Part 24 (1/2)

That was the man he most hated--the unknown man. Him he desired to punish in a manner that would make all the others endure agonies of horror ere they in turn met their doom. But his ident.i.ty was still a mystery. To discover it, the Caesar had need of the help of this girl who stood there so calmly before him, defying his power and his threats.

He looked on her and understanding slowly came to him ... understanding of the woman with whom he had to deal. It dawned upon him in the midst of his tumultuous frenzy that here he had encountered a will that he could never bend to his own--an irresistible force had come in contact with an unbending one. One of the two must yield, and Caligula, staring at the young girl who seemed so fragile that a touch of the hand must break her, knew that it was not she who would ever give in.

His well-matured plan he would not give up. He had thought it all out whilst he refreshed himself in his bath after Caius Nepos' visit, and it was not likely that any woman could, by her obstinate action, move Caligula from his resolve. But obviously he must alter his tactics if he desired Dea Flavia's help. He could gain nothing by her death save momentary satisfaction, and the matter was too important to allow momentary satisfaction to interfere with the delights of future complete revenge.

Therefore he forced himself to some semblance of calm. He was a perfect mountebank, a consummate actor, and now he called to his aid his full powers of deception. Cunning should win the day since rage and coercion had failed.

Slowly his face lost every vestige of anger and sorrowful serenity crept into his eyes. Tottering like one who feels unmanned, he sought the support of a chair and fell sitting into it, with his elbows on his knees and his head buried in his hands.

”Woe is me!” he moaned, ”woe to the House of Caesar when its fairest daughter turns traitor against her kin!”

”I! a traitor, good my lord!” she rejoined quietly. ”There is no treachery in my desire to serve Caesar in single maidenhood, or to offer thee my life rather than my freedom.”

”There is black treachery,” he said with tremulous voice like one in deep sorrow, ”in refusing to obey the Caesar.”

”In this alone----”

But it was his turn now to interrupt her with a quick raising of the hand.

”Aye! That is what the waverer says: 'Good my lord, I'll obey in all save in what doth not please me!' Dea Flavia Augusta, I had thought thee above such monstrous selfishness.”

”Selfishness, my lord?”

”Aye! Art thou not of the House of Caesar? Art thou not my kinswoman?

Dost thou not receive at my hands honour, position, everything that places thee above the common herd of humanity? Were I not the Caesar, where wouldst thou be? Not in this palace surely, not the virtual queen of Rome, but, mayhap, a handmaid to another Caesar's wife, an attendant on his daughter.... Thou dost seem to have forgot all this, Augusta.”

”Nay, gracious lord, I have forgot nothing! Your goodness to me----”

”And yet wouldst deliver me over into the hands of mine enemies,” he said with increased dolefulness, ”and not raise a finger to save me.”

”I would give my life for the Caesar,” she interposed firmly, ”and this the Caesar knows.”

”Wouldst not even take a husband, when by so doing thou wouldst save the Caesar from death.”

”My gracious lord speaks in riddles ... I do not understand.”

”Didst not understand, girl, that I but wished to test thy loyalty to me? Thou--like so many alas!--dost so oft prate of unbounded attachment to Caesar. To-day, for the first time, did I put that attachment to the test, and lo! it hath failed me.”

”Try me, my lord,” she said, ”and I'll not fail thee. But give me thy trust as well as thy commands.”

She advanced close to where he sat, apparently a broken-down, sorrowful man, stricken with grief. The mighty Caesar now was far more powerful than he had been a while ago when he raged and stormed and threatened, for he had appealed to the strongest feeling within her--he had appealed to her loyalty.

Slowly she sank once more on her knees, not in entreaty now, not with thoughts of self, but in the humble subjection of herself to the needs of him whom the G.o.ds had anointed. She sank upon her knees, and with that simple action she offered her happiness on the altar of her loyalty to him and to her house.

Gone was the look of defiance from her eyes, the pride had vanished and all the joy of life; no thought was left in the young mind now save an overwhelming sense of loyalty, no feeling lingered in the heart save the desire for self-sacrifice.

The Caesar had commanded and since she could not disobey she was ready to die; memory had in a swift flash called up before her the vision of a man who, rather than yield to her caprice, had smiled at the thought of death. And she, too, had almost smiled, for suddenly she had understood how small a thing was life when slavery became its price.

But now all that had changed. The Caesar pleaded and made appeal to her loyalty. Her refusal to obey him was no longer pride, it was disloyalty--almost sacrilege. The Caesar called to her! It was as if the G.o.ds had spoken, and she fell on her knees, ready to obey.

The consummate actor was clever enough to hide the triumph that lit up his eyes when he saw her thus kneeling, and understood that she was prepared to yield.