Part 32 (1/2)
”I don't know,” replied Cornelia, shaking her head, ”I am afraid so.
What is there in me more than any other woman that you should love; except--” and here she raised her face half-seriously, half in play--”I am very beautiful? Ah! if I were a man, I would have something else to be loved for; I would have eloquence, or strength, or power of command, or wisdom in philosophy. But no, I can be loved for only two things; an ign.o.ble or a poor man would take me if I were hideous as Atropos, for I am n.o.ble, and, if my uncle were an honest guardian, rich. But you need not regard these at all, so--” and she brushed her face across Drusus's cheek, touching it with her hair.
”O Cornelia,” cried the young man, out of the fulness of his heart, ”we must not waste this precious time asking why we love each other.
Love each other we do as long as we view the sun. O carissima! we cannot trust ourselves to look too deeply into the whys and wherefores of things. We men and women are so ignorant! We know nothing. What is all our philosophy--words! What is all our state religion--empty form!
What is all our life--a dream, mostly evil, that comes out of the eternal unconscious sleep and into that unconscious sleep will return!
And yet not all a dream; for when I feel your hands in mine I know that I am not dreaming--for dreamers feel nothing so delicious as this! Not long ago I recalled what old Artaba.n.u.s said to King Xerxes when the millions of Persia pa.s.sed in review before their lord at Abydos, 'Short as our time is, death, through the wretchedness of our life, is the most sweet refuge of our race; and G.o.d, who gives us tastes that we enjoy of pleasant times, is seen, in His very gift, to be envious.' And I thought, 'How wise was the Persian!' And then I thought, 'No, though to live were to drag one's days in torture and in woe, if only love come once into life, an eternity of misery is endurable; yes, to be chained forever, as Prometheus, on drearest mountain crag, if only the fire which is stolen be that which kindles soul by soul.'”
”Ah!” cried Cornelia, ”if only these were to be real souls! But what can we say? See my Lucretius here; read: 'I have shown the soul to be formed fine and to be of minute bodies and made up of much smaller first-beginnings than the liquid air, or mist, or smoke. As you see water, when the vessels are shattered, flow away on every side, and as mist and smoke vanish away into the air, believe that the soul, too, is shed abroad, and perishes much more quickly and dissolves sooner into its first bodies, when once it has been taken out of the limbs of a man and has withdrawn.' O Quintus, is the thing within me that loves you lighter, more fragile, than smoke? Shall I blow away, and vanish into nothingness? It is that which affrights me!”
And Drusus tried as best he might to comfort her, telling her there was no danger that she or he would be dissipated speedily, and that she must not fret her dear head with things that set the sagest greybeards a-wrangling. Then he told her about the political world, and how in a month at most either every cloud would have cleared away, and Lentulus be in no position to resist the legal claims which Drusus had on the hand of his niece; or, if war came, if fortune but favoured Caesar, Cornelia's waiting for deliverance would not be for long.
Drusus did not dwell on the alternative presented if civic strife came to arms; he only knew that, come what might, Cornelia could never be driven to become the bride of Lucius Ahen.o.barbus; and he had no need to exact a new pledge of her faithful devotion.
So at last, like everything terrestrial that is sweet and lovely, the slowly advancing afternoon warned Drusus that for this day, at least, they must separate.
”I will come again to-morrow, or the next day, if Ca.s.sandra can so arrange,” said he, tearing himself away. ”But part to-night we must, nor will it make amends to imitate Carbo, who, when he was being led to execution, was suddenly seized with a pain in the stomach, and begged not to be beheaded until he should feel a little better.”
He kissed her, strained her to his breast, and stepped toward the landing-place. Cappadox had taken the boat out from the moorings to minimize a chance of discovery by some one in the house. Drusus was just turning for a last embrace, when many voices and the plash of oars sounded below. Cornelia staggered with dread.
”It's Ahen.o.barbus,” she gasped, in a deathly whisper; ”he sometimes comes back from Puteoli by boat. He will murder you when he finds you here!”
”Can't I escape through the house?”
The words, however, were no sooner out of Drusus's mouth, than Lucius Ahen.o.barbus, dressed in the most fas.h.i.+onably cut scarlet lacerna, perfumed and coiffured to a nicety, appeared on the terrace. Some evil genius had led him straight up without the least delay.
It was the first time that the two enemies had met face to face since Drusus had declined the invitation to Marcus Laeca's supper. Be it said to Lucius's credit that he sensed the situation with only the minimum of confusion, and instantly realized all of Cornelia's worst fears.
Drusus had drawn back from the steps to the lower terrace, and stood with stern brow and knotted fist, trapped by a blunder that could hardly have been guarded against, no submissive victim to what fate had in store. Cornelia, for once quite distraught with terror, cowered on a bench, unable to scream through sheer fright.
”_Salve!_ amice,” was the satirical salutation of Ahen.o.barbus. ”How excellently well met. _Heus!_ Phaon, bring your boatmen, quick! Not an instant to lose!”
”Pity! mercy!” gasped Cornelia, ”I will do anything for you, but spare him;” and she made as if to fall on her knees before Ahen.o.barbus.
”Girl!” Drusus had never spoken in that way to her before; his tones were cold as ice. ”Go into the house! Your place is not here. If Lucius Ahen.o.barbus intends to murder me--”
The boatmen and two or three other slaves that were always at Ahen.o.barbus's heels were crowding up on to the terrace ready to do their master's bidding.
”Throw me that fellow over the balcony,” ordered Lucius, his sense of triumph and opportunity mastering every fear that Flaccus would execute his threat of prosecution. ”See that he does not float!”
Cornelia found her voice. She screamed, screamed shrilly, and ran into the house. Already the familia was alarmed. Two or three freedmen of Lentulus were rus.h.i.+ng toward the terrace. They were murdering Quintus!
He was resisting, resisting with all the powers of a wild animal driven to its last lair. Outside, on the terrace, where but an instant before she and her lover were cooing in delicious ecstasy, there were oaths, blows, and the sharp pants and howls of mortal struggle. And she could do nothing--nothing! And it was through his love for her that Drusus was to go down to his untimely grave! The seconds of struggle and anguish moved on leaden feet. Every breath was agony, every sound maddening. And she could do nothing--nothing. Still they were fighting. Phaon--she knew his voice--was crying out as if in grievous pain. And now the voice of Lucius Ahen.o.barbus sounded again: ”One thousand denarii if you fling him into the sea!” and she could do nothing--nothing! She tore down the purple tapestries around her bed, and dashed from its tripod a costly bowl of opal Alexandrian gla.s.s--all in the mere rage of impotence. And still they were fighting. What was that ornament hanging on the wall, half hid behind the torn tapestry? A scabbard--a sword, some relic of ancient wars!
And all the combatants were unarmed! The antique weapon was held by stout thongs to the wall; she plucked it from its fastenings with the strength of a t.i.taness. The rusty blade resisted an instant; she dragged it forth. Then out on to the terrace. Really only a moment had elapsed since she left it. One of the slaves was lying dead, or stunned, p.r.o.ne on the turf. Phaon was writhing and howling beside him, nursing a broken jaw. The other a.s.sailants had sunk back in temporary repulse and were preparing for a second rush. Drusus was still standing. He half leaned upon the stone pedestal of an heroic-sized Athena, who seemed to be spreading her protecting aegis above him. His garments were rent to the veriest shreds. His features were hidden behind streaming blood, his arms and neck were bruised and bleeding; but clearly his adversaries could not yet congratulate themselves that the lion's strength was too sapped to be no longer dreaded.
”Come, you,” was his hot challenge to Lucius Ahen.o.barbus, who stood, half delighted, half afraid, s.h.i.+vering and laughing spasmodically, as he surveyed the struggle from a safe distance. ”Come, you, and have your share in the villany!”
And again, for it was all the affair of the veriest moment, the slaves rushed once more on their indocile victim. ”Freedom to the man who pulls him down!” was the incentive of Ahen.o.barbus.
But again Drusus, who, to tell the truth, had to contend with only the flabby, soft-handed, unskilful underlings of Lucius, struck out so furiously that another of his attackers fell backward with a groan and a gasp. All this Cornelia saw while, sword in hand, she flew toward the knot of writhing men. She pushed aside the slaves by sheer force.