Part 28 (1/2)

”I bid you love,” replied Caesar, smiling. ”I bid you go to Baiae, for there I have heard your dear lady waits her long-absent Odysseus, and tell her that all will be well in time; for Caesar will make it so.”

”For Caesar will make it so,” repeated the young man, half-unconscious that he was speaking aloud.

”For Caesar will make it so,” reiterated the proconsul, as though Zeus on Olympus were nodding his head in awful and irrevocable promise.

And the proconsul took both of his guest's hands in his own, and said, with seriousness:--

”Quintus Drusus, why did you abandon your bride to support my cause?”

”Because,” replied the other, with perfect frankness, ”I should not be worthy to look Cornelia in the face, if I did not sacrifice all to aid the one Roman who can save the state.”

”Young man,” replied the proconsul, ”many follow me for selfish gain, many follow me to pay off a grudge, but few follow me because they believe that because Caesar is ambitious, he is ambitious as a G.o.d should be ambitious--to bestow the greatest benefits possible upon the men entrusted to his charge. I know not what thread for me the Fates have spun; but this I know, that Caesar will never prove false to those who trust him to bring righteousness to Rome, and peace to the world.”

That night, as Drusus was retiring, Curio spoke to him:--

And what manner of man do you think is the proconsul?”

”I think,” replied Drusus, ”that I have discovered the one man in the world whom I craved to find.”

”And who is that?”

”The man with an ideal.”

Chapter XII

Pratinas Meets Ill-Fortune

I

Probably of the various personages mentioned in the course of our story none was more thoroughly enjoying life about this time than Agias. Drusus had left him in the city when he started for Ravenna, with general instructions to keep an eye on Lucius Ahen.o.barbus and Pratinas, and also to gather all he could of the political drift among the lower cla.s.ses. Agias was free now. He let his hair grow long in token of his newly gained liberty; paraded a many-folded toga; and used part of the donatives which Drusus and Fabia had lavished upon him, in buying one or two slave-boys of his own, whom, so far from treating gently on account of his own lately servile position, he cuffed and abused with grim satisfaction at being able to do what had so often been done to him.

Agias had been given lodgings by Drusus in a tenement house, owned by the latter, in the Subura.

The rooms were over a bakery, and at the sides were a doctor's and surgeon's office and a barber's shop--a rendezvous which gave the young Greek an admirable chance to pick up the current gossip. Every street-pedler, every forum-idler, had his political convictions and pet theories. The partisans who arrogated to themselves the modest epithet of ”The Company of All Good Men,” clamoured noisily that ”Liberty and Ancient Freedom” were in danger, if Caesar set foot in Rome save as an impeached traitor. And the Populares--the supporters of the proconsul--raged equally fiercely against the greed of the Senate party that wished to perpetuate itself forever in office. Agias could only see that neither faction really understood the causes for and against which they fought; and observed in silence, trusting that his patron knew more of the issues than he.

But the newly manumitted freedman was thoroughly enjoying himself. The windy speeches in the Senate, the crowded and excited meetings in the Forum, the action and reaction of the tides of popular prejudice and fancy, the eloquence of Antonius, and the threatenings and ravings of Marcellus the consul--all these were interesting but not disturbing.

Agias was catching glimpses of a little Olympus of his own--an Olympus in which he was at once Zeus, Poseidon, and Apollo; Sesostris--so he declared--the lame cup-bearer Hephaestus; and in place of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite, were the smiles and laughter of Artemisia. Agias was head over ears in love with this pretty little cage-bird shut up in Pratinas's gloomy suite of rooms. Her ”uncle” took her out now and then to the theatre or to the circus; but she had had little enough companions.h.i.+p save such as Sesostris could give; and to her, Agias was a wonderful hero, the master of every art, the victor over a hundred monsters. He had told her of his adventure with Phaon--not calling names, lest disagreeable consequences ensue--and Artemisia dreamed of him as the cleverest creature on the earth, able to outwit Hermes in subtlety. Agias had found out when Pratinas was likely to be away from home--and that worthy h.e.l.lene, be it said, never declined an invitation to dine with a friend--and Agias timed his visits accordingly. He taught Artemisia to play the cithera and to sing, and she made such rapid progress under his tutoring that the unconscious Pratinas commended her efforts to acquire the accomplishments he wished. And Agias was never so happy as when those bright eyes were hanging on his lips or that merry tongue was chattering a thousand pointless remarks or jests.

Yes, Agias found himself in a condition when he could well ask to have no change. The possibility that Pratinas would come home, and put an end to the romance once and for all, was just great enough to give the affair the zest of a dangerous adventure. Despite Sesostris's warnings that Artemisia might at any time be sold away by her pseudo-uncle, Agias could not discover that that danger was imminent enough to need frustration. He was content to live himself and to let Artemisia live, basking in the stolen suns.h.i.+ne of the hour, and to let the thought of the approaching shadows fade out of his mind.

Another person who saw the suns.h.i.+ne rather brighter than before was Pisander. That excellent philosopher had received his share of the grat.i.tude Drusus had bestowed on his deliverers. But he was still in the service of Valeria, for Drusus saw that he had admirable opportunities for catching the stray bits of political gossip that inevitably intermixed themselves with the conversation of Valeria and her circle. Pisander had continued to read Plato to his mistress, and to groan silently at her frivolity; albeit, he did not groan so hopelessly as before, because he had good money in his pouch and knew where to procure more when he needed it.

So Agias enjoyed himself. He was a youth; a Pagan youth; and in his short life he had seen many a scene of wickedness and shame. Yet there was nothing unholy in the affection which he found was daily growing stronger and stronger for Artemisia. She was a pure, innocent flower, that by the very whiteness of her simple sweet presence drove away anything that ”defiled or made a lie.” Agias did not wors.h.i.+p her; she was too winning; too cunning and pretty to attract the least reverence; but in her company the young Greek was insensibly raised pinnacles above the murky moral atmosphere in which most men and youths of his station walked.

It was all like an Idyl of Theocritus; with the tenement of Pratinas for a shepherd's hut; and Sesostris for a black-backed sheep to whom the herdsmen and the nymph of his love could play on ”oaten reed.” At first, Agias had never dreamed of telling a word of his affection to Artemisia. In truth, it was very hard to tell, for she, with an absolute innocence, took all his advances for far more than they were worth; told him that next to her ”uncle and dear Sesostris” he was quite the best friend she had; that she loved him, and was glad to hear him say that he loved her.

All this was delightful in the ears of her admirer, but very disconcerting. Agias thought of the hollow civilities of Valeria's life, as he had seen it; of the outward decorum of language, of the delicately veiled compliments, of the interchange of words that summed up, in a few polished commonplaces, a whole network of low intrigue and pa.s.sion. Was this the same world! Could Valeria and Artemisia both be women! The one--a beauty, whose guilty heart was not ignorant of a single form of fas.h.i.+onable sin; the other--as it were, a blossom, that was pure sweetness, in whose opening petals the clear diamond of the morning dew still remained! Agias did not compare Artemisia with Cornelia; for Cornelia, in his eyes, was a G.o.ddess, and in beauty and pa.s.sions was above the hope or regard of mortal men.

But what was one to do in an emergency like the following? Agias had been singing the ”Love Song” from the ”Cyclops,” and trying to throw into the lines all the depth of tender affection which voice and look rendered possible.