CHAPTER XII

A MASTER OF FENCE

Hippias knew well how to maintain discipline amongst his followers. While he interested himself keenly in their training and personal welfare, he permitted no approach to familiarity, and above all never suffered a syllable of discussion on a command, or a moment’s hesitation in its fulfilment. He came now to put himself at their head for the carrying out of a hazardous and important enterprise. The consciousness of coming danger, especially when it is of a kind with which habit has rendered him familiar, and which practice has taught him to baffle by his own skill and courage, has a good moral effect on a brave man’s character. It cheers his spirits, it exalts his imagination, it sharpens his intellects, and, above all, it softens his heart. Hippias felt that to‐night he would need all the qualities he most prized to carry him safely through his task—that while failure must be inevitable destruction, success would open out to him a career of which the ultimate goal might be a procuratorship or even a kingdom. How quickly past, present, and possible future, flitted through his brain! It was not so long since his first victory in the amphitheatre! He remembered, as if it were but yesterday, the canvas awnings, the blue sky, and the confused mass of faces, framing that dazzling sweep of sand, all of which his sight took in at once, though his eyes were fixed on those of the watchful Gaul, whom he disarmed in a couple of passes, and slew without the slightest remorse. He could feel again, even now, the hot breath of the Libyan tiger, as he fell beneath it, choked with sand and covered by his buckler, stabbing desperately at that sinewy chest in which the life seemed to lie so deep. The tiger’s claws had left their marks upon his brawny shoulder, but he had risen from the contest victorious, and Red and Green through the whole crowded building, from the senators’ cushions to the slaves’ six inches of standing‐room, cheered him to a man. After this triumph, who such a favourite with the Roman people as handsome Hippias? Again, he was the centre of all observation, as, confessedly the head of his profession, he set in order Nero’s cruel shows, and catered with profuse splendour for the tastes of Imperial Rome. Yes, he had reached the pinnacle of a gladiator’s fame, and from that elevation a prospect opened itself that he had scarcely even dreamed of till now. A handful of determined men, a torch or two for every score of blades, a palace in flames, a night of blood (he only hoped and longed that there might be resistance enough to distinguish strife from murder), another dynasty, a grateful patron, and a brave man’s services worthily acknowledged and repaid. Then the future would indeed smile in gorgeous hues. Which of Rome’s dominions in the East would most fully satisfy the thirst for royal luxury that he now experienced for the first time? In which of his manlier qualities was he so inferior to the Jew, that Hippias the gladiator should make a lowlier monarch than Herod the Great? and men had not done talking of that warlike king, even now!—his wisdom, his cruelty, his courage, his splendour, and his crimes. A Roman province was but another name for an independent government. Hippias saw himself enthroned in the blaze of majesty under a glowing Eastern sky. Life offering all it had to give of pomp and pageantry and rich material enjoyment. Slaves, horses, jewels, banquets, dark‐eyed women, silken eunuchs, and gaudy guards with burnished helmets and flashing shields of gold. Nothing wanting, not even one with whom to share the glittering vision. Valeria would be his. Valeria was born to be a queen. It would, indeed, be a triumph to offer the half of a throne to the woman who had hitherto condescended by listening to his suit. There was a leavening of generosity in Hippias that caused him to reflect with intense pleasure on the far deeper homage he would pay her after so romantic a consummation of his hopes. He felt as if he could almost love her then, with the love he had experienced in his boyhood—that boyhood which seemed now to have been another’s rather than his own. He had put it away long since, and it had not come back to him for years till to‐day; but gratified vanity, the pleasure which most hearts experience in grasping an object that has been dangling out of reach, beyond all, the power exerted by a woman, over one who has been accustomed to consider himself either above or below such pleasing influences, had softened him strangely, and he hardly felt like the same man who made his bargain with the tribune for a certain quantity of flesh and blood and mettle, so short a time ago.

It is not to be thought, however, that in his dreams of the future, the fencing‐master neglected the means by which that future was to be attained. He had mustered and prepared his band with more than common care; had seen with his own eyes that their arms were bright and sharp and fit for work; had placed them at their appointed posts and visited them repeatedly, enjoining, above all things, extreme vigilance and sobriety. Not one of those men saw beneath his unruffled brow and quiet stern demeanour anything unusual in the conduct of their leader; not one could have guessed that schemes of ambition far beyond any he had ever cherished before, were working in his brain—that a strange, soft, kindly feeling was nestling at his heart. He stood in the moonlight amongst his followers, calm, abrupt, severe as usual; and when Hirpinus looked into his stern set face, the hopes of the old gladiator fell as did his countenance, but Mariamne perceived at once with a woman’s eye something that taught her an appeal to his pity on this occasion would not be made in vain.

With habitual caution, his first proceeding was to count the band ere he took note of the two figures in their centre. Then he cast a scrutinising glance at their arms to satisfy himself all were ready for immediate action. After that he turned with a displeased air to Hirpinus, and asked—

“What doth the woman amongst us? You heard my orders this morning? Who brought her here?”

Half a dozen voices were raised at once to answer the master’s question; only he to whom it was especially addressed kept silence, knowing the nature with which he had to do. Hippias raised but his sheathed sword and the clamour ceased. Not a maniple in all Rome’s well‐drilled legions seemed in better discipline than this handful of desperate men. Then he turned to Esca, still speaking in short incisive tones.

“Briton!” said he, “you are not one of us to‐night. Go your ways in peace!”

“Well said!” shouted the gladiators. “He is no comrade of ours! He hath no share in our spoil!”

But Hippias only wished to save the Briton from the perils of the coming night, and this from some vague feeling he could hardly explain to himself, that Valeria was interested in the stalwart barbarian. It was not in the fencing‐master’s nature to entertain sentiments of jealousy upon uncertain grounds. And he was just fond enough of Valeria to value anyone she liked for her sake. Moreover Esca knew their plans. He would alarm the palace, and there would be a fight. He wished nothing better.

Esca was about to make his appeal, but Mariamne interposed.

“Where he goeth I will go,” said she, almost in the words of her own sacred writings. “I have to‐night lost father, and home, and people. This is the second time he hath saved me from captivity worse than death. Part us not now, I beseech thee, part us not!”

Hippias looked kindly on the sweet face with its large imploring eager eyes.

“You love him,” said he, “foolish girl. Begone then, and take him with you.”

But again a fierce murmur rose amongst the gladiators. Not even the master’s authority was sufficient to carry out such a breach of all laws and customs as this. Euchenor, ever prone to wrangle, stepped forward from the background, where he had remained so as to appear an impartial and uninterested observer.

“The oath!” exclaimed the Greek. “The oath—we swore it when the sun was up—shall we break it ere the moon goes down? She is ours, Hippias, by all the laws of the Family, and we will not give her up.”

“Silence!” thundered the master, with a look that made Euchenor shrink back once more. “Who asked for your vote? Hirpinus, Rufus, once again, how came this woman here?”

“She was bound hand and foot in a chariot,” answered the former, ignoring, however, with less than his usual frankness, to whom that chariot belonged. “She was carried away by force. I protected her from ill‐usage,” he added stoutly, “as I would protect her again.”

The girl gave him a grateful look, which sank into the old swordsman’s heart. Esca, too, muttered warm broken words of thanks, while the band assented to the truth of this statement.

“Even so!” they exclaimed. “Hirpinus speaks well. That is why she belongs to us, and we claim every man his share.”

Hippias was too experienced a commander not to know that there are times when it is necessary to yield with a good grace, and to use artifice if force will not avail. It is thus the skilful rider rules his steed, and the judicious wife her husband—the governing power in either case inducing the governed to believe that it obeys entirely of its own free will. He smiled, therefore, pleasantly on his followers, and addressed them in careless good‐humoured tones.

“She belongs to us all without doubt,” said he, “and, by the sandals of Aphrodité, she is so fair that I shall put in my claim with the rest! Nevertheless there is no time to be wasted now, for the sake of the brightest eyes that ever flashed beneath a veil. Put her aside for a few hours or so. You, Hirpinus, as you captured her, shall take care that she does not escape. For the Briton, we may as well keep him safe too—we may find a use for those long arms of his when to‐night’s business is accomplished. In the meantime, fall in, my heroes, and make ready for your work. Supper first (and it’s laid even now) with the noblest patrician and the deepest drinker in Rome, Julius Placidus the tribune!”

_Euge!_ exclaimed the gladiators in a breath, forgetful at the moment of their recent dissatisfaction, and eager to hear more of the night’s enterprise, about which they entertained the wildest and most various anticipations; nothing loth, besides, to share the orgies of a man whose table was celebrated for its luxuries amongst all classes in Rome. Hippias looked round on their well‐pleased faces, and continued—

“Then what say you, my children, to a walk through the palace gardens? We will take our swords, by Hercules, for the German guards are stubborn dogs, and best convinced by the argument each of us carries at his belt. It may be dark, too, ere we get there, for the moon is early to‐night, and we have no need to stir till we have tasted the tribune’s wine, so we must not forget a few torches to light us on our way. There are a score at least lying ready in the corner of that porch. So we will join our comrades in a fair midnight frolic under Cæsar’s roof. Cæsar’s, forsooth! my children, there will be a smouldering palace and another Cæsar by to‐ morrow!”

_Euge!_ exclaimed the gladiators once more. “Hail, Cæsar! Long live Cæsar!” they repeated with shouts of fierce mocking laughter.

“It is well,” remarked Rufus sagaciously, when silence was restored. “The pay is good and the work no heavier than an ordinary prætor’s show. But I remember a fiercer lion than common, that Nero turned loose upon us once in the arena, and we called him Cæsar amongst ourselves, because he was dangerous to meddle with. If the old man’s purple is to be rent, we should have something over the regular pay. They have not lasted long of late; but still, Hippias, ’tis somewhat out of the usual business. We don’t change an emperor every night, even now.”

“True enough,” answered the master good‐humouredly. “And you have never been within the walls of a palace in your life. Something beyond your pay, said you? Why, man, the pay is but a pretext, a mere matter of form. Once in Cæsar’s chambers, a large‐fisted fellow like Rufus here, may carry away a king’s ransom in either hand. Then think of the old wine! Fifty‐year‐old Cæcuban, in six‐quart cups of solid gold, and welcome to take the goblet away with you, besides, if you care to be encumbered with it. Shawls from Persia, lying about for mere coverings to the couches. Mother‐of‐pearl and ivory gleaming in every corner. Jewels scattered in heaps upon the floor. Only get the work done first, and every man here shall help himself unquestioned, and walk home with whatever pleases him best.”

It was not often Hippias treated his followers to so long a speech, or one, in their estimation, so much to the purpose. They marked their approval with vehement and repeated shouts. They ceased to think of Esca, and forgot all about Mariamne and their late dissatisfaction; nay, they seemed now but to be impatient of every subject unconnected with their enterprise, and to grudge every minute that delayed them from their promised spoil. At a signal from Hippias and his intimation that supper was ready, and their host awaiting them, they rushed tumultuously through the porch, leaving behind them Mariamne and Esca, guarded only by old Hirpinus and Euchenor, the latter appearing alone to be unmoved by the glowing prospects of plunder held out, and obstinately standing on his rights, determined not to lose sight of the captured girl, the more so that she was now overlooked by the rest of his comrades.

This man, though deficient in the dashing physical daring which is so popular a quality amongst those of his profession, possessed, nevertheless, a dogged tenacity of purpose, totally unqualified by any moral scruples or feelings of shame, which rendered him formidable as an antagonist, and generally successful in any villany he attempted. As in the combats he waged with or without the heavy lacerating _cestus_, his object was to tire out his adversary by protracted and scientific defence, taking as little punishment as possible, and never hazarding a blow save when it could not be returned, so in everything he undertook, it was his study to reach the goal by unrelaxing vigilance, and unremitting recourse to the means which experience and common sense pointed out for its attainment. Slinking behind the broad back of Hirpinus, he concealed himself in the darkest corner of the porch, and watched the result of Mariamne’s appeal to the fencing‐master.

Hippias pushed the gladiators on before him, with boisterous good‐humour and considerable violence; as they crowded through the narrow entrance, he remained behind for a moment, and whispered to Esca—

“You will take the girl home, comrade. Can I trust you?”

“Trust me!” was all the Briton answered, but the tone in which he spoke, and the glance he exchanged with Mariamne, might have satisfied a more exacting inquirer than the captain of gladiators.

“Fare thee well, lad,” said Hirpinus, “and thee, too, my pretty flower. I would go with you myself, but it is a long way from here to Tiber‐side, and I must not be missing to‐night, come what may.”

“Begone, both of you!” added Hippias hurriedly. “Had it not been for the plunder, I should scarce have found my lambs so reasonable to‐night; were you to fall in with them again, the Vestals themselves could not save you. Begone, and farewell.”

They obeyed and hastened off, while the fencing‐master, with a well‐ pleased smile, clapped Hirpinus on the shoulder, and accompanied him into the house.

“Old comrade,” said he, “we will drink a measure of the tribune’s Cæcuban to‐night, come what may. To‐morrow we shall either be on our backs gaping for the death‐fee, or pressing our lips to nothing meaner than a chalice of burnished gold. Who knows? Who cares?”

“Not I for one,” replied Hirpinus; “but I am strangely thirsty in the meantime, and the tribune’s wine, they tell me, is the best in Rome.”