Suburan was doomed to another lengthy delay, whilst the knight was most probably dining. The afternoon was wearing on. The dusk was beginning to thicken when the watcher’s eyes were once more gladdened by the appearance of master and slave. He rejoiced to see them saunter across to the steps which led down to the Marina. Thence he had no more need to follow, but, leaning over the cliff, observed their movements without difficulty and danger, and ere long watched them speeding over the darkening sea before a fair breeze. Cestus gave a deep sigh of relief. When they were nearly out of sight he turned homeward, and, for a season at least, was at liberty to devote his attention entirely to his own deliberations.

CHAPTER XIII

Away from his haunts in the Imperial city, where his wits were kept ever bright and sharp by the friction of crowded humanity, the Suburan had fallen under the lethargic influence of utter inoccupation in a comparatively lifeless provincial town. His mind, latterly, may be said to have only smouldered.

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

Fearing lest he should betray some symptoms of his perturbed mind to the keen eyes around the supper-table at home, he wandered along aimlessly until the time for that meal should pass, and his thoughts become more serene. To assist the latter process he visited one or two wine-shops which crossed his random path, and fortified himself with some hearty draughts of liquor. Thence he passed on to the outskirts of the town and sought the silent roads and darkness. Here were solitude and the brooding stars, circumstances most apt for philosophising.

His ignorance of the actual position of affairs left him a prey to the most distracting surmises. It was in vain he argued and proved to himself continually, that his secret lay, for the present, safe with himself and the potter only; and that Afer could no more have any knowledge or suspicion 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 the potter’s shop? Was it to buy? No; that was a mere pretence. What did he want with such wares? What he had bought he had thrown away. Even in his harassment the Suburan’s face twisted with a grin, as he recalled the scene in the shop, and the expression of the knight’s face when acquainted with the price of the vases.

The conclusion, therefore, forced itself on the mind of Cestus, and would not be dislodged, that Neæra was the object of the ominous visit. And, again, how was it, and from whom had he learnt of the existence of the girl in such an out-of-the-way corner of the town, where his foot was never likely to tread of its own accord? It was true that Masthlion had a certain reputation for his work, and that the beauty of Neæra being known, it might have reached the knight’s ears amidst other tattle. This might have prompted his curiosity; but the coincidence was too strong for the reasoner’s peace of mind, and no argument was potent to comfort him. His thoughts, restricted to such a narrow field of inquiry, writhed and twisted in torment. Then at length, exhausted and chagrined with the fruitlessness of his efforts, he gave way to a paroxysm of rage. He shook his clenched fists, and his mouth vomited the most frightful curses on the head of his treacherous patron and all appertaining to him, including the impenetrable island, whose sealed silence held him at bay. The first glimpse of his would-be murderer had aroused and added fuel to his mingled fear and detestation. This, combined with the sense of his insecurity and comparative powerlessness in his present situation, put him almost beside himself for a few delirious moments. No one passed him at this point, or they might have been superstitiously affrighted at the fierce gestures and the shrill, hissing notes of this shadowy form in the dark road.

The short frenzy, however, sufficed to purge his veins somewhat, and when its fury had fled it left him comparatively calm and collected. He became aware of an appetite which needed appeasing, and he turned his steps homeward. When he entered the house, he found that the time had flown considerably beyond his reckoning, and that the family were all in bed. He was not sorry, however, at this, and, after eating the supper which had been left standing for him, he went to bed, where his excited thoughts kept him from sleep till nigh the time when early risers were beginning to stir between the bedclothes, and collect their thoughts for a new day’s labour. Then indeed he slept heavily, and came down late, to find every one busy in their daily occupations – Masthlion, as usual, locked in his workshop.

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

‘You did not return yesterday until we had all gone to bed,’ she said. ‘It was because you are persisting in what you said about your presence being the cause of my father’s trouble of mind.’

‘Not at all,’ replied Cestus, whose mind was too fully weighted with other matter to trifle with this question, ‘I met with an old friend, and we sat talking 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 to quit 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 tell you. It is a fine day – I must be off out into the sunshine. What a pleasant morning for a trip from Capreae.’

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

‘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 my poor self – change of air and a holiday.’