Vergilius Part 8

"And then?" it was the inquiry of Julia.

"He will forget her and she will grow weary and yield. There's time enough, and time"--he took a little mirror from the table and looked down upon it--"can accomplish many things," he added. "It will have the a.s.sistance of fame and honor and new faces. Now go, I beg of you, and leave me to my work."

A delegation of Jews--petty merchants of the Trastevere--were leaving as Vergilius entered. The emperor, now alone save for his young caller, rose and gave him a sprig of laurel.

"Sit here," said he, resuming his seat and pausing for a little to study a sheet of vellum in his hands. He continued, without raising his eyes: "I have another test for you, my fair son. You shall be a.s.sistant procurator in Jerusalem, with rank of tribune. It may be you shall have command of the castle. Three days from now take the south road with Manius and a troop of horse. This court of Herod--of course, I am speaking kindly, my dear Vergilius--but, you may know, it is a place of mysteries, and there are many things I do not need to _say_ to _you_."

The old emperor, leaning forward, touched the arm of the young man and gave him a cunning glance.

"A cipher," he added, pa.s.sing the sheet of vellum. "It will be known to you and to me only. You will understand what I wish to know. You shall have command of a cohort."

Vergilius thought for a second of that strange overhauling of Manius the night before, and of the shrewdness of the great father in returning him, kindly, to his task, with a pair of eyes to keep watch of him.

"With all my heart I thank you," said the young knight. "But--my beloved father--I was hoping to marry and--and know the path of peace."

"But I am sure you will wait two years--only two years," said the other, rising with extended hands. "There is time enough; and remember, whether to peace or war, your path is that of duty.

Farewell!"

It was a way he had of commanding, kindly but inexorable, and Vergilius knew it. Again he spoke as the knight turned away.

"This young Antipater--do you know him?"

"Not well."

"But, possibly, well enough," said the emperor, with a knowing look.

Then, casually: "Oh, there is yet a little matter--that new king the Jews are looking for--if he should come, I suppose he will report to me, but--but let me know what you learn. Study the Jewish faith and discover what this hope is founded upon." Then he turned quickly and went away.

This "little matter" counted much with the shrewd emperor. Kings were his puppets, and if there were to be a new one he must, indeed, consider what to do with him. Yet he had shame of his interest in "that foolish gossip" of an alien race. Therefore he put it only as a trifling after-thought. But he had a way of talking with his eyes, and the alert youth read them well.

That elation of the young lover now had its boundary of thoughtfulness.

Going down the Palatine, he was also descending his hill of happiness.

Below him, in the Forum, he could see the golden mile-stone of Augustus, now like a pillar of fire in the sunlight; he could see the beginning of those many roads radiating from it to far peripheries of the empire. Tens of thousands had turned their backs upon it, leaving with slow feet, some to live in distant, inhospitable lands, some to die of fever and the sword, some to return forgotten of their kindred, and some few with laurels of renown; but all of these many who went away were leaving, for long or forever, love and home and peace.

"The army is sucking our blood, and Hate grows while Love is starving,"

Vergilius reflected, as he went along, while a hideous, unwelcome thought grew slowly, creeping over him. This golden mile-stone was the centre of a great spider-web laced by road and sea way to the far corners of the empire; and that cunning, alert man--who was he but the spider?

"And I--what am I, now, but one of his flies caught in the mighty web?"

he thought. "Love and its peace have come to me and I shall know them--for three days--and perhaps no longer."

His wealth and rank and influence might, if used with diplomacy, have kept him at home, for, after all, he was a Varro; but Arria had been used to press him into bondage.

"Another test!" he said to himself. "Ah, what a cunning old fox! He needed a spy, and one of character and n.o.ble blood. How well he tested my cleverness! And now I am his, body and soul."

CHAPTER 7

While Vergilius, going slowly, was thinking of these things, Vanity, the only real G.o.ddess who, in Rome, managed the great theatre of fashion, had her stage set for a love scene. It was to occur in the triclinium, or great banquet-hall, of a palace--that of the Lady Lucia.

There were portrait-masks and mural paintings on either wall; ancestral statues of white marble stood in a row against the red wall; there were seats and divans of ebony enriched by cunning hands; lamp-holders of wrought metal standing high as a man's head, and immense violet rugs on the floor. The heroine wore a white robe banded low with purple, and her jewelled hair was in fillets of gold. There was always a pretty artfulness in the match-making of a patrician beauty and her mother.

Indeed, life had grown far from elemental emotions.

"Now, when he enters," said the girl, turning to the Lady Lucia, "I shall bring him here at once and sit down by this heap of cushions, and then--Oh, G.o.d of my heart! What shall I do with that big man--what shall I say to him?"

"My dear, he will speak, and then you will know what to say," said the matron. "Only do not let him know that you love him--at least, not for a time yet."

"Too late; I fear he knows it now--the wretch!" said Arria, rubbing her cheeks to make them glow.

"But mind you hold him off, and do not let him caress you for an hour at least. One kiss and one only."

"One!" the girl repeated, with contempt. "How ungenerous are the old!"

"Hard to count are a lover's kisses," her mother answered, with a sigh.

"But you can use them up in a day. Really, you can use them up all in a day."

"A day full of kisses! Oh, heart of me! Think of it!" said the beautiful girl, covering her face a moment. "I will not have the yellow cushions," she added, quickly. "Here, take these and bring me two violet ones, and that cushion of gauze filled with rose leaves. I will have that in my lap when we are sitting here. Now what do you think of the colors?" she demanded.

"Beautiful! And best of all that in your cheeks. I doubt not he will worship you."

"Or he is no kind of a man," said Arria, thoughtfully. "Oh, son of Varro! come, I am waiting. If he takes me in his arms, what shall I do?"

"Thrust him aside--tell him that you do not like it."

"And what shall I do if he does not?"

"Bid him go at once. We have no need of any half-men."

"But he will," said the girl, with a worried look. "He shall embrace me--he shall, or--or I will bid my brother kill him. Oh, wretch!" She jumped to her feet with a merry cry. "I have an idea," she added, clapping her hands. "When the sunlight falls on the floor yonder, I will get up and dance in it."

"A pretty trick!" said her mother.

"Oh, son of Varro! why do you not come?" said the girl, impatiently.

"I love him so I could die for him--I could die for him! Perhaps he loves me not and I shall never see him again."

She hurried to the outer court, whispering anxiously: "Come, son of Varro. Oh, come quickly, son of Varro!"

When Vergilius arrived Arria was waiting for him there in the court of the palace. Her white silk rustled as she ran to meet him. Her cheeks had the pink of roses and her eyes a glow in them like that of diamonds. She stopped as he came near, and turned away.

"Tears?" said he, leaning down, with his arms about her. "Oh, love, let me see your face!"

She turned quickly with a little toss of her head and took a step backward.

"You shall not call me love," said she--"not yet. You have not told me that you love me."

"I told all who were at the palace of the great father."

"But you have not told me, son of Varro."