CHAPTER I.
A BRITISH CAESAR.
"Hail! Caesar Emperor, the starving salute thee!"(1) and the speaker made amilitary salute to a silver coin, evidently brand-new from the mint (whichdid not seem, by the way, to turn out very good work), and bearing thesuperscription, "Gratianus Caesar Imperator Felicissimus." He was a soldierof middle age, whose jovial face did not show any sign of the fate whichhe professed to have so narrowly escaped, and formed one of a group whichwas lounging about the _Quaestorium_, or, as we may put it, the paymaster'soffice of the camp at the head of the Great Harbour.(2) A very curiousmedley of nationalities was that group. There were Gauls; there wereGermans from the Rhine bank, some of them of the pure Teuton type, withfair complexions, bright blue eyes, and reddish golden hair, andremarkably tall of stature, others showing an admixture of the Celticblood of their Gallic neighbours in their dark hair and hazel eyes; therewere swarthy Spaniards, fierce-looking men from the Eastern Adriatic,showing some signs of Greek parentage in their regular features andgraceful figures; there were two or three who seemed to have an admixtureof Asian or even African blood in them; it might be said, in fact, therewere representatives of every province of the Empire, Italy only excepted.They had been just receiving their pay, long in arrear, and nowconsiderably short of the proper amount, and containing not a few coinswhich the receivers seemed to think of doubtful value.
"Let me look at his Imperial Majesty," said another speaker; and hescanned the features of the new Caesar--features never very dignified, andcertainly not flattered by the rude coinage--with something like contempt."Well, he does not look exactly as a Caesar should; but what does itmatter? This will go down with Rufus at the wine-shop and Priscus thesausage-seller, as well as the head of the great Augustus himself."
"Ah!" said a third speaker, picking out from a handful of silver a coinwhich bore the head of Theodosius, "this was an Emperor worth fightingunder. I made my first campaign with him against Maximus, another BritishCaesar, by the way; and he was every inch a soldier. If his son were likehim(3) things would be smoother than they are."
"Do you think," said the second speaker, after first throwing a cautiousglance to see whether any officer of rank was in hearing--"do you think wehave made a change for the better from Marcus?(4) He at all events used tobe more liberal with his money than his present majesty. You remember hegave us ten silver pieces each. Now we don't even get our proper pay."
"Marcus, my dear fellow," said the other speaker, "had a full militarychest to draw upon, and it was not difficult to be generous. Gratianus hasto squeeze every denarius out of the citizens. I heard them say, when themoney came into the camp yesterday, that it was a loan from the Londiniummerchants. I wonder what interest they will get, and when they will seethe principal again."
"Hang the fat rascals!" said the other. "Why should they sleep soft, andeat and drink the best of everything, while we poor soldiers, who keepthem and their money-bags safe, have to go bare and hungry?"
"Come, come, comrades," interrupted the first soldier who had spoken; "nomore grumbling, or some of us will find the centurion after us with hisvine-sticks."
The group broke up, most of them making the best of their way to spendsome of their unaccustomed riches at the wine-shop, a place from whichthey had lately kept an enforced absence. Three or four of the number,however, who seemed, from a sign that passed between them, to have somesecret understanding, remained in close conversation--a conversation whichthey carried on in undertones, and which they adjourned to one of thetents to finish without risk of being disturbed or overheard.
The camp in which our story opens was a square enclosure, measuring somefive hundred yards each way, and surrounded by a massive wall, not lessthan four feet in thickness, in the construction of which stone, brick,and tile had, in Roman fashion, been used together. The defences werecompleted by strong towers of a rounded shape, which had been erected atfrequent intervals. The camp had, as usual, its four gates. That whichopened upon the sea--for the sea washed the southern front--was famous inmilitary tradition as the gate by which the second legion had embarked totake part in the Jewish War and the famous siege of Jerusalem. Vespasian,who had begun in Britain the great career which ended in the throne, hadexperienced its valour and discipline in more than one campaign,(5) andhad paid it the high compliment of making a special request for itsservices when he was appointed to conduct what threatened to be aformidable war. This glorious recollection was proudly cherished in thecamp, though more than three centuries had passed, changing as they wentthe aspect of the camp, till it looked at least as much like a town as amilitary post. The troops were housed in huts stoutly built of timber,which a visitor would have found comfortably furnished by a longsuccession of occupants. The quarters of the tribune and higher centurionswere commodious dwellings of brick; and the headquarters of the legate, orcommanding officer, with its handsome chambers, its baths, and tesselatedpavements, might well have been a mansion at Rome. There was a street ofregular shape, in which provisions, clothes, and even ornaments could bebought. Roman discipline, though somewhat relaxed, did not indeed permitthe dealers to remain within the fortifications at night, but the shopswere tenanted by day, and did a thriving business, not only with thesoldiers, but with the Britons of the neighbourhood, who found the camp aconvenient resort, where they could market to advantage, besides gossipingto their hearts' content. The relations between the soldiers and theirnative neighbours were indeed friendly in the extreme. The legion had hadits headquarters in the camp of the Great Harbour for many generations,though it had occasionally gone on foreign service. Lately, too, thepolicy which had recruited the British legion with soldiers from theContinent, had been relaxed, partly from carelessness, partly because itwas necessary to fill up the ranks as could best be done, and there wasbut little choice of men. Thus service became very much an inheritance.The soldiers married British women, and their children, growing up, becamesoldiers in turn. Many recruits still came from Gaul, Spain, and the mouthof the Rhine, and elsewhere, but quite as many of the troops were by thistime, in part or in whole, British.
Another change which the three centuries and a half since Vespasian's timehad brought about was in religion. The temple of Mars, which had stoodnear the headquarters, and where the legate had been accustomed to takethe auspices,(6) was now a Christian Church, duly served by a priest ofBritish birth.
About a couple of hours later in the day a shout of "The Emperor! theEmperor!" was raised in the camp, and the soldiers, flocking out from themess-tents in which most of them were sitting, lined in a dense throng theavenue which led from the chief gate to headquarters.
Gratianus, who was followed by a few officers of superior rank and a smallescort of cavalry, rode slowly between the lines of soldiers. Hisreception was not as hearty as he had expected to find. He had, as thesoldiers had hinted, made vast exertions to raise a sum of money inLondinium--then, as now, the wealthiest municipality in the island. Himselfa native of the place, and connected with some of its richest citizens, hehad probably got together more than any one else would have done in likecircumstances. But all his persuasions and promises, even his offer oftwenty per cent. interest, had not been able to extract from the Londiniumburghers the full sum that was required; and the soldiers, who the daybefore would have loudly proclaimed that they would be thankful for thesmallest instalment, were now almost furious because they had not beenpaid in full. A few shouts of "Hail, Caesar! Hail, Gratianus! Hail,Britannicus!" greeted him on the road to his quarters; but these came fromthe front lines only, and chiefly from the centurions anddeputy-centurions, while the great body of the soldiers maintained anominous silence, sometimes broken by a sullen murmur.
Gratianus was not a man fitted to deal with sudden emergencies. He wasrash and he was ambitious, but he wanted steadfast courage, and he washampered by scruples of which an usurper must rid himself at once if hehopes to keep himself safe in his sea
t. He might have appealed frankly tothe soldiers--asked them what it was they complained of, and taken themfrankly into his confidence; or he might have overawed them by an exampleof severity, fixing on some single act of insubordination or insolence,and sending the offender to instant execution. He was not bold enough foreither course, and the opportunity passed, as quickly as opportunities doin such times, hopelessly out of his reach.
The temper of the soldiers grew more excited and dangerous as the day wenton. For many weeks past want of money had kept them sober against theirwill, and now that the long-expected pay-day had come they crowded thewine-shops inside and outside the camp, and drank almost as wildly as anAustralian shepherd when he comes down to the town after a six months'solitude. As anything can set highly combustible materials on fire, so themost trivial and meaningless incident will turn a tipsy mob into a crowdof bloodthirsty madmen. Just before sunset a messenger entered the campbringing a despatch from one of the outlying forts. One of thoseprodigious lies which seem always ready to start into existence when theyare wanted for mischief at once ran like wild-fire through the camp.Gratianus was bringing together troops from other parts of the province,and was going to disarm and decimate the garrison of the Great Camp. Theunfortunate messenger was seized before he could make his way toheadquarters, seriously injured, and robbed of the despatch which he wascarrying. Some of the centurions ventured to interfere and endeavour toput down the tumult. Two or three who were popular with the men weregood-humouredly disarmed; others, who were thought too rigorous indiscipline, were roughly handled and thrown into the military prison; one,who had earned for himself the nick-name of "Old Hand me the other,"(7)was killed on the spot. The furious crowd then rushed to headquarters,where Gratianus was entertaining a company of officers of high rank, andclamoured that they must see the Emperor. He came out and mounted thehustings, which stood near the front of the buildings, and from which itwas usual to address gatherings of the soldiers.
For a moment the men, not altogether lost to the sense of discipline, werehushed into silence and order by the sight of the Emperor as he stood onthe platform in his Imperial purple, his figure thrown into bold relief bythe torches which his attendants held behind him.
"What do you want, my children?" he said; but there was a tremble in hisvoice which put fresh courage into the failing hearts of the mutineers.
"Give us our pay, give us our arrears!" answered a soldier in one of theback rows, emboldened to speak by finding himself out of sight.
The cry was taken up by the whole multitude. "Our pay! Our pay!" wasshouted from thousands of throats.
Gratianus stood perplexed and irresolute, visibly cowering before thestorm. At this moment one of the tribunes stepped forward and whispered inhis ear. What he said was this: "Say to them, 'Follow me, and I will giveyou all you ask and more.'"
It was a happy suggestion, one of the vague promises that commit tonothing, and if the unlucky usurper could have given it with confidence,with an air that gave it a meaning, he might have been saved, at least fora time. But his nerve, his presence of mind was hopelessly lost. "Followme--where? Whither am I to lead them?" he asked, in a hurried, agitatedwhisper.
His adviser shrugged his shoulders and was silent. He saw that he was notcomprehended.
Gratianus continued to stand silent and irresolute, with his helpless,despairing gaze fixed upon the crowd. Then came a great surging movementfrom the back of the crowd, and the front ranks were almost forced up thesteps of the platform. The unlucky prince turned as if to flee. Themovement sealed his fate. A stone hurled from the back of the crowd struckhim on the side of the face. Half stunned by the blow, he leaned againstone of the attendants, and the blood could be seen pouring down his face,pale with terror, and looking ghastly in the flaming torchlight. The nextmoment the attendant flung down his torch and fled--an example followed byall his companions. Then all was in darkness; and it only wanted darknessto make a score of hands busy in the deed of blood.
As Gratianus lay prostrate on the ground the first blow was aimed by abrother of his predecessor, Marcus, who had been quietly waiting for anopportunity of vengeance. In another minute he had ceased to live. Hishead was severed from the body and fixed on the top of a pike. One of themurderers seized a smouldering torch, and, blowing it into flame, held itup while another exhibited the bleeding head, and cried, "The tyrant hashis deserts!" But by this time the mad rage of the crowd had subsided. Thehorror of the deed had sobered them. Many began to remember little acts ofkindness which the murdered man had done them, and the feeling of wrongwas lost in a revulsion of pity. In a few moments more the crowd wasscattered. Silent and remorseful the men went to their quarters, and thecamp was quiet again. But another British Caesar had gone the way of a longline of unlucky predecessors.
The Count of the Saxon Shore; or The Villa in Vectis. Page 3