The Gladiators. A Tale of Rome and Judæa
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CHAPTER VII
"HABET!"
Hippias, the fencing-master, had completed his preparations for the night.With a certain military instinct, as necessary to his profession as tothat of the legitimate soldier, he could rely upon his own dispositions,when they were once made, with perfect confidence, and a total absence ofanxiety for the result. Like all men habituated to constant strife, he wasnever so completely in his element as when surrounded by perils, only tobe warded off by cool, vigilant courage; and though he may have hadmoments in which he longed for the softer joys of affection and repose, itneeded but the clang of a buckler, or the gleam of a sword, to rouse himinto his fiercer self once more.
It had been his habit to attend Valeria, for the purpose of instructingher in swordsmanship, by an hour's practice on certain appointed days.Everything connected with the amphitheatre possessed at this period such amorbid fascination for all classes of the Roman people, that even ladiesof rank esteemed it a desirable accomplishment to understand the use ofthe sword; and it is said that on more than one occasion women of noblebirth had been known to take part in the deadly games themselves. These,however, were rare instances of such complete defiance of all modesty andeven natural feeling; but to thrust, and shout, and stamp, in the conflictof mimic warfare, was simply esteemed the regular exercise and the healthyexcitement of every patrician dame who aspired to a fashionablereputation. Such sudorifics, accompanied by excessive use of the bath anda free indulgence in slaking the thirst, arising from so severe a courseof treatment, must have been highly detrimental to female beauty; but eventhis consideration was postponed to the absorbing claims of fashion, andthen, as now, a woman was content and pleased to disfigure herself by anyprocess, however painful and inconvenient, providing other women did thesame.
It is possible, too, that the manly symmetry of form, the tough thews andsinews of their instructors, were not without effect on pupils, whosehearts softened in proportion as their muscles became hard, and whosewhole habits and education tended to interest them in the person andprofession of the gladiator. Be this as it may, the fencing-masters ofRome had but little time left on their hands, and, of these, Hippias wasdoubtless the most sought after by the fair. It was his custom to neglectnothing, however trifling, connected with his calling. No details were toosmall to be attended to by one whose daily profession taught him that lifeand victory might depend on the mere quiver of an eyelid, the accidentalslip of a buckle; and, besides, he took a strange pride in his deadlytrade, and especially in the methodical regularity with which he carriedit out. Though bound to-night for the desperate enterprise which shouldmake or mar him; though confident that, in either event, he would to-morrow be far beyond the necessities of a gladiator, it was part of hischaracter to play out his part thoroughly to-day. Valeria would expecthim, as usual, before the bathing-hour on the following morning. It wasbut decent he should leave a message at her house that he might bedetained. The very wording of his excuse brought to his mind thepossibilities of the next few hours--the many chances of failure in theenterprise, failure which, to him at least, the leader of desperate men,was synonymous with certain death.
To-day, for the first time, as he turned his steps towards her mansion, asoft, half-sorrowful, yet not unpleasing sensation stole into his heart asthe image of its mistress rose before him in all the pride of her statelybeauty. He had often admired the regularity of her haughty features--hadscanned, in his own critical way, with unqualified approval the lines ofher noble figure, and the symmetry of her firm, well-turned limbs; hadeven longed to touch that wealth of silken hair when it shook loose in herexertions, and yet--a strange sensation for such a man--had flinched andfelt oppressed when, placing her once in a position of defence, a tress ofit had fallen across his hand. Now, it seemed to him that he would givemuch to live those few moments over again; that he would like to see heronce more, if, indeed, as was probable, it would be for the last time;that there was no other woman to be compared with her in Rome; and that,with all her glowing beauty and all her physical attractions, her pridewas her greatest charm.
He was a desperate man, about to play a desperate game for life. Suchthoughts in such a heart and at such a time quicken with fearful rapidityinto evil. Admiration, untempered by the holier leavening of thataffection which can only exist in the breast that has kept itself pure,soon grows to cruelty and selfishness. The love of beauty, poisoned by thelove of strife, seethes into a fierce passionate longing, less that of thelover for his mistress than of the tiger for its prey. Valeria was a proudwoman, the proudest and the fairest in Rome. He drew his breath hard as hethought what a wild triumph it would be to bend that stately neck, andhumble that pride to his very feet. Methodical and soldierlike, he hadseen to everything with his own eyes. The plot was laid, the conspiratorswere armed and instructed, there was yet an hour or two to spare beforethe appointed gathering at the tribune's house, and that time he resolvedshould be devoted to Valeria; at least, he would feast his eyes once moreon that glorious beauty, of which he now seemed to acknowledge the fullpower. He would see her, would bid her farewell. She had always welcomedhim cordially and kindly; perhaps she would be sorry to lose himaltogether. He smiled a very evil smile, though his heart beat faster thanit had done since he was a boy, as he halted under the statue of Hermes inher porch.
And Valeria was sitting in her chamber, with her head buried in her hands,and her long brown hair sweeping like a mantle to her feet. All thefeelings that could most goad and madden a woman were tearing at herheart. She dared not--for the sake of tottering reason she dared not--thinkof the tribune's white face and dropping jaw, and limbs strewed helplesson the couch. She suffered the vision, indeed, to weigh upon her like someoppressive nightmare; but she abstained, with an effort of which she wasyet fully conscious, from analysing its meaning or recalling its details,above all, from considering its origin and its effect. No! the image ofEsca still filled her brain and her heart. Esca in the amphitheatre; Escachained and sleeping on the hard hot pavement; Esca walking by her sidethrough the shady streets; and Esca turning away with his noble figure andhis manly step, exulting in the liberty that set him free from _her_!
Then came a rush of those softer feelings, that were required to renderher torture unbearable: the sting of what might have been; the picture ofherself (she could see herself in her mind's eye--beautiful andfascinating, in all the advantages of dress and jewels) leaning on thatstrong arm, and the kind brave face looking down into hers with theprotective air that became it so well. To give him all; to tell him allshe had risked, all she had done for his sake, and to hear his lovingaccents in reply! She almost fancied in her dream that this had actuallycome to pass, so vividly did her heart imagine to itself its dearestlongings. Then she saw another figure in the place that ought to be herown--another face into which he was looking as he had never looked in hers.It was the dark-eyed girl's! The dark-eyed girl, who had been her rivalthroughout! Would she have done as much for him with her pale face and herfrightened, shrinking ways? And now, ere this, he had reached her home,was whispering in her ear, with his arm round her waist. Perhaps he wasboasting of the conquest he had made over the haughty Roman lady, andtelling her that he had scorned Valeria for her dear sake. Then all thatwas evil in her nature gained the ascendant, and with the bitterrecklessness that has ruined so many an undisciplined heart, she said toherself--"There is no reality but evil. Life is an illusion, and hope alie. It matters little what becomes of me now!"
When Myrrhina entered she found her lady busied in rearranging the foldsof her robe and her disordered tresses. It was no part of Valeria'scharacter to show by her outward bearing what was passing in her mind, andleast of all would she have permitted her attendant to guess at thehumiliation she had undergone. The waiting-maid, indeed, was a littlepuzzled; but she had gained so much knowledge, both by observation andexperience, of the strange effects produced by over-excitement on her sex,that she never s
uffered herself to be surprised at a feminine vagary ofany description. Now, though she wondered why Esca was gone, and why hermistress was so reserved and haughty, she refrained discreetly fromquestion or remark, contenting herself with a silent offer of herservices, and arranging the brown hair into a plaited coronet on Valeria'sbrows, without betraying by her manner that she was conscious anythingunusual had taken place.
After a few moments' silence, her mistress's voice was sufficientlysteadied for her to speak.
"I did not send for you," said she. "What do you want here?"
Myrrhina's hands were busied with the long silken tresses, and she held acomb between her teeth. Nevertheless, she answered volubly.
"I would not have disturbed you, madam, this warm, sultry evening--and Irebuked the porter soundly for letting him in; only as he said, to besure, he never was denied before, and I thought, perhaps, you would not bedispleased to see him, if it was only for a few minutes, and he seemed soanxious and hurried--and, indeed, he never has much time to spare, so Ibade him wait in the inner hall while I came to let you know."
Hoping even against hope! She knew it was impossible, yet her heart leaptas she thought--"Oh! if it were only Esca who had turned back!"
"I will see him," said she quietly, prolonging the illusion by purposelyavoiding to ask who this untimely visitor might be.
In another minute Hippias stood before her--Hippias, the fencing-master, aman in whose dangerous career she had always taken a vague interest; whosepersonal prowess she admired, and whose reputation, such as it was,possessed for her a wild fascination of its own. He was reckless, too,from the very nature of his profession; and she, in her present mood, morereckless, more desperate than any gladiator of them all. It would havedone her good to stand, with naked steel, against some fierce wild beastor deadly foe. There was nothing, she felt, that she could not dare to-day. Nerve and brain wound up to the highest pitch of excitement--heart andfeelings crushed, and wounded, and sore. When the reaction came, it wouldnecessarily be fatal; when the tide ebbed, it would leave a wearied,helpless sufferer on the shore.
Such was the frame of mind in which Valeria received the gladiator;outwardly impassive--for her colour did not even deepen, nor her breathcome quicker at his unexpected appearance--inwardly vexed by a conflict oftumultuous feelings, and longing for any change--any anodyne that coulddeaden or alleviate her pain. How could she but respond to his manly,respectful farewell? How could she but listen to the few burning words inwhich he spoke of long-suppressed and hopeless adoration, or pretend notto be interested in the desperate enterprise which he hinted might preventhis ever looking on her fair face again. He soothed her self-love; heroused her curiosity; he set her pride on its broken pedestal again, andpropped it with a strong, yet gentle hand; and so the two thunder-cloudsdrew nearer still and nearer, ere they met, to be destroyed and riven bythe lightning their own contact had engendered.