Part 21 (1/2)

Publius Gabinius, the boon comrade of Lucius Ahen.o.barbus, differed little from many another man of his age in mode of life, or variety of aspirations. He had run through all the fas.h.i.+onable excitements of the day; was tired of horse-racing, peac.o.c.k dinners, Oriental sweethearts; tired even of dice. And of late he had begun to grow morose, and his friends commenced to think him rather dull company.

But for some days he had found a new object of interest. With Lucius Ahen.o.barbus he had been at the Circus Flaminius, waiting for the races to begin, when he startled his friend by a clutch on the arm.

”Look!” was Gabinius's exclamation. ”Is she not beautiful?”

He pointed to where Fabia, the Vestal, was taking her seat upon a cus.h.i.+on placed for her by a maid, and all the people around were standing, very respectfully, until she was seated The priestess was clothed in perfect white,--dress, ribbons, fillet--a notable contrast to the brave show of purple, and scarlet, and blue mantles all about her.

”Beautiful? Yes,” repeated Lucius, rather carelessly. ”But such birds are not for our net.”

”Are not?” repeated Gabinius, a little sharply. ”What makes you so sure of that?”

”I hardly think that you will find my dear friend Quintus Drusus's aunt, for so I understand she is,” said Ahen.o.barbus, ”very likely to reciprocate your devotion.”

”And why not?” reiterated Gabinius, in a vexed tone.

”My dear fellow,” answered Lucius, ”I won't argue with you. There are plenty of women in Rome quite as handsome as Fabia, and much younger, who will smile on you. Don't meddle in a business that is too dangerous to be profitable.”

But Gabinius had been wrought up to a pitch of amorous excitement, from which Ahen.o.barbus was the last one to move him. For days he had haunted the footsteps of the Vestal; had contrived to thrust himself as near to her in the theatre and circus as possible; had bribed one of the Temple servants to steal for him a small panel painting of Fabia; had, in fact, poured over his last romance all the ardour and pa.s.sion of an intense, violent, uncontrolled nature. Gabinius was not the kind of a man either to a.n.a.lyze his motives, or express himself in the sobbing lyrics of a Catullus. He was thrilled with a fierce pa.s.sion, and knew it, and it only. Therefore he merely replied to Lucius Ahen.o.barbus:--

”I can't help myself. What does Terence say about a like case? 'This indeed can, to some degree, be endured; night, pa.s.sion, liquor, young blood, urged him on; it's only human nature.'”[106]

[106] Terence, ”Adelphoe,” 467 and 471.

And all the afternoon, while the chariots ran, and wager on wager marked the excitement of the cloud of spectators, Gabinius had only eyes for one object, Fabia, who, perfectly unconscious of his state of fascination, sat with flushed cheeks and bright, eager eyes, watching the fortunes of the races, or turned now and then to speak a few words to little Livia, who was at her side. When the games were over, Gabinius struggled through the crowd after the Vestal, and kept near to her until she had reached her litter and the eight red-liveried Cappadocian porters bore her away. Gabinius continued to gaze after her until Fabia drew the leather curtains of her conveyance and was hid from sight.

”_Perpol!”_ reflected Gabinius. ”How utterly enslaved I am!”

The following morning Fabia received a letter in a strange hand, asking her to come to a villa outside the Porta Capena, and receive a will from one t.i.tus Denter, who lay dying. The receiving and safe-keeping of wills was a regular duty of Vestals, and Fabia at once summoned her litter, and started out of the city, along the Via Appia, until, far out in the suburbs where the houses were wide apart, she was set down before the country-house indicated. A stupid-appearing slave-boy received her at the gateway. The villa was old, small, and in very indifferent repair. The slave could not seem to explain whether it had been occupied of late, but hastened to declare that his master lay nigh to death. There was no porter in the outer vestibule.[107] The heavy inner door turned slowly on its pivot, by some inside force, and disclosed a small, darkened atrium, only lighted by a clear sunbeam from the opening above, that pa.s.sed through and illumined a playing fountain. A single attendant stood in the doorway. He was a tall, gaunt man in servile dress, with a rather sickly smile on his sharp yellow face. Fabia alighted from her litter.

There was a certain secluded uncanniness about the house, which made her dislike for an instant to enter. The slave in the door silently beckoned for her to come in. The Vestal informed her bearers that she was likely to be absent some little time, and they must wait quietly without, and not annoy a dying man with unseemly laughter or loud conversation. Then, without hesitancy, Fabia gathered her priestess's cloak about her, and boldly entered the strange atrium. As she did so, the attendant noiselessly closed the door, and what was further, shot home a bolt.

[107] _Ostium_.

”There is no need for that,” remarked the Vestal, who never before in her life had experienced such an unaccountable sense of disquietude.

”It is my habit always to push the bolt,” said the slave, bowing, and leading the way toward the peristylium.

”You are t.i.tus Denter's slave?” asked Fabia. The other nodded. ”And your master is a very sick man?”

”Your most n.o.ble ladys.h.i.+p shall judge for herself.”

”Take me to him at once, if he can see me.”

”He is waiting.”

The two went through the narrow pa.s.sageway which led from the outer court of the atrium into the inner court of the peristylium. Fabia was surprised to see that here all the marble work had been carefully washed clean, the little enclosed garden was in beautiful order, and in various corners and behind some of the pillars were bronze and sculptured statues of really choice art. The slave stopped and pointed to a couch upholstered in crimson, beside the fish tank, where tame lampreys were rising for a bit of food.

”Take me to your master!” repeated Fabia, puzzled by the gesture. ”I am not weary. You say he waits me?”

”He will be here,” replied the servant, with another bow.

”Here?” exclaimed the Vestal, now really alarmed. ”Here? He, a man sick unto death?”