Unto Caesar Read online

  CHAPTER III

  "Fairer than the children of men."--PSALM XLV. 2.

  "Hun Rhavas, dost mind thy promise made to Menecreta?" whispered a timidvoice in the African's ear.

  "Aye, aye!" he replied curtly, "I had not forgotten."

  There was a lull in the trade whilst the scribes were making entries ontheir tablets.

  The auctioneer had descended from the rostrum. Panting after hisexertions, perspiring profusely under the heat of the noonday sun, hewas wiping the moisture from his dripping forehead and incidentallyrefreshing his parched throat with copious drafts from out a leatherbottle.

  His swarthy skin streaming with perspiration shone in the glare of thenoonday sun like the bronze statue of mother-wolf up aloft.

  An elderly woman in rough linen tunic, her hair hidden beneath a simplecloth, had succeeded in engaging his attention.

  "It had been better to put the child up for sale an hour ago, whilstthese rich folk were still at the bath," she said with a tone ofreproach in her gentle voice.

  "It was not my fault," rejoined the African curtly, "she comes one ofthe last on the list. The praefect made out the lists. Thou shouldsthave spoken to him."

  "Oh I should never dare," she replied, her voice trembling at the meresuggestion of such boldness, "but I did promise thee five aurei if Isucceeded in purchasing the child."

  "I know that," quoth the African with a nod of satisfaction.

  "My own child, Hun Rhavas," continued the pleading voice; "think on it,for thou too hast children of thine own."

  "I purchased my son's freedom only last year," acquiesced the slave witha touch of pride. "Next year, an the gods will, it shall be mydaughter's and after that mine own. In three years from now we shall allbe free."

  "Thou art a man; 'tis more easy for thee to make money. It took me sixyears to save up twenty-five aurei which should purchase my child:twenty for her price, five for thy reward, for thou alone canst help me,an thou wilt."

  "Well, I've done all I could for thee, Menecreta," retorted Hun Rhavassomewhat impatiently. "I've taken the titulus from off her neck and setthe hat over her head, and that was difficult enough for the praefect'seyes are very sharp. Ten aurei should be the highest bid for a maidwithout guarantees as to skill, health or condition. And as she is notover well-favoured----"

  But this the mother would not admit. In weary and querulous tones shebegan expatiating on the merits of her daughter: her fair hair, hergraceful neck--until the African, bored and impatient, turned on herroughly.

  "Nay! an thy daughter hath so many perfections, thou'lt not purchase herfor twenty aurei. Fifty and sixty will be bid for her, and what can I dothen to help thee?"

  "Hun Rhavas," said Menecreta in a sudden spirit of conciliation, "thoumust not heed a mother's fancies. To me the child is beautiful beyondcompare. Are not thine own in thy sight beautiful as a midsummer'sday?" she added with subtle hypocrisy, thinking of the ugly littleAfricans of whom Hun Rhavas was so proud.

  Her motherly heart was prepared for every sacrifice, every humiliation,so long as she obtained what she wanted--possession of her child.Arminius Quirinius had given her her freedom some three years ago, butthis seeming act of grace had been a cruel one since it had parted themother from her child. The late censor had deemed Menecreta old, feeble,and therefore useless: she was but a worthless mouth to feed; but hekept the girl not because she was well-favoured or very useful in hishouse, but because he knew that Menecreta would work her fingers to thebone until she saved enough money to purchase her daughter's freedom.

  Arminius Quirinius, ever grasping for money, ever ready for any act ofcupidity or oppression, knew that from the mother he could extract a farhigher sum than the girl could possibly fetch in the open market. He hadfixed her price as fifty aurei, and Menecreta had saved just one halfthat amount when fate and the vengeance of the populace overtook theextortioner. All his slaves--save the most valuable--were thrown on themarket, and the patient, hard-working mother saw the fulfilment of herhopes well within sight.

  It was but a question of gaining Hun Rhavas' ear and of tempting hisgreed. The girl, publicly offered under unfavourable conditions, andunbacked by the auctioneer's laudatory harangues, could easily beknocked down for twenty aurei or even less.

  But Menecreta's heart was torn with anxiety the while she watched theprogress of the sale. Every one of these indifferent spectators mightbecome an enemy through taking a passing fancy to her child. Theseyoung patricians, these stern matrons, they had neither remorse nor pitywhere the gratification of a whim was at stake.

  And was not the timid, fair-haired girl more beautiful in the mother'seyes than any other woman put up on the platform for the purpose ofrousing a momentary caprice.

  She gazed with jealous eyes on the young idlers and the high-bornladies, the possible foes who yet might part her from the child. Andthere was the praefect too, all-powerful in the matter.

  If he saw through the machinations of Hun Rhavas nothing would save thegirl from being put up like all the others as the law directed, with theproper tablet attached to her neck, describing her many charms. TaurusAntinor was not cruel but he was pitiless. The slaves of his householdknew that, as did the criminals brought to his tribunal. He neverinflicted unnecessary punishment but when it was deserved he wasrelentless in its execution.

  What hope could a poor mother have against the weight of his authority.

  Fortunately the morning was rapidly wearing on. The hour for the middayrest was close at hand. Menecreta could watch, with a glad thrill in herheart, one likely purchaser after another being borne in gorgeouslydraped litter away from this scene of a mother's cruel anxiety. Alreadythe ladies had withdrawn. Now there was only a group of men left aroundthe rostrum; Hortensius Martius still lounging aimlessly, young Escaneswho had not yet found the paragon amongst cooks, and a few others whoeyed the final proceedings with the fashionable expression of boredom.

  "I wonder we have not seen Dea Flavia this day," remarked Escanes tothe praefect. "Dost think she'll come, Taurus Antinor?"

  "Nay, I know not," he replied; "truly she cannot be in need of slaves.She has more than she can know what to do with."

  "Oh!" rejoined the other, "of a truth she has slaves enough. But 'tisthis new craze of hers! She seems to be in need of innumerable modelsfor the works of art she hath on hand."

  "Nay, 'tis no new craze," interposed Hortensius Martius, whose freshyoung face had flushed very suddenly as if in anger. "Dea Flavia, asthou knowest full well, Escanes, hath fashioned exquisite figures bothin marble and in clay even whilst thou didst waste thy boyhood indrunken revelries. She----"

  "A truce on thine ill-temper," broke in Escanes with a good-humouredlaugh. "I had no thought of disparagement for Dea Flavia's genius. Thegods forbid!" he added with mock fervour.

  "Then dost deserve that I force thee down to thy knees," retortedHortensius, not yet mollified, "to make public acknowledgment of DeaFlavia's beauty, her talents and her virtues, and public confession ofthine own unworthiness in allowing her hallowed name to pass thywine-sodden lips."

  Escanes uttered a cry of rage; in a moment these two--friends and booncompanions--appeared as bitter enemies. Hortensius Martius, the perfumedexquisite, was now like an angry cockbird on the defence, whilstEscanes, taller and stronger than he, was clenching his fists, trying tokeep up that outward semblance of patrician decorum which the dignity ofhis caste demanded in the presence of the plebs.

  Who knows how long this same semblance would have been kept up on thisoccasion? for Hortensius Martius, obviously a slave to Dea Flavia'sbeauty, was ready to do battle for the glorification of his idol, whilstEscanes, smarting under the clumsy insult, had much ado to keep his ragewithin bounds.

  "If you cut one another's throats now," interposed the praefect curtly,"'twill be in the presence of Dea Flavia herself."

  Even whilst he spoke a litter gorgeously carved and gilded, draped inrose pink and gold, was seen slowly winding its way from the rear
of thebasilica and along the Vicus Tuscus, towards the Forum. In a moment alleyes were turned in its direction; the two young men either forgot theirquarrel or were ashamed to prolong it in the presence of its cause.

  Now the litter turned into the open. It was borne by eight giganticEthiopians whose mighty shoulders were bare to the sun, and all roundand behind it a crowd of slaves, of clients, of sycophants followed inits trail, men running beside the litter, women shouting, childrenwaving sprays of flowers and fans of feathers and palm leaves, whilstthe air was filled with cries from innumerable throats:

  "Augusta! Augusta! Room for Dea Flavia Augusta."

  The retinue of Dea Flavia of the imperial house of the Caesars was themost numerous in Rome.

  At word of command no doubt the bearers put the litter down quite closeto the rostrum even whilst four young girls stepped forward and drew thesilken curtains aside.

  Dea Flavia was resting against the cushions; her tiny feet in shoes ofgilded leather were stretched out on a coverlet of purple silk richlywrought with gold and silver threads. Her elbow was buried in the fleecydown of the cushions; her head rested against her hand.

  Dea Flavia, imperial daughter of Rome, what tongue of poet coulddescribe thy beauty? what hand of artist paint its elusiveness?

  Have not the writers of the time told us all there was to tell? andexhausted language in their panegyrics: the fair hair like ripplinggold, the eyes now blue, now green, always grey and mysterious, thedelicate hands, the voluptuous throat, those tiny ears ever filled withflattery?

  But methinks that the carping critic was right when he deemed that thebeauty of her face was marred by the scornful glance of the eyes and theever rigid lines of the mouth. There was those who had dared aver thatDea Flavia's snow-white neck had been more beautiful if it had known howto bend, and that the glory of her eyes would be enhanced a thousandfoldwhen once they learned how to weep.

  This, however, was only the opinion of very few, of those in fact whonever had received the slightest favour from Dea Flavia; those on whomshe smiled--with that proud, cold smile of hers--fell an over-readyvictim to her charm. And she had smiled more than once on HortensiusMartius, and he, poor fool! had quickly lost his head.

  Now that she was present he soon forgot his quarrel; neither Escanes northe rest of the world existed since Dea Flavia was nigh. He pushed hisway through her crowd of courtiers and was the first to reach her littereven as she put her dainty feet to the ground.

  Escanes too and Caius Nepos, and Philippus Decius and the other youngmen there, forgot the excitement of the aborted quarrel and pressedforward to pay their respects to Dea Flavia.

  The aspect of her court was changed in a moment. Her lictors chased theimportunate crowd away, making room for the masters of Rome who desiredspeech with their mistress. The rough and sombre garments of the slavesshowed in the background now, and all round the litter tunics andmantles of fleecy wool gorgeously embroidered in crimson and gold, orstripes of purple, crowded in eager medley.

  All at once too the immediate neighbourhood of the rostrum was deserted,the human chattels forgotten in the anxious desire to catch sight of thegreat lady whom the Caesar himself had styled Augusta--thus exalting herabove all women in Rome. Her boundless wealth and lavish expenditure, aswell as her beauty and acknowledged virtue, had been the talk of thecity ever since the death of her father, Octavius Claudius of the Houseof Augusta Caesar, had placed her under the immediate tutelage of theCaesar and left her--young and beautiful as she was--in possession of oneof the largest fortunes in the Empire. No wonder then that whenever herrose-draped litter was perceived in the streets of Rome a crowd ofidlers and of sycophants pressed around it, curious to see the queen ofsociety and anxious to catch her ear.

  This same instant of momentary excitement became that of renewed hopefor an anxious mother's heart. Menecreta, with the keenness of herardent desire, had at once grasped her opportunity. Hun Rhavasfortunately glanced down in her direction. He too no doubt saw thepossibilities of this moment of general confusion. The five aureipromised him by Menecreta sharpened his resourceful wits. He signalledto one of the lictors below--an accomplice too, I imagine, in thistransaction--and whilst a chorus of obsequious greetings round DeaFlavia's litter filled the noonday air like the hum of bees, apale-faced, delicate-looking girl was quickly pushed up on to theplatform.

  Hun Rhavas very perfunctorily declaimed her age and status.

  "Of no known skill," he said, mumbling his words and talking veryrapidly, "since my lord's grace the late censor had made no use of her.Shall we say ten aurei for the girl? she might be made to learn atrade."

  As the auctioneer started on his peroration those among the crowd whowere here for business, and not for idle gaping, turned back towards thecatasta. But the little maid who stood there so still, her hair entirelyhidden by the ungainly hat, her head bent and her eyes downcast, did notseem very attractive; the lack of guarantee as to her skill and meritsrepresented by the hat and the absence of the tablet round her neckcaused the buyers to stand aloof.

  As if conscious of this, a deep blush suffused the girl's cheeks. Notthat she was ashamed of her position or of her exposure before thepublic gaze, for to this ordeal her whole upbringing had tended. Born inslavery, she had always envisaged this possibility, and her presentposition caused her in itself neither pain nor humiliation.

  She knew that her mother was there in the crowd, ready for thisopportunity; that the present state of discomfort, the past life ofwretchedness would now inevitably be followed by a brighter future:reunion with her mother, a life of freedom, mayhap of happiness,marriage right out of the state of bondage, children born free!

  No! it was not the gaping crowd that mattered, the exposure on thepublic platform, the many pairs of indifferent eyes fixed none tookindly upon her: it was that hat upon her head which brought forth inher such a sense of shame that the hot blood rushed to her cheeks; that,and the absence of the tablet round her neck, and Hun Rhavas'disparaging words about her person.

  Others there had been earlier in the day--her former companions inArminius' household--on whom the auctioneer had lavished torrents ofeloquent praise, whom for the first bidding he had appraised at forty oreven fifty aurei, the public being over willing to pay higher sums thanthose.

  Whilst here she stood shamed before them all, with no guarantee as toher skill and talents, though she knew something about the art ofhealing by rubbing unguents into the skin, could ply her needle anddress a lady's hair. Nor was a word said about her beauty, though hereyes were blue and her neck slender and white; and her hair, which wasof a pretty shade of gold, could not even be seen under that hideous,unbecoming hat.

  "Ten aurei shall we say?" said Hun Rhavas with remarkable want ofenthusiasm; "kind sirs, is there no one ready to say fifteen? The girlmight be taught to sew or to trim a lady's nails. She may be unskillednow but she might learn--providing that her health be good," he addedwith studied indifference.

  The latter phrase proved a cunning one. The few likely buyers who hadbeen attracted to the catasta by the youthful appearance of thegirl--hoping to find willingness, even if skill were wanting--nowquickly drew away.

  Of a truth there was no guarantee as to her health and a sick slave wasa burden and a nuisance.

  "Ten aurei then," said Hun Rhavas raising the hammer, whilst with hungryeyes the mother watched his every movement.

  A few more seconds of this agonising suspense! Oh! ye gods, how thiswaiting hurts! She pressed her hands against her side where a terriblepain turned her nearly giddy.

  Only a second or two whilst the hammer was poised in mid air and HunRhavas' furtive glance darted on the praefect to see if he were stillindifferent! Menecreta prayed with all her humble might to the proudgods enthroned upon the hill! she prayed that this cycle of agony mightend at last for she could not endure it longer. She prayed that thatcruel hammer might descend and her child be delivered over to her atlast.