Part 42 (2/2)
”He is a fugitive, I tell thee. The rabble fired his palace to force him to come out of it and face them. But he ran away through the secret pa.s.sage which leads through the house of Germanicus to mine.”
”He is here then?”
”No! He grovelled at my feet and begged me to hide him ... here ... in my private chamber where he thought he would be safe ... but I would not let him come for I thought thee helpless in thy bed, and feared that he would kill thee.”
”Great G.o.d!”
”Nay! why shouldst thou call to thy G.o.d on behalf of a tyrant and a coward,” she said excitedly; ”thou shouldst have seen that man cowering at my feet like a beaten dog. I could have spurned him with my foot, as I would a cur.”
”The Caesar, Augusta, the Caesar!”
”Aye!” she rejoined firmly, ”the Caesar, my kinsman! Were he not that, I would have rushed to my door and called to the people, and would have handed over unto them that miserable bundle of rags which stood for the majesty of Caesar!”
”And I lay a helpless log,” he rejoined bitterly, ”while the destinies of Rome lay in thy hands.”
”Aye! The destinies of Rome,” she said proudly, whilst a glow of intense excitement filled her whole personality, ”but not in my hands, O praefect, but in thine!”
”In mine?”
She rose and went up to him and placed her white fingers upon his arm.
”Listen!” she said.
She held up her other hand and thus stood beside him with slender neck stretched slightly forward, her lips parted, a look of intentness expressed in the whole of her exquisite face.
”Dost hear?” she whispered.
Obedient to her will he listened too. The cry of ”Death to the Caesar!”
monotonous and weird, seemed to strike him with horror, for his wan cheeks a.s.sumed a yet paler hue and his lips murmured words which, however, she could not understand. Then suddenly the cry was followed by another--indistinct at first, yet gaining in clearness as it rose on the waves of the storm from the Forum below.
”The praefect of Rome! Where is the praefect of Rome? Hail Taurus Antinor Caesar! Hail!”
”Hark!” she said triumphantly, ”dost hear? The people call to thee!
They are ready to deify thee. They call for thee, dost hear them, O praefect?”
But though she turned her eager, questioning gaze on him, though excitement and enthusiasm seemed to emanate from her from every pore, the look of horror only deepened on his face and the whispered prayer did not cease to tremble on his lips.
”Dost hear them?” she reiterated once more.
He was looking on her now, and gradually horror faded from his eyes and pallor from his cheeks. A wave of tenderness seemed to pa.s.s right over his face, making the harsh lines seem marvellously soft.
”I hear thy voice,” he murmured, ”soft as the breath of spring among the leaves of roses.”
”The people call for thee.”
”And thy hand is on my arm and I feel the magic of thy touch.”
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