"Unto Caesar"

He paused midway in his phrase with indrawn breath, waiting for her reply. She gave it firmly and without hesitation.

"I have cast my eyes on no man, my lord, and have no desire to marry."

"Wouldst consecrate thy virginity to Vesta then?" he asked with a sneer.

"Rather that," she replied, "if my lord would so deign to command."

"Tush!" he broke in impatiently. "Herein thou dost offend the gods and me! 'Tis impious to waste thy beauty in barren singleness; the gods hate the solitary maid unless she be ill-favoured and unpleasing to every man. Thou of the House of Cæsar hast a mission to fulfil and canst not fulfil it thus in isolation, fashioning clay figures that have no life which they can consecrate to Cæsar. But have no fear, for I, thy lord, do watch over thy future—the man whom I will choose for thee will be worthy of thy smiles."

He drew up his misshapen figure to its full height and beamed at the young girl with an expression of paternal benignness. He was delighted with himself, delighted with his own oratory. He was such a born mountebank that he could even act the part of kindness and benevolence, and he acted it at this moment so realistically that the ignorant, confiding girl was taken in by his tricks.

She saw the gracious smile and was too inexperienced, too devoted, to see the hideous leer that he was at pains to conceal.

"The choice will be difficult, gracious lord," she said, feeling somewhat reassured, "and will take some time to make."

"Therefore will I trust to inspiration," he rejoined blandly.

"The gods no doubt will speak when the time comes."

"Aye! They will thunder forth their decree at midday to-morrow," said Caligula, with well-assumed majesty.

"To-morrow, O my lord?"

"Thou hast said it. I have a fancy to make known my decree in this matter during the games at the Circus to-morrow. So put on thy richest gown, O Dea Flavia Augusta," he added with a sneer, "so as to appear pleasing in thy future husband's sight."

"My gracious lord is pleased to jest," she said, all her fears returning to her in a moment with an overwhelming rush that made her sick with horror.

"Jest!" he retorted with a snarl, showing his yellow teeth like a hyena on the prowl, "nay! I never was so earnest in my life. Is not the future of my beloved ward of supreme importance to me?"

"Nay, then, good my lord," she pleaded earnestly, her young voice trembling, her blue eyes fixed appealingly on the callous wretch, "I do beg of thy mightiness to give me time … to think … to …"

"I have done all the thinking," he broke in roughly, "thou hast but to obey."

"Indeed, indeed," she entreated, "I have no wish to disobey … but my gracious lord … do I pray thee deign to consider …"

"Silence, wench!" he shouted, with a violent oath, for what he deemed her resistance was exasperating his fury and reawakened all his former suspicions of her guilt. "Cease thy senseless whining.... I, thine Emperor, have spoken. Let that suffice. Who art thou that I should parley with thee? To-morrow thou'lt go to the Circus. Dost hear? And until then remain on thy knees praying to the gods to pardon thy rebellion against Cæsar."

And with an air which he strove to render majestic he turned on his heel and prepared to go. But in a moment she was down on her knees, her hands clutching his robe. She would not let him go, not now, not yet, whilst she had not exhausted every prayer, every argument, that would soften his heart towards her.

"My gracious lord," she pleaded, whilst her trembling voice was almost choked with sobs, "for pity's sake do hear me! I am not rebellious, nor disobedient to thy will! I am only a humble maid who holds all her happiness from thee! My gracious lord thou art great, and thou art mighty, thou art kind and just. Have mercy on me, for my whole heart is brimming over with loyalty for thee! I am free, and am happy in my freedom; the men who fawn round me, coveting my fortune, fill me with disgust. I could not honour one of them, my lord! I could not give one of them my love. Thou who art so great, must know how I feel. I implore thee leave me my freedom, the most precious boon which I possess, and my lips will sing a pæan of praise to thee for as long as I live."

But Caligula was not the man whom a woman's entreaties would turn from his purpose, more especially when that purpose was his own self-interest. This wretch had no heart within him, no sensibility, not one single feeling of pity or of loyalty.

His instinct must have told him that Dea Flavia was loyal to the core, loyal to the Cæsar and to his House, but so blinded was he by rage and humiliation and by the terror of assassination, that he saw in the earnest, simple pleadings of a young girl and devoted partisan nothing but the obstinate resistance of a would-be traitor.

The more did Dea plead, the more did he become convinced that already her choice of a husband was made, and that that husband was destined to wrench the sceptre of Cæsar from him and to mount Cæsar's throne over his murdered body. With a brutal gesture he pushed the young girl from him.

"Silence!" he shouted, as soon as choking rage enabled him to speak. "Silence, I say! ere I strike thee into eternal dumbness. What I have said, I've said. Dost hear me? To-morrow, at the Circus, I will name thy husband, and then and there thou shalt accept him, whoever he may be. I have a reason for wishing this—a reason of State far beyond the comprehension of a mere fool. To-morrow thou shalt accept the man of my choice as thy future lord. That is my will. Look to it, O daughter of Cæsar, that thou dost obey. Cæsar hath spoken."

"Cæsar hath spoken," she pleaded, "but my gracious lord will relent."

"Dost know me, girl?" he retorted, as, bending down to her, he seized her wrists in his and brought his flushed face all distorted by fury, close to her own. "Dost know me? For if so hast ever seen me relent once I have set my will? Look into my eyes now! Look, I say!" he shouted hoarsely, giving her wrists and arms a brutal wrench. "Do they look as if they meant to relent? Is there anything in my face to lead thee to hope that thou wouldst have thy treacherous way with me?"

He held her wrists so cruelly that she could have screamed with the pain, but she bit her lip to still the cry.

Daylight now was yielding to the oncoming storm. Dense shadows hung all round the room, making the objects in it seem weird and ghost-like in the gloom. Sudden gusts of wind swept angrily round, causing the withered leaves and dying flowers in the vases to murmur with unearthly sounds, as of the sighing of disembodied souls. Only through the aperture above a streak of greyish light struck full upon the Cæsar, as, with glowing eyes and cruel grasp, he compelled her to look on him.

For a moment she closed her eyes after she had looked, for never before had she seen anything so hideous and so evil. His misshapen head looked unnaturally large as it seemed to loom out at her from out the gathering darkness, his hair stood up sparse and harsh all round his forehead. His eyes were protruding and shot through with blood; his lips were dry and cracked, his cheeks of a dull crimson and heavy sweat was pouring down his face.

When she turned away from him in horror, he broke into that wild laugh of his which had in it the very sounds of hell.

"Well!" he said with a leer, "hast seen my face? Art still prepared to disobey?"

"No, my lord," she said slowly, and fixing her eyes fully upon his now, "but I am prepared to die."

"To die? What senseless talk is this?"

"Not senseless, my good lord. Even the gods do allow us poor mortals to find refuge from sorrow in death."

"So!" he said slowly, still gripping her wrists and peering into her face till his scorching breath made her feel sick and faint. "That is the way thou wouldst defy the will of Cæsar? Death, sayest thou?… Death and disobedience—rather than submission to the wish of him who has god-like power on earth. Death!" and he laughed loudly even whilst from afar there came, faint and threatening, the nearer presage of the coming storm. "What death? A pleasing, dreamless sleep brought on by drugs? A soothing draught that lulls even as it kills—or hadst perchance thought of the arena?… of the tiger that roars?… or the lictor's flail that drives?… hadst thought … hadst thought …"

He was foaming at the mouth, his rage was choking him; he had only just enough strength left in him to tear at the neck of his tunic, for the next moment he would have fallen, felled like an ox by the power of his own fury. But as soon as he had released Dea Flavia's wrists and she felt herself free to move, she rose from her knees, and with quick, almost mechanical gesture, she rearranged her disordered robe and shook back the heavy masses of her hair. Then she stood quite still, with arms hanging by her side, her head quite erect and her eyes fixed upon that raving monster. When she saw that he had at last regained some semblance of reason she said quite calmly:

"My gracious lord will work his way with his slave, and deal her what death he desires."

"What!" he murmured incoherently, "what didst thou say?"

"'Tis death I choose, my lord," she said simply, "rather than a husband who was not of mine own seeking."

For a moment then she did look death straight and calmly in the face, for it was death that looked on her through those blood-shot eyes. He had thrust his lower jaw forward, his teeth, large and yellow, looked like the fangs of a wolf; stertorous breathing escaped his nostrils, and his distorted fingers were working convulsively, like the claws of a beast when it sees its prey.

Caligula would have strangled her then and there without compunction and without remorse. She had defied him and thwarted him even more completely than she knew herself; and there was no death so cruel that he would not gladly have inflicted upon her then.

"Dost dare to defy me…!" he murmured hoarsely, "hast heard what I threatened …"

She put out her hand, quietly interrupting him.

"I heard the threat, my lord … and have no fear," she said.

"No fear of death?"

"None, gracious lord. There is no yoke so heavy as a bond unhallowed. No death so cruel as the breaking of a heart."

There was dead silence in the room now; only from a far distant rolls of ceaseless thunder sent their angry echo through the oppressive air. Caligula was staring at the girl as he would on some unearthly shape. Gasping he had fallen back a few steps, the convulsive twitching of his fingers ceased, his mouth closed with a snap, and great yellow patches appeared upon his purple cheeks.

Then he slowly passed his hand across his streaming forehead, his breathing became slower and more quiet, the heavy lids fell over the protruding eyes.

Caius Julius Cæsar Caligula was no fool. His perceptions, in fact, became remarkably acute where his own interests were at stake, and he had the power of curbing that demoniacal temper of his, even in its maddest moment, if self-advantage suddenly demanded it.

He had formed a plan in his head for the trapping of the unknown man who was to mount the throne of Cæsar over the murdered body of his Emperor. Before dealing with the whole band of traitors he wished to know who it was that meant to reap the greatest benefit by the dastardly conspiracy. There was one man alive in Rome at the present moment who thought to become the successor of Caligula; that one man would be bold enough to woo and win Dea Flavia for wife.

Caligula's one coherent thought ever since Caius Nepos had betrayed the conspiracy to him, was the desire to know who that man was likely to be. That was the man he most hated—the unknown man. Him he desired to punish in a manner that would make all the others endure agonies of horror ere they in turn met their doom. But his identity was still a mystery. To discover it, the Cæsar had need of the help of this girl who stood there so calmly before him, defying his power and his threats. He looked on her and understanding slowly came to him … understanding of the woman with whom he had to deal. It dawned upon him in the midst of his tumultuous frenzy that here he had encountered a will that he could never bend to his own—an irresistible force had come in contact with an unbending one. One of the two must yield, and Caligula, staring at the young girl who seemed so fragile that a touch of the hand must break her, knew that it was not she who would ever give in.

His well-matured plan he would not give up. He had thought it all out whilst he refreshed himself in his bath after Caius Nepos' visit, and it was not likely that any woman could, by her obstinate action, move Caligula from his resolve. But obviously he must alter his tactics if he desired Dea Flavia's help. He could gain nothing by her death save momentary satisfaction, and the matter was too important to allow momentary satisfaction to interfere with the delights of future complete revenge.

Therefore he forced himself to some semblance of calm. He was a perfect mountebank, a consummate actor, and now he called to his aid his full powers of deception. Cunning should win the day since rage and coercion had failed.

Slowly his face lost every vestige of anger and sorrowful serenity crept into his eyes. Tottering like one who feels unmanned, he sought the support of a chair and fell sitting into it, with his elbows on his knees and his head buried in his hands.

"Woe is me!" he moaned, "woe to the House of Cæsar when its fairest daughter turns traitor against her kin!"

"I! a traitor, good my lord!" she rejoined quietly. "There is no treachery in my desire to serve Cæsar in single maidenhood, or to offer thee my life rather than my freedom."

"There is black treachery," he said with tremulous voice like one in deep sorrow, "in refusing to obey the Cæsar."

"In this alone–"

But it was his turn now to interrupt her with a quick raising of the hand.

"Aye! That is what the waverer says: 'Good my lord, I'll obey in all save in what doth not please me!' Dea Flavia Augusta, I had thought thee above such monstrous selfishness."

"Selfishness, my lord?"

"Aye! Art thou not of the House of Cæsar? Art thou not my kinswoman? Dost thou not receive at my hands honour, position, everything that places thee above the common herd of humanity? Were I not the Cæsar, where wouldst thou be? Not in this palace surely, not the virtual queen of Rome, but, mayhap, a handmaid to another Cæsar's wife, an attendant on his daughter.... Thou dost seem to have forgot all this, Augusta."

"Nay, gracious lord, I have forgot nothing! Your goodness to me–"

"And yet wouldst deliver me over into the hands of mine enemies," he said with increased dolefulness, "and not raise a finger to save me."

"I would give my life for the Cæsar," she interposed firmly, "and this the Cæsar knows."

"Wouldst not even take a husband, when by so doing thou wouldst save the Cæsar from death."

"My gracious lord speaks in riddles … I do not understand."

"Didst not understand, girl, that I but wished to test thy loyalty to me? Thou—like so many alas!—dost so oft prate of unbounded attachment to Cæsar. To-day, for the first time, did I put that attachment to the test, and lo! it hath failed me."

"Try me, my lord," she said, "and I'll not fail thee. But give me thy trust as well as thy commands."

She advanced close to where he sat, apparently a broken-down, sorrowful man, stricken with grief. The mighty Cæsar now was far more powerful than he had been a while ago when he raged and stormed and threatened, for he had appealed to the strongest feeling within her—he had appealed to her loyalty.

Slowly she sank once more on her knees, not in entreaty now, not with thoughts of self, but in the humble subjection of herself to the needs of him whom the gods had anointed. She sank upon her knees, and with that simple action she offered her happiness on the altar of her loyalty to him and to her house.

Gone was the look of defiance from her eyes, the pride had vanished and all the joy of life; no thought was left in the young mind now save an overwhelming sense of loyalty, no feeling lingered in the heart save the desire for self-sacrifice.

The Cæsar had commanded and since she could not disobey she was ready to die; memory had in a swift flash called up before her the vision of a man who, rather than yield to her caprice, had smiled at the thought of death. And she, too, had almost smiled, for suddenly she had understood how small a thing was life when slavery became its price.

But now all that had changed. The Cæsar pleaded and made appeal to her loyalty. Her refusal to obey him was no longer pride, it was disloyalty—almost sacrilege. The Cæsar called to her! It was as if the gods had spoken, and she fell on her knees, ready to obey.

The consummate actor was clever enough to hide the triumph that lit up his eyes when he saw her thus kneeling, and understood that she was prepared to yield.

He stretched out a paternal hand, and with weary sadness stroked her golden hair.

"Trust me, gracious lord," she reiterated, "my life is thine, do with it what thou wilt."

"Traitors are at work, Dea Flavia, to murder the Cæsar," he said gently.

"Ye gods!" she murmured, horrified.

"Aye! wouldst think mayhap that the gods will interfere? They will? I tell thee that they will! but they have need of thee, Augusta! I, thy Cæsar, thy god do have need of thee!"

With both hands now he took her own in his, not roughly, but with infinite tenderness, and cunningly contrived that two hot tears should fall upon her fingers.

"My gracious lord!" she whispered, "my life is at thy service."

"Accept the husband whom I propose for thee … and my life will be safe.... Refuse to obey me in this and to-morrow the blood of Cæsar will be upon thy head...."

"My lord...."

"Wilt obey me, Augusta?"

"My gracious lord … I do not understand," she pleaded; "have pity on my ignorance … trust me but a little further...."

"I cannot tell thee more," he said with a sigh of patient weariness, "but this I do tell thee, that my life and with it the future of our House—of the Empire—now lie in thy hands. The abominable traitors would make a tool even of thee. 'The husband of Dea Flavia Augusta,' they say, 'shall succeed the murdered Cæsar!'"

She uttered a cry of horror.

"Their names," she murmured, "tell me their names."

"I know but a few."

"Which are they?"

"They speak of Hortensius Martius."

"Oh!"

"And of young Escanes … also of Philario, my servant."

"Ye gods," she exclaimed, "let your judgments fall upon them."

"And of Taurus Antinor—the praefect of Rome," added the Cæsar, and a savage snarl escaped his lips even when he spoke the name.

"Taurus Antinor!" she exclaimed.

Then half-audibly she murmured to herself, repeating the Cæsar's words:

"They would make a tool of thee!"

She had fallen back, squatting on her heels, her hands clasped before her and her head sunk upon her bosom, bowed with shame and with horror. Her name had been bandied about by traitors, her person been bought and sold as the price of the blackest sacrilege that had ever disgraced the patriciate of Rome.

"And thou, Taurus Antinor," she whispered inaudibly, "art the blackest traitor amongst them all."

There was no need now for the Cæsar to make further appeal to her loyalty. She was loyal to him—body and soul—loyal to him and to her House, ready to sacrifice her pride, her freedom if need be at a word from the Cæsar, since he had said that by her action on the morrow she could help him fight the treacherous infamy.

Caligula could well be satisfied with his success; nor did he try to press his advantage further. All that he had wanted was the assurance that she would not thwart him when he put into execution the plan which he had conceived. The man-trap which he had set would not now fail through Dea's obstinacy.

He thought that the time had come for ending the interview. He desired that her receptive mind should retain a solemn impression of his majesty and of his power. A charlatan to the last, he now rose to his feet and with outstretched arm pointed upwards to the small glimpse of leaden-covered sky.

"Jove's thunders still speak from afar," he said with slow emphasis, "but to-morrow they will crash over Rome and over the traitors within her walls. The air will be filled with moanings and with gnashing of teeth; the Tiber will run red with blood, for the murdered Cæsar will mayhap be crying vengeance upon the assassins. Wilt save the Cæsar, O Dea Flavia? Wilt save Rome and the Empire from a deadly crime and the devastating vengeance of the outraged gods?"

He towered above her like some inspired prophet, with arms stretched out towards the fast approaching storm, and eyes uplifted to the thunderbolts of Jove.

"I await thine answer," he said, "O daughter of the Cæsars."

"My answer has been given, gracious lord," she murmured, "have I not said that my life was at thy service?"

"Thou'lt obey?"

"Command, O Cæsar!"

"To-morrow at the Circus … dost understand?… I have a plan … and thou must obey … blindly … dost understand?" he reiterated hoarsely.

"I understand, my lord."

"I'll name thy future husband to the public … to the plebs … to all … and thou'lt accept him—before them all—without demur...."

"As my lord commands."

"This thou dost swear?"

"This do I swear."

"Then," said the mountebank with mock reverence as he placed his hand—blood-stained with the blood of countless innocent victims of his tyranny—upon the bowed head of the loyal girl, "receive the blessing of Jupiter the victorious, of Juno the holy goddess, and of Magna Mater the great Mother, for thou art worthy to be of the House of Cæsar."

But even as the last of these impious words had left his lips, the long awaited storm broke out in sudden fury; a vivid flash of lightning rent the sky from end to end and lit up momentarily every corner of the room, the kneeling figure of Dea Flavia, the misshapen figure of the imperial monster, the fading flowers in the vases. Then a mighty clap of thunder shook the very foundations of Dea Flavia's palace.

Caligula uttered a wild shriek of terror, and, calling loudly for his slaves, he fled incontinently from the room.

CHAPTER XV

"As he that bindeth a stone in a sling, so is he that giveth honour to a fool."—Proverbs xxvi. 8.

From the hour of midnight the streets and ways leading to the great Amphitheatre were alive with people, all tending toward the same goal: men and women in holiday clothes and little children running beside them. The men were heavily loaded with baskets of rush or bags of rough linen containing provisions, for many hours would be spent up there waiting for amusement, whilst the body would grow faint if food were not forthcoming.

So the men carried the provisions which the women had prepared the day before—eggs and cooked fish and such fruit as was cheap this season. And everybody was running, for though the Amphitheatre was vast and could hold—so 'twas said—over two hundred thousand people, yet considerably more than two hundred thousand people desired to be present at the opening of the games.

They were to last thirty-one days and spectacles would be varied and exciting. But the great day would be the opening day, the one on which everybody desired to be inside the Amphitheatre if possible and not outside.

Therefore an early start had to be made. But this nobody minded, as what is the want of a little sleep compared with the likelihood of missing the finest sight that had been witnessed in the city for years?

The Cæsar, of course, would be present. He would solemnly declare the games to be open. There were free gifts from him to the people: a thank-offering to the gods for his safe return from that arduous expedition in Germany; and he would show himself to his people, receive their acclamations and give them as much show and gaiety, music and combats, as they cared to see.

So they went in their thousands and their tens of thousands, starting in the middle of the night so as to be there when the great gates were opened, and they would be allowed to pour into the vast enclosure, and find as good seats for themselves and their families as they could.

And when at dawn, the great copper gates did slowly swing open, creaking upon their massive hinges, it was as if the flood-gates of a mighty sea had been suddenly let loose. In they poured, thousands upon thousands of them, scrambling, pushing and jumping, scurrying and hurrying, falling and tumbling, as they pressed onwards through the wide doors and then dispersed in the vastness of the gigantic arena, like ants that scamper away to their heaps.