CHAPTER I

THE LISTENING SLAVE

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Wounded, vanquished, transferred from his kind master, and farther from liberty than ever, Esca’s was now indeed a pitiable lot. The tribune, entitled by the very terms of his wager to the life and person of his antagonist, was not the man to forego this advantage by any act of uncalled‐for generosity. In the Briton he believed he now possessed a tool to use with effect, in furtherance of a work which the seductive image of Valeria rendered every day more engrossing; an auxiliary by whose aid he might eventually stand first in the good graces of the only woman who had ever obtained a mastery over his unyielding disposition and selfish heart. None the more on this account did he cherish the captive, nor alleviate his condition as a slave. From the effects of his injury, Esca could not be put to any harder kinds of labour, but in all menial offices, however degrading, he was compelled to take his share. Different, indeed, was his condition here from what it had been in the service of the high‐minded Licinius, and bitterly did he feel the exchange.

Submitting to sarcasm, insult, continued ill‐treatment, and annoyance, the noble barbarian would have failed under the trial, had it not been for a few well‐remembered words, on the truth of which Calchas had so often insisted, and in which (for when were human thoughts without an earthly leavening?) Mariamne seemed to cherish an implicit belief. Those words breathed hope and consolation under the very worst misfortunes that life could offer; and Esca suffered on, very silent, and tolerably patient, although, perhaps, there was a fiercer fire smouldering in his breast than would have been approved by his venerable monitor—a fire that only waited occasion to blaze out all the more dangerously for being thus forcibly suppressed.

With a malicious pleasure, natural to his disposition, Placidus compelled the Briton to perform several domestic offices which brought him about his person. It flattered the tribune’s vanity to have continually before his eyes the athletic frame he was so proud to have overcome; and it pleased him that his friends, guests, and clients should be thus led to converse upon his late encounter, which had created no small gossip in the fashionable world of Rome. It happened, then, that Esca, while preparing his master’s bath, was startled to hear the name that was never long out of his own thoughts spoken in accents of caution and secrecy by the tribune himself, who was in the adjoining apartment, holding close consultation with Hippias the fencing‐master and the two freedmen, Damasippus and Oarses. All were obviously interested in the subject under discussion, and, believing themselves safe from eaves‐droppers, spoke energetically, though in tones somewhat lower than their wont.

He started, and the blood ebbed painfully from his heart. “Mariamne!” yes, the word was again repeated, and while Oarses said something in a whisper, he could clearly distinguish the tribune’s low mocking laugh. It was plain they were unaware of his presence; and, indeed, it was at an earlier hour than usual that he had made ready the unguents, perfumes, strigil, and other appliances indispensable to the luxurious ablutions of a Roman patrician. The bathroom was inside the favourite apartment of Placidus, where he was now holding counsel, and could only be entered through the latter, from which it was separated by a heavy velvet curtain. Esca, surrounded by the materials of the toilet, had been sitting for a longer time than he knew, lost in thought, until aroused by the mention of Mariamne’s name. Thus it was that the four others believed the bathroom empty, and their conversation unheard.

Anxious and excited, the Briton scarcely dared to draw his breath, but crept cautiously behind the folds of the heavy curtain, and listened attentively. The tribune was walking to and fro with the restless motions and stealthy gait of a tiger in its cage. Hippias, seated at his ease upon a couch, was examining the device of a breastplate, with his usual air of good‐humoured superiority; and Damasippus, appealing with admiring looks to Oarses, who responded in kind, seemed to endorse, as it were, with a dependant’s mute approval, the opinions and observations of his patron.

“Two‐thirds of the legions have already come over,” said Placidus, rapidly enumerating the forces on which Vespasian’s party could count. “In Spain, in Gaul, in Britain, the soldiers have declared openly against Vitellius. The surrender of Cremona can no longer be concealed from the meanest populace. Alexandria, the granary of the empire, has fallen into the hands of Vespasian. Those dusky knaves, thy countrymen, Oarses, will see us starve, ere they send us supplies under the present dynasty; and think ye our greasy plebeians here will endure the girdle of famine, thus drawn tighter, day by day, round their luxurious paunches? The fleet at Misenum was secured long ago, but the news that Cæsar could not count upon a single galley in blue water only reached the capital to‐day. Then the old Prætorians are ripe for mischief; you may trust them never to forget nor to forgive the disgrace of last year, when the chosen band was broke, dismissed, and, worst of all, deprived of rations and pay; I tell thee, Hippias, those angry veterans are ready to take the town without assistance, and put old and young to the sword. Fail! it is impossible we can fail; the new party outnumbers the old by ten to one!”

“You have told off a formidable list,” replied Hippias quietly; “I cannot see that you are in need of any further help from me or mine.”

Placidus shot a sharp questioning glance at the fencing‐master, and resumed—

“Half the numbers that have given in their adhesion to Vespasian would serve to put my chariot‐boy on the throne; Automedon’s long curls might be bound by a diadem to‐morrow, were he the favourite of the hour, so far as Rome is concerned. You know what the masses are, my Hippias, for it is your trade to pander to their tastes, and rouse their enthusiasm. It is true that the great general is, at this moment, virtually ruler of the empire, but a pebble might turn the tide in the capital. I would not trust Vespasian’s own son, young and dissipated as he is, could he but make a snatch at the reins with any hope of holding them firmly when once within his grasp. Titus Flavius Domitian might be emperor to‐morrow, if he would be satisfied to wear the purple but for a week, and then make room for someone else. Nay, the people are fickle enough to be capable of turning round at any moment, and retaining our present admirable ruler on the throne. Rome must be coerced, my Hippias; the barbers, and cobblers, and water‐carriers must be kept down and intimidated; if need be, we must cut a few garlic‐breathing throats. It may be necessary to remove Cæsar himself, lest the reactionary feeling should burst out again, and we should find ourselves left with nothing for our pains, but the choice of a cup of poison, a gasp in a halter, or three inches of steel. We _must_ succeed this time, for not a man need hope for pardon if Cæsar is thoroughly frightened. Hippias, there must be no half‐measures now!”

“Well said!” exclaimed the freedmen in a breath, with very pale faces, nevertheless, and an enthusiasm obviously somewhat against the grain.

Hippias looked quietly up from the breastplate resting on his lap.

“There will be shows,” said he, “and blood flowing like water in the circus, whoever wears the purple. While Rome stands, the gladiator need never want for bread.”

“Now you speak like a man of sense,” replied the tribune, in the same tone; “for after all, the whole matter resolves itself into a mere question of money. The shows are tolerably lucrative, at least to their contriver, but it takes many a festival ere the sesterces count by tens of thousands; and Hippias loves luxury and wine, and women too—nay, deny it not, my comely hero; and if the Family and their trainer could be hired at a fair price, for an hour’s work or so, why they need never enter the arena again, save as spectators; nay, poorer men than their chief might be have sat in the equestrian rows, ere now.”

“You want to hire my chickens and myself for a forlorn hope,” retorted Hippias impatiently. “Better say so at once, and be plain with me.”

“It is even so,” resumed Placidus, with an assumption of extreme candour. “For real work I have few I can depend upon but the old Prætorians; and though they stick at nothing, there are hardly enough of them for my purpose. With a chosen two hundred of thine, my dealer in heroes, I could command Rome for twenty‐four hours; and when Placidus soars into the sky, he carries Hippias on his wings. Speak out; thy terms are high, but such a game as ours is not played for a handful of pebbles or a few brass farthings. What is the price, man by man?”

“You would require two hundred of them,” observed the other reflectively. “Five thousand sesterces(11) a man, and his freedom, which would come to nearly as much more.”

“The killed not to count, of course,” bargained the tribune.

“Of course not,” repeated Hippias. “Listen, most illustrious; I will take all chances, and supply the best men I have, for eight thousand a‐head. Two hundred swordsmen who would take Pluto by the beard without a scruple, if I only lifted my hand. Lads who can hold their own against thrice their number of any legion that was ever drilled. They are ready at two hours’ notice.”

He was speaking truth, for Hippias was honest enough in his own particular line. Amongst the thousands who owed their professional standing, and the very bread they ate, to the celebrated fencing‐master, it was no hard task to select a company of dare‐devils, such as he described, who would desire no better sport than to see their native city in flames, with the streets knee‐deep in blood and wine, while they put men, women, and children indiscriminately to the sword. The tribune’s eye brightened, as he thought of the fierce work he could accomplish with such tools as these ready to his hand.

“Keep them for me, from to‐day,” he answered, looking round the apartment, as though to assure himself that he was only heard by those in his confidence. “My plan cannot but succeed if we only observe common secrecy and caution. Ten picked men, and thyself, my Hippias, I bid to sup with me here, the rest of the band shall be distributed by twenties amongst the different streets opening on the palace, preserving their communication thus: one man at a time must continually pass from each post to the next, until every twenty has been changed. This secures us from treachery, and will keep our cut‐throats on the alert. At a given signal, all are to converge on the middle garden‐gate, which will be found open. Then they may lead the old Prætorians to the attack, and take the palace itself by assault, in defiance of any resistance, however desperate, that can be made. The German guard are stubborn dogs, and must be put to the sword directly the outer hall is gained. I would not have them burn down the palace if they can help it; but when they have done _my_ work, they are welcome to all they can carry out of it on their backs, and you may tell them so.”

Hippias noted in his own mind this additional incentive with considerable satisfaction. After a moment’s pause, he looked fixedly in the tribune’s face, and inquired—

“How would you wish your guests armed for the supper‐party? Shall we bring our knives with us, kind host?”

Placidus flushed a dark red, and then grew pale. He averted his eyes from Hippias, while he answered—

“There are few weapons so true as the short two‐edged sword. There will be work for our brave little party inside the palace, of which we must make no bungling. Is it such a grave matter, my Hippias, to slay a fat old man?” he added inquiringly.

The other’s face assumed an expression of intense disgust.

“Nay,” said he, “I will have no murder done in cold blood. As much fighting as you please, in the way of business, but we are no hired assassins, my men and I. To put one Cæsar off the throne, and another on, is a pretty night’s amusement enough, and I have no objection to it; but to take an old man out of his bed, even though he be an emperor, and slay him as you slay a fat sheep, I’ll none of it. Send for a butcher, tribune; this is no trade of ours!”

Placidus bit his lip, and seemed to think profoundly for a moment, then his brow cleared, and he resumed with a light laugh.

“Far be it from me to offend a gladiator’s scruples. I know the morals of the Family, and respect their prejudices. Half the money shall be in your hands within an hour; the rest shall be paid when the job is done. I think we understand each other well enough. Is it a bargain, Hippias? Can I depend upon you?”

The fencing‐master was not yet satisfied.

“About the guests,” he asked sternly; “how are we to pay for our supper?”

Placidus clapped him on the shoulder, with a jovial laugh.

“I will be frank with thee,” said he, “old comrade. Why should there be secrets between thee and me? We go from my supper‐table to the palace. We enter with the storming‐party. I know the private apartments of the Emperor. I can lead our little band direct to the royal presence. Here we will rally round Vitellius, and take his sacred person into our charge. Hippias, I will make it ten thousand sesterces a man, for each of the ten, and thou shalt name thine own price for thine own services. But the Emperor must not escape. Dost thou understand me now?”

“I like it not,” replied the other; “but the price is fair enough, and my men must live. I would it could be so arranged that some resistance might be made in the palace; you slay a man so much easier with his helmet on and his sword in his hand!”

“Pooh! prejudice!” laughed the tribune. “Professional fancies that spring from thy coarse material trade. Blood leaves no more stain than wine. You and I have spilt enough of both in our time. What matter, a throat cut or a cracked flagon of Falernian? Dash a pitcher of water over a marble floor like this, and you wash away the signs of both at once. Said I not well, Damasippus? Why, what ails thee, man? Thy face has turned as white as thy gown!”

Damasippus, indeed, whose eyes were fixed upon the floor to which his patron had just alluded, presented, at this juncture, an appearance of intense terror and amazement. The freedman’s mouth was open, his cheeks were deadly pale, and his very hair seemed to bristle with dismay. Pointing a shaking finger to the slabs of marble at his feet, he could only stammer out in broken accents: “May the gods avert the omen!” over and over again.

The others, following the direction of his gaze, were no less astonished to see a narrow stream of crimson winding over the smooth white floor, as though the very stones protested against the tribune’s reckless and inhuman sentiments. For an instant all stood motionless, then Placidus, leaping at the velvet curtain, tore it fiercely open, and discovered the cause of the phenomenon.

Listening attentively for some further mention of the name that had roused his whole being, not a syllable of the foregoing conversation had been lost upon Esca, who, kneeling on one knee, with his wounded foot bent under him, and his ear applied close to the heavy folds of the curtain, had never moved a hair’s‐breadth from his attitude of fixed and absorbing attention. In this constrained position, the wound in his foot, which was not yet healed over, had opened afresh, and though he was himself unconscious of all but the cruel and treacherous scheme he overheard, it bled so freely that a dark stream stole gradually beneath the curtains, and crept gently along the marble to the very feet of the horror‐stricken Damasippus.

Esca sprang to his full height; in that moment his blood curdled, as it had done when he was down upon the sand, with his enemy’s eye glaring on him through the cruel net. He knew the tribune, and he felt there was no hope. The latter laughed loud and long. It was his way of covering all disagreeable emotions, but it boded no good to the object of his mirth. When Esca heard that laugh he looked anxiously about him as though to seek a weapon. What was the use? He stood wounded and defenceless in the power of four reckless men, of whom two were armed.

“Hold him!” exclaimed Placidus to his freedmen, drawing at the same time a short two‐edged sword from its sheath. “It is unfortunate for the barbarian that he has learned our language. The necessity is disagreeable, but there is only one way of ensuring silence. My bath, too, is prepared, so I can spare him for to‐day, and my freedmen will see that his place is supplied by to‐morrow. Hold him, cowards! I say; do you fear that he will bite you?”

Neither Damasippus nor Oarses, however, seemed much inclined to grapple with the stalwart Briton. Wounded and outnumbered as he was, without a chance of rescue or escape, there was yet a defiant carriage of the head, a fierce glare in the eye, that warned the freedmen to keep hands off him as long as they could. They looked at each other irresolutely, and shrank from the patron’s glance. That moment’s hesitation saved him. Hippias, who regarded every six feet of manhood with a brave heart inside it as his own peculiar property, had besides a kindly feeling for his old pupil. He put his muscular frame between the master and the slave.

“Give him a day or two, tribune,” said he carelessly. “I can find a better use for him than to cut his throat here on this clean white floor, and an equally safe one in the end, you may be sure.”

“Impossible, fool!” answered Placidus angrily. “He has heard enough to destroy every hair on the head of each of us. He must never leave this room alive!”

“Only twenty‐four hours,” pleaded the fencing‐master, who well knew how much at that time in Rome a day might bring forth. “Put him in ward as close as you will, but let him live till to‐morrow. Hippias asks it as a favour to himself, and you may not like to be refused by him, when it is _your_ turn. What if I should say ‘No’ in the private apartments of the palace? Come, let us make a compromise.”

The tribune reflected for a moment. Then striking his right hand into that of Hippias—

“Agreed,” said he. “Twenty‐four hours’ grace on one side, and the sharpest blade in Rome at my disposal on the other. Ho! Damasippus, call some of my people in. Bid them put the new collar on the slave, and chain him to the middle pillar in the inner court.”

The order was punctually obeyed, and Esca found himself a helpless prisoner, burdened with a secret that might save the empire, and with maddening apprehensions on behalf of Mariamne tearing at his heart.