The Burning of Rome Part 9

The two discussed the matter for a long time. The woman was far more decided than her husband in her views, both of what was going on and of what he ought to do. "Depend upon it," she said, "this is a big thing, and means a chance for you and me such as we never had before, and are not likely to have again. My belief is that there is something on foot against people who are very high up indeed. Go to the palace at once,-that is my advice,-and tell the people there what you have seen."

The freedman hesitated. He had a feeling of kindness for his patron, stronger, perhaps, than he would have had for a better man. Scaevinus had given him his liberty, had made him some handsome presents, and treated him generally with the kindness which commonly goes a long way further than money. It was always an odious thing for a freedman to turn against his patron; in his case it was particularly hateful. And then, if the whole business should turn out to have meant nothing at all! That would mean simple ruin and disgrace.

The wife took a more severely practical view of the situation. Of the personal feeling she made no account whatever. Naturally she did not share it herself, for Scaevinus was almost a stranger to her. [245] Anyhow she was sure that it must not stand in the way of business. Of the risk of being found to have made a groundless charge she made light. The circ.u.mstances were too suspicious. They must mean something. She wound up with the most cogent argument of all. "There were others present, you say, freedmen and slaves. Do you suppose that you were the only one who saw anything strange in the Senator's behaviour? If you don't go to the palace, you may depend upon it some one else will. And if anybody antic.i.p.ates you, where will you be? It was you to whom he gave the dagger to sharpen; you who had to prepare the bandages; it is you, therefore, who are bound to speak. You won't save your patron by holding your tongue, you will only lose your own chance, and very likely involve yourself in his ruin."

This reasoning was too much for Milichus. "I will go," he said, "though I hate it."

"And at once," cried the wife. "There is not a moment to be lost."

The energetic woman seized him by the arm, and hurried him off. The day was just beginning to dawn, and it was only just light when the two reached the Pavilion gardens, where Nero was residing. At that untimely hour they had some difficulty in making themselves heard, and the porter, when roused, summarily bade them go about their business. Milichus would gladly have availed himself of the excuse, and postponed his odious task, but his wife was made of [246] sterner stuff. She warned the doorkeeper that if he refused to admit them, he would do so at his own peril; they had come, she said, on urgent business, in fact, on a matter of life or death. Thus urged, the man gave way, and admitted the visitors, feeling that he would thus at least shift the responsibility from off his own shoulders. He sent the couple on to Epaphroditus, who may be described as the Emperor's Private Secretary.

Epaphroditus heard the outline of Milichus' story, and recognizing the gravity of the facts, determined that Nero himself should hear them without delay.

At first the Emperor was but little disposed to believe. He had a profound belief in his own inviolability, and the breaking down of the charge which Proculus had brought against Epicharis, had confirmed him in his incredulity. The sight of the dagger which Milichus, at his wife's suggestion, had brought with him, rather staggered him. It proved nothing, it is true. Still the sight of an actual weapon, which it was possible might be used against himself, seemed to make the whole thing closer and more real.

"Send for Scaevinus," he said to his Secretary. "Let us confront him with this fellow, and hear what he has to say."

Scaevinus, who had just risen from his bed, and was already disturbed by finding that Milichus had gone, no one knew whither, and had taken the dagger with him, was still further alarmed by the arrival of a [247] quaternion of soldiers, bearing an order for his arrest. When, however, he was brought within the Emperor's presence, his courage rose to the occasion. The story of the dagger he ridiculed.

"It belongs to my family," he said, and briefly told the story connected with it. "I found that it was being devoured by rust, and took it down from the wall. I may have told this fellow to clean it, but certainly said nothing else. As for the bandages, that is a pure fiction, invented to back up the other story. As for the new will, I have often made wills, as any of my friends can testify; as for the presents that I made to my freedmen and slaves, what is there in that? It is my way to be liberal to them, perhaps beyond my means. Answer me, Milichus," he went on, turning to the informer, "have you not had money and valuables from me many times?"

The freedman acknowledged that this was so.

"And now, Caesar," said Scaevinus, "to be perfectly frank, as indeed the occasion demands, I have a special reason for being generous, if it is generous to give what is scarcely one's own. My affairs are not prosperous, and my creditors have begun to press me. Legacies would be of no use if there should be a balance on the wrong side when my estate is wound up; services have been rendered me which it was a matter of honour to repay, and I felt that I could do it only by gifts."

The accused spoke so calmly and coolly, and with [248] such an appearance of frankness, that the Emperor was staggered.

"It is the Epicharis case over again," he said to Tigellinus, who had by this time been summoned. "People seem to be making a trade of these lying accusations. They shall find that they are not to my taste."

Scaevinus saw his advantage, and pursued it. "I ask you, Caesar, to protect me against the unfaithfulness and falsehood of this man, this villain, who owes to me all that he has, and now seeks to raise himself higher on the ruins of my fortune. About other things I care not so much, but it is terrible that he should seek to make a profit for himself out of the loss of my honour. Caesar, I implore your protection against him."

"And you shall have it, Scaevinus," said the Emperor. "As for you," he went on in a voice of thunder, turning to the freedman, "you have a patron who is far too good for you. Henceforth he will treat you, I hope, as you deserve. He has my leave to squeeze out of you again all that he has given you, to the uttermost drop. a.s.suredly it was the unhappiest hour of your life when you came to me with this c.o.c.k-and-bull story of a dagger and bandages. And now, Tigellinus," he went on, "it is time to be getting ready for the Circus."

The freedman stood struck dumb with disappointment and dismay. But his wife did not lose her courage and presence of mind.

[249] "Ask him," she whispered, "whether he has not lately had many conferences with Natalis, and whether he is not an intimate friend of Caius Piso's."

The freedman caught eagerly at the suggestion. "Caesar," said he, "ask Scaevinus what dealings he has lately had with Natalis and Caius Piso."

Scaevinus could not repress a start when he heard the names of two of the most prominent conspirators thus openly joined with his own, and the start did not escape the watchful eye of Tigellinus.

"There may be more in this, Sire, than you think," he whispered in Nero's ear. "Natalis is a notorious busy-body, and Piso is the most dangerous man in Rome."

"What do you advise, then?" asked the Emperor, impressed by his Minister's earnestness.

"Send for Natalis," replied Tigellinus, "and question him; but don't question him in the presence of the accused. Ask them separately what they have been interesting themselves in; if there is anything that they don't want to have known, they will certainly contradict each other."

The suggestion was immediately carried out. Natalis, arrested just as he was setting out for the Circus, and having a dagger actually concealed upon his person, lost his presence of mind. Interrogated by Tigellinus as to the business discussed at recent interviews with Scaevinus, with a scribe sitting close by to take down his words, he hesitated and stam- [250] mered. His invention seemed to fail him as well as his courage. At last he managed to blunder out a few words to the effect that Scaevinus had been consulting him about the best way of investing some sums of money which would shortly be coming in to him from the paying off of sundry mortgages and loans. This was a peculiarly unlucky venture in the face of Scaevinus' recent confession of poverty. Tigellinus smiled an evil smile as he listened. Natalis caught the look, and stammered worse than ever, for he knew that he had blundered.

"Thank you, my friend," said the Minister in the blandest of voices. "I am sure that the Senator Scaevinus is a lucky man to have so admirable an adviser. Still you will pardon me for saying that you are a trifle obscure in your description. It will be instructive to call in the Senator himself, and hear his account of the matter."

Scaevinus accordingly was brought in. The look of terror which came over his face as soon as he caught sight of Natalis was as good as a confession. Tigellinus, who hated him, as he hated every man better born and better bred than himself, smiled again.

"The Emperor," he began, in his soft, unctuous voice, "who feels a paternal interest in the affairs of his subjects, is anxious to know what was the subject of discussion when you were closeted yesterday so long with our friend Natalis."

[251] Scaevinus, who had by this time recovered his self-possession, answered without hesitation. His course was, it need hardly be said, clear before him. Indeed, he congratulated himself on the happy thought of having pleaded his poverty to the Emperor.

"I was consulting my friend about raising a loan on more moderate interest than what I am now paying." The Emperor laughed outright.

"Scribe," said Tigellinus to the slave who had been taking down the depositions in shorthand-for shorthand was an art well known to the Romans by that time,-"scribe, read aloud the answer of Antonius Natalis."

"One of you has certainly lied," said Tigellinus, "and probably both; but there are means of making you speak the truth."

He made a sign to a guard who stood at the door of the apartment. In a few minutes half-a-dozen slaves appeared, bringing with them a rack and other instruments of torture.

Scaevinus started at the sight. "Caesar," he cried, "is this with your permission? Torture to a Senator of Rome!"

"Silence, villain!" said the Minister. "You know that when the life of the Emperor is concerned-and what else meant you by the dagger?-all means of discovering the truth are permitted by the law."

The slaves began to prepare the rack for use. Natalis lost all his fort.i.tude at the ghastly sound of [252] the creaking beams, as the executioners worked the hideous thing backwards and forwards to see that it was in order.

"Spare me, Caesar," he cried, falling on his knees, "and I will confess all that I know."

Scaevinus was not so lost to shame. He hesitated. He was even ready, if his companion had backed him up, to brave it out. But the cowardice of the other was contagious. If Natalis was to save himself by confession, why not he? His friends were lost anyhow; they would not fare one whit the worse for anything that he might say.

"Caesar," he said, still striving to keep up some show of dignity, "if you will deign to listen, I have something to say."

Tigellinus gloated with malignant pleasure over the man's useless humiliation. A Senator, offering to betray his friends and refused! What could be more welcome hearing to a parvenu!

"Nay, sir," he said; "we must observe due precedence. Every man according to his rank. In honourable things the Senator before the knight; in dishonourable the knight before the Senator. Is not that so, Sire?"

"Yes," said Nero; "speak on, Antonius Natalis. Meanwhile let our honourable Senator be removed. It has already been very interesting to observe how his account of things differed from his confederate's, and it may be interesting again."

VACILLATION.

[253] SCAEVINUS - for we must do the poor cowardly wretch such justice as he deserves - had made an effort to save his friends, and, one ought perhaps to add, himself. While Natalis was being interrogated, he entered into conversation with the slave who had been told off to attend on him. The slave was a young man of mixed Greek and Asiatic race, with an extremely intelligent countenance, but sickly and lame. It was impossible for any one with the least insight into character to look at him and to hear him speak without perceiving that there was something out of the common about him. In after years he was to become one of the most notable exponents of the Stoic philosophy, for this Phrygian cripple was no less a person than the philosopher Epictetus. At the time of which I am writing he was only a feeble lad with, however, a certain air of ability and courage which greatly impressed an intelligent observer. Scaevinus, feeling that his situation was practically desperate, resolved to make a last effort. If it failed he could hardly be in a worse position than the present; if it succeeded it was just possible [254] that the fortunes of the conspiracy might yet be retrieved.

"Can you take a message for me to a friend?" he said in Greek to Epictetus.

The soldiers who were guarding the door of the apartment heard without understanding.

"Certainly," said the slave, "if any good is to be achieved."

"You shall have ten gold pieces for your trouble."

"Nay, this is a thing which I would sooner do without payment. That is not only more honourable, but also more safe."

"I cannot write it, indeed, there is no need; all that is needed can be said in a few words. Go to Caius Piso, and say to him, 'All is discovered; act.' And mind-not a word of this to any one else. Let not wild horses wring it out of you. That would be fatal to both you and me."

The slave smiled. "They might as well try to wring words out of a stump or a stone. For, indeed, what else is a slave? When my old master kicked me and broke my leg-" and he held out as he spoke the maimed limb-"I said, 'Why do you damage your own property?' So I should say to them. If they choose to kill me, that is their own lookout; all that concerns me, for a slave has something of a man about him after all, as Aristotle says, is that I don't dishonour myself."

When Scaevinus was recalled into the Emperor's [255] audience-chamber, Epictetus lost no time in making his way to Piso's house. Some of the prominent persons connected with the conspiracy were a.s.sembled, and were busy making their final arrangements for the proceedings of the day.

Epictetus, as soon as he was safe within the doors, wrote down on a tablet the following words: "The bearer of a message from Scaevinus asks for admission." He was brought up without loss of time into an ante-chamber, where Piso saw him alone. He delivered his message, and immediately departed.

Piso rejoined his a.s.sembled friends, and told them what had happened. Subrius, with characteristic prompt.i.tude, rose to the occasion.

"Piso," he said, "the task before us is different from that which we had planned,-different and possibly more difficult, but certainly not hopeless. We shall not proclaim you Emperor after Nero is dead; we shall have to proclaim you while he is yet alive. And I must own that the affair is now more to my taste than it was. I was ready, as you know, to play the a.s.sa.s.sin, when it was a question of delivering the human race from a tyrant; but I would sooner play the soldier, and meet him in the field. That, Piso, is what we must do. Let us go to the Forum, and appeal to the people, or, as I would rather advise, to the camp, and appeal to the soldiers. In both places, among both audiences, we shall have friends. They will shout their applause, and others, who at present [256] know nothing of the matter, will join in. That is a line of action for which, depend upon it, Nero is not prepared. Even brave men are sometimes confounded by so sudden an attack; how will a stage-playing Emperor and his miserable minion encounter it? Don't think for a moment that we can escape; there are too many in the secret. Some one will be sure to sell his honour for money, or find his courage ooze away in the presence of the rack. Indeed, we know that the treachery has begun. Let us act, and at once, for even while I am urging you on, opportunities are pa.s.sing away."

These spirited words made no impression on Piso's somewhat sluggish and inactive nature. He was one of those men who are slow to move from their course, and have an inexhaustible supply of pa.s.sive endurance. He shrugged his shoulders.

"The Empire," he said, "does not approve itself to me if it is to be won in a street broil."

"I understand," said the soldier. "It would be more seemly, I acknowledge, if the Senate, headed by the Magistrates, and the Prefects, and Tribunes of the Praetorians, with the Vestal Virgins in the front of the whole procession, were to come and salute you as Emperor. But that is not the question. The question is this: You have two alternatives; think which suits your dignity, your name, your ancestors, the better. One is to put your fortune to the trial, if things go well, to be the successor of Augustus; if [257] the fates will otherwise, to die, sword in hand. The other is to wait here till Nero's myrmidons come to chain you, to drag you off to the place of execution; or, if the tyrant strains his prerogative of mercy to the utmost, to suffer you to fall on your own sword, or open your own veins."

Piso heard unmoved. His courage was of the pa.s.sive kind. He could meet death when it came with an undaunted face, but he could not go, so to speak, to seek it.

"The G.o.ds have declared against us, and I shall not resist their will. I thank you for your good-will and your counsel; but you must permit a Piso to judge for himself what best suits his own dignity and the glory of his ancestors. I am determined to await my fate."

The bold spirit of the Tribune was not crushed, nor his resources exhausted by this failure. There was still a possible claimant to the throne in Latera.n.u.s. He had not, it is true, the pretensions of Piso, neither his personal popularity nor his n.o.ble birth. Still, he had courage, favour with some cla.s.ses of the people, and a commanding presence. Here another disappointment awaited him. Latera.n.u.s had been arrested. Apparently, Nero had had the same thought that had occurred to the Praetorian, that the Consul-elect was among the dangerous characters of Rome. The house was in the utmost confusion; indeed, the soldiers had only just left it. Subrius' inquiries were [258] answered by the Chamberlain. He, poor man, came wringing his hands and weeping, overwhelmed, it was evident, by terror and grief. "Ah! my poor master," he said; "we shall never see him again. They hurried him off without a moment's notice."

"Who?" asked the soldier.

"Statius the Tribune," replied the Chamberlain, "who had some twenty men with him. He would not give him time even to say good by to his children. And when my poor master said, 'If I must die, let me die by my own hand,' even that was refused him. 'We allow nothing to traitors,' the brute answered. They bound him hand and foot and dragged him off."

"We allow nothing to traitors, indeed," murmured Subrius to himself. "What, I wonder, does Statius call himself? I hope that he, anyhow, will get his deserts."

Statius, it should be said, had been one of the most active promoters of the conspiracy.

Again the Tribune's hopes were dashed to the ground. Still he refused to think that all was lost. A last chance remained. The conspiracy had spread widely among his brother officers of the Praetorians; and they, at least, he hoped, would make a struggle for their lives. Civilians might be content to fold their arms and bare their necks to the sword of the executioner, but soldiers would die, if die they must, with arms in their hands. And then, if they wanted [259] a great name to catch the popular ear, was there not Seneca? I don't think much of philosophers," Subrius thought to himself, "but perhaps I may be wrong. Anyhow, the men of the world have failed us. They are as weak as water. Perhaps there may be sterner stuff in the man of books."

Obviously there was no time to be lost. He must hurry to the Praetorian camp at once, and urge Faenius Rufus, who was one of the joint Prefects, and, as we know, was involved in the conspiracy, to act.

Calling to the driver of a car which was plying for hire, he proceeded at the utmost speed to which the horse could be put, to the camp. Just outside the gate he met the officer of whom he was in search.

Rufus, who was on horseback, and was followed by an escort of ten troopers, signed to his brother officer to halt. "Well met, Subrius!" he cried. "I am on my way to the palace, and I want you to come with me. Give the Tribune your horse," he went on, turning to the orderly who was riding behind him; "go back and get a fresh mount for yourself, and come on after us."

The man dismounted and held the horse while the Tribune jumped into the saddle.

"Not a word," whispered the Prefect to his companion, as they rode along; "not a word; we must brave it out, and all may yet be well. But leave it to me.

[260] The Tribune had no choice but to obey. His superior officer's conduct was unintelligible, even astounding. Still he could do nothing. It would have been sheer madness for him, a simple Tribune, to stand up in the camp and bid the Praetorians abandon the Emperor. If such a movement was to begin at all it must begin with the Prefect. Meanwhile, he could only obey orders and possess his soul in patience.

Rufus, anxious, it would seem, not to give his subordinate a chance of any further speech, beckoned to the Centurion who was in command of the escort, and kept him in conversation till they reached the palace gates.

The two Praetorians were ushered into the chamber where Nero had just taken his seat, and was preparing to examine some of the prisoners who had been named by the informers. The Emperor was evidently in a state of great agitation and alarm, and Subrius observed that the detachment of the body-guard in attendance was exclusively composed of Germans. He hardly knew whether the circ.u.mstance was encouraging or not. For the present, indeed, it would make any attempt very difficult, if not impossible, but it was an ominous thing for Nero if he had begun to find that only barbarians could be trusted.

The Emperor signed to Rufus to take a seat immediately on his left hand, the chair on the right being occupied by Tigellinus. Subrius himself sat imme- [261] diately below his superior officer, and within a few feet of the Emperor.

The prisoner under examination at the moment was the poet Lucan. The Emperor and Tigellinus had been questioning him for some time, but hitherto with little or no result. He had denied all knowledge of the conspiracy. Still the keen eyes of his judges had not failed to perceive signs of waning courage. Nero whispered to Tigellinus, and the Minister beckoned to an attendant. The man drew aside a curtain and revealed the rack.

"Marcus Annacus Luca.n.u.s," said Tigellinus, using almost the same words that he had addressed to Scaevinus, "when the life of the Emperor is at stake, the law permits and even enjoins all means of discovering the truth."

The wretched man turned pale. Still he made an effort to brave it out. "You are more likely to wring out falsehood than truth by such means," he said in a faint voice.

"Of that you must leave us to judge," answered Tigellinus with a sneer.

The executioner advanced and laid his hand on the prisoner's shoulder. He started at the touch, and grew ghastly pale.

"Caesar," he cried, appealing as a last chance to the feelings of the Emperor, "Caesar, we were once friends, and worshipped the Muses together. Will you suffer this?"

[262] Nero only smiled. He had long ago steeled his heart against pity. Lucan he hated with that especially bitter hatred which wounded vanity sometimes inspires. He aspired to be a poet, as he aspired to be an actor, a singer, a charioteer, and he could not conceal from himself that the author of the Pharsalia far surpa.s.sed him.

Then the unhappy man's courage broke down. "Stop!" he cried, "I will confess. I am guilty of conspiring against the Emperor."

"That we know," said Tigellinus. "What we want to hear from you is the names of your confederates."

"Must I speak, Caesar?" moaned the wretched man. "Is it not enough that I have confessed the crime myself?"

"You have confessed nothing," said Nero. "Your guilt I knew already. And you I could afford to despise, for you can only strike with your pen, but doubtless you know others who know how to use their swords."

Lucan then gave two or three names, all of them, as it happened, already known.

"Still we have learnt nothing new from you," said Tigellinus. "If you wish to merit the Emperor's clemency, you must tell us something that we have not heard before."

In a voice half stifled with shame the accused said: "My mother knew of the affair almost as soon as I did."

[263] A thrill of disgust went through the audience as these humiliating words were uttered. Even to these men, hardened as they were, the son who could betray his own mother seemed a monster.

"That is enough," cried the Emperor, making a sign to a Centurion; "remove him!"

A shameful scene of baseness and cowardice followed. One after another the accused were brought before the tribunal; one after another they failed in the hour of trial. Men of n.o.ble birth, men who had served their country in high offices, and who had distinguished themselves in the field, could not summon up courage enough to endure this ordeal. Some volunteered confession, and neither force, nor even the threat of force, was needed to make them betray their comrades. Others stood firm at first, but failed when they were confronted with the engines of torture. Subrius sat filled with a disgust and a shame which hardly left him time to think of his own danger, as friend after friend, men of courage and honour as he had always believed them to be, proved themselves to be traitors and cowards.

As for the behaviour of Rufus, he watched it with ever increasing astonishment. The Prefect took an active part in the examination. Not even Tigellinus was more truculent, more savage, more brutal. He cross-examined the prisoners, he plied them with threats, and still by a strange agreement in silence, his name was not mentioned by one of them.

[264] "What is his plan?" thought Subrius to himself. "Can he hope that he will escape altogether, that no one out of these scores of accomplices will name him, or is he biding his time?"

"Tigellinus," said Nero to his Minister, after some six or seven confessions had been taken, "do you remember that Greek freedwoman whom Proculus accused? Let her be brought before us again. Perhaps she may have a different story to tell. Meanwhile, while she is being fetched, we will adjourn for a brief s.p.a.ce. A cup of Falernian will not be ungrateful after this morning's work."

He rose from his seat, and left the Court, leaning on the arm of Tigellinus. The Prefect of the Praetorians followed immediately behind, and the Tribune, again, was close to his commanding officer. Behind these again were some dozen German body-guards.

"Is this the chance that he has been waiting for?" said Subrius to himself.

"Shall I strike?" he whispered to the Prefect, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword.