XII.
BRAWLINGS.
More sick at heart, as he grew stronger in body, Sergius returned fromthe final voting in the Field of Mars. For some reason the popularparty, sated with triumph, had permitted the election, as praetors, ofgood men who had experience in military affairs; perhaps that thesemight, together with Paullus, make surer the victory that was toredound to the honour of the darling of the mob and proclaim to all theRoman world the superiority of the butcher, Varro, over Fabius, thewell-fathered.
As Sergius was borne along toward the Palatine district, he found thestreets crowded with a populace he had hardly known to exist in thecity. Down from the lofty tenements of the Aicus, up from the slums ofthe Suburra, the Gate of the Three Folds, and the Etruscan Street theypoured, drunk with joy and with hatred of all men who wore white togasand had money to lend or lands to till. At each corner a denser throngwas gathered around jugglers, tumblers, wrestlers that writhed over theroad-way, actors who danced Etruscan pantomimes and carried theirmake-up in little bags slung around their necks, singers of medleys,and would-be popular poets who spouted coarse epigrams and ribaldsatires levelled at the thieving, the effeminate, the adulterouspatricians who thought to rule Rome and had named an Aemilius Paullusto stand beside and check the generous, the fearless, the incorruptibleVarro. Threatening looks and words were cast at Sergius and thecompany of freedmen and clients that surrounded him, until he was notill-pleased to see the escort of another noble issue from a side streetand beat its way to where the exhausted bearers had set down thetribune's litter, pausing to gain breath before attempting to push onfarther. When, however, he recognized in the sturdy old man who strodealong in the midst of the new company, no more distant acquaintancethan the father of Marcia, he was conscious of a strong revulsion.Better the continued buffeting with an obstreperous mob than theembarrassments he foresaw in such a rencontre; but it was too late toavoid it: the interests and perils of the two parties were too nearlyidentical, and he heard the gruff voice of his old friend crying out:--
"Back, exercisers of the whip! Back, colonizers of chains! To thecross with you all! Is this Animula or Rome, where rude clowns do notrecognize their betters?" Then, for the first time, perceivingSergius: "Greeting to you, my Lucius! May the gods favour you betterthan they have the Republic this day."
At that moment, a big, hulking fellow thrust himself forward in thepath of the advancing patrician and hiccoughed out:--
"May you meet with a plague, master! Truly there are to be no bettersor worsers in Rome--now that the noble Varro is consul and--"
The staff of Torquatus felled him to the ground, where he layshuddering and drawing up his legs, while a yell of rage and menacebroke from the crowd. Scarcely changing a line in his grim face, theold man calmly trussed the folds of his toga about his left arm, freedhis right more fully, and drew a stylus of such size as to suggest adagger much more than an instrument for writing: such a weapon as wasborn of the election brawls of earlier days, innocent under the law,yet equally efficient as pen or sword.
Daunted at his aspect, the foremost assailants held back.
"Are there not more vinegar drinkers that wish to learn from an oldRoman the manners of old Rome?" asked Torquatus, sneeringly.
How the fight, once begun, would have ended seemed hardly uncertain,for the crowd filled all the neighbouring streets: half were drunk, andnearly half were provided with arms of some sort, many of them such aswere warranted by no pretext of law, save the knowledge that Varro wasconsul, and the belief that he would protect his adherents in whateverbreach might please them. The dangerous front of Torquatus and hiscompany might have sufficed to check those who would have to lead arush, but they, unfortunately, had the least to say on the subject ofgiving battle. Already the mobs, pouring in from the side streets atthe first scent of a brawl, were pushing the forlorn hope, allunwilling, to its fate; three or four had already gone down with brokenheads, and a freedman of Torquatus had been stabbed in the side, when,above the tumult, rose a voice crying:--
"Make way for the Consul, Paullus! Way! way!"
The matter, truly, was becoming serious, thought the outskirts of themob--all of them who could hear the shout. A brush with the fiercest,the most hated, the most hating aristocrat that had been borne behindthe fasces for many a year, would mean punishment with a heavy hand.The pressure was at once relieved, and though those in front saw nosign of consul or lictor--saw only Sergius who had descended from hislitter and was leading his company in a vigorous attack--yet they were,for the most part, only too glad to escape from the glaring eyes ofTitus Manlius and the broad sweep of his weapon. The old man waspuffing hard from the unwonted exertion when Sergius reached his sidethrough the fast-scattering assailants.
"The gods have punished my blasphemy with kindness," began Torquatus,"in sending my Lord Paullus in such timely fashion."
"Say, rather, my father, in sending his name into the mind of oneLucius Sergius," said Sergius, laughing.
For a moment the other frowned with a puzzled look; then his facecleared, with as close an approach to a smile as it could wear.
"And our rescue is not due to the consul, then?" he asked, still slowto fully grasp the ruse.
"To the consul's name and to the favouring cunning of Mercury," saidSergius, bowing.
"Truly, you should command," exclaimed Torquatus. "A general so readyin craft as you are might hope to match the African--and, by the gods!no one else seems able to. Come, let us go on to my house."
Though harshly said, and in tones that one less acquainted with thespeaker might well have mistaken for sarcasm, Sergius knew that thecompliment was genuine. The aged patrician had turned and strode away,as he finished speaking, and etiquette left to the younger man nochoice but to pay to the elder the reverence of his escort. That hehad asked what he might well have looked for as a matter of course, wassomething of a condescension, according to the strict ceremoniousnessof the ancient usage; therefore Sergius hurried on and overtook him,offering his litter, at which the other sniffed contemptuously.
"May the gods grant me to lie at rest by the Appian Way, before Irequire such feet!" Then, as his sharp eyes noted the flush uponSergius' face, he added: "Fever, wounds, and death may pardoneffeminacy; and, truly, I would beg you to accompany me as you came,were it not that a climb up the Palatine should bring new health to onewho could run ten miles with a broken shoulder. Believe me, my friend,the dictator thought better of you than he spoke, and would haveregretted the axe. Jupiter grant that it be yours to justify hisopinion!"
No stimulant could have given such strength to the convalescent as didthese words, and from such a source. The dictator had not condemned,then; he had even spoken well of him. The knowledge of it put toflight the embarrassment he had felt when he realized that he was goingperforce to Marcia's house--perhaps into her presence; and he foundhimself standing straighter and stepping out with longer and bolderstrides.
"Good words are better than bad ones for a good man," mused Torquatus,wagging his head sententiously, and darting at his companion acomprehensive glance, behind which lurked a grim smile. "If womencould ever learn as much, they might govern us the more readily--whichthe gods forefend! as I doubt not they will."
Then the company halted. It was many months since Sergius had stoodbefore that door, and he could not, without grave discourtesy, refusethe invitation to enter. Well, what mattered it? Marcia carednothing; why should he? Then, too, the stimulus of the dictator'sapproval was still upon him, as the warning cry of the porter badethose nearest stand back while the door swung out. Most of the partytook their leave here, but several followed into the atrium for adieusmore appropriate to their station.
At last all had departed save Sergius, who, having given orders thathis attendants should await him in the street, passed on into theperistyle with his host.
There, beside the fountain, spinning, as he had so often seen her--ashe had seen her through all the days and night
s of the campaign--satthe lady Marcia. Two of her maidens were assisting: one who glanced upat Sergius and smiled tauntingly; and another who turned her face away,and seemed to be trying to hide it in the close inspection of a greatbunch of fleece. But both the forwardness of the one and thebashfulness of the other were wasted upon the visitor. As a matter offact, he was so lost in wonder at his courage and self-control as to bewell past observing the idiosyncrasies of slaves; and, if his ownattitude was acceptable, even to himself, his admiration for that ofhis hostess amounted to absolute bitterness. That she, a mere girl,should rise and come forward with so conventional yet friendly agreeting, that neither her lip should tremble nor her cheek flush, waslittle short of intolerable. Nevertheless it helped to brace his ownresolves yet more firmly. Such poise, after all that had been betweenthem, could have its source only in the most absolute indifference.
"Health to the noble Lucius! Let him believe that there is no one ofhis friends who thanks the gods more fervently for his recovery."
On its face the speech was cordial--much too cordial for love that hasquarrelled; therefore he bent his head and answered:--
"Were it not impiety, the noble Lucius would thank his well-wisher forher words, more, even, than he thanks the gods for his recovery."
"Ah!" she replied lightly, "then he must scatter his thanks yet morebroadly, for there cannot be a defenceless woman in Rome who does notrejoice that so brave a defender is spared to the State."
Sarcasm for sarcasm, he thought bitterly, but he answered ascarelessly:--
"In that case, I shall not bear my thanks beyond the gods; for if myhealth be no greater care to you than to all the white stoles in thecity, I think I can measure its value."
An expression of almost infantile surprise and reproach crossed herfeatures.
"You are either very forgetful or very ungrateful," she said. "IfVenus has healed so faithful a votary, surely mortal women have notbeen lacking in their sympathy; nor, if report tells truly, has thenoble Lucius been lacking in gratitude--until now."
That shaft struck home, and, for a moment, Sergius could find noanswer. He could only remember the episode of the girl who had come tohim, and wonder which one of his household could have borne treacherousword to Marcia of his weakness and his discomfiture. Meanwhile she hadturned carelessly and dismissed her women, and one had gone, throwingback laughing glances, the other, with her face still buried in thewool with which she had filled her arms.
Torquatus had been standing near, somewhat puzzled by what he felt tobe a battle of words between his daughter and his guest, but a battlewhose plans of attack or defence he found himself at a loss to fathom.Feeling at last that it was incumbent upon him as host to break in uponbadinage that bade fair to become embarrassing, he spoke briefly of hisencounter with the mob and of Lucius' timely aid and clever ruse.Marcia listened closely, nodding her head from time to time, but hercolour had deepened and her hand was clenched tight when the story wasfinished.
"Who will be safe in Rome, father!" she burst out. "The rabble electtheir magistrates, and the magistrates, in return, let them do as theyplease. When it comes to attacking you; a consular--a Manlius! Wemust sleep no more in our houses unless the household be in arms and onguard."
Sergius gazed in astonishment. A Marcia spoke whom he had never known;but the old man smiled grimly.
"It is the blood," he said. "She is truly 'Manlia,' though called,against custom, for my dead Marcius. When Claudians change the togafor the paludamentum, and Ogulnians cease to babble of Greekphilosophy, then shall a Manlian be lacking in the spirit of ourorder--ay, and in the courage to act."
Marcia did not seem to hear his words. Her brows were drawn togetherin what Sergius considered a very pretty frown. She turned toward him.
"They have gotten their butcher for consul," she went on; "now let himlead them. How long before they will be begging for the swords theyhave despised! Let them alone! Let Hannibal work his will; then weshall stand forth, like the exiled Camillus, to defend a Rome purged ofits black blood--a Rome worth defending--"
But Sergius had recovered from his surprise, and his face was serious,as he interrupted the torrent of words.
"Patrician and plebeian must stand or fall together, my Marcia," hesaid quietly. "It is the Republic that we shall defend, and defend themore bravely because it is, in a way, defenceless. If a time ofmadness come upon a parent, do we not guard her the more tenderly whocannot guard herself?--ay, and even against the foolish acts she mayherself attempt?"
"And you--you--a Sergius, will serve under this Varro?" she exclaimed.
"Truly," he said bowing, "I am a Roman, and the barbarians are inItaly. When they are gone, I will fight Varro on the rostra, in theSenate. Perhaps I shall even lead my clients to drag him, stabbed,from his house."
She was gazing at him with great, round eyes in which the contempt andanger began to give place to a softer look--a look which no man mighthope quite to interpret; then she threw her head to one side andlaughed, but the laugh was short and nervous.
"I congratulate your eloquence and patriotism, as I sympathize withyour unpropitious gallantry. May Venus make happy your next pursuit ofa pretty slave."
Again she laughed, and this time her laugh was unfeignedly malicious.Sergius flushed crimson; Torquatus looked scandalized and stern; butbefore either could answer, she was gone.
"You will return to the army, then?" said the old man, hurriedly and asif to cover his annoyance. "How soon will your strength be sufficient?"
"I shall set out to-night," said Sergius. The flush had gone from hisface, and he was very pale, while his voice sounded as if from faraway. "By so doing I shall journey by easier stages, and shall avoidaccompanying the consul; nor will he reach the camp before me."
"There is talk of new levies," said Torquatus, vaguely.
"Yes, and there will be fighting soon."
"Flaminius fought."
"May Jupiter avert the omen! and you will forgive me, my father, if Ibid you a too hasty farewell? I had not determined to go so soon--butit is best. And there is preparation to be made."
Torquatus followed him silently to the door, and watched the light ofhis torches till it died out below the hill; then he shook his headwith a puzzled, sad expression.
"Yes, truly," he said; "let the omen be lacking."
The Lion's Brood Page 13