Part 38 (1/2)

”Hide me somewhere--where they cannot find me”--he murmured, half raising himself from the ground. ”Thou wouldst not give up thy Caesar to the fury of the populace ... thou wouldst not soil thy hands with the blood of thy kinsman...”

Now he was embracing her knees and his hideous, distorted face was looking up appealingly at her.

”Thou wouldst not soil thy hands with the blood of thy kinsman....”

Even as these words escaped his flaccid lips a roll of thunder louder than any previous one came echoing from behind the Aventine Hill. Dea Flavia shuddered. Was it Jove's warning, or already Jove's curse, the curse of the G.o.ds on her for the treachery of her thoughts?

”Thou wouldst not soil thy hands with the blood of thy kinsman....” he repeated pitiably.

”No! no!” she said hurriedly. ”Not that.... I'll help thee!... What can I do?”

”Let me hide in thy house....”

”Where?”

He pointed to the studio.

”There!” he said.

”No! no!” she exclaimed, and instinctively her arms were held out, as if she would protect a sacred shrine.

”Thy workroom is private,” he urged in tones of abject entreaty; ”no one would venture there ... only thy women slaves ever cross its threshold.... I should be quite safe in the inner room ... thy women would not betray me ... thou hast some that are mute ... they could attend on me there, and no one would know of my presence until this outrage hath subsided.... In a few hours mayhap the praetorian guard will succeed in forcing a pa.s.sage through the raging mob ... my legions too are on their way from Germany ... they will be here soon ... they were only four days' march behind me and my convoy ... they are but a couple of days' march now from the city gates ... I could stay in there ... in thy private room ... with a few men to protect me ... and thy women to attend on me ... no one else would know....”

He talked volubly, at times incoherently, with hoa.r.s.e voice and quaking lips. She tried with all her might to free herself from his convulsive clutch--but he clung to her like a dying man would cling to the last breath of life--like a drowning man would cling to the raft on which he might find safety.

”In there----” he entreated.

”No--no----”

”I should be safe and n.o.body would know.”

And now he raised himself to his feet, and swaying like a drunken man he turned toward the studio, calling to his guard to follow him. But she was still between him and that door, between this raving, bloodthirsty maniac and a helpless man who was lying wounded and in a drugged sleep on a bed of sickness.

The oracle had not yet finished speaking. The last word still hung in the air. Her choice had not yet been made: but at this moment when Caligula and his guard turned toward the studio door, she knew that it would not be long in the making. Never should that demented tyrant cross the threshold of her studio and wreak his hatred and revenge upon the fallen hero. Rather than that should happen she would call to the people, and hand over the Caesar--her kinsman--to an infuriated mob.

Better that than to deliver a wounded man into the claws of a raging brute.

Then mayhap the blood of her kinsman would stain her hands for ever; then, too, no doubt would come horror, remorse and the malediction of the G.o.ds. Then so be it. That would she take upon herself. What must be suffered, that she would suffer: the torments of remorse would be infinitesimal compared with the awful sacrilege which the Caesar's hand would perpetrate, were he allowed access to the praefect of Rome.

And even as the resolve became firmly implanted in her heart, she found herself murmuring softly words which she had heard in the Forum a very few days ago.

”I have but one soul and that is in the hand of G.o.d!”

Something of the serenity which had then shone from the man's face now entered into her heart. Horror and excitement fell away from her like a useless mantle. She felt herself absolutely calm and unswerving in her determination.

Therefore she did not make a rush for the studio door, she did not with dramatic gesture interpose her body between it and the Caesar: she merely put her hand out and let it rest upon his arm.

”I should be safe in there--and n.o.body would know....” he murmured.