The Roman Traitor, Vol. 1

by Henry William Herbert

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE DISCLOSURE.

  Maria montesque polliceri caepit, Minari interdum ferro, nisi obnoxia foret. SALLUST.

  A woman, master. LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

  Among all those of Senatorial rank--and they were very many--who wereparticipants of the intended treason, one alone was absent from theassemblage of the Order on that eventful night.

  The keen unquiet eye of the arch-traitor missed Curius from his place, asit ran over the known faces of the conspirators, on whom he reckoned forsupport.

  Curius was absent.

  Nor did his absence, although it might well be, although indeed it _was_,accidental, diminish anything of Catiline's anxiety. For, though he fullybelieved him trusty and faithful to the end, though he felt that the manwas linked to him indissolubly by the consciousness of common crimes, heknew him also to be no less vain than he was daring. And, while he had nofear of intentional betrayal, he apprehended the possibility ofinvoluntary disclosures, that might be perilous, if not fatal, in thepresent juncture.

  It has been left on record of this Curius, by one who knew him well, andwas himself no mean judge of character, that he possessed not the facultyof concealing any thing he had heard, or even of dissembling his owncrimes; and Catiline was not one to overlook or mistake so palpable aweakness.

  But the truth was, that knowing his man thoroughly, he was aware that,with the bane, he bore about with him, in some degree, its antidote. Forso vast and absurd were his vain boastings, and so needless hisexaggerations of his own recklessness, blood-thirstiness, and crime, thathitherto his vaporings had excited rather ridicule than fear.

  The time was however coming, when they were to awaken distrust, and leadto disclosure.

  It was perfectly consistent with the audacity of Catiline--an audacity,which, though natural, stood him well in stead, as a mask to cover deepdesigns--that even now, when he felt himself to be more than suspected,instead of avoiding notoriety, and shunning the companionship of hisfellow traitors, he seemed to covet observation, and to display himself inconnection with his guilty partners, more openly than heretofore.

  But neither Lentulus, nor Vargunteius, nor the Syllae, nor any other of theplotters had seen Curius, or could inform him of his whereabout. And, erethey separated for the night, amid the crash of the contending elementsabove, and the roar of the turbulent populace below, doubt, and almostdismay, had sunk into the hearts of several the most daring, so far asmere mortal perils were to be encountered, but the most abject, whensuperstition was joined with conscious guilt to appal and confound them.

  Catiline left the others, and strode away homeward, more agitated andunquiet than his face or words, or anything in his demeanor, except hisirregular pace, and fitful gestures indicated.

  Dark curses quivered unspoken on his tongue--the pains of hell were in hisheart already.

  Had he but known the whole, how would his fury have blazed out intoinstant action.

  At the very moment when the Senate was so suddenly convoked on thePalatine, a woman of rare loveliness waited alone, in a rich andvoluptuous chamber of a house not far removed from the scene of thosegrave deliberations.

  The chamber, in which she reclined alone on a pile of soft cushions, mightwell have been the shrine of that bland queen of love and pleasure, ofwhom its fair tenant was indeed an assiduous votaress. For there wasnothing, which could charm the senses, or lap the soul in luxurious andeffeminate ease, that was not there displayed.

  The walls glowed with the choicest specimens of the Italian pencil, andthe soft tones and harmonious colouring were well adapted to the subjects,which were the same in all--voluptuous and sensual love.

  Here Venus rose from the crisp-smiling waves, in a rich atmosphere oflight and beauty--there Leda toyed with the wreathed neck and ruffledplumage of the enamoured swan--in this compartment, Danae lay warm andlanguid, impotent to resist the blended power of the God's passion and hisgold--in that, Ariadne clung delighted to the bosom of the rosy wine-God.

  The very atmosphere of the apartment was redolent of the richest perfumes,which streamed from four censers of chased gold placed on a tallcandelabra of wrought bronze in the corners of the room. A bowl of stainedglass on the table was filled with musk roses, the latest of the year; andseveral hyacinths in full bloom added their almost overpowering scent tothe aromatic odours of the burning incense.

  Armed chairs, with downy pillows, covered with choice embroidered clothsof Calabria, soft ottomans and easy couches, tables loaded with implementsof female luxury, musical instruments, drawings, and splendidlyilluminated rolls of the amatory bards and poetesses of the Egean islands,completed the picture of the boudoir of the Roman beauty.

  And on a couch piled with the Tyrian cushions, which yielded to the softimpress of her lovely form, well worthy of the splendid luxury with whichshe was surrounded, lay the unrivalled Fulvia, awaiting her expectedlover.

  If she was lovely in her rich attire, as she appeared at the board ofCatiline, with jewels in her bosom, and her bright ringlets of luxuriantgold braided in fair array, far lovelier was she now, as she lay therereclined, with those bright ringlets all dishevelled, and falling in aflood of wavy silken masses, over her snowy shoulders, and palpitatingbosom; with all the undulating outlines of her superb form, unadorned, andbut scantily concealed by a loose robe of snow-white linen.

  Her face was slightly flushed with a soft carnation tinge, her blue eyesgleamed with unusual brightness. And by the fluttering of her bosom, andthe nervous quivering of her slender fingers, as they leaned on a tripodof Parian marble which stood beside the couch, it was evident that she waslabouring under some violent excitement.

  "He comes not," she said. "And it is waxing late. He has again failed me!and if he have--ruin--ruin!--Debts pressing me in every quarter, and no hopebut from him. Alfenus the usurer will lend no more--my farms all mortgagedto the utmost, a hundred thousand sesterces of interest, due these lastCalends, and unpaid as yet. What can I do?--what hope for? In him there isno help--none! Nay! It is vain to think of it; for he is amorous as ever,and, could he raise the money, would lavish millions on me for one kiss.No! _he_ is bankrupt too; and all his promises are but wild emptyboastings. What, then, is left to me?" she cried aloud, in the intensityof her perturbation. "Most miserable me! My creditors will seize onall--all--all! and poverty--hard, chilling, bitter poverty, is staring in myface even now. Ye Gods! ye Gods! And I can not--can not live poor. No morerich dainties, and rare wines! no downy couches and soft perfumes! Nomusic to induce voluptuous slumbers! no fairy-fingered slaves to fan thelanguid brow into luxurious coolness! No revelry, no mirth, no pleasure!Pleasure that is so sweet, so enthralling! Pleasure for which I have livedonly, without which I must die! _Die_! By the great Gods! I _will_ die!What avails life, when all its joys are gone? Or what is death, but onemomentary pang, and then--quiet? Yes! I will die. And the world shall learnthat the soft Epicurean can vie with the cold Stoic in carelessness ofliving, and contempt of death--that the warm votaress of Aphrodite canspend her glowing life-blood as prodigally as the stern follower ofVirtue! Lucretia died, and was counted great and noble, because she carednot to survive her honour! Fulvia will perish, wiser, as soon as she shallhave outlived her capacity for pleasure!"

  She spoke enthusiastically, her bright eyes flashing a strange fire, andher white bosom panting with the strong and passionate excitement; but ina moment her mood was changed. A smile, as if at her own vehemence, curledher lip; her glance lost its quick, sharp wildness. She clapped her handstogether, and called aloud,

  "Ho! AEgle! AEgle!"

  And at the call a beautiful Greek girl entered the chamber, voluptuous asher mistress in carriage and demeanor, and all too slightly robed formodesty, in garments that displayed far more than they concealed of herrare symmetry.

  "Bring wine, my girl," cried Fulvia; "the richest Massic; and, hark thee,fetch thy lyre. My soul is dark to-night, and c
raves a joyous note tokindle it to life and rapture."

  The girl bowed and retired; but in a minute or two returned, accompaniedby a dark-eyed Ionian, bearing a Tuscan flask of the choice wine, and agoblet of crystal, embossed with emeralds and sapphires, imbedded, by aprocess known to the ancients but now lost, in the transparent glass.

  A lyre of tortoiseshell was in the hands of AEgle, and a golden plectrumwith which to strike its chords; she had cast loose her abundant tressesof dark hair, and decked her brows with a coronal of myrtle mixed withroses, and as she came bounding with sinuous and graceful gestures throughthe door, waving her white arms with the dazzling instruments aloft, shemight have represented well a young priestess of the Cyprian queen, or thelight Muse of amorous song.

  The other girl filled out a goblet of the amber-coloured wine, thefragrance of which overpowered, for a moment, as it mantled on thegoblet's brim, the aromatic perfumes which loaded the atmosphere of theapartment.

  And Fulvia raised it to her lips, and sipped it slowly, and delightedly,suffering it to glide drop by drop between her rosy lips, to linger on herpleased palate, luxuriating in its soft richness, and dwelling long andrapturously on its flavour.

  After a little while, the goblet was exhausted, a warmer hue came into hervelvet cheeks, a brighter spark danced in her azure eyes, and as shemotioned the Ionian slave-girl to replenish the cup and place it on thetripod at her elbow, she murmured in a low languid tone,

  "Sing to me, now--sing to me, AEgle."

  And in obedience to her word the lovely girl bent her fair form over thelute, and, after a wild prelude full of strange thrilling melodies, pouredout a voice as liquid and as clear, aye! and as soft, withal, as thenightingale's, in a soft Sapphic love-strain full of the glorious poetryof her own lovely language.

  Where in umbrageous shadow of the greenwood Buds the gay primrose i' the balmy spring time; Where never silent, Philomel, the wildest Minstrel of ether,

  Pours her high notes, and caroling, delighted In the cool sun-proof canopy of the ilex Hung with ivy green or a bloomy dog-rose Idly redundant,

  Charms the fierce noon with melody; in the moonbeam Where the coy Dryads trip it unmolested All the night long, to merry dithyrambics Blissfully timing

  Their rapid steps, which flit across the knot grass Lightly, nor shake one flower of the blue-bell; Where liquid founts and rivulets o' silver Sweetly awaken

  Clear forest echoes with unearthly laughter; There will I, dearest, on a bank be lying Where the wild thyme blows ever, and the pine tree Fitfully murmurs

  Slumber inspiring. Come to me, my dearest, On the fresh greensward, as a downy bride-bed, Languid, unzoned, and amorous, reclining; Like Ariadne,

  When the blythe wine-God, from Olympus hoary, Wooed the soft mortal tremulously yielding All her enchantments to the mighty victor-- Happy Ariadne!

  There will I, dearest, every frown abandon; Nor do thou fear, nor hesitate to press me, Since, if I chide, 'tis but a girl's reproval, Faintly reluctant.

  Doubt not I love thee, whether I return thy Kisses in delight, or avert demurely Lips that in truth burn to be kissed the closer, Eyes that avoid thee,

  Loth to confess how amorously glowing Pants the fond heart. Oh! tarry not, but urge me Coy to consent; and if a blush alarm thee, Shyly revealing

  Sentiments deep as the profound of Ocean, If a sigh, faltered in an hour of anguish, Seem to implore thee--pity not. The maiden Often adores thee

  Most if offending. Never, oh! believe me, Did the faint-hearted win a girl's devotion, Nor the true girl frown when a youth disarmed her Dainty denial.

  While she was yet singing, the curtains which covered the door were putquietly aside, and with a noiseless step Curius entered the apartment,unseen by the fair vocalist, whose back was turned to him, and made a signto Fulvia that she should not appear to notice his arrival.

  The haggard and uneasy aspect, which was peculiar to this man--thecare-worn expression, half-anxious and half-jaded, which has beenpreviously described, was less conspicuous on this occasion than ever ithad been before, since the light lady loved him. There was a feverishflush on his face, a joyous gleam in his dark eye, and a self-satisfiedsmile lighting up all his features, which led her to believe at first thathe had been drinking deeply; and secondly, that by some means or other hehad succeeded in collecting the vast sum she had required of him, as theunworthy price of future favours.

  In a minute or two, the voluptuous strain ended; and, ere she knew thatany stranger listened to her amatory warblings, the arm of Curius waswound about her slender waist, and his half-laughing voice was ringing inher ear,

  "Well sung, my lovely Greek, and daintily advised!--By my faith! sweet one,I will take thee at thy word!"

  "No! no!" cried the girl, extricating herself from his arms, by an elasticspring, before his lips could touch her cheek. "No! no! you shall not kissme. Kiss Fulvia, she is handsomer than I am, and loves you too. Come,Myrrha, let us leave them."

  And, with an arch smile and coquettish toss of her pretty head, she dartedthrough the door, and was followed instantly by the other slave-girl, welltrained to divine the wishes of her mistress.

  "_AEgle_ is right, by Venus!" exclaimed Curius, drawing nearer to hismistress; "you are more beautiful to-night than _ever_."

  "Flatterer!" murmured the lady, suffering him to enfold her in his arms,and taste her lips for a moment. But the next minute she withdrew herselffrom his embrace, and said, half-smiling, half-abashed, "But flattery willnot pay my debts. Have you brought me the moneys for Alfenus, my sweetCurius? the hundred thousand sesterces, you promised me?"

  "Perish the dross!" cried Curius, fiercely. "Out on it! when I come toyou, burning with love and passion, you cast cold water on the flames, byyour incessant cry for gold. By all the Gods! I do believe, that you loveme only for that you can wring from my purse."

  "If it be so," replied the lady, scornfully, "I surely do not love youmuch; seeing it is three months, since you have brought me so much as aring, or a jewel for a keepsake! But you should rather speak the truth outplainly, Curius," she continued, in an altered tone, "and confess honestlythat you care for me no longer. If you loved me as once you did, you wouldnot leave me to be goaded by these harpies. Know you not--why do I ask? you_do_ know that my house, my slaves, nay! that my very jewels and mygarments, are mine but upon sufferance. It wants but a few days of thecalends of November, and if they find the interest unpaid, I shall be castforth, shamed, and helpless, into the streets of Rome!"

  "Be it so!" answered Curius, with an expression which she could notcomprehend. "Be it so! Fulvia; and if it be, you shall have any house inRome you will, for your abode. What say you to Cicero's, in the Carinae? orthe grand portico of Quintus Catulus, rich with the Cimbric spoils? or,better yet, that of Crassus, with its Hymettian columns, on the Palatine?Aye! aye! the speech of Marcus Brutus was prophetic; who termed it, theother day, the house of _Venus_ on the Palatine! And you, my love, shallbe the goddess of that shrine! It shall be yours _to-morrow_, if youwill--so you will drive away the clouds from that sweet brow, and let thoseeyes beam forth--by all the Gods!"--he interrupted himself--"I _will_ kissthee!"

  "By all the Gods! thou shalt not--now, nor for evermore!" she replied, inher turn growing very angry.--"Thou foolish and mendacious boaster! what?dost thou deem me mad or senseless, to assail me with such drivellingfolly? Begone, fool! or I will call my slaves--I _have_ slaves yet, and, ifit be the last deed of service they do for me, they shall spurn thee, likea dog, from my doors.--Art thou insane, or only drunken, Curius?" sheadded, breaking off from her impetuous railing, into a cool sarcastictone, that stung him to the quick.


  "You shall see whether of the two, Harlot!" he replied furiously,thrusting his hand into the bosom of his tunic, as if to seek a weapon.

  "Harlot!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet, the hot blood rushing toher brow in torrents--"dare you say this to me?"

  "Dare! do you call this daring?" answered the savage. "This? what wouldyou call it, then, to devastate the streets of Rome with flame andfalchion--to hurl the fabric of the state headlong down from the blazingCapitol--to riot in the gore of senators, patricians, consulars!--What, toaspire to be the lords and emperors of the universe?"

  "What mean you?" she exclaimed, moved greatly by his vehemence, andbeginning to suspect that this was something more than his mere ordinaryboasting and exaggeration. "What can you mean? oh! tell me; if you do loveme, as you once did, tell me, Curius!" and with rare artifice she alteredher whole manner in an instant, all the expression of eye, lip, tone andaccent, from the excess of scorn and hatred, to blandishment and fawningsoftness.

  "No!" he replied sullenly. "I will not tell you--no! You doubt me, distrustme, scorn me--no! I will tell you nothing! I will have all I wish or askfor, on my own terms--you shall grant all, or die!"

  And he unsheathed his dagger, as he spoke, and grasping her wristviolently with his left hand, offered the weapon at her throat with hisright--"You shall grant all, or die!"

  "Never!"--she answered--"never!" looking him steadily yet softly in theface, with her beautiful blue eyes. "To fear I will never yield, whateverI may do, to love or passion. Strike, if you will--strike a weak woman, andso prove your daring--it will be easier, if not so noble, as slayingsenators and consuls!"

  "Perdition!" cried the fierce conspirator, "I _will_ kill her!" And withthe word he raised his arm, as if to strike; and, for a moment, the guiltyand abandoned sensualist believed that her hour was come.

  Yet she shrunk not, nor quailed before his angry eye, nor uttered any cryor supplication. She would have died that moment, as carelessly as she hadlived. She would have died, acting out her character to the last sand oflife, with the smile on her lip, and the soft languor in her melting eye,in all things an Epicurean.

  But the fierce mood of Curius changed. Irresolute, and impotent of evil,in a scarce less degree than he was sanguinary, rash, unprincipled, andfearless, it is not one of the least strange events, connected with aconspiracy the whole of which is strange, and much almost inexplicable,that a man so wise, so sagacious, so deep-sighted, as the arch traitor,should have placed confidence in one so fickle and infirm of purpose.

  His knitted brow relaxed, the hardness of his eye relented, he cast thedagger from him.

  The next moment, suffering the scarf to fall from her white and dazzlingshoulders, the beautiful but bad enchantress flung herself upon his bosom,in the abandonment of her dishevelled beauty, winding her snowy arms abouthis neck, smothering his voice with kisses.

  A moment more, and she was seated on his knee, with his left arm about herwaist, drinking with eager and attentive ears, that suffered not a singledetail to escape them, the fullest revelation of that atrocious plot, thedays, the very hours of action, the numbers, names, and rank of theconspirators!

  A woman's infamy rewarded the base villain's double treason! A woman'sinfamy saved Rome!

  Two hours later, the crash and roar of the hurricane and earthquake cutshort their guilty pleasures. Curius rushed into the streets headlong,almost deeming that the insurrection might have exploded prematurely, andfound it--more than half frustrated.

  Fulvia, while yet the thunder rolled, and the blue lightning flashed aboveher head, and the earth reeled beneath her footsteps, went forth, strongin the resolution of that Roman patriotism, which, nursed by theinstitutions of the age, and the pride of the haughty heart, stood withher, as it did with so many others, in lieu of any other principle, of anyother virtue.

  Closely veiled, unattended even by a single slave, that delicate luxurioussinner braved the wild fury of the elements; braved the tumultuous frenzy,and more tumultuous terror, of the disorganised and angry populace; bravedthe dark superstition, which crept upon her as she marked the awfulportents of that night, and half persuaded her to the belief that therewere Powers on high, who heeded the ways, punished the crimes of mortals.

  And that strange sense grew on her more and more, though she resisted it,incredulous, when after a little while she sat side by side with the wiseand virtuous Consul, and marked the calmness, almost divine, of histhoughtful benignant features, as he heard the full details of the awfulcrisis, heretofore but suspected, in which he stood, as if upon the vergeof a scarce slumbering volcano.

  What passed between that frail woman, and the wise orator, none ever fullyknew. But they parted--on his side with words of encouragement andkindness--on her's with a sense of veneration approaching almost toreligious awe.

  And the next day, the usurer Alfenus received in full the debt, bothprincipal and interest, which he had long despaired of touching.

  But when the Great Man stood alone in his silent study, that strange andunexpected interview concluded, he turned his eyes upward, not looking,even once, toward the sublime bust of Jupiter which stood before him,serene in more than mortal grandeur; extended both his arms, and prayed insolemn accents--

  "All thanks to thee, Omnipotent, Ubiquitous, Eternal, ONE! whom we, vainfools of fancy, adore in many forms, and under many names; invest with thelow attributes of our own earthy nature; enshrine in mortal shapes, andhuman habitations! But thou, who wert, before the round world was, or theblue heaven o'erhung it; who wilt be, when those shall be no longer,--thoupardonest our madness, guidest our blindness, guardest our weakness. Thou,by the basest and most loathed instruments, dost work out thy great ends.All thanks, then, be to thee, by whatsoever name thou wouldest beaddressed; to thee, whose dwelling is illimitable space, whose essence isin every thing that we behold, that moves, that is--to thee whom I hail,GOD! For thou hast given it to me to save my country. And whether I dienow, by this assassin's knife, or live a little longer to behold thesafety I establish, I have lived long enough, and am content todie!--Whether this death be, as philosophers have told us, a dreamless,senseless, and interminable trance; or, as I sometimes dream, a brief andpassing slumber, from which we shall awaken into a purer, brighter,happier being--I have lived long enough! and when thou callest me, willanswer to thy summons, glad and grateful! For Rome, at least, survives me,and shall perchance survive, 'till time itself is ended, the Queen ofUniversal Empire!"