Neæra: A Tale of Ancient Rome

by Joel Chandler Harris

  CHAPTER XVII.

  Baffled and chafing, Plautia stretched herself on the couch again, and,this time, fell into a profound slumber, whilst her slave nodded anddozed, in company, upon a cushion at her feet.

  No sooner did the former awake, greatly refreshed, than one of herattendants glided into the room, saying that the Emperor's steward wasawaiting admittance to deliver a message. The handsome Greek was broughtin, and he handed her the tablets he bore. Plautia opened the missive, andfound it to be a scrawl in Caesar's own hand, desiring her company atbreakfast, or luncheon, by whichever term the Roman prandium may becalled.

  'His highness honours me,' she said frigidly; 'but I am not well, and mustbe excused.'

  'Does your ladyship wish me to take that message to Caesar?' said Zeno,with subdued regret in his tone.

  She nodded, and swept majestically into her dressing-room, where themirror gave her the satisfaction of beholding a recovered bloom in hercheeks. She had never been prostrated a day with sickness in her memory.Yet to accept a place of her own free will at the table of her jailer wasmonstrous--at least so her indignant thoughts ran at that moment.

  With recovered mental tone, her feminine curiosity began to indulge itselfin a more minute inspection of its surroundings than it had hitherto foundinclination for. In a small closet she came upon an array of femalevestments. Caesar and Capreae were in general forgotten for a period, amidthe rustle of beautiful and costly fabrics. Presently came anothermessage, that Charicles, the Emperor's physician, was in attendance, andwould see her at her convenience. Plautia gave a grim kind of smile, anddirected inquiry to be made who had sent the physician, and why. Theanswer was that it was by command of Caesar himself, who was muchconcerned to learn of her indisposition. He also said, that ifsufficiently recovered, he would expect to see her at the Imperial supper-table.

  'Say to Caesar I am grateful for his thoughtful attention,' said Plautia;'but my illness will not require a physician's aid, and will amend itselfby and by.'

  Contained in the rooms was a small library of books, and to these Plautiaat last turned her attention, when everything else had yielded its fullamusement. She lacked the fanciful and imaginative powers which areenslaved by books. She had no resources, no world within to draw upon,like the solitary dreamer or student, who usually finds his own companythe most entertaining. Her temperament was practical and her habitsactive. The resources of the great city, with its variety and bustle, hadnever failed to provide occupation to fill her time; but here, cooped inthe corner of a house, on an island, the situation was wholly different,and already loomed as a serious matter.

  She read for some time, and then was wearied. Her own thoughts hadremained passive too long, and began to reassert themselves very activelyto the subjection of her author. The book was finally tossed aside, andits reader betook herself to pacing ceaselessly and aimlessly through therooms, with her hands behind her back and her eyes bent on the floor. Shegave full rein to her thoughts, and they sought the deep-worn rut of theirformer fierce torrent, as naturally as the quivering needle-point seeksthe pole. Her brows grew dark and heavy once more. Suddenly she shutherself up alone.

  * * * * * * *

  There was a brighter gleam in the air when, after a time, she came forth.The small windows, high up, seemed more radiant, and outside, in theperistyle, there was even hazy sunlight. The storm had broken. The placeseemed to stifle her. Catching up a cloak she sought the garden. The heavygale had dropped into a steady, brisk breeze, fresh, bracing, and salt.The low, hurrying pall of gray vapours had melted away, and, far overhead,the clouds were luminous. They were shredding and breaking fast intofeathery masses. Here and there already peeped the deep blue of theheavens. The sea still tumbled its foamy billows far below, but, from thegreat elevation of the villa garden, the agitation was scarcelynoticeable. It seemed like a huge plain thickly flecked with snow, acrossthe surface of which moved gleaming halos of radiance shooting down fromthe sunny rifts overhead.

  Plautia, on reaching the door previously described as fixed in the highwall, turned to the palace attendants and bade them bring the means toopen it. They were visibly struck with embarrassment, but a tall handsomegirl, who seemed to have authority over the rest, was constrained to findan answer, as the brow of the lady began speedily to blacken over. Shesaid she would be obliged to go to the steward, having no authorityherself in the matter. Plautia bade her do so, and she hurried awayaccordingly. Presently she returned with the reply that the steward wasabsent in attendance on the Emperor, and that nothing could be done untilhis return. Plautia turned sharp on her heel, without a word, andcontinued her walk.

  In half an hour she was again within her room, attempting a perusal of herbook. But, though her eyes rested on the letters, she never read twentylines. Very soon she was again wandering here and there, aimlessly andwearily, under the influence of her disturbed thoughts. Presently shefound herself standing before the mirror of her dressing-room, gazing ather reflected face with an unconscious and preoccupied stare. Becomingattentive, or waking up, as it were, she noticed that either the freshbreeze out-of-doors, or else the ferment of her mind, or both combined,had more than restored the rich warmth of colour which was the crown ofher vivid type of beauty. Its brilliance was, perhaps, even a trifle morethan customary; yet it was magnificent, and no one understood that betterthan herself. She drew herself up, folded her arms across her ample bosom,and smiled sidelong at herself with proud satisfaction. A new idea hadpossessed her, and she nodded approvingly to herself. Her black orbssparkled with a careless, reckless light. One passion had ruled her, butthat was all over. She had drunk to the dregs of the anguish whichstimulates despair, and she would meet Caesar on his own ground. Weariedand harassed beyond her patience by the disappointment which poisoned herthoughts, and which was yet increased by the unaccustomed restriction andmonotony of her position, she rushed from the idea of remaining passivelywatching. With the recklessness of a gamester who has lost all, she wouldgo boldly forth. To act on the aggressive, with such potent weapons as herwit and beauty, would be more likely to achieve her liberty, than standingdefiantly at bay in the corner of a cage. It might, moreover, bring hermore than mere liberty. She knew not what fate might have in store forher; and, in truth, she cared little. At least she might calculate uponthe relief of some amount of novelty and excitement. It is better to diein a dash for liberty, than to lie and rot away in a dungeon.

  It was then resolved. She would recover from her indisposition, and appearat Caesar's supper-table, wreathed with smiles and graciousness. It mightbe called a feminine masked reconnaissance in force.

  She, therefore, caused her intention to become known to the domestics whenthe hour for supper approached; and through them it was conveyed to theImperial ears. To arm herself was the next and most important business.Her own wardrobe, under the circumstances of her visit, was most humbleand scanty; but, in the plentiful supply already alluded to, she hadneither difficulty nor scruple in selecting an attire to her satisfaction.The protracted and minute process of the toilet completed, she stood forthbrilliant, peerless, and resistless. The admiration of the women brokeforth in murmurs as she swept on in the wake of Zeno and his people, whohad come to marshal her to table.

  * * * * * * *

  From supper, at a late hour, she went back to her room triumphant.Exultation shone in her eyes, and, for a time at least, lulled thesticking pain in her heart.

  Copious floods of wine flashed in Caesar's cup, whilst his gaze wasriveted on the matchless beauty of his guest. The cool-headed, temperatePrefect, whom the Emperor had purposely brought into unexpected contactwith his guest, looked on and laughed in his sleeve. On Plautia, at times,he bestowed an ironical smile, the spirit of which she defined, andresented inwardly. Atticus, Flaccus, and Marinus, three devoted personalfriends of the Emperor, drank their wine, gazed their fill at the superbwoman, listened to her lively wit, and
gave back what they could of theirown, in an excited ecstasy and jauntiness of foolish middle-age. The nightwaxed, and the faces of the waiting slaves grew weary. But the wine stillsplashed into the gold goblet of Caesar, and his eyes scarce moved fromthe girl before him. These only betrayed him to the watchful; for hisslow, cautious tongue, scarcely looser with wine, said little. The timeflew on. Draught followed draught still faster, until Plautia rose to go.The pallid face of Tiberius had become gradually suffused with a fainttint of the warm floods which were pouring through his veins. His kindlingeyes had begun to sparkle and blaze like a basilisk's. The swift-witteddamsel seized the moment, and, with the briefest delay, left the table andthe room.

  The rich jewel which had set the ring was gone. The flame in the Emperor'seyes lacked its fuel, and quickly sank like the chilling embers of fire.His gaze became a vacant stare, and then swiftly relapsed into the glassystupidity of intoxication: but all in complete silence. The remaining sixmen, after a parting cup, took their leave of their Imperial host, whomade no sign in response.

  One of the guests walked away from the palace, under the bright stars,with a hot brow, and tumult in his breast. The Prefect, his companion,suddenly startled the quiet night air with a loud laugh.

  'Is she not clever, my Titus? Is she not superb? Did she not play a prettygame? Ha! ha! ha! Is it not a droll world this of ours? An emperorbesotted on what a poor centurion has spurned! Wouldst thou have turned agoddess adrift who had knelt to thee? O, mighty Centurion! O, poor Caesar!Was she ever so glorious as to-night? But hark you--it was false fire. Icaught the spurious tone--did you not, Afer? But she was incomparable--doyou not hear, my friend?'

  Afer ground his teeth, and muttered something unintelligibly between hislips.

  'She was, do you say? You are insufferably dull, my friend. You have drunktoo much, or not enough. It is lucky our companionship is only to beshort. Here is my way! _Vale!_ sleep off your sombre fit!' Afer went on,but not to his bed. He burned with a fever which could not endure thecramping walls of his lodging.

  The first faint, luminous gleam of dawn in the eastern sky found himwatching, motionless, under the walls of the villa Jovis, and then, andnot until then, he went away homeward.