Part 20 (1/2)
The Caesar had once more resumed his restless walk up and down the room.
He was biting his fists, trying to restrain himself from striking the n.o.ble informer as brutally as he did his slaves, for he loathed the bearer of evil tidings almost as much as the secret traitors. He suffered from an overwhelming fury of hatred and from an unquenchable thirst for blood.
But three years ago the people and patricians had acclaimed him with shouts and rejoicings; they had feasted in his honour, proclaimed his G.o.dhead and his power, and now they were plotting to murder him! The madman threw out his arms in a pa.s.sionate longing for revenge.
”They would kill me,” he cried hoa.r.s.ely, ”kill me!” ... And a demoniacal laugh broke from his swollen throat. He tore the garments from off his chest and buried his nails in his own flesh, whilst roar upon roar of his mad laughter woke the echoes of his stately palace.
Then suddenly the paroxysm died completely down. An unnatural calm succeeded the violent outbursts of rage. Caligula, with a corner of his silken robe, wiped the perspiration from his streaming face. He threw himself on a seat, and resting both elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, he stared contemplatively before him.
Of a truth this calm seemed even more awe-inspiring than the snarls and cries of a while ago. Caius Nepos' sallow cheeks became still more ashen in colour as he cast a quick glance round the room, feeling perhaps for the first time to-day how completely he was at the mercy of a raving lunatic if the latter should turn against him. But the Caesar sat there for some time, ruminating, with great hollow eyes fixed on one spot on the ground and gusts of stertorous breathing escaped from his chest.
After a while he spoke:
”Thou didst not tell me yet, O kind friend!” he said dully, ”what the traitors mean to do once they have murdered their Caesar. Whom would they set up as his successor? They cannot all be emperors of Rome. For whose sake then do they intend to commit this d.a.m.nable treachery?”
”Nay, great Caesar!” replied Caius Nepos drily, ”methinks they all have a desire to become Emperor of Rome, and this being impossible, there was a vast deal of wrangling in my vestibule last night. I caught the purport of several words, and----”
”And of several names?” asked Caligula in the same even voice.
”I heard one name spoken in particular, O Caesar.”
”Tell me.”
”That of the Augusta, thy kinswoman,” said Caius Nepos, after a slight moment of hesitation.
”Of Dea Flavia?”
”Even hers.”
”But she is a woman, and cannot lead an army,” said the Emperor, whose voice sounded hollow and distant, as if it came from out the depths of a grave.
”Nor was that suggested, O Caesar.”
”What then?”
”The conspirators, methinks, have agreed amongst themselves that the future husband of Dea Flavia Augusta--whoever he might be--should be the successor of the murdered Caesar.”
”Whoever he might be,” repeated the Emperor, mechanically echoing the other's words.
”Aye! The Augusta, I understand, favours no one as yet.”
”She hath made no choice ... to thy knowledge?”
”No, no ... her choice was to be made after ... afterwards.”
”Her choice to be made by her--or by them?”
”That I know not, great Caesar. The Augusta, I feel sure, was not a consenting party to the treachery. The traitors would use her for their own ends.”
After this there was silence for a while. Caligula still sat staring with wide-open eyes before him, whilst the slaves held their breath, staring fascinated on that terrible whip, lying momentarily forgotten.