Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome. Graham John William
done so, when a voice in the ante-chamber called the name ‘Titus Afer!’
‘Enter, Afer!’ replied Sejanus. ‘I thought of you as breathing the pure air of Tibur.’
The knight accordingly entered the room. A large travelling-cloak enveloped his form, and a Phrygian cap covered his head. ‘I am now on my way,’ he answered; ‘yesterday I was lazy, and remained at home. In the Baths of Faustus yesterday was Sabinus.’
‘Ah!’ said the Prefect.
‘He grows no wiser, but indeed more rash and calumnious respecting you. I think it would be prudent to watch such a reckless fool; for even his spite and virulence might do mischief amongst some people. He loudly condemns you as being the bloodhound of the Germanici, and indeed is equally bold and noisy in accusing you of usurping the place of Caesar, and of misapplying your authority to your own ends. Such speeches have been heard before, but there are those whose ears are only too ready and willing to suck in such ravings.’
‘You are quite right, Afer; Sabinus has about reached the end of his tether: he must be looked after,’ said Sejanus, taking out his tablets and making a memorandum. ‘I am right glad he has, at last, given vent to his ideas, so plainly in the presence of such an one as yourself, my friend. So you stayed your journey to tell me this? – it was kind.’
‘Also to learn whether I can congratulate you on favourable news from Capreae.’
‘Hush! not so loud, Afer!’ replied the Prefect, raising his finger warningly; ‘it will be time enough to speak freely of a matter when success is assured; then there is the better chance of possible failure being buried in silence. I expect a courier any moment.’
‘Indeed!’
‘I have waited within doors until now for his arrival – what he will bring I cannot tell.’
‘I could guess,’ remarked Afer, with a courtly smile.
‘Humph!’ quoth the Prefect, shrugging his shoulders and smiling also.
At the same moment the sound of voices caught his ears, and he stepped to the curtain and looked into the ante-chamber. The courier he was so anxiously awaiting had just arrived, and the sentinel was advancing to announce the same.
‘Ha!’ exclaimed the Prefect, stepping into the ante-chamber, ‘I expected you before this – your despatches!’
The courier unbuckled a stout leathern girdle which he wore underneath his tunic, and took out of a pouch, attached thereto, a packet, which he delivered into the eager hand of Sejanus.
‘Wait!’ said the latter briefly; and without returning to his chamber, he turned aside and broke the seals of the packet. With fingers trembling, and a heart eaten with excitement, he ran his eyes over the imperial missive. The next second his eyes flashed. With exultation written on every line of his handsome face he went back into the presence of Afer.
‘Ah, – I knew it, – I was right!’ remarked the latter, at the first glimpse of the Prefect’s glowing visage. ‘I give thee joy of thy noble Livia; and I congratulate myself that I am the first to do so.’
Sejanus grasped his client’s hand, and fairly laughed out in the exuberance of his feelings.
‘Enough, my Titus! This letter hath proved thee a good prophet. The daughter of Caesar is mine indeed, for Caesar himself declares it. Nay, more – I go to Capreae in a few days to claim her. So prepare, my friend, for thou must go along with me thither.’
‘Willingly, and gladly, if you will tell me when.’
‘Return within the week,’ said the Prefect. He clapped his hands loudly, and a slave appeared.
‘Bid the courier be ready to return to-morrow! Give him wine – and this!’ he said, taking a small purse of money from the table and throwing it at the domestic’s feet.
The slave picked it up, and said, ‘There is a man without demands to see you, Prefect – a workman, by appearance.’
‘What is his business?’
‘He will not say – only that he has come from Surrentum to see you.’
‘Admit him then, and the sentinel as well.’
The slave retired, and, in a few moments, the armed Pretorian made his appearance, ushering in our potter, whom we left on his way to the camp.
Sejanus gave him a hasty, but keen glance; and the potter, in his turn, surveyed the famous and dreaded Prefect with a fearless but respectful gaze. Bowing his square, sturdy frame, he waited to be addressed.
‘Who and what are you, and what do you want with me?’ asked Sejanus, skimming his glance furtively over the welcome letter which he had just received.
‘My name is Masthlion, and I am a potter of Surrentum,’ replied the other; ‘and, as I venture to trouble you, noble sir, on a personal matter, concerning one of your officers, perhaps it would be prudent if this soldier did not hear it.’
Sejanus looked up in surprise, and regarded his visitor more curiously. With an amused look on his face, he nevertheless nodded to the sentinel, who silently retired from the room. The deep-set, expressive eyes of Masthlion then rested on Afer, who had picked up a book from the table, and was idly unrolling it.
‘As your business is not of the State, perhaps my friend can remain?’ said the Prefect sarcastically.
‘No, Prefect, my business is not of the State,’ replied the potter, ‘but I have come seeking information respecting one of your Centurions, and you must judge whether it be right the noble knight hear it or not.’
‘Know then, potter of Surrentum, that I do not enter into nor suffer the inquiries of any idle person with regard to my officers,’ said Sejanus sternly.
‘I will leave it to your generosity, when I tell you the circumstances which have brought me to make the request.’
‘Let me hear!’
‘I am only a poor man, earning my bread with the labour of my hands, yet the peace of my home, and the welfare of those belonging to me, are as dear to me as to the noblest,’ said Masthlion. ‘I have a daughter, Prefect; all the more precious to me because she has no sister or brother – ’
‘Ah, I perceive,’ uttered Sejanus, with the shadow of a smile curling his lips. ‘Go on!’
‘Ay – it is easily guessed!’ replied Masthlion, ‘and it needs few words. This Centurion of whom I speak, in passing through the town, saw my daughter. Since that time he has come more than once to visit her at my house. She has been called beautiful, Prefect, but she is not his equal. I bade her tell him so, and forbid him. On that he demanded her in marriage; but though she loves him, yet I will be satisfied that he is not one to deal lightly or carelessly by her, or I will not consent.’
‘You have forgotten the name of the Centurion, which is indispensable,’ said the Prefect; ‘and yet I can only guess one.’
‘His name is Martialis.’
‘Even so! The Centurion may well not object to as many journeys as I can give him, and also prefer the land route to the sea – here is the explanation.’
Sejanus burst into a laugh, whilst Afer, who was seemingly immersed in his book, stroked his chin.
‘Potter, you are right,’ continued the Prefect. ‘Men and women, to be prudent, should not marry out of their station. Your daughter must be a paragon of loveliness, or cleverness, or goodness, to have ensnared my Centurion.’
‘She is such as she is, Prefect, and ensnares no one,’ returned Masthlion, with a frown of his shaggy eyebrows.
‘Whichever way it be, if they have fallen in love with each other you may as well leave them to it, for you will be hard put to rule them,’ laughed the commander. ‘When a woman is truly in love she parts with what little forethought she had, and leaves her senses to find themselves in cooler days. As for Martialis, I can only tell thee, potter, he is not the man to change his mind lightly, or take away his hand when he has