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The Crown of Pine by Alfred J. Church |
Table of Contents
The First of the Wheat Ships
In
the Jews' Quarter
Archias
of Corinth
A Bread Riot
A
Desparate Defence
Seneca
In the Circus, and Afterwards
The Proclamation
An Exiled Nation
The
Imperial Pass
The
Gallinarian Wood
Eastward Bound
Corinth
A Young Champion
Paul of Tarsus
A Secret
Jew and Greek
Cleonice
Plots
A Drug
An Antidote
Fresh Plots
Among the Hills
Before
the Archon
A Dilemma
Cleonice to the Rescue
The Release
Under
Cover of the Law
The Games
The Casket
Rewards and Punishments
Back to Rome
Front Matter
PREFACE
[7] I HAVE transferred to the Isthmian Games, of which we know
very little, some details of the proceedings at the great festival of
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A. J.
C. |
IGTHAM,
August, 1905.
NOTE
The
story of Thekla has come down to us in a document entitled The Acts of Paul
and Thekla. As we have it now it is probably much changed from its original
form and contains many interpolations. It rests, however, there is very little
reason to doubt, on a basis of fact, and may be supposed to date from the
beginning of the second century, if not from an earlier time. It is not likely
that a later writer would have been acquainted with some curious details which
are to be found in the narrative. Queen Tryphæna was a real personage,
the widow of a certain King Polemo, and was related to Claudius through the
family of Marcus Antonius, the colleague and afterwards the rival of Augustus.
This marks the date of the scene in the amphitheatre as having happened in the
reign of Caligula or Claudius. No other
of the Emperors were related to her.
THE FIRST OF THE WHEAT SHIPS
[13] THE time is an hour or so after sunrise on the fifteenth
of May in the year 50 of our era; the place is one of the piers of the Emperor
Claudius's new harbour at
"Your
eyes are better than mine, Raphael," says the elder of the two to his
companion. "Can you make her out?"
"Scarcely
yet, father," replied the young man. He had scarcely spoken, however, when
the passing of a cloud let a brilliant ray of sunshine fall on the vessel's
bow. "There, there," cried Raphael ben Manasseh—this was the young
man's name—"I can distinguish The Twin Brothers."
"Accursed
idols!" growled Manasseh, spitting on the ground as he spoke.
Raphael
shrugged his shoulders, casting at the same time an apprehensive glance around
him.
[14]
"Don't you think, father," he said in a deprecatory voice, "that
it might make a little awkwardness, if any people happened to be near? And if
we charter these people's ships, might we not put up with their ways?"
"Well,
well, you youngsters are all for compromise and peace. I often wish that I was
well away from this land of abomination. Dear
"Business
very slack there, I take it," murmured Raphael. "I doubt whether one
could find a hundred shekels in the whole place? But see, sir," he went
on, "they are lowering a boat; a good thing too, or we might be loitering
here till
While
father and son are waiting, with what patience they can summon, the arrival of
the boat, we may explain the situation. The ship, which bears the name and sign
of The Twin Brothers, to become famous afterwards for carrying a very
distinguished passenger, (Footnote: "We departed in a ship
of Alexandria which had wintered in the island, whose sign was Castor and
Pollux," says the writer of the Acts, after describing St. Paul's stay in
the island of Melita (Malta). The Greek has Dioscuri, literally "Lads of
Zeus," The Twin Brothers, whose names in their Latinized form were Castor
and Pollux. It was a common sign of ships, which were supposed to be under the
special protection of the two demigods; so Horace, praying that the ship which
is carrying Virgil to Greece may have a prosperous voyage, says—"May those
twin stars, fair Helen's brothers, guide thy course, O ship, with ray
serene.") was the first of the great [15] fleet
of wheat ships which would be making the passage between
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The boat
had now reached the pier. It carried two men in the stern. One of them who held
the rudder lines was the captain, who was also a part owner. He was a thick-set
man of middle age, a Corsican by birth, who might have sat for the portrait of
one of the brigands of his native island. Just then, however, he was on his
best behaviour. Manasseh was his very good friend and partner, who had lent him
the money at the quite moderate interest of ten percent to enable him to take
up a share in The Twin Brothers. He stood up in the stern [17] and
respectfully saluted the great man on the shore, a politeness which the Jew
returned with as much courtesy as he could bring himself to show to a heathen
dog. The other passenger, who was no less a person than the
supercargo, climbed up the steps of the pier. Manasseh and Raphael
greeted him warmly; he was, in fact, a near kinsman, a nephew of the elder and
cousin of the younger man. His name was Eleazar.
"Welcome,
nephew," said Manasseh. "You have had a good voyage,
that I can tell from your having come in such excellent time. And you
are well—to that your blooming looks bear witness. And you bring good
news?"
"That,
my dear uncle, depends upon how you take them," replied Eleazar,
"but—"
And he
looked round on the little crowd which had by this time gathered on the pier.
Then as now a very little incident sufficed to bring a crowd together at the
seaside. This particular occasion, too, as some of the bystanders were aware,
was one of special importance. The seafaring men had recognised The Twin
Brothers, and knew that she was the first comer of the wheat ships, and
they had also a shrewd idea that a meagre time might be at hand.
"You
are quite right, my dear Eleazar," said the old man, interpreting
correctly his nephew's [18] look; "this is too public a place for
discussing business. We can find a convenient room at the inn, if you know our
countryman Jonah's place by the
"Thanks,
uncle," said Eleazar, "I am too used to the sea to feel quite like
that; still, I do vastly enjoy my first bite and sup when I get on shore."
The
party soon reached the tavern, a building with a humble exterior, which, in
accordance with the universal Jewish custom, belied the comfort, not to say the
luxury, of the interior.
"What
do you say to a flask of
Raphael
made a wry face. "My dear father,
"Would
you drink these Gentile abominations?" growled the old man.
"Surely,
sir, there is nothing in the law that forbids it."
Manasseh
could hardly say that there was, and Raphael was served with his flask of
Falernian, his cousin admiring his courage, but caring little for the matter in
dispute.
"And
now to business," said Manasseh. "How about the
wheat, Eleazar?"
[19]
"A very short harvest, and poor in quality."
As he
spoke he drew out of his pocket a little sample bag such as dealers carry now,
and have doubtless carried from time immemorial, and poured out the contents
upon the table. Manasseh and Raphael carefully examined the grain. They were
not long in coming to a conclusion.
"As
poor a sample as I have ever seen," remarked the younger man.
"Well,"
said the father, "I can hardly go so far as that.
I can remember a long time, you see; but it is very poor. And this, you say, is
a fair sample."
"Yes,"
replied Eleazar, "quite a fair sample; some of the grain from
"And
the price?" asked the older man.
"Well,"
said the other, "the price is a very serious matter. It is pretty high
now; but no one can say what it will rise to. Let me tell you what I have done.
Early last month I bought a million medimni, to be delivered before the end of
May, at a hundred and twenty-five sesterces the medimnus. (Footnote: An Egyptian
medimnus equalled three bushels. These and other measures differed as much as
our own used to do. A hundred and twenty-five sesterces may be reckoned at £1.
This would be equivalent to about fifty-four shillings the quarter, nearly
double the price at which it is standing at the present moment in
Manasseh
and his son looked very grave. They had hoped for a rise and, as has been seen,
stood to win considerably by it; the supercargo's bargain meant a gain of at
least £250,000—but (Footnote: I use now, and shall use
hereafter, English equivalents for quantities and prices.) there might easily
be too much of a good thing. The State had a way of interfering when prices
rose above all bearing, and private interest went to
the walls. And nowhere was this more likely to happen than at
"You
have done quite right," said Manasseh after a pause; "and I should
not have complained if you had bought five times the quantity. But I must
confess that I don't like the prospect. The Treasury is in a very poor way.
This fine [21] new harbour has cost an enormous sum of money; so have the
drainage works and the aqueducts and the markets. And then for every pound
honestly spent another pound has been stolen. Those two scoundrels of freedmen,
Pallas and Narcissus, must have at least two million apiece. These are the
lions, and there are whole herds of jackals and wolves that are fed to the
full. Every farthing comes out of the Treasury. Now what I want to know is
this—how is the corn that is given away every week to be paid for? We are under
contract to supply a hundred thousand bushels every month. We have guarded
against a rise in price, but not against such a rise as this. The Treasury
won't—in fact, it can't—pay the price that we ought to
ask. I see trouble ahead."
It is
needless to repeat the subsequent conversation. The practical conclusion
arrived at was to buy up all the wheat that could be got, before the impending
scarcity became a matter of public knowledge. There would have to be large concessions
in the way of prices; but this would hurt them the less, the stronger they
could make their position or holding. It was arranged that Eleazar should enjoy
the hospitality of his uncle's house as long as he remained in
IN THE JEWS' QUARTER
[23] MANASSEH and Raphael had granaries, with an office and
a permanent staff, at
Eleazar
was bound for the other end of the Quarter, a region of shops and factories. He
had no difficulty in finding the place of which he was in search. It was a
factory where the hair of the goats that roamed over the hills of Rough Cilicia
(Footnote:
"Lucius
Cilnius Aquila of
"I
commend to you and to my sister, your most honoured
consort, the bearer of this epistle, Eleazar ben Nathaniel, an inhabitant of
this city, a young man zealous of all good things, and filled with a most
laudable desire to increase his knowledge of such matters as concern the
spiritual life. I am assured that he is altogether faithful and trustworthy.
Nevertheless there are certain things, which, especially in these days, it is
better not to write with paper and ink, but to communicate by word of mouth.
For this reason I leave the young man himself to set forth to you that which is
in his mind. Farewell."
As
[26]
"All my brother's friends are mine," he cried. "And when did you
see my dear brother last? Was he quite well?"
"Quite
well when I saw him, and that was just a fortnight
since. He gave me this the night before I sailed, and I landed this very
morning at
"You
bring good news," said
Eleazar
explained that he was his uncle's guest.
"Ah,"
said
"Yes,
with pleasure," replied Eleazar. "I excused myself from the meal at
my uncle's, because I did not know when I should be free."
"Come,
then," said
[27]
"A friend of our dear Lucius, my Priscilla," said
When the
lady rose from her place to greet him, Eleazar thought that he had never seen a
nobler looking woman. That she was not a countrywoman of his own he felt sure.
At least he had never seen a Hebrew lady with so commanding a figure, with such
a wealth of golden hair, and a complexion of such dazzling brightness. And,
indeed, Priscilla was no countrywoman of his. He was but seldom at
The
young Jew—I may say at once that he was
The one
characteristic Roman worship was that of the Deified Augustus, with whom were associated other princes of the Imperial house.
Pomponia had not broken with the ordinary observances of private and public
religion. At home she hung the usual garland on the family Lar, and saw that
the usual offerings of food were placed before the image; in public, she
attended such festivals as public opinion, now grown very lax in such matters,
made obligatory. But these [31] devotions were perfunctory; her real thoughts
in this province of her life were very different. What she heard from the Jew
gave to these thoughts a definite shape. Little, of course, was said at the
first interview.
It was a
momentous event, therefore, for themselves and for others when the two natives
of Cabira happened to meet in the streets at
At this
point Pomponia had a sudden impulse to intervene. Why should not her young
friend find one who would be at once husband, protector and teacher, in
ARCHIAS OF CORINTH
[40] THE conversation that followed the introduction was
profoundly interesting. Eleazar had much to say about his friends at Alexandria,
about the other Aquila with whom he had been for some years on terms of
intimacy, and many others, not a few of whom turned out, as so often happens,
to be mutual acquaintances. Much was said about an eminent native of the city
who had lately passed away, the great philosopher Philo.
When he
was compelled to depart, for the talk was prolonged far into the night, and he
was bound to present himself without more delay at his uncle's house,
[43]
"Don't go," said
"I
hope not, sir," replied the newcomer with a courteous inclination of his
head. "In fact, I may say that I expect that it will be speedily
settled."
The
stranger was a Greek who numbered between fifty and sixty years, evidently a
gentleman, and if one might judge from his face and general bearing, a man of
intelligence, refinement and culture. He was a native of Corinth, a member of
what was beyond question the most distinguished family in the city, that of
Archias, the founder of Syracuse. Archias was the name that he himself bore,
and he claimed to be twenty-second in direct descent from the first of the
race. This took back his pedigree over nearly eight hundred years; but the
family was really much older than this. His ancestor was the first of his race
in the sense that he brought into it the glory of having led with success the
most distinguished colony that ever went forth from
He now
began to explain the business which had brought him to
"I
have the honour," he said, "to be the chief magistrate, or archon,
as we are accustomed to call it, of the city of
"This
all seems reasonable enough," remarked
There is
no need to report the conversation any further. Archias produced his paper of
particulars, as also, by way of credentials, a letter of introduction from
Gallio. When the matter had been fully gone into, it was arranged that
A BREAD RIOT
[47] IT is not to be supposed that so important an event as a
rise in the price of wheat would long remain unknown in
"What
is the good of telling us that
This
oration was received with shouts of applause, and an imprudently candid
bystander who ventured to observe that a common calamity would have to be put
up with by all was hustled and kicked and generally given to understand that
his opinions were highly unpatriotic.
The
system in use for managing the distribution of bread without disturbance or
delay was that every tribe—the tribes numbered a few over thirty—resorted to a
depôt of its own. Each man or woman entitled to share in the public
bounty was provided with a ticket, and a tribe, [49] which in earlier times had
been an important political body, was now practically nothing more than a
corporation of such ticket-holders. These corporations again had an informal
arrangement of their own by which the distribution was made easier. As each must
have numbered several thousand persons, there might easily have been no little
discomfort and even danger in obtaining the allowance. To guard against this a
certain order was established. The older ticket-holders had precedence; and it
was a practice for one man to act for others. He would go attended by two or
three porters, and would so be able to carry away the allowances of a
considerable number of ticket-holders. On the whole the matter was managed in a
quiet and orderly manner; at the same time there were no small possibilities of
disturbance. In a time of excitement voluntary arrangements of this kind are
likely to become ineffective.
The time
of distribution was at hand. At a signal given by the sound of a bugle, the
doors of the depôt were thrown open, and the business began. It should be
explained that the doors were approached by a flight of broad steps, up which
each ticket-holder had to pass. As a matter of fact there were many buttery
hatches, at which a considerable number of ticket-holders [50] could be served
at once. Passages were made by which those who had received their allowance
could retire without interfering with fresh applicants. Not many minutes had
elapsed before the first corners had been served and had made their way back to
their fellows; a few minutes more and the whole multitude was in a state of
excitement, which became greater when one of the loaves distributed was raised
on the top of a long pole, and so made visible far and wide. No one who saw it
could doubt for a moment that the size had been materially reduced. This was
not all. It soon became generally known that the quality of the article had
been reduced as well as the quantity. The colour and smell of the bread showed
clearly enough that a good deal of grain other than wheat had been used in
making it. The worst fears of the crowd were realized. It was evident enough
that the authorities had the intention of putting off the pensioners of the
public bakeries with a smaller quantity than they had been accustomed to receive,
and that the diminished ration was also of a less palatable quality. A
Southerner, in whose diet bread is an even more important thing than it is to a
dweller in the north, is particularly sensitive as to its quality.
It was
not long before the excitement began [51] to vent itself in the usual acts of
violence. Of course the first thing was to make an attack on the bread
depôts. The authorities had foreseen the probability of such a result,
and had made preparations accordingly. Each depôt had its garrison of
soldiers. They had been kept out of sight as long as it was possible to
dispense with their services, but were now instructed to show themselves. The mob were for the most part unarmed, though
some of the most turbulent spirits had provided themselves with bludgeons and
even more formidable weapons, and at sight of the armed men it drew back. The
excitement had not yet become so intense as to make it
ready for so unequal a conflict. Then there was a diversion; for Narcissus, one
of the wealthy freedmen who shared the real though not the ostensible
management of public affairs, was seen to pass in his gorgeous chariot close to
the outskirts of the crowd. "See the scoundrel who battens on the hunger
of the people," was the cry raised by the multitude in a hundred different
ways, and an ugly rush was made in the direction of the equipage. But Narcissus
was perfectly well aware of his unpopularity, and had made special preparations
that day to protect himself against any manifestations
of hostility. A strong escort of Praetorian cavalry was in [52] attendance.
They were riding at a considerable distance behind the carriage, so that an
uninformed spectator might have supposed that their presence was accidental.
But the officer in command was clearly on the watch for what might happen, and
as soon as he saw the movement of the crowd he gave the order to his men to
close up. Instantly the troopers put their horses to the gallop, and before the
foremost rioters could come up, they had formed themselves in a close body on
each side of the equipage. The crowd, baulked of their vengeance, could do
nothing but give vent to a storm of shrill cries of rage and angry
exclamations. These were redoubled when Narcissus was seen to salute the crowd
with an ironical courtesy. Nothing more was possible; in a few minutes he was
safe within the strongly guarded walls of the
But the
crowd was not going to be so easily mocked and eluded. The rioters were not
rash enough to venture on a collision with the Praetorian cavalry, nor to break their heads against the stone walls of the
public bakeries. But there were other bakers who would furnish an easier prey.
Some of the creatures, thoughtless or malignant, who are always at hand to
suggest some kind of mischief to an excited crowd, raised a cry of "Down
with the bakers," and a rush was [53] made to the nearest establishments.
Some had been prudent enough to shut up their shops and remove all their wares;
others had sought and obtained the protection of the city-guards; but many were
quite unprepared for the outbreak. They were not in the least to blame, as far
as the ticket-holders were concerned. Possibly they had raised the price upon
their private customers before they had felt the pinch themselves, and while they
were still using the stock bought at the old prices—bakers and other tradesmen
were not above doing such things in ancient Rome, as they are not above doing
them in modern London. Possibly also they had charged these same customers with
an increase which more than made up for the market rise—this is probably a
practice as old as the baking business itself. But they were not in the least
responsible for the small loaves, largely made up with rye-flour, which had
been issued from the public depôts. Their innocence did not protect them.
The crowd had a bread grievance on their minds, and were not at all particular
on whom they vented it. Shop after shop was wrecked,
most of the spoil being as usual trampled under foot and generally wasted. The
plunderers were not hungry, but angry. Then it occurred to them that spoiling
bread shops and bakeries with a [54] blazing June sun overhead—it was almost
A DESPERATE DEFENCE
[56] MANASSEH, the dealer and speculator in wheat, had other
irons in the fire. He had a jeweller's shop on the Esquiline Hill, a quarter
which, since the building of Maecenas' great villa, had become fashionable; and
he united with the business of a jeweller two occupations which could be
conveniently carried on in the same premises, banking and money-lending. The
combination was, as may be supposed, productive of handsome profits, though not
without considerable risks. A fashionable lady would spend a couple of hours or
so in looking through Manasseh's stores, replenished almost day by day by
consignments from compatriots settled in all the great markets of the East and
the West. Not long after would come a visit from her husband, who would find
himself at a loss how to settle the account. Manasseh was as ready to lend the
money as he was to supply the jewels for which the money was to be paid. His
prices [57] were high, as they had a right to be where everything sold was of
the very best quality and indisputably genuine, and he charged about fifteen
per cent on his loans; so he made handsome profits in both ways. Sometimes, of
course, things did not turn out well. There were "sharks swimming
about" in the Roman streets as there are in the
It was
now, however, to undergo one of the shocks which defy the acutest speculation,
and against which no precautions can guard, an outbreak of popular violence.
The rioters were pausing to take breath after sacking some half-dozen wine shops
when some one cried, "How about the Jews?" The name was like a spark
of fire dropped upon a heap of brushwood. It kindled an instantaneous fire. The
Jews have never been liked by the people among whom they have settled. Their
virtues and their vices have combined to make them unpopular. They are frugal,
industrious and sober. It is only right that these qualities should have their
reward; [58] that men who possess them should get better places, earn better
wages, save more money, provide themselves with more comfortable homes than
their neighbours who spend up to the last farthing of their earnings, and lose
at least a tenth part of their working time in riotous excesses. But those who
fall behind in the race of life do not feel amiably towards those who pass
them, nor is their animosity lessened by the consciousness that their defeat is
the result of their own folly. A more reasonable cause of the popular dislike
of the Jew was to be found in the hardness and sharp dealing of which some of
the race were actually guilty and of which all were accused. However it came
about, and whether it was deserved or undeserved, the unpopularity of the Jews
was an unquestionable fact. The suggestion of the name had accordingly an
immediate effect. In a few minutes there was a general cry of "Down with
the Jews." It is probable that very few in the crowd had suffered anything
at their hands, and that of these few scarcely one had got anything more than
he amply deserved. But such cries may be uttered without any reason. The mass
of the rioters had a vague feeling that things were in a bad way, and that they
might improve if something were done. The leaders of the crowd had much [59]
clearer ideas of what they wanted and of how it might be got. The Jews were
excellent people to plunder. The booty would be great, the resistance probably
weak, and the chances of impunity considerable. Jewish plaintiffs were not
popular in the courts, and magistrates had been known to dismiss their
complaints even when they were supported by unimpeachable testimony.
The
crowd was prepared to act, but it still wanted a leader. "Down with the
Jews" was quite to its mind, but where was the work to begin? The crowd
was not long left in doubt. A stout rioter, who had been very busy in
plundering the wine shops, and showed sufficient proof of his zeal, was ready
with a suggestion. The fellow had been a porter, and had been employed by
Manasseh, who was unreasonable enough to expect an equivalent in work for what
he paid in wages.
Gutta—this
was the man's name—would never have done a stroke of work if he could have
relied on the State for wine as well as bread. He thought this below the
dignity of a free-born Roman, and resented the interference. He resigned his
situation with all the dignity of one of the masters of the world, and waited
an opportunity of making himself even with his tyrannical [60] employer. And
now, he thought, the opportunity had come.
"There
is that Jew dog, Manasseh. It is he and his gang that have put up the price of wheat.
The furies seize him and his small loaves and his rye bread!"
"Where
shall we find the fellow?" cried a voice from among the crowd.
"In
the Jews' quarter, of course," said another. "I know the place, a big
house close to the river."
There
was a movement in that direction. But the porter shouted, "No! no! there is a better way than
that. The villain has got a shop in the
A
wrangle followed. One party was for the house. The Jew was sure to keep his
best things at home. The other preferred the shop. Everything there, they
argued, will be ready to our hands, while we may spend hours searching the
other place. In this discussion not a little valuable time was lost, perhaps one
should say gained, if we take the point of view of law and order. These were
now to receive the help of an unexpected ally.
The
Corsican captain of The Twin Brothers, who had found the time hang
rather heavy on his hands, had happened to witness the scene at [61] the
bakery, and had followed the mob, with no sort of idea of sharing their
plunder—he was far too respectable for that—but in the hope of finding
amusement and possibly adventure. He was sitting in the wine shop of a
compatriot, whose property he had helped to preserve, when his ears caught the
name of Manasseh. He had the ready intelligence that marks the successful man
of action, and he at once comprehended the situation. He had a shrewd suspicion
that the porter would have his way, and that the Esquiline shop would be the
first object of attack. If he was wrong, and the house by the river was
attacked, the mistake would not matter much. There was less property there that
could be easily plundered, and there would be men to guard it. The shop, on the
other hand, was full of valuables. He arrived at this conclusion after a few
moments' thought, and when he had arrived he acted immediately. He enlisted on
his side two stout lads, sons of the Corsican innkeeper, and hurried with them
to the shop. Manasseh and Raphael were both there. The Jews, as usual, were
admirably served in the way of intelligence. They had suspected for some days
that trouble was brewing; they had had early information of the outbreak;
experience had taught them what direction it would certainly [62] take, and
they knew as well as the porter, and probably better, that the shop in the
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In the rear
the defence was not so successful. The door and the window were, as has been
said, well protected, but there was a side yard, approached by a narrow
passage, which opened out onto the street some distance lower down. The
captain, to whom the locality was quite [65] strange, knew nothing about it;
Manasseh and Raphael had forgotten its existence in the hurry of the moment.
But the porter knew it well, and when the front attack had been so disastrously
repulsed, had bethought himself of making it useful. The movement was for a
time successful. The passage was unguarded, and the assailants, nearly a score
in number, found themselves in the yard without loss. Here, indeed, there was a
brief check. The only communication between the yard and the house was an
opening not unlike a buttery hatch. This was, of course, too small for a man to
pass through, but as the wall round was of timber only, it admitted of being
easily enlarged. Two or three of the assailants set about doing this. While
they were thus engaged, Manasseh struck at one of them with a spear from the
inside, and wounded him severely. In so doing, however, he exposed himself to a
similar thrust from outside, and the opportunity was not lost. He received a
wound in his side, and Raphael himself was touched, though but slightly, as he
dragged the old man away from the opening. Meanwhile the timber, though
sufficiently stout, was giving away under the repeated blows that were dealt on
it. Raphael, though loath to call his stout ally, the Corsican, from a post
where his prowess was, [66] he well knew, sorely needed, felt that he had no
alternative. His father was absolutely helpless, and he was himself, if not
disabled, somewhat crippled. His halloo was immediately answered by the captain
in person. The man, who had the eye of a general, took in the situation at a
glance. He saw that nothing was left but to gain time. It was useless, he felt,
to propose a parley. The rioters knew as well as he did that the guardians of
the peace must come before long, and that when they
came the game was up. No, there was nothing for it but to fight to the last;
but how? and where? Then the thought flashed upon
him—why not the upper room in the front part of the house? This was approached
by a somewhat steep staircase, and a staircase was exactly the place for a
defence when the odds were desperately large. He caught the wounded Jew up in
his arms, and bidding the younger man follow, ran with him at a speed which
would have been deemed impossible in a man so burdened, and got him safely to
his destination. There was a reprieve, but it seemed likely to be but for a
very few minutes. Happily, however, the defensive capabilities of the new
position were not to be tested.
SENECA
[67] AT last, when it was almost too late, the guardians of
order appeared upon the scene. The watch, or, as we should say, the police,
which had the business of keeping the peace in
"Let
them settle their own quarrel," the officer on duty had said with a shrug
of the shoulders; "it is six of one and half a dozen of the other. The Jew
has been trying to cheat the Roman in one way, and the Roman to cheat the Jew
in another; one asks double the right price for the goods, and the other wants
to get them for nothing at all."
A more
urgent message, however, made it evident that something had to be done. A
company therefore was equipped, as speedily as military formalities permitted.
It had just started when a third and still more alarming summons had arrived.
The men were then ordered to go at the double, and, as has been said, arrived
just in time to prevent disaster.
The
centurion in command found himself more interested in the affair than he had
expected to be. In the first place the casualties had been numerous. Five of
the assailants had been killed, and two more so severely wounded that their
recovery was doubtful. The corpses had to be removed and the wounded carried to
their homes, such as they were; the hospital to which they [69] would nowadays
be taken did not then exist. Then there was the fact that the owner of the
place which had been attacked was a person of importance. Almost every one in
The next
thing was to obtain a trustworthy narrative of what had happened, on which to
base the report which the centurion would have to make to his superior officer.
Obviously the Corsican was the right person to tell the story. The centurion
listened to it with unflagging interest, and was not a little pleased to find
that the man was a compatriot and even a remote connexion.
"I
am heartily glad to make your acquaintance," he said; "you ought to
have been a soldier. Not one man in a thousand would have made such a defence;
and your last move was a masterpiece."
"You
are very good," answered the captain, [70] "but I am well content
with my own profession of the sea. I can't help feeling that you soldiers are
too much under command. Now when I am aboard my ship and out of sight of land,
I am as much my own master as any man in the world. Not Caesar himself can
meddle with me there. He has got his ministers and his wife and I know not who
else to reckon with. No, no! I wouldn't change places, no, not with Caesar
himself."
"Well,
well," returned the centurion, "we will talk about this afterwards.
Come back with me to barracks after I have settled this business."
It was
arranged for the present that the shop should be put in charge of an optio,
or deputy centurion, with a guard of five men. Raphael was to put his seal on such
safes and lockers as had especially valuable contents. Future arrangements were
left for further consideration. This done, the party bent their steps in the
direction of the barracks.
But the
surprises of the day were not yet over. As they were passing by the
booksellers' stalls in the Forum—traders were accustomed to congregate in Rome,
as they still do to a certain extent in modern cities—they were attracted by
the appearance of a particularly sumptuous litter that was in waiting in front
of one of the stalls. The litter [71] itself was richly upholstered in gold and
silk; the bearers, eight in number, were stout Bithynians, a race which it had
been the Roman fashion to employ for this purpose for more than a century. The
owner, a man between fifty and sixty years, was examining the contents of the
bookstall, and talking to the shopkeeper, who stood by in an attitude of
profound respect.
"That,"
said the centurion, in a whisper to his companion, "is one of our richest
men—Seneca."
"What!"
replied the captain, "is he back in
"Yes,
since last year," said the centurion; "but let us move out of
earshot." When they were at a safe distance, he went on: "He is in
high favour now: Caesar's wife cannot make too much of him. He teaches her son,
is a sort of tutor to him, you know; works with Burrhus, who is my chief, as I
daresay you know. But do you know him?"
"Know
him?" replied the captain; "I should think so. I had the taking of
him to
The two
crossed the street again and waited outside the shop. Seneca by this time had
finished his inspection of the book and was negotiating for its purchase with
the shopkeeper. The business was quickly arranged, for he was an excellent
customer, and his ways were well known. To offer a good price and to stick to
it was his plan, and the booksellers had the good sense to fall in with it. He
was about to step into the litter, purchase in hand, when he caught sight of
the captain. He recognised him immediately.
"Well
met, my friend," he cried; "and what brings you to
|
Refits his shattered bark, and braves Once more the vext Icarian waves, |
as Horace has it."
"Yes,
sir," replied the captain, "we are like the politician who is always,
I am told, forswearing public affairs, and always meddling with them again. And
after all we must do something to live. It isn't every one that has all that he
wants without earning it."
"Ah,
you have me there," returned the great man with a smile. "But where
are you now? [74] When I made my journey back from the place you know of, I
asked the captain about you, but he could tell me nothing."
"I
am captain and part owner of a wheat ship, one of the Alexandrian fleet."
"And
it is just what you like, I hope?"
"Well,
it might be better and it might be worse. But I don't complain. You see, I am
not a philosopher."
Seneca
laughed. "My dear friend," he said, "you are a little hard on
me. But you know the wise man is always himself except
when he has a bad cold, and, I think one might add, except when he is seasick.
But I can't wait; I am due at my pupil's in a very short time. But come and
dine with me to-morrow, and bring with you your friend, if he can put up with a
philosopher's fare. Will you do me the honour of introducing him?"
"Caius
Vestinius, a centurion in the watch," said the captain.
"You
will be welcome, sir," said Seneca. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance.
We are not half grateful enough to you gentlemen, whose courage and diligence
enable us to sleep sound in our beds. On the third day, then, at
[75]
With a courteous gesture of farewell he stepped into his litter and was carried
off.
"That
is a very polite person," said Vestinius, as the two resumed their
journey. "But I am scarcely disposed to go. I shall be out of my element
in such grand company."
"Nonsense!"
said the captain. "There is nothing particularly grand about him as far as
I can see. And besides, you must bear me company. It is not for a brave soldier
to desert his friend."
The rest
of the day was spent in jovial fashion, and it was only when Vestinius was
ordered out again on duty that the two friends parted.
IN THE CIRCUS, AND AFTERWARDS
[76] ON the day that followed the events described in the
last chapter, the popular discontent was displayed at the games in the Circus.
Some pains had been taken to make them more imposing and attractive than usual.
The wild beasts exhibited were the finest and rarest varieties; some performing
elephants were to exhibit their choicest feats, carrying a sick comrade, for
instance, in a litter on a tight rope stretched across the arena; some
favourite gladiators were advertised as about to contend. But all these
attractions failed to conciliate the multitude. The Emperor headed the
procession in order to give further éclat
to the show. He was received, however, with sounds suspiciously like a
hiss, and when his ministers passed, a deafening shout of "Bread! bread! Give us our bread!" arose on every side. The
Emperor, who knew, and, indeed, [77] was allowed to know, very little of what
was going on in Rome, was not a little frightened at the demonstration, and for
that reason all the more angry. When he was brought to take an interest in
anything outside his dining-hall and his library—he was as great a glutton of
books as of dainties—he could show himself both capable and energetic. His
ministers were not unprepared for the rare occasions on which their master
asserted himself. They bent before the storm, which would soon, they knew, blow
over, and leave them to follow their usual intrigues in peace.
"What
is this about bread?" cried Claudius.
Narcissus
explained that wheat had risen greatly in price, and that it had been necessary
to diminish the allowance made to the ticket-holders. The explanation did not
explain anything to the imperial mind. If Claudius had ever felt the want of
money, and it is quite possible that he had in the days before he came to the
throne, he had forgotten all about it. His ministers carefully kept all matters
of finance from his knowledge, and he had simply no idea of there being any
limit to what the treasury could or could not do.
"I
don't understand what you mean," he cried. "My Romans must have as
much bread as they want. It is not for the Augustus to [78] chaffer about how
many denarii are to be paid for this wheat that is wanted. I suppose that I
have money enough."
"Certainly,
sire," answered Narcissus, with a low bow. "Everything shall be
arranged according to your Highness' pleasure. But meanwhile will you please to
proceed to your place and give the signal for the Games to commence. Afterwards,
if you will condescend to listen, I will set the whole case before you, and we
shall then have the advantage of your counsel."
The
Games, which it is not necessary to describe, passed over without any untoward
incident, though the populace was obviously in a very bad humour. One or two
unsuccessful and unlucky gladiators received a death sentence which they would
probably have escaped had the masters of their fate been better content with
themselves and the world. The comic business of the spectacles moved very
little laughter, and their splendours very little admiration. But the whole
passed over without any positive outburst, and the authorities felt that they
had at least obtained a reprieve.
It was clear,
however, that no time was to be lost, and a council in
which the situation was to be discussed, and if possible dealt with, was to be
held that very day. The Roman hours for busi- [79] ness were very early, and it
was only a very great emergency that could be held to justify so late an hour
for meeting as the time fixed,
He was a
true father of his country, who was willing to give up anything rather than
that his people should suffer. They were equally complimentary when he
suggested that he should give a public recitation, tickets for which should be
sold at five gold pieces each. This idea was put off, for some sufficiently
plausible reason. Then [80] Narcissus gave his advice, introducing it with the
usual assurance of submission to the superior wisdom of the Emperor. The
substance of what he said was, that in his judgment the difficulty was
temporary, sufficiently serious indeed to demand prompt remedy—he was too
sagacious to minimize a matter about which Claudius, he saw, was very
anxious—but not beyond treatment by temporary measures. There was scarcity, but
it would pass away. Meanwhile those who had wealth ought to put a sufficient
portion of it at the service of the State for immediate uses. "I will
give," he went on, "two million sesterces." (Footnote: About £160,000.)
The sum sounded imposing, but to any one who knew the circumstances of the
case, it was but a small fraction of the wealth which, by means more or less nefarious,
the donor had stolen out of the public revenue. Still it had a magnificent
sound. Pallas, who was supposed to be his equal, if not his superior, in
wealth, followed with the offer of a similar sum. Two other officials
who had had fewer opportunities, though equal desire, for plunder, named
smaller amounts. At this point the Prefect of the Praetorians broke in with a
suggestion of a more radical policy. He praised the munificence of the
freedmen, though he contrived in doing it to convey the idea which we [81] know
to have been perfectly in accord with the truth, that they were but giving back
a part of what they had received or taken. "But," he went on,
"their gifts will only help us for a time; we must remove, if we can, the
cause of the evil. And what is the cause? I say that it is the avarice and
rapacity of the Jews.
One of
the freedmen ventured to say that so far as he had an opportunity of observing
them they seemed sober and industrious.
"Sobriety
and industry," replied the soldier, "are admirable virtues if the man
who possesses them is a patriot. If he is not, they do but make him more
dangerous. These Jews are a turbulent, discontented and disloyal lot. I saw
something of them when I was in command of one of the legions in the time of
Caius Caesar. (Footnote: Commonly known by the name of Caligula.) They
got into a state of furious excitement for some trifle or other, and there was
very nearly a rebellion."
"My
nephew," said the Emperor, "was, I think, a
little unreasonable. He wanted to set up a statue of himself in their chief
temple, and they objected to it. I cannot but think that they were in the
right."
[82]
"You are very kind, Sire, to say so, but for my part I hold that the dogs
should have felt honoured by the proposal. Who are they to flout at Caesar's
statue?"
"My
friend," said the Emperor, with a dignity which he sometimes knew how to
assume, "you are scarcely an authority on such matters. But what think
you," he went on, turning to Narcissus, "of these Jews?"
"Sire,"
said the freedman, "I do not deny that they are temperate and
hard-working; but this does not necessarily make them good citizens or good
neighbours. The fact is that they push our people out of the best places, and
they make themselves masters. They have always got money at command, and they
lend it. I know something about money lending; I was once in the business
myself, and I still have agents who employ part of my capital in that way. They
tell me that in nine cases out of ten when they have an application for a loan,
they find that a Jew has got a first mortgage on the house, or the
stock-in-trade, or the tools, or whatever it is that the man wants to borrow
on. They always take care to have the best in any matter they meddle
with."
"But
are they extortionate?" asked the Emperor.
"I
can't say that they are, and yet they are [83] unpopular; of that I am quite
certain, though it is difficult to say why. It would certainly please the
people generally if they were banished from
"Banished
from
"I
am sure, Sire," said Narcissus, "there are precedents, but your
Highness is better acquainted with these things than any of us. Was there not
something of the kind done with the Greek professors some two hundred years
ago?"
This
artful appeal to the Emperor's erudition had the effect which it was intended
to have. Claudius mounted his hobby and was fairly carried away.
"Yes,"
said he, "you are right. One hundred and ninety-nine years ago, to be
exact, the Greek philosophers and teachers of rhetoric were banished by the
censors of
By this time the Emperor had talked himself into a complete
forgetfulness of the events of the case, and showed no hesitation in signing
the [84] decree, artfully made ready for the opportunity.
As the
council broke up, Narcissus whispered to Pallas—
"After
all, our millions may not be so badly laid out; there
will be some shipwrecks, I take it, pretty soon; and it will be strange if
there are not some valuables to be picked up on the shore."
THE PROCLAMATION
[85] THE Imperial Chancery was busily employed for many hours
of the night that followed the council described in the preceding chapter, in
multiplying copies of the proclamation by which the decree of banishment was to
be made known throughout the length and breadth of
"IN THE TENTH YEAR OF CLAUDIUS DRUSUS NERO GERMANICUS, AUGUSTUS,
CONSUL FOR THE TENTH TIME.
"THE
EMPEROR BY THE ADVICE OF HIS TRUSTY COUNSELLORS HEREBY DECREES THE BANISHMENT
OF THE PEOPLE KNOWN BY THE NAME OF JEWS. ALL PERSONS BELONGING TO THIS NATION
MUST QUIT THE CITY OF
This was
posted up in all the quarters of the city. It so happened that our two friends
saw it for the first time as they were on the way together to Seneca's house.
Vestinius had been busily employed all the night in command of a detachment
told off to cope with a great fire, and had been asleep all day; the Corsican
had spent the morning at Ostia looking after some necessary repairs to his
ship. This had kept him so busily employed that he had barely time to keep his
appointment in
They had
not walked many yards, however, from the barracks when one of the posters attracted
them.
"By
the Twin Brothers," cried the Corsican, when he had read it, "this is a disaster! It means nothing less than ruin. What
will my employer do? Fourteen days to collect his property and to put it into
shape for carrying away. Why, he could hardly do it in fourteen years. You must
excuse me; I must go and see him at once. And it makes it all the worse that
[87] he is laid up. They told me at his house this morning that he was a little
better, but he certainly cannot be moved for weeks, and who is to manage for
him? It would be a great trouble at any time, his being laid aside, for he is
the only man who knows about his business from end to end; but now, I cannot
conceive what we shall do."
"I
can understand what you mean. But I don't think that it will be of any use for
you to go to him now. On the contrary you cannot do better, in my judgment,
than keep this appointment. Seneca is a great man; he is a power at court; if
there is anything to be done by private influence, he is the man to help you.
You cannot do better, I take it, than to ask his
counsel."
The
Corsican acknowledged the justice of the remark, and made no further difficulty
about fulfilling his engagement with Seneca. It is not necessary to describe
the dinner. If it was not sumptuous for a millionaire it was certainly
elaborate for a philosopher, and the guests, if they desired to share an
entertainment which they might look back to and talk about in years to come,
had no reason to be disappointed. Seneca suited his conversation to his
company, and seemed to have no difficulty in doing so. The [88] sailor found
that he knew all about ships; the centurion discovered that he was practically
at home in all the details of local administration. After dinner, when the
slaves had finished their service and retired, the Corsican put before his host
the case of Manasseh.
"I
don't particularly like this people," he said, "but the old man has
been my very good friend, and I should be sorry to see him wronged. His case is
very hard. It is bad enough at any time to be driven from his home, and now,
when it may cost him his life to be moved, it is downright cruelty."
Seneca,
though he was too familiar with the ways of courts, and had had too plain a lesson
of the need of caution, to be outspoken, was very sympathetic. In the ordinary
course of things he would have been invited to attend the council, and it was a
distinct affront that he had been left out. Whether he would have been able to
resist with success the policy of the freedmen was more than doubtful, and this
in a way reconciled him to the neglect. To the policy itself he was wholly
adverse. He saw clearly enough that the qualities that made the Jews unpopular
went at the same time to make them useful citizens. If they were frugal and
industrious, and keen traders and apt to make a profit out of any business in
[89] which they might engage, so much the better, not for themselves only, but
also for the State. The Commonwealth, he was sure, could not afford to lose men
of energy and resource and keep the indolent and shiftless. What if they did
enrich themselves? they were benefiting the country at
the same time, and this was exactly what the unhelpful and improvident
creatures who resented their superiority were sure never to do. The question of
the moment, however, was what was to be done in this particular case. After
turning the subject over in his mind for a few minutes, he gave the result of
his reflections.
"It
is a very hard case, as you say, this of your friend the Jew, but I think that
I can see my way to helping him. But first tell me,
have you any plan of your own?"
"Well,"
replied the captain, "I thought of suggesting that he should go with me on
my return voyage to
"Yes,"
said Seneca, "he would be that, but
"It
is very unlikely; in fact, the physicians declare that it is impossible."
"Well,
then, we must manage to get leave for him to stay awhile till he can travel
safely. I daresay that I shall be able to interest my pupil in him. He is a
generous lad, though the gods only know what he will become amongst such
surroundings. Put another Cheiron to bring up another Achilles in these days
and in
"Yes,
very rich, though I don't know enough about his affairs to fix any figures. But
I should certainly say that he is rich—yes, very rich."
"Well,
it is not a case of money; you would affront her by offering money. But she is
a [91] woman, and she can never have jewels enough. Could your Manasseh, think
you, gratify her in this respect?"
"Certainly,"
replied the Corsican. "I have a standing commission from him to buy what I
think fit in this way, and I have had some fine things come my way in
"Yes,"
broke in the centurion, "and it is my friend the captain's doing that he
has them now." And he went on to give a brief account of the narrow escape
that the Esquiline shop had had of being plundered of all its treasures.
"Has
he a son?" asked Seneca.
"Yes,"
replied the Corsican, "and a very shrewd young man too, though not to be
compared, in my mind, with his father. His name is Raphael."
"Well,"
said Seneca, "send this Raphael to me. We shall be able, I daresay, to
manage something between us. And when the father is recovered enough, he had
better go to
Shortly
after this the Corsican took his leave, in much better spirits about his patron
than he had had when he came.
AN EXILED NATION
[93] NARCISSUS had prophesied only too truly when he had said
that there would be shipwrecks in
The loss
as usual fell more heavily on the poor than on the rich. Great firms such as
that over which Manasseh presided had taken precautions against such
emergencies. They made a point of having a Gentile partner, who, being exempt
from the action of the decree, took up the character of sole owner. Of course
there was considerable risk of loss. The Gentile partner was not always an
honest man. And there remained the great personal inconvenience, though always
mitigated, as every trouble on earth is mitigated, by the possession of money.
The poorer Jews had no such alleviation of their lot; the small tradesman lost
his capital, the artisan lost his [95] employment. The Jewish race is patient
and tenacious of life beyond all others, with a quite unparalleled power of
recovery; all the same it suffered a great blow, and the misery endured by
individual members of it was past all reckoning. And there were not a few cases
in which others who could have had no share in the
supposed misdeeds of the people suffered along with it.
One
great calamity, however, they could do little or nothing to mitigate, and that
was the calamity which their departure brought on their [96] neighbours. A
Roman poet, who was certainly not harder of heart then the average of his
fellow citizens, counted it among the blessings of a countryman's life that he
had not to feel the pang of pity for the poor. This was a blessing which
That
they could do this was a great consolation to the two. They felt keenly the
breaking up of their life in
THE IMPERIAL PASS
[101] THE bulk of the exiles naturally chose the Ostian route.
Then, as now, it was much cheaper to travel by sea than by land. The wheat
ships, too, offered passages eastward at very cheap rates. They were the most
commodious ships afloat, and they made the return voyage mostly in ballast, for
the exports from
Raphael
had called on Seneca and had made a [102] very favourable impression on the
philosopher. The young Jew was a well educated man, and took a wide outlook on
life; while, at the same time, the peculiarities of his birth and upbringing
had left something highly distinctive on his character and bearing. It was the
first time that Seneca had come in contact with a Jew of the better type, and the
meeting interested him intensely as a student of human nature. Then, again, he
was attracted in his character of a philosopher. Seneca was a Stoic in his
belief, and a Stoic had more things in common with the Jew, as regarded God and
the ordering of the world, than any other kind of thinker. Lastly Seneca was a
great capitalist who had his investments all over the civilized world, and
unless he has been very much belied, was somewhat fond of money, impoverishing
the provinces, it was confidently asserted, by his usury. Anyhow he was greatly
taken by the shrewdness and wide knowledge of the young Jew, in whom he
recognized the acuteness and readiness of an expert in finance.
The
conversation of course speedily turned to the subject which was the cause of Raphael's
visit.
"I
was much concerned," said Seneca, "to hear of your father's
condition. How is he going on?"
[103]
"Wonderfully well, for an old man," replied Raphael, "but the
time is very short, and we are exceedingly anxious."
"I
can receive him here, where he would have every comfort of nursing and
attendance. Any one whom he might desire to bring with him would be welcome.
The authorities would make no objection. In fact the decree of banishment would
be suspended as far as he and his party are concerned. So much I can promise; I
have an assurance from the Empress that it shall be so. I understand, of
course, that he must be waited upon by his own people. His attendants,
therefore, would include any physician that may be in charge of him."
"You
are kindness itself, sir, but unfortunately the difficulty is not removed, and
I am afraid is not removable. You see—well, my father—is
well, shall I say old-fashioned? He keeps rigidly to the Law, and the Law as it
has been expounded and fortified by the ingenuity of generations of
professional interpreters. As for myself I can't hold with these ways. As long
as we were in a country of our own they were all well, we could live as we
pleased, and fix the conditions of life for ourselves. If a stranger did not choose
to conform to them he could keep away. But that is changed. We are scattered
all over the world, [104] and I venture to think it absurd that we should try
to carry all these safeguards and prohibitions with us wherever we may go. The
curious thing—I know, sir, that you are interested in these matters—is that it
is since this dispersion that these rules have been made so detailed and, if I
may say it, impracticable. All this, however, is beside the mark just now. The
fact is that my father would object as strongly to coming under the roof of a
Gentile host, as he would to being attended by a Gentile nurse. And if he were
to consent, which I may frankly say is impossible, then
his attendants would object. No, I am at my wits' end. He must travel, whatever
his condition, for there is simply no place where he can stay. His own house,
or indeed any Jewish house, is impossible, is it not, sir?"
"Yes,"
said Seneca, after a moment's thought, "I don't think that any Jewish house
could be exempted from the operation of the edict."
"And
it must be in a Jewish house that he stays, if he is to stay anywhere. That is
my dilemma, and I don't see any escape from it. He must go, and if he goes, I
very much doubt whether he will live to see Brundisium."
Seneca
reflected. After a pause he said, "Well, as he must go, there is nothing
to be done but to ease his going. Of course there will be a [105] considerable
crush on the Brundisium road during the next ten days. Well, I will get a pass
(Footnote: This pass, or diploma (a Latin or rather a Greek word, meaning a paper,
or parchment, or tablet, folded in two), was a document issued by authority
which entitled the bearer to be assisted on his journey in any way that he
might require, with fresh horses, for instance, or convenient carriages. It
bore the Emperor's seal and was in theory issued by him, but certain great
officials, among them the commander of the Praetorians, had the power of
granting them.) for your father and you and such attendants
as he will absolutely want. I should recommend you to send the others by the
"We
are greatly obliged to you, sir," said Raphael. "This makes our way
as plain as it can be made."
"One
thing more," Seneca went on, as his visitor rose to make his farewells.
"You remember the line—one of the wise utterances of the Pythian
priestess, if I remember right—'Fight thou with silver spears, and rule the
world,' but I dare say that your own wise men have said something of the same
kind."
[106]
"Yes, indeed," replied Raphael with a smile; "as the wise King
has it, 'A man's gift maketh room for him;' and room, I take it, is exactly
what will be pretty scarce on the eastward road."
THE GALLINARIAN WOOD
[107] AMONG the families which were relieved by the kindly
minstrations of
|
|
Marulla
was one of the humble friends to whom Priscilla paid a farewell visit. The
woman's demeanour was certainly embarrassed. She [109] seemed to be always on
the verge of saying something which yet she could not bring herself to utter.
Yet she was even more than usually affectionate. Her habit was to be reserved.
Priscilla knew her to be profoundly grateful for kindnesses received, but the
gratitude was not demonstrative. On this occasion, however, the reserve was
broken down. When Priscilla was about to leave the house, Marulla threw herself
upon the ground, clasped her round the ankles, and passionately kissed her
feet, shaken all the time with dry convulsive sobs. Priscilla left her with an
uneasy sense of unexplained mystery added to the grief which she felt at the
breaking up of a life in which she had felt all the pure pleasure which waits
upon disinterested kindness.
It was
now the eleventh of the fourteen days of grace allowed by the edict of
banishment, and
"Ah!"
said
Happily
the workmen in the tent factory had not been sent off. They had been kept back,
contrary to
"Rufus,"
he said, "is nothing more or less than a scoundrel. He has the reputation
of being in league with the banditti—we have, as I dare say you know, a great
many more of these fellows in these parts than we like. They don't harm us, it
is true, but they destroy the reputation of the road. It is certainly a fact
that several parties that have made the journey under the care of Rufus have
got into trouble. This may have been an accident. If so, Rufus has been very
unlucky, and it is as bad to be unlucky as it is to be wicked. But what is most
suspicious in the present affair is that Rufus has persuaded the party to go
round by way of Liternum. It was an easier road, he said, and with their
invalid to think of, they would not really be losing any time by taking it.
Well, I have lived in this country, man and boy, for sixty years, and I never
heard of the road by Liternum being better than any other. But I have heard of
its being a great place for banditti. The forest runs right up to the town, and
the road goes through it for a couple of miles or so. What with the forest and
its thickets and the marshes with their byways and their quagmires it is a very
labyrinth. And the country people are in league with the robbers. It is a poor
[113] country and fever-smitten, and the fishermen and hunters and peasants
find a few gold pieces mighty convenient."
"But
if you knew all this," cried
"My
dear sir," replied the man, "you are asking a little too much of me.
I would not harm a traveller for all the world: I
never did such a thing in my life, and I never will. But I can't set myself
against the whole country-side. As it is, I leave them alone and they leave me
alone. If a traveller asks me a question I give him a true answer, as far as I
know it. If your friends—I call them your friends, because you seem to know
them—had asked my advice I should have given it them fair and square; I should
have said, Keep to the old road, but I should not have said, If you go by Liternum
you will very likely fall among thieves. It would have been as much as my life
is worth to say it. Life at Sinuessa, sir, if you will believe me, is not worth
very much; still I am for holding to it as long as I can. And now, sir, if I
may make bold to advise you, I should say, Hurry on. You have got a strong
party here, and will be more than a match for the robbers. Your friends will
not be very much in advance, and you may very well [114] come up in time, if
they are attacked. Your good lady, of course, will stop here. You may trust me,
sir, to do my best for her; but if you like, leave two or three of your men by
way of a guard."
Priscilla,
as might have been expected, scouted the idea of being left behind. "You
will want every man," she said, "or, anyhow, the more you can put in
the field against these villains, the better your chance. And I, too, may be of
use."
Priscilla
had made the journey so far in a carriage. This was dispensed with for the
present. The innkeeper furnished a rough pony, which she mounted; and the party
started without losing a moment. One thing became evident after some distance
had been traversed. The guide had simply told a lie when he had recommended the
Liternum road as especially good for travelling. It was a by-road and was not
in the perfect condition which was characteristic of the great Roman Viae.
This confirmed the inn-keeper's suspicions. And these suspicions were soon to
be turned into certainty. Between the tenth and eleventh milestone—the whole
distance between Sinuessa and Liternum was fourteen miles—the sound of a horse
urged at full gallop could be plainly heard. The next minute the rider came in
view. He was a young Jew [115] who acted as body-servant to Raphael, and was
known by sight to some of the company.
"Thanks
be to the Lord of hosts!" he cried. "My
master and his father are sore beset. Those villains of guards have sold us. My
master sent me back on the chance of finding some help. As I was riding off,
one of the guards sent an arrow after me. By good luck it did nothing more than
graze my horse's off hind leg. So it was as good as a spur, and he galloped
faster than ever. But another inch would have lamed him. Hurry on, gentlemen;
there is not a moment to lose."
The
captain of the brigands felt, as soon as he caught sight of the well armed and
resolute looking party under
EASTWARD BOUND
[118] THE first care of the newcomers was Manasseh. The effect
of the incident had been to bring him perilously near to his end. Weak as he
was, he was not one to be still while so exciting a drama was being enacted
round him. He was absolutely unable to move from his place; but he sat up in the
litter, poured out invectives on the villains who had betrayed him, and
encouraged his own party to do their best in the way of resistance. Of course
there was a reaction, and when the brief conflict had ended in the flight of
the robbers, he was in a fainting condition. Priscilla had to use all her skill
and all the appliances she had at hand—she was too good a woman ever to leave
herself without some of the most important "first aids," as they were
understood at the time—before she could bring him back to consciousness. His
state was still doubtful, but he had a vigorous constitution, and what was not
less favourable for recovering, an indomitable spirit.
[119] The next question that pressed for solution was the fate of
the brigand captain. Some were for making short work with him. Why, they asked,
should they encumber themselves with a villain who had plotted to cut all their
throats? "Deal him," they cried, "the measure that he would have
dealt to us, a couple of inches of cold steel."
"He
is far too fine a fellow," he said, "to be
made food for crows and ravens. In these times it is not a bad thing to have so
stout a fellow on one's side, and you have got a chance of getting him. Make
him swear by whatever he holds sacred—all these fellows have some oath which
they do not like to forswear—that he will be faithful to you; that will be
better than handing him over to the authorities, who in all probability are
greater scoundrels than he is."
This
advice prevailed;
The
remainder of the journey to Brundisium was completed without any disturbing
incidents. When that place was reached, it became a question what was next to
be done; the usual plan followed by travellers bound eastward was to take the
shortest sea-passage—most landsmen think that the less they have of the sea the
better—to Apollonia, and proceed overland to Corinth. But this necessitated more
than one change of conveyance, and various other inconveniences, which the
condition of Manasseh, who was still hovering between death and life, rendered
peculiarly undesirable.
Raphael
was curiously different from his father, and yet even
less in sympathy with
The
voyage from Brundisium to the entrance of the
It was a
gay scene that met the travellers' eyes. Visitors were flocking to
CORINTH
[124] IT was nearly sunset on the fourth day after leaving
Brundisium when the travellers reached Lechaeum, the western
The
Jewish community was large and wealthy, as it was certain to be in any place
where commerce was in the ascendant. Manasseh had, of course, his
correspondents, who had been warned of his coming, Raphael having taken the
precaution of sending a message by the shorter overland route. A litter was in
attendance, and a physician, whose services however were scarcely needed, the
quiet voyage over the placid waters of the Gulf having been of the greatest
service to the invalid. Archias also had been apprised in the same way of the
intended arrival of
|
|
The
distance between the harbour and the city was a little less than a mile and a
half. The road was level and kept in excellent repair, with a wall strengthened
by towers and redoubts on either side (Footnote: These walls
closely resembled the Long Walls by which
A YOUNG CHAMPION
[129] THE financial business between
"My
dear sir," he exclaimed, "you will excuse me if I say that this
sounds to me very strange. You have just made a very considerable loan to the
city, and this, I imagine, is not your only investment—excuse me if I seem to
show an indiscreet curiosity as to your affairs—so that you obviously have a
sufficient income at your command, and yet you are anxious to take up a not
very interesting handicraft. What does it all mean, if I may be bold enough to
ask the question?"
"I
am following," replied
"Well,"
said Archias, "you surprise me. What would Plato have said to such a
notion? He was against allowing the handicraftsman any share in the government
of his ideal city. You have read the Republic?"
"Yes,"
replied Aquila, "I have read it with the greatest admiration, though I
should not care to live in a state so modelled—nor, I fancy, would any one
else."
"Possibly,"
said the magistrate, "but you will remember what he says:—The really good State does not make the artisan a
citizen. What do you say to that?"
"Well,"
replied the Jew, "I shall not presume to argue the question with the
greatest of the philosphers on first principles. It is not difficult, however,
to make you see our Jewish standpoint. We Jews have always felt that our
position was very precarious. We were a small people in a scrap of territory
which might be set down and fairly lost in the enormous empires on either side.
We might be torn away any day from our place and our belongings. What could be
more reasonable than that every man should be provided with [132] the means of
earning his bread in any extremity to which he might be reduced.
Your Plato, you will remember, acknowledges that a state cannot exist without
the activities which these same artisans practise. This is our justification.
Let us take care, we say, to provide ourselves with something which will make
us useful or even necessary wherever we go. We may have house, land, money
taken from us; but the manual skill will still be left to us, and with it,
whatever the circumstances, the means of making a livelihood. The practice was
always popular with us, but it became a fixed rule after the terrible
experience of the Great Captivity. And let me ask you a question. What is your
experience as a magistrate? Whom do you find the best citizen, the most useful,
the most law-abiding, the most amenable to discipline, the soldiers whom Plato
would have made dominant in his State, or the artisans?"
The
Archon smiled, but did not think it necessary to answer the question.
"To
return to the business immediately in hand," he
went on after a short pause for consideration, "I think that I see my way
to helping you to what you want. There is a very respectable man who has a
business of the kind you speak of, who is obliged to come to an arrangement
with his [133] creditors. It is not through any fault of his; his health has
failed him, and he will have to realize as best he can. His case came before me
two or three days ago, and will be coming on again to-morrow."
A
satisfactory arrangement was made. The tradesman in question was able, by
In one
member of the family with which
It must
be allowed that
PAUL OF TARSUS
[137] AQUILA had not been many days in Corinth before he found
that he was in closer contact with the new movement in religion, the
"Way," as it is commonly called in the earliest Church history, (Footnote: So in Acts ix.
2. Paul goes from
"You
are thinking," said
"I
must own," answered Trophimus, "that the thought did cross my mind.
Of course there are Jews who are 'hail, fellow, well met' with any one who will
treat them to a flagon of wine; but they are not of your sort. As a rule, I
much prefer dealing with men who, outside business, keep me very strictly at
arm's length. It is not exactly flattering to one's pride, but [139] then I
find that these men meet their engagements and the others do not. But I know
some exceptions."
"For
myself," said
Trophimus
caught eagerly at the words. "What!" he cried, "did I hear you
aright? 'In Him there is neither Jew nor Greek?' These
are the very words I have heard again and again in the mouth of one of the very
noblest of men."
"And
who is that?" asked
"Paul
of Tarsus," was the answer.
"Ah,"
said
"Yes,"
replied the Greek, "it is my privilege to know him. Indeed, I may venture
to call him my friend."
"This,"
said
As the two sat at table, the talk naturally turned to the subject of the
family from whom
"For
myself," he went on, "I must own that I feel a little doubtful about
it. Very likely you will think it a prejudice. Now what do you think your
friend Paul would say to it?"
"Well,"
replied Trophimus, "that is not a very easy thing to answer. I cannot
imagine him going as a spectator to see a foot-race or anything else of the
kind. That would not be at all in his way. He has his thoughts wholly fixed on
other things; he is not one who would dream of amusing himself in that, or
indeed in any other way. But I don't suppose that he looks upon these things as
wrong. And I will tell [141] you why I think so. I have heard him speak of them
over and over again. He uses them as convenient images and comparisons for the
spiritual things which it is his business to speak about, and to bring home to
the minds of others. For instance he makes a great point of discipline; a man
must not let himself be led away by the desires of the flesh. I have heard him,
when he was preaching on this subject, use a metaphor
which he borrowed from the boxing-ring. 'I buffet my body,' (Footnote: Hupōpiazō
is the phrase used by
"All
this," said
This was
the first of many conversations. Nor was Trophimus the only acquaintance with
whom he discussed the same subject. Attending on the next Sabbath the synagogue
worship, he was much struck with a stranger who had been asked to officiate.
This man, whose name was Achaicus, was a Jew, a resident in another of the
Asiatic towns which had business with
"It
was in Antioch of Pisidia that I was first privileged to make the great
teacher's acquaintance. I had gone thither on business and found the city in a
great state of commotion. My host could talk of nothing else but the discourse
a stranger had delivered in the Synagogue on the preceding Sabbath. My host was
a devout man, one whose thoughts were greatly filled with hopes of the redemption
of
"Just
opposite the magistrate's house was the dwelling of one of the richest men in
the city. The street was very narrow, you will understand, with just room for
foot passengers to pass backwards and forwards. This man had a daughter, Thekla
by name, a very beautiful girl who was [147] about to be married to one of the
most promising young men in Iconium. One night—it was very shortly after the
prisoners had been committed—there was a little gathering in the chamber where
they were lodged. The magistrate was there with his two grown-up sons; I was
there also and I had brought some friends with me. Altogether there might have
been some fifteen persons. Paul spoke to us about giving up everything for
Christ—money, family, home, all that was nearest and dearest to us. He was like
to a man inspired, and his voice rose as if he were speaking not to less than a
score of hearers, but to thousands. Thekla sat at the window of her chamber on
the second floor, and she heard every word; and what she heard went straight to
her heart. It seemed to her like a message from God. A couple of hours or so
later she went across to the magistrate's house and bribed the man who was in
charge of the prisoners with a silver bracelet to let her into their room. What
Paul said to her I know not. That he told her to do what she did I do not
believe for a moment, but it is easy enough to understand how she may have come
to think that he did. Well, the next day she sent for her betrothed. First she
tried persuasion. Would he release her from the engagement? She would not marry
him; [148] she was called to other things; she must serve God. All this was
like an unknown tongue to the young man. 'Is she mad?' he said to himself. It
might be so, but she seemed quite rational in her way of talking, and to be
quite sure of her own mind. He did his best to persuade her, but he might as
well have talked to a rock. Then naturally he went to her father. The father,
an old man, passionately fond of his daughter, did all that he could to bring
her to another way of thinking. When she was obstinately set on her own way, he
grew angry. He would shut her up till she came to a better way of thinking. And
so he did. But he was not thorough enough in his proceedings. He left her her
jewellery, and with that the way of getting out of her prison. All the household idolized her. Very likely she could have
got away without a bribe; but with a bribe she was irresistible. One morning,
three or four days after the beginning of this affair, she was gone. She had
heard, it seems, that Paul and his companion, who by this time had been
released by the magistrates on condition that they would leave Iconium without
delay, had gone on to Lystra. She followed them alone. Imagine that! a girl who had never been outside her home without two or
three attendants! I [149] doubt, in fact, whether she had ever set foot on the
ground outside her father's house and garden. Somehow she missed them. Possibly
they had taken another route; possibly she had been misinformed. Anyhow she
never came up with them. When she was about a mile from Lystra, the Eparch of
the city overtook her. He was a priest of the local
"I
don't know exactly the particulars of what followed. Thekla was brought before
the Eparch and the other magistrates of the town. He [150] was, of course,
furious, and then she had certainly insulted a priest and torn the sacred robe.
Still she had had provocation, and the tearing was plainly an accident. There
must have been something more. She may have used strong words about the local
gods. Even the Greeks, as you know, look down upon this particular kind of
worship. It seems anyhow that there was some further offence beyond the blow
and the tearing of the robe, for the sentence was a very heavy one, the
heaviest that could be inflicted. Thekla was found guilty of blasphemy, and was
sentenced to suffer death by being exposed to wild beasts. There was to be a
show in two or three days' time.
"What
was to be done with her in the meantime? The magistrates had some conscience;
or perhaps her youth and beauty moved them. She was not to be thrown into the
common gaol, but to be committed to the charge of Queen Tryphaena, the widow,
you must know, of some Thracian king.
"Well,
the Queen was much taken with the maiden. It seemed to her a monstrous thing
that an innocent woman, who after all had done nothing but what became a woman,
should be dealt with in such a fashion. She did all that she could with the
magistrates to induce them to commute the sentence for something [151] less
shocking; but it was to no purpose. The day came on and the theatre was pretty
well filled—you know that such exhibitions are not to the taste of the better
class of Greeks, but there are always numbers of brutal or foolish persons who
would crowd to see anything horrible or exciting. The Queen herself went, not,
of course, because she had any of this wretched curiosity, but simply because
she could not bear to leave the girl to her fate, and she hoped against hope
that even at the last she might be able to do something for her. When her turn
came Thekla was led into the arena, and bound to a stake that was set up in the
middle of it. One of the gates of the dens in which the wild beasts are kept
was opened and a lion came bounding out. Then the spectators seemed to realize
for the first time what was going on. They saw this beautiful girl fastened to
the stake and doomed to the most horrible of deaths. A Roman crowd is used to
such sights, but in a Greek city they are rare, and, indeed, would never have
been seen at all but for the Roman rule. Anyhow, there was a great cry of
horror, so loud that it seemed to terrify the beast; at all events it stopped
short, and stood a few yards from the door of the cage lashing its tail to and
fro. Then there was a shrill cry which was heard above all the din. [152] It came from the Queen. The horror of the scene had been too
much for her. The next moment she fainted. Well, she could not have done
anything more effectual to stop the affair. The town clerk whispered to the
chief magistrate, 'This is a bad business, my lord. Queen Tryphaena is a
kinswoman of Augustus, and if anything should happen to her, we should be held
accountable. It is evident, too, that the people don't like it.' The end of it
was that the magistrate gave orders that everything possible should be done to
save Thekla. Happily this turned out to be a fairly easy business. The lion was
somewhat cowed by the noise; anyhow his keeper had very little difficulty in
getting him back to his den. The girl was unbound and put in the charge of the
Queen again, and remained with her for some weeks. During this time the young
man to whom she had been promised in marriage was killed out hunting. This made
the situation easier. Her parents were not bitter against her; but as long as
the young man lived, they could hardly help acting, for he belonged to a very
influential family. She did not go back to Iconium; that under the
circumstances would have been hardly prudent; but a Christian home was found
for her somewhere. There she busies herself with woman's work among the poor of
the faith, and is greatly beloved."
A SECRET
[153] IT had been arranged that Eumenes, the tradesman whose
business Aquila had purchased, should devote a few hours daily to instructing
his successor in various details of manufacture and commercial arrangement
which it would be to his advantage to know. Eumenes belonged to the
sufficiently numerous class who may be described as
excellent servants and indifferent masters. He knew all that there was to know
about his business, and yet had not been able to manage it with success. So
lucid were his explanations, so full of common sense his suggestions, that
[154]
"I am really sorry to go," he said. "I have never been so
comfortable here as I have been since you took the place over. I shall always
be grateful to you. You have been very generous in your dealings with me,
though I do hope and trust that you will make a good thing of it in the end.
And now, sir, I am going to ask you to do me a favour. It does not concern me
so much as it does my son Eubulus. There, again, you and your good wife have
been kindness itself, and so I make bold to ask you. I call him my son; every
one thinks that he is; he thinks so himself; but he is not. When he was a baby
he was put in charge of my dear wife, who has been dead these three years. We
lived in those days at
Eumenes
took this paper from the case in which it was kept, unrolled it and handed it
to
"For
reasons which I beg Eunice and Eumenes to take on trust as sufficient, I give
my son into their charge to be brought up as their own child. I am convinced
that it will be for his greater happiness that this should be his lot in life.
But I do not hide from myself the possibility that I may be wrong, or that
circumstances may arise which will make it necessary that what I would fain
conceal should be made known. In the casket that accompanies this paper are the
proofs of his parentage. I charge Eunice and Eumenes to leave them undisturbed
until the necessity shall arise of using them. Nothing, I am sure, could be
more to my son's advantage than that he should live and die in ignorance of his
parentage; if, however, the necessity should arise, let the casket be opened
and the instructions therein contained acted upon."
Eumenes
went on: "I do not conceive that the necessity has arisen; but it seems to
me that it may not improbably arise within a short time. It may be that if
Eubulus wins the race for which he is in training, he may be accepted without
[156] challenge as my son; it is possible on the other hand, that he may be
required to prove himself of pure Greek descent—no one, as you probably know,
is permitted to compete in these games unless he can bring forward such proof.
If that should happen, the casket must be opened. It only remains to show you
how this is to be done. The lock is a letter lock, and the secret of opening it
is the lad's name, Eubulus. Bring the letters into this order and the thing is
done."
Eumenes
expressed unfeigned respect for the chief magistrate, but thought that there
were serious objections.
"The
archon," he said, "is overwhelmed with business, especially in this
year with its special celebration of the Games. He is compelled to do much
through others. Any specially confidential matter—and
this is certainly of that character—would be better bestowed, if possible,
elsewhere. I am sure, my dear sir, that there is no one available who could be
better suited for it than you."
[157]
Eumenes
left
JEW AND GREEK
[158] IT was the traditional glory of the Isthmian Games, as,
indeed, it was of all the great athletic celebrations of ancient
Eubulus
was a leading favourite. He was, to begin with, a very handsome young man, and
that always goes a long way, for
|
Worth appears with brighter shine When lodged within a lovely shrine. |
(Footnote: "Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore virtue." (Aen. v.
344), used appropriately enough by Virgil of the beautiful Euryalus, who was a
competitor in the foot race.) Then he was a Corinthian, or the next thing to
one, as he had lived in the city ever since his earliest childhood, and he had
the most charming manners. He had won, too, in the boys' race at
[162]
But what was of especial benefit to him was the intimacy which grew up between
him and his two patrons, if they may be so called. It showed to him a home
where every influence was for good. His trainer was a decent fellow, who was
strict, from the business point of view, in keeping an orderly house, but the
talk and the general tone were not particularly improving. Eubulus had to take
all his meals there, and of course to sleep there, and on these points the rule
was of the strictest, but the time that remained over to him after his daily
exercises were done was his own, and he spent it with
It was,
of course, only by degrees that topics so serious were reached. The young
Corinthian was keenly interested in what was, for the present, the work of his
life, but he had a suspicion that
"I
don't suppose,"
[164]
"Pardon me, sir," said Eubulus, "but are there any games, any
amusements practised among your people?"
"Well,"
he said after a pause, "I hardly know how to answer you. The children, of
course, have their toys and sports; and where there are boys they are sure to
run races and wrestle. But for regular sports for grown-up men I can hardly
speak. You see I have never lived in my own country, and there are
difficulties, as you will easily understand, when our home is among strangers.
We have always had, of course, practice at archery and throwing the javelin at
a mark and using the sling. We pride ourselves on being as skilful with the
sling as the most famous experts in that weapon, the Cretans for example. But
these are more martial exercises than sports, and now that we are a province of
the empire, and war is practically out of the question, such exercises have
fallen into disuse. No, I should say that as a nation we never had any games to
speak of."
"And
don't you think, sir," Eubulus went on, "that this is a loss."
"Very
likely," replied Aquila, "but then you will remember that in the days
when we were free, every man was virtually a soldier, and between [165] keeping
himself ready for service and working for his daily bread, he had no time to
spare."
Priscilla,
who had been listening to the conversation, now took a part in it.
"I
cannot help thinking that our young friend is right. And I am quite sure that
in one thing he and his people are greatly superior to my own. Their Games are
infinitely superior to our dreadful Shows, poor creatures torn to pieces by
wild beasts, a dreadful fate even for the worst criminals, and, what is still
worse, men set to fight with men, aye, and slaughtered in cold blood afterwards
if they do not acquit themselves so as to satisfy the spectators. I never shall
forget what I saw when I went one day with my Aunt Cornelia to a great show. It
was the first that the Emperor exhibited after he came to the throne, and it
was expected to be particularly splendid. And so it was, as I was told by those
who were experienced in such matters, but I thought it a very dreadful affair,
and was very sorry that I was ever persuaded to go. The first part of it wasn't
so bad; there were performing elephants and dancing bears and dogs that
performed such tricks as you never saw. Then there were all sorts of strange
and beautiful animals from all parts of the world, ostriches, and
flamingoes—bright scarlet creatures [166] —and deer of all kinds, big and
little. I could not help feeling a little sorry for the beautiful creatures,
taken away from their own places, and pretty certain to die. But this was
nothing to what came afterwards. I can't attempt to describe the horrors of
that day; as a matter of fact I saw very little of them, for I hid my face in
my hands, but what I did see was too dreadful—I can see it as I sit here at
this moment. My aunt said, 'Come, Prisca'—they did not call me Priscilla then,
for I had not grown as tall as I am now—' here is something well worth seeing,
and nothing, too, that need shock you.' Well I looked up, and it was an
exciting thing, I must own, to watch. Do you know that I am ashamed to remember
how exciting it was? perhaps it was the wolf's blood
in my veins. There were two men fighting. One had a net in one hand and a sort
of three-pronged fork, rather bigger than a common shovel, in the other. He had
a dagger, too, though I did not see it at the time. The other had a long sword,
a very much more powerful weapon than the fork or the dagger; but then the net
was supposed to make the two equal. Well, it was very interesting to see them making feints, advancing or retreating, first one
seeming to get the advantage and then the other. At last the man with the net
made a throw—- [167] you see, if he entangled the other in it he had got the
better of the fight—but he missed; the other man was watching him, watching not
the hand but the eye, and guessed when he would throw, and so contrived to keep
clear. Then the net-man took to his heels with his antagonist after him. He
could not run quite so fast; his net and fork hindered him, and the other was
soon close behind. And then a strange thing happened; the swordsman looked away
for a moment; they told me afterwards that it was to the place where the girl
to whom he was betrothed was sitting. In a moment the net-man saw it, made
another cast, and entangled the swordsman in it. The next instant he struck him
with the fork. That was bad enough to see, but it was nothing to what came
after. The swordsman was supposed to have disgraced himself, though I don't
wonder at his doing it; anyhow, the spectators were very much enraged—some of
them I was told had lost money in betting on the affair—and they positively
ordered the man to be killed. Yes, and my aunt was one
of them. She was holding her thumb out straight, in a striking attitude, you
might say, and she looked as fierce as if she could have killed the man with
her own hands. 'Clumsy fool,' I heard her say, 'when he had the game in his
[168] own hands, to throw it away in this silly fashion. Let him suffer for
it.' There was a horrid fascination in the thing, and I positively could not
look away. And besides, I hoped that the poor fellow might escape after all.
For all the people were not of the same mind. Some held their thumbs down—that
means mercy. But it went against him. They told me afterward, that when there
is a difference it almost always does; except the party that is for killing is
very small indeed. The Emperor, if he is present, or if not, the elder consul,
decides, and he knows that the death sentence is more liked. It is the only
thing that remains to the Romans of their old power. They used to rule the
world, and now they have to be content with saying whether some poor wretch of
a gladiator shall live or die. I shall never forget the gasp of satisfaction
which my aunt gave when the net-man struck his dagger into his antagonist's side;
there was a dead silence, and you could hear the blow. So, at least, I fancied.
I never went again, as you may suppose; and I could hardly bear to speak to my
aunt, though I don't suppose, poor woman! that she was
worse than others."
Eubulus,
who was perfectly candid and honest when he was questioned about his life at
the trainer's, could not give a very good account of [169] the life that he had
to lead there, or of his companions.
"The
thing is not what it was, if I am to believe what was written about it in the
former days. All the boys and lads are professionals, or would like to be
professionals. If they win a victory, then they have their chance. One victory
is not enough; they must have a second, and then the people who pay their
expenses are willing to go on. If they fail, they have to take up with some
other occupation. But there is not a single competitor who comes for the love
of the thing. In the old days, as I have read, the sons of the best families in
CLEONICÉ
[171] IT is not to be supposed that Eubulus should have grown
to manhood without having had his heart touched by the charms of some
Corinthian maiden. As a matter of fact, he was deeply in love, and
unfortunately the girl whom he loved was considerably above himself
in social standing, for she was the only child of the Archon himself. There was
also another difficulty in the way, were the social difficulty to be overcome.
Her father's sister was priestess of one of the most famous shrines of the
city, the
It may
easily be imagined that the young man's secret did not long remain his own.
Priscilla, who may be said to have made a love match for herself, and had found
it a more than usually happy experience, was keenly interested in affairs of
the kind, all the more keenly, perhaps, because she had no children to occupy her
thoughts. It had struck her for some time that the young man was a little more
absent-minded than one quite heart-whole might be expected to be. She found him
more than once intently studying a little volume which, although she had no
opportunity of inspecting it, she suspected might be, and which indeed was, a collection of love poems. He was a well educated lad,
but not specially fond of reading. She had more
positive proof when she picked up a fragment of parchment which he had covered
with some attempts, not very felicitous, it must be owned, at love verses of
his own. These strong suspicions were turned into certainty by a chance meeting
between the two. It came about one evening on what was the fashionable
promenade of
When
Priscilla came to review the situation she felt not a little perplexed. She
knew the secret of Eubulus' birth, or rather, she was aware of the fact that
there was such a secret, for
[175]
Chance, however, gave Eubulus an opportunity of commending himself to the young
lady far more favourable than he could have contrived for himself or his friends
could have contrived for him. It was customary to hold an aquatic festival,
something like what we call a regatta. There were rowing and sailing
competitions, and various sports that were practised on water. The affair was a
very popular one, as might be expected in "
The festival
was in full swing when one of the accidents which no foresight can wholly guard
against occurred. The Isthmus on which
|
|
This was
what happened now. Hitherto there had been almost a dead calm, and the sailing vessels
had set all their canvas to catch such fitful airs as from time to time ruffled
the surface. Then there suddenly descended from the height an unexpected blast.
It made for itself a way of some few yards wide, curiously distinguished from
the surrounding calm by a dark and ruffled surface. Right in this line which it
followed [177] was a yacht with a great expanse of canvas. This it caught
sidewise; the rudder was wrenched by the sudden shock from the hand of the
steersman—he was intent upon the fortunes of a race, and the vessel became
unmanageable. The next moment she came into violent collision with a rowing
boat. Happily the blow was delivered close to the bow, which was not occupied
by any passengers; even the man at the bow-oar escaped unhurt, but both rowers
and passengers were precipitated into the water. The passengers were
Cleonicé and her mother, for whom the municipal yacht was not available.
The yacht, on the other hand, had been chartered by the trainer, who mindful of
the wise maxim which forbids the bowman to keep his bow always bent, was giving
his pupils a holiday. They were allowed a day off from regular training and
exercises. To have permitted them to follow their own devices and spend the day
as they chose would have been highly imprudent. A single excess might easily
undo the good of weeks of discipline and temperance; accordingly the trainer,
who was well paid for his work and could afford to do things on a liberal
scale, did not cease to shepherd his flock, and keep them under his own eye.
Eubulus had thrown off his upper garment the moment he saw that a collision was
imminent, and [178] stood clad in a tight fitting tunic ready for a plunge. At
an earlier period of the day he had caught sight of the row boat, and with a
lover's keenness of vision, had distinguished its occupants. He now recognized
them again, and in a moment he was in the water, making with the rapid and
vigorous stroke of a practised swimmer for the girl, who was fortunately kept
from immediately sinking by her garments. The actual rescue was easy enough.
She had the presence of mind not to embarrass her deliverer by a struggle; and
he was so much at home in the water, that he had no difficulty in supporting
her. Help too was speedily rendered by some of the boats in the neighbourhood.
The incident happily ended without any disaster. The trainer's yacht escaped
without capsizing, thanks to the fact that the breaking of the mast relieved it
from the pressure of the sails. Cleonicé's mother had a narrow escape,
but rather from the shock than from the actual danger of drowning. She was
conscious enough, however, to ask the name of the rescuer, and she suffered
nothing worse in the end than a few days' confinement to her bed. Certainly
Eubulus had to thank his fortunes for a rare opportunity.
PLOTS
[179] THE reader will have no difficulty in understanding that
the games of the Isthmus, in common with all similar celebrations in Greece,
had entered on a period of decadence. So, indeed, had
Another
result of the change was a vast increase in the betting, of which the various
races were the subject. Things were very much as they are now. There was a
multitude of people who speculated on these events in very various ways. Some
did so simply to get a little excitement. They were ready to make wagers on
races and on almost anything else. They had no particular knowledge of them or
even interest in them. It was an opportunity of gambling; the gambling was what
they really cared about. Others had some kind of interest in them. They had
been competitors themselves, had won prizes, or tried to win prizes, in former
years, or they knew one or other of the candidates, or they affected a
knowledge which they did not really possess. [181] There
was no great harm about these two classes. They risked money, it was true,
which they could ill spare, and sometimes made wives and children go short of
food and clothing; their worst misdeed was to risk what did not in any way
belong to them, the property, for instance, of employers. But the most
mischievous class was that of the professional betters. Even of these some were
honest up to their lights. They took advantage, it is true, of the ignorant and
unwary, tempting them, for instance, to take as risks what were really certainties
against them. Still they did not descend to downright fraud. If they lost a
wager they did not attempt to escape payment; and they did not seek to tamper
with competitors or judges. But these men, honest or comparatively honest, were
the exception. The great majority of the professional class had no scruples as
to the methods by which they made their gain. They bribed or
"hocussed" competitors; they corrupted judges, they tampered with
implements; they organized demonstrations which might terrify or perplex a
candidate whose victory did not suit their operations. There was nothing, in
short, in the way of fraud, and even of force, to which, if occasion served,
they were not ready to have recourse.
To this
highly objectionable class belonged [182] the three men whom I am now about to
bring under the notice of my readers. These fellows, Cleon, Democles, and
Ariston by name, had been accomplices in sundry nefarious practices for some
years. They had made, first and last, no small amount of money by their
villainies, but their gains, as happens almost invariably with men of this
stamp, seemed to have done them but very little good. They had been lightly
come by and had gone lightly, and now they were about as "hard up" as
men could well be. It is needless to describe how they
stood in regard to other contests in the forthcoming games; it will suffice to
say that their prospects were neither particularly good nor particularly bad.
They did not stand to lose or to win any great sum. With the long race the case
was different. They had begun by giving long odds against Eubulus. This was
reasonable enough. The young man when he had begun his training had not shown
any special promise, and then there were the adverse family circumstances—they
made it their business to make themselves acquainted with everything that was
likely to tell upon the result—to be taken into account. He might have to be
withdrawn from the competition, as we know he would have been withdrawn but for
the quite unforeseen intervention of a [183] friend. These and other reasons
made them feel tolerably safe in laying heavy wagers against him. Then the
situation changed. The young man developed wonderfully under the trainer's
hands; from being almost or wholly unknown, "a dark horse," to use the
phraseology of the race-course, he became the first favourite. This, of course,
was nothing less than a disaster to the confederates. There needs no great
familiarity with the methods of betting to see that men who had been laying,
say twenty to one, against him, would stand to lose considerably when the odds
come to be two to one upon him. To secure themselves in the case of his winning
they would have to risk a sum which they would be absolutely unable to pay;
while in the event of his being beaten they would be losing a considerable sum.
To making a default in payment they had no objection in conscience, but they
had the objection that it would put an end to their career, as far at least as
[184] The three rogues were busy discussing the situation in a
tavern near the
"Well,
Cleon," said Ariston, "have you had any success with the young
man?"
"None
at all," answered Cleon. "But I never thought that I should. He is
not of that sort."
"Would
it be of any good, think you, to raise the price? I have heard wise men say
that there is nothing that you cannot persuade a man to do if you only offer
him enough."
"Your
wise man, I take it, did not know what he was talking about. Anyhow money won't
buy him. He may have his price, but it is something, you may depend upon it, that we can't pay him. Now if we could promise him the
fair Cleonicé," the rascal had made it his business to find out all
that he could about the young man, "it might be to the point; but I don't
see how that is to be done. No: he is [185] not to be bought. We must think of
some other way of setting to work."
"How
about the trainer?" asked Ariston after a pause.
"He is not so incorruptible, I suppose. At least I never knew one of the
craft that was."
"Well,"
replied Cleon, "I don't see much of a chance in that direction either. You
see, Eurylochus"—this was the trainer's name—"has a very good
business, and he has got it together by keeping a good name. Whether he is
honest by choice is more than I can say; but he is certainly honest by
necessity. It would not be worth his while to do anything shady, or that was in
the least suspicious. No: he would certainly want as much as he would ask if he
were to sell his business, not to say anything at all of the bother and risk.
If he were willing, and I am not at all sure of that,
he would want more than we could manage. No: as far as I can see there is nothing to be got out of Eurylochus."
The
third conspirator, Democles, who had hitherto been listening in silence, now
broke in:—
"I
have another idea which might be worth trying. Could we find
some one else in the training school to help us? There are some thirty
fellows there, and some of them must [186] have begun by this time to find out
that they haven't much of a chance of getting a prize—that they have, in fact,
been spending time and money to no purpose. Might not one of them be glad to
get something back, and be not very particular about the way of doing it? The
particular way of doing it will be matter for consideration later on. Eubulus
might be hocussed—I know a fellow who is very clever in this kind of thing—or
some accident might be contrived; or there is the old way of the dagger, not a
bad way either, for dead men can tell no tales and ask
no questions. How does this strike you, Cleon?"
"I
think there is something in it," answered the man appealed to. "It
would be very strange if all Eurylochus' thirty pupils were men of such
incorruptible virtue as our friend Eubulus seems to be."
The
thirty were discussed one by one. The three rogues showed between them an
amazing knowledge of the circumstances of every one of them. The choice was
soon narrowed down to a few. No decent man with anything like a future before
him could be induced to meddle with such a business, and it would be only
dangerous to approach them. It was not long before a final selection was made.
A certain [187] Dromeus (Footnote: Dromeus means "the
runner.") was fixed upon as the most likely to serve the conspirators'
purpose. He was a degenerate descendant of a famous race of athletes. The
founder of that race had distinguished himself several centuries before by
winning a quite unprecedented number of victories in the long race. He had been
proclaimed victor twice at
But in
course of time the family had lost, as families are apt to lose, some of its
characteristics. Their physique was not impaired, but the moral qualities,
which were of no less importance, had declined. Its present repre- [188]
sentative was distinctly degenerate. He had indeed made a brilliant beginning
of his career, for he had won the boys' foot race at
Cleon
proceeded to make his advances with [189] all the skill which a long
apprenticeship in villainy had taught him. A direct suggestion of violence or
fraud would, he felt, be impolitic. Dromeus was not ripe for it—the evil had
only begun to work in him. Jealousy of the young rival, who now stood so high
in popular favour, seemed the motive to which an appeal might be most easily
made. Cleon had already a slight acquaintance with the young man, and he found
opportunities of improving it. A little conversation gave him no little insight
into Dromeus' character and capacities. It was evident that he was at once extraordinarily
vain and extraordinarily ignorant. The subject of the coming race, and with it,
of course, the popularity of Eubulus, soon turned up. Dromeus was almost
frantically jealous of his competitor. Both his family and his personal pride
were touched.
"Who,"
he cried, "is this young upstart? Where are his traditions? His father is
an artisan, or a trader, or something equally insignificant. And
his grandfather? No one probably knows. And these fools in
"Is
he really worth anything?" asked Cleon.
Cleon
could have answered his own question as well as any one in
"Well,"
answered Dromeus, "he is not bad for a fellow of that class. He has a fair
speed and seems to last sufficiently well. But it is the race itself that tests
a man. Trials are very different things; but to run with the eyes of fifty
thousand people fixed upon you, that proves what is in a man. It is then that
the hereditary temper shows itself. Do you know, that
when I ran at
"Is
it all quite straightforward, think you?" said Cleon.
"Straightforward,"
replied Dromeus. "I don't quite catch your meaning. I never saw the fellow
cheat, I don't think that he would, for he is not a bad sort; even if he could,
I must own that I do not see where his opportunity would come in."
[191]
"Have you ever heard of charms?" asked Cleon.
"Charms? What do you mean?" cried Dromeus.
"Well,
I mean the magic lotions and potions by which witches and wizards do such
wonderful things."
"I
have heard of such things," said the runner; "but tell me more."
"Well,"
said Cleon, "there are stories without end of what Medea did in this very
city. She put some dreadful drug on the robe which she gave to the King's
daughter. Jason, her husband, had divorced her and was going to marry the
princess—and it burnt her as if it had been fire, aye, and her old father the
King too. This, of course, was a mischievous drug; but there are things which give
strength as well as take it away. Go to any drug-seller in the city, and he
will tell you of such things, aye, and sell them to you, if you are ready to
pay the price. I don't mean to say but what most of these things are mere rubbish; still there is no smoke without fire. The
pretence would not be sought after if there was not some reality behind
them."
Dromeus
was intensely interested in all this. It appealed at once to his jealousy and
to his pride. It had been hateful to him to see a low- [192] born rival gaining
the advantage over him, and it consoled him vastly to believe that the
advantage had been secured by foul means.
Cleon
thought it best to interrupt the conversation at this point, and to leave his
suggestion to work.
A DRUG
[193] CLEON'S suggestion, so artfully
adapted to the motives which were dominant in the disappointed athlete's
breast, worked as leaven works in a measure of meal. The two met, according to
arrangement, on the fourth day, the appointed place being the fountain of
Peirené. Before, however, this meeting took place, there had been a
consultation between the conspirators, and Cleon's plan was discussed.
"Is
this all an imagination of yours, Cleon?" asked Ariston. "Is there
any drug that makes a man especially fleet of foot and long of wind? and is there any other drug with which you can counteract
the effects of the first?"
Cleon
smiled. "You are really very encouraging, Ariston. If you believe half
this rigmarole, there must be many more people in
The two
other confederates started. Cleon had been thinking of the plan for some time,
and his mind had become habituated to it. To his companions it came as a
surprise and a blow.
"What,"
said Ariston, in a faltering voice, "you mean to poison the man."
"Good
words! good words! my
friend," cried Cleon in mocking tones. "Who talked of poison? We
administer a drug, compounded according to a well-known prescription. No, I am
wrong. It is not we who administer it; it is Dromeus. Suppose that something
happens. Untoward accidents do happen when we have to do with these powerful
agents. It is quite possible that nothing may be found out. Of ten deaths by
poisoning—no, let me say after the administration of drugs—seven or eight cause
no suspicion. And when there are suspicions it is very difficult to prove
anything. But let us imagine the worst; I do hope that no harm will come to our
very amiable and promising friend Eubulus, but if it should, if he should be
laid aside, and people are so unkindly curious as to ask who did it, what would
the answer be? Here is a [195] young man in the same house, who has any number
of opportunities of administering the drug, and the strongest reason for
wishing the young fellow out of the way—a rival likely to be an unsuccessful
rival. Who would think of looking any further? And what should we do? I should
suggest that we should say something to this effect—'This is a very deplorable
affair; we cannot think of making a profit out of it; we cancel all the wagers
which we laid against our poor friend. We lament his loss as much as any one,
and this is our way of showing it—a very poor way, but all that we can
do." It is true that we should lose some twenty minas (Footnote: About £80.)
apiece, but then, think what an advertisement! And, after all, we shall be out
of the hole pretty cheaply."
This was
convincing, and Cleon went to the meeting fully prepared with what had to be
said. Dromeus went, as may be supposed, straight to the point.
"Well,"
he said, "have you anything further to tell me about the drug?"
"Yes,"
replied Cleon, "it is a well-known article in the trade. They say that it
is made out of some herb which the stags eat to give themselves speed, 'deers'
garlic' they call it. (Footnote: Elaphoscorodon,
mentioned by Dioscorides.) [196] That may or may not
be true. The medicine-sellers have a way of inventing these particulars. But I
believe that it is really a very effective thing, probably because it works on
the heart and lungs. However, we need not trouble ourselves about this; the
really important thing is the counteracting drug. And here we have a choice of
three or four."
I should
not like to hurt the poor fellow," said Dromeus, who, when he was not mastered
by his special faults, was not ill-natured. "He has no business here, but
I should be very sorry to do him a real injury."
"Of
course not," replied Cleon. "I should hate doing any such thing quite
as much as you. We understand each other then. I find the medicine, and you
will take an opportunity of administering it. I would impress upon you not to
lose any time, and to be very careful about observing the directions that may
come with the medicine. Of course you will contrive that no one should know."
"You
are sure," cried Dromeus, who began to feel somewhat uneasy, "you are
sure that it would not do any real harm?"
"Of
course not," answered Cleon. "What do you take me for? Do I look like
a poisoner?"
He
certainly looked like a villain, whether he [197] had the peculiar poisoner
characteristic or no, and Dromeus could not help thinking so. However, he was
too deeply committed to draw back. "And after all," he argued with
himself—arguments which one half of the conscience uses to the other half
seldom fail to persuade—"a man cannot help his looks." After a pause
of reflection he went on: "Then I rely upon you. And when shall you have
it ready?"
I shall
have it to-day," answered Cleon. "Be here again at sunset, and I will
hand it to you then. If by any chance I should fail to get it, then come this time to-morrow."
By the
time appointed for the meeting Dromeus had contrived to swallow his scruples.
He received the drug with instructions how to use it. It was in a liquid form,
and was in a very small compass, and so could be easily dropped into a cup of
water. It will suffice to say that the opportunity was found and duly used.
AN ANTIDOTE
[198] AMONG Cleonicé's neighbours was one to whom she was
greatly attached. The tie between them was of a particularly tender kind, for
Tecmessa—this was the neighbour's name—was her foster sister, her elder by some
three months. They had played together as children. Later on, Tecmessa had been
with her as companion-maid, treated with a familiar kindness which never seemed
to recognize any distinction of degree, but returning all the affection showed
her with a delicate sense that the distinction was there after all. Ladies in
the position of Cleonicé often treat inferiors as if they were equals,
and are perfectly sincere in so doing, while yet they unconsciously expect an
answering demeanour that an equal would not assume. Tecmessa had borne herself
in this somewhat difficult position with the greatest tact and discretion, and
the relation between the two had not been troubled by even a hint of
disturbance or [199] misunderstanding. About a year and a half before the time
my narrative has now reached, Tecmessa had married. Her husband was a
prosperous, and, if public opinion could be trusted, a well-conducted young trader.
He dealt in a variety of articles, the principal of which were wines, spices
and drugs, and was able to give his wife a well-furnished and comfortable home.
There was not a better kept household of the class in all
The baby
was one morning seized with some mysterious ailment, which entirely perplexed
both the father, who had some medical knowledge of a sort, and the local
physician, a slave whom his owner permitted to practise on condition of
receiving a certain part of his gains. Modern medicine would no doubt have
given the illness a name, for the science has advanced prodigiously in
classifying, though not perhaps so much in curing. The first thought then was
to find a cause in the action of some deity. The child had been smitten, they
said, with one of the shafts of Apollo. (Footnote: Apollo was
supposed to be the inflicter of sudden death in the case of males, Artemis in
the case of females.) Then came the question, how had the parents provoked the
wrath [200] of the deity? And here the father was visited with a recollection
that struck him with dismay and remorse.
"Oh,
Tecmessa," he cried, "I fear me much that I am in fault. Even before
this dreadful thing happened I was anything but easy in my mind. Yesterday
about an hour after
"Perhaps,"
said Tecmessa, "the lady Cleonicé will think of something. She is a
wonderfully [201] clever lady. And here, by good luck, she is coming."
So it
was. Cleonicé seldom let a couple of days go by without paying a visit
to her humble friend; so it was nothing strange that she should make her
appearance just in the nick of time. She quite deserved Tecmessa's praise; she
was wonderfully clever; and her native wit at once suggested some simple means
for giving the little sufferer at least some temporary ease. While this remedy
was being applied, she heard the husband's story, and
here again she was equal to the occasion.
"You
found the poison," she exclaimed, "can't you find the antidote?"
"Dear
me," cried the husband, striking his hands together, "what an idiot I
have been not to think of it! But that baby screaming and writhing about fairly
drove everything out of my head. Antidote! of course I
can find an antidote."
"Then
don't lose a moment in doing it. Go and make it up at once and follow me to
"I
believe that I have some ready made up," answered the man.
"In
that case," said Cleonicé, "it will save time if you will come
with me."
[202]
The chariot in which the girl had come was standing at the door; and the
chemist, who had found a dose of the antidote ready, as he had hoped, mounted,
not a little abashed at finding himself in so fashionable a vehicle. The party
was fortunate enough to find Priscilla at home, and reinforced by her, a
naturally capable person, with a large experience gathered in years of
charitable ministration to others, went on at once to the trainer's house. Here
confusion reigned supreme. The trainer himself was in despair. Such a thing had
never before come within the range of his experience The
young man, such was the upshot of the narrative which his visitors somehow
contrived to extract from him, had shown all his usual vigour at the exercises,
and was just rising from the evening meal, when he fell back speechless and
senseless. The physician attached to the school had been hastily summoned, and
had not hesitated, on a review of the symptoms, to pronounce that his patient
had been poisoned. Before his arrival, however, a rough and ready remedy had
been applied which had possibly saved the young man's life. One of the pupils had
a faint recollection of seeing a similar case healed by the application of a
strong current of cold water to the back of the neck. This was done, and
pulsation, which appeared to be [203] suspended, was revived. (Footnote: Probably the
young man had been dosed with some preparation of the strychnine kind.) The
physician had nothing to suggest except the administration of a cordial. This
had been attempted, but with little success. The patient's teeth were firmly
clenched, and it was almost impossible to make him swallow. This physical
difficulty was the first that had to be overcome. How Priscilla overcame it is
beyond the present chronicler's power to describe. She had had a large
experience in a class of disease much more frequent in
The
result was all that she could hope for. Cleonicé, whom Priscilla had not
forgotten to put exactly where the young man's eyes would be likely first to
fall, could not fail to see that the young man recognized her. The first gaze
of his wide-open eyes was without meaning; then as consciousness returned, it
became instinct with a fullness of joy and love which it was impossible to
mistake. The girl turned away in surprise and confusion; one wonders whether
she was wholly without some anticipation of what she saw, but we may be sure
that an hour of eloquent speech could not have set forth the secret of his
heart more plainly and forcibly than did that one glance of returning life.
The
poison was not one of those that injure the tissues of the body or permanently
impair its organs. Its danger lies in the power that it has to bring about a
sudden suspension of animation. It is not unlike a case of drowning. [205] Recover the drowned, or apparently drowned, person, before
the heart and lungs have been inactive too long, and he has received no
permanent injury. Eubulus, accordingly, was soon himself again; a day or two
sufficed for complete recovery from the shock. Of course his popularity in
As for
Dromeus, he was seen no more at the trainer's or anywhere else in
[206] As for the confederates, they had fought, it might be said,
a drawn battle. They had accomplished nothing as far as the disabling of the
athlete was concerned, and they felt that this avenue at least was closed
against them. If they were to accomplish their object it must be done in some
other way. On the other hand, they had escaped without suspicion. Dromeus had
practically acknowledged his guilt by his precipitate flight. They were not
absolutely discouraged, but they felt that they were driven into a corner; the
time was short and speedy action was necessary. We shall see in the next
chapter what was the device to which they had recourse.
FRESH PLOTS
[207] THE three confederates had in their pay one of the slaves
belonging to the trainer's household. This fellow played the same part as do
the touts, on an English racecourse. He reported performances, gave the current
gossip of the establishment—in short, kept his employers supplied with the
latest information about what had happened or was expected to happen. Beyond
this he did not go; he was not acquainted with their schemes, but simply told
them what he heard or saw. From this man the three heard of Eubulus's sudden
illness, of his speedy recovery, and of Dromeus's departure. The news was, of
course, a disappointment. So much time had been lost, and they were no nearer
their end. Still things might have been worse. It was an immense relief that
Dromeus had disappeared. He might have turned against them; and his evidence,
for which it would not have been difficult for him to find corroboration, would
[208] have been most damaging. That danger, anyhow, was over. Still the
question remained, and the time for finding an answer was short. How were they
to save themselves against the consequence of Eubulus's victory, an event now
more likely than ever? They knew from their agent that the young man was none
the worse for his illness, and they lost no time, as may be imagined, in
meeting to review the situation.
Ariston
was disposed to take credit to himself for having foretold or at least hinted
at the failure of the enterprise.
"I
have always held," he said, "that there is nothing like cold steel.
Your poisons are very clever, I allow, if you can only get them to work without
intermission. And I allow that it is a great advantage that very often you are
not called to account for administering them. But then 'there's many a slip
'twixt cup and lip.' As we have just seen, there are antidotes to be reckoned
with. And if you get home to a man's heart with a dagger, there is no antidote
for that."
"It's
all very well," said Cleon, whose annoyance at the failure of his scheme
was not a little increased by such talk, "it is all very well to talk
about the dagger, but who is going to use it? When and where will you find the
opportunity? [209] This young fellow is just now the
observed of all observers. Where do you propose to get at him? In the trainer's house? Why, it is guarded like a tyrant's
palace. They were always careful; but now, after this last business, they are
more careful than ever. In the streets? with scores of people always running after him? You might by
the greatest good luck deal him a blow. But what then?
Where is your chance of escape? Why, you would be infallibly torn to pieces. I
must own that this sort of thing is not to my liking. Why, I would sooner pay
up than face a howling mob of Corinthians when I had just stabbed their
favourite runner."
"My
dear Cleon," retorted Ariston, "you are really somewhat wanting in
imagination. You don't suppose that I am going to behave like some silly boy,
who when he has a quarrel with a companion has no other idea of making it
straight than giving him a box on the ear. No, I know a better way than that,
and I will tell you what it is. I propose that we forge a message from
Eubulus's father—I don't know whether you are aware that he is now living at
"That
sounds easy enough," said Cleon, "but how are we to waylay him? He is
certain not to be alone, and we are likely to fail just as much as in the
Dromeus business, and with much worse consequences to ourselves."
"A
want of imagination again," said Ariston. "I didn't mean, of course,
that you and I and Democles were to waylay him. Have you ever heard of Pauson
the robber chief? Well; I know how to get into touch with him, and my plan is
that he and his band should do the waylaying. As to after developments, we must
leave them for the present. I am still for putting the young fellow out of the
way. Still, I am not bigoted to that idea. If it can be arranged—for a
certainty, mark you, and no possible mistake—that he does not win tie race, let
him live. That, however, may be postponed for the present. What must be done at
once is the getting hold of Pauson, for there is no time to lose. Now, my
friends, what do you say to this? Have you got any better scheme of your own?
If not, do you approve? If you do, I will start in the course of a few
hours."
Agree
they did—in fact, there was scarcely a [211] choice—and Ariston's scheme seemed
to have some promise of success. Meanwhile two actors, whose earlier appearance
in the drama I am representing, my readers will doubtless remember, had again
come upon the stage. These were the Corsican captain of the ship The Twin
Brothers and the bandit chief from the
Gallinarian Wood. The wheat trade carried on by Manasseh and Company, if the
phrase may be allowed, had not been interrupted by the banishment of the Jews
from
The two
had been in the town a day or so, and happened to be standing near the southern
[213] gate of the city when a traveller who had the appearance of being
equipped for a journey, for his horse carried heavy saddle-bags, passed out by
the gate. The time was near sunset, and as the road happened not to bear a very
good reputation, the proceeding struck the two as somewhat strange. The
Corsican, whose hearty manners put him on friendly terms with everybody, spoke
to the porter in charge of the gate.
"I
do not know what you think, but this is hardly the time that I should choose
for starting on a journey, especially if I had to travel by this road, which,
they tell me, is not as safe as it might be."
"It
is a little odd," replied the porter, "but I suppose that he knows
what he is about."
"Do
you know him?" asked the Corsican.
"Oh,
yes, I know him," said the porter, with a smile. "He is no greenhorn,
as you might think. He knows the point of a sword from the hilt, if any man in
"Who
is he?"
"Well,
his name is Ariston; he is a betting man, and as sharp as
they make them; much more in the way, I should say, of lightening other
people's purses than of letting other people lighten his. But it is not
my business to give him advice. If it had been a young fellow now, [214] one
who did not know his way about, I might have made so bold as to say a word; but
Ariston is not one of that sort: he must go his own way."
|
|
Rufus,
the ex-bandit—he had definitely retired from the profession—pulled his companion's
cloak, and whispered that they should move out of earshot.
"I
could not quite catch what the fellow said; he talked such queer Greek."
Rufus, it may be explained, was bilingual, as were many of the Italians of the
south, (Footnote: The southern part of the peninsula, my readers will remember, had been
known by the name of
The
Corsican explained to his companion what had been said. Rufus mused awhile.
"Maybe,"
he said, "he wants to meet these gentlemen of the road. You see I know
something of the ins and outs of the business. I have had to do in my time with
some very respectable persons indeed, and what used to happen when they had
something particular to tell us, [215] was that they were taken prisoners. It
seemed straightforward to other people."
"Well,
my good Rufus," said the Corsican, "there could hardly be a better
judge in such matters than you. It is quite clear that there is some plot
hatching, but I don't know that it is any business of ours to meddle with it.
But we will keep our ears and eyes open, and it is quite possible that we may
understand what puzzles other people."
AMONG THE HILLS
[216] ARISTON had calculated his time with sufficient nicety.
Riding at a smart pace for about an hour and a half, he came to a spot where he
had calculated on finding some of the bandit troop on the watch for travellers.
And there, accordingly, he found them. The men were allowed to deal as they
thought best with wayfarers who did not seem to be of any particular importance
or to promise any noteworthy gain. The poor they left absolutely unharmed. It
was an axiom in their occupation to make friends with this class. In every age
and all the world over the professional robber has
claimed to be the champion of the poor. He does his best, he would say, to
redress the inequalities of life, to make the rich a little less rich, if he
does not accomplish very much to making the poor less poor. Practically they
know that their days are numbered if for any reason the labouring class of the
region where they are at work turn against them. Travellers of the middle class
were allowed [217] to pass on paying a toll which was nicely calculated to suit
the apparent means, present or future, of the victim. A long experience had
taught the members of the band who were detailed for outpost duty what they
might reasonably and profitably ask from those who came in their way. Ariston
seemed to be of the class who would pay a moderate toll. When he was informed
of the amount which was expected of him, five shillings or so, he acknowledged
that it was perfectly reasonable. "As a matter of fact, however," he
went on, "I have come here on business, and profitable
business too, I hope. Perhaps you will take me to Pauson—Pauson is still in
command, I presume—for I am bound to put him in possession of the facts.
Meanwhile, gentlemen, I am much obliged to you for your courtesy. I am not a
rich man, but if the price of as good a flagon of wine as can be got in this
country is of any use to you, it is at your service." And he pressed a
silver coin into the hand of each of his two captors.
Pauson
and his men were bivouacking in an open space in the wood which bordered the
road on both sides. They were about to sit down to their evening meal, at which
Ariston was asked to join them. A sign had passed between his captors or
friends, as we may be pleased to call them, [218] indicating that this
hospitality might be properly extended to him. The meal finished, Ariston
suggested a private interview with the chief, and on obtaining it, proceeded to
propound his plan.
"I
will be perfectly straightforward with you," he went on, after explaining
that he wanted to have Eubulus captured and carried off. "I am acting for
some friends. It is essential for us that Eubulus should not win the race. For
helping us to that result we are ready to pay you. That then is your first
profit out of the business. Then the young man has friends in
"You
gentlemen of the city," he said, after a pause, are thorough-going. We
simple folk out in the country here cannot pretend to come up to you. We don't
like killing people. Of course it has to be done from time to time. If a man is
foolish enough to resist when we want to take him—well, he leaves us no choice.
Then again, if a man's friends don't care to ransom him—we always are strictly
moderate in our charges—then again we have no choice. It must be established as
a rule without an exception—no ransom, no release. Why, if we were to let men
go without payment made, we should have half
[220]
"But it wouldn't be your doing," said Ariston, "it would be
ours."
"The
world is very uncharitable," replied Pauson, "and especially in its
dealings with us, and we should have the thing laid at our door for a
certainty. You see when we take ransom for a prisoner we give him what is
virtually a safe conduct to his home. If we were to let him go and then take
him again it would be pure villainy, and killing him or letting him be
killed—for it comes to the same thing—when he is on his way back would be
altogether unfair."
"Well,"
said Ariston, "if you won't have it, you won't, and we must make another
plan. But you understand that the young man is not to get back to
"I
understand," answered Pauson. "And how do you propose to get him
here?"
Ariston
explained the plan of the forged message. "And here," he went on,
"you may be able to help us. We want a messenger. Can you find us
one?"
"Well,"
said the chief, "
"From
"That
suits exactly; if I remember rightly the fellow comes from
The
recruit from
"Eumenes to his son Eubulus with hearty greeting. I charge you by
all that you have received at my hands and by all the love which I know you
bear to me that you come hither without delay. I am stricken with a mortal
disease, and I have that to say to you which greatly
concerns the happiness of your mother and your brothers and sisters. I speak
not of yourself, for I know it is your nature to think rather of others."
To this
document the seal was duly applied. So furnished, the messenger set forth.
BEFORE THE ARCHON
[224] THE plot had all the success which the combination of
favourable circumstances seemed to promise for it. The bearer of the forged
letter covered the distance that lay between his starting point and Corinth so
quickly that he reached his destination before noon on the following day, (Footnote: It will be
remembered that all the distances in Greece are small.
Archias
had happened to be on his way back from one of the temples to his official
residence when the disturbance took place, and he gave orders that the culprit
should be brought before him at once. Half sobered by this fright, but not yet
in full command of such faculties as he possessed, the man could think of
nothing better than telling so much of the truth as would not absolutely
incriminate him. He had come, he said, from
All this
sounded sufficiently true. Archias was aware of his own knowledge that Eumenes
had lately left
"Where,"
he asked, "did you deliver the message?"
"At
the trainer's house," was the reply.
A slave
was dispatched with instructions to find out whether this account was correct.
The [229] result appeared to be satisfactory. The trainer's narrative exactly
bore out the statement of the accused. The message itself which Eubulus had
left behind him in the hurry of departure, was produced, and seemed to be another
link in the chain of evidence. It was exactly what the prisoner had described.
Archias was about to discharge the man with a caution not to get into trouble,
he salving the wound which he had inflicted with half a dozen drachmae, when an
unexpected difficulty arose. The official who assisted the Archon when he was
sitting on the Bench was an expert in documents, as indeed he needed to be.
Frauds were very common, for they were easily committed. Signatures made in
handwriting are frequently imitated; when they were made by the purely
mechanical method of dipping a seal into ink or other liquid, imitations were
easy enough and naturally more frequent. He now whispered to the magistrate
that he had some questions to ask about the document just brought into court.
There was something suspicious about it, and it would be well to hear what the
prisoner had to say. The Archon gave him permission to interrogate the
prisoner, and cross-examination began.
"Did
you see Eumenes sign this letter?"
The
prisoner would have done well to answer [230] this question in the negative,
and to say that it had been brought from the sick man's room, and handed to him
for delivery, but he had a vague idea that by saying he had seen the signature
affixed he would be adding to the apparent genuineness of the paper.
"You
saw him dip the seal in the ink then?"
"Yes,
I saw him."
The
clerk's next remark was not made aloud, but whispered into the Archon's ear.
"As
far as I can make out, the stuff into which the seal has been dipped is not ink
at all, but a rude substitute for it."
Another
question was addressed to the prisoner.
"And the paper? Where did the paper come from? Did you see the
writer take it from a drawer or case, or was it handed to him?"
The
prisoner's suspicions were aroused. These questions did not augur good.
Immediately he stood on the defensive.
"I
don't know anything about the paper. It was lying by him when I came into the
room, and I know nothing more than that he signed it."
The
clerk now made another whispered communication to the magistrate. He had made
some discoveries about the paper. He recognized it as a kind that was sold by a
certain dealer in [231]
The
court in which these proceedings had taken place was open to the public, and
while they were going on two persons had come in whose presence happened to be
singularly opportune. The two were the Corsican captain and his now inseparable
companion Rufus.
The two
had been listening with the deepest attention to an account given them by a
by-stander of what had been going on. The prisoner, they were given to
understand, had been taken into custody for taking part in a brawl, and had
accounted for his presence in
"Depend
upon it," he whispered to the Corsican, "this is another dodge to get
at the runner. He has been enticed out of the city by a forged message, and
there are fellows to lay hands on him. I have known such things done
myself."
"Then
tell the magistrate what you suspect," said the Corsican.
"I
think that you had better do it," answered Rufus. "I must own that I
am not quite at my ease when talking to gentlemen of his way of thinking."
The Corsican
acknowledged the force of the remark, and rising from
his seat at the back [233] the court, said in passable Greek acquired during
frequent residences at
A DILEMMA
[234] THE Archon was not a little struck by the energy and
intelligence of the new comer, and proposed a further conference on the matter.
The two accordingly retired to the magistrate's private apartment. What had
happened was sufficiently plain. If the magistrate had entertained any
lingering doubts, these were dissipated when the Corsican related to him what
Rufus had said. "He would be here to repeat it," he went on,
"but he has his prejudices, and just now he doesn't feel quite at ease
when he sees a magistrate and his lictors and the other paraphernalia of a
court. We may take it for granted, therefore, that the young man has been
seized by the brigands. The question is—what is to be done?"
"The
scoundrels will follow their usual course," said the Archon, "and
will demand a ransom; And the ransom will have to be
paid. It is not likely to be unreasonably large. The fellows [235] know their
business too well to ask impossible sums. Indeed, I have often wondered how
nicely they suit their demands to what they are likely to get."
"I
daresay," remarked the Corsican with a smile, "they have more friends
in
"And
the ransom will have to be paid," the Archon went on. "It is a
hateful necessity. Again and again I have felt my blood boil when I had to make
a treaty, as it were, with these low-bred villains. I do think that if
"That
is very kind of you," said the Corsican, "and what you say about
paying the ransom is quite true. But there is another side to the affair which,
if you will allow me to say it, you do not seem to have taken into
consideration."
"Go
on," said the magistrate; "I never supposed that I was infallible. A
man must be a [236] sad fool if he can sit in a court of justice for ten years,
as I have done, without finding out that he can make mistakes."
"This,
sir," replied the Corsican, "is not a common case of holding to
ransom. These betting fellows are mixed up with it. Their object, of course, is
to keep Eubulus from running. They tried to do it with poison, unless I am very
much mistaken, and failed; now they have had recourse to another dodge, and I
am afraid they are very likely to succeed."
At this
moment Cleonicé, who was something of a spoiled child, and felt no
hesitation about entering her father's sanctum, came into the room. The
magistrate, who knew that it was his business to accept her will and pleasure,
invited her to hear the matter in discussion. "And indeed," he went
on, "we shall be very glad if you can throw any light upon it. My good
friend here and I are very much perplexed. Perhaps you will be able to suggest
something, and it ought to interest you, for it concerns the young man who
pulled you out of the water the other day. To put the matter shortly, the
brigands have laid hold of him, and we want to know how to get him out of their
hands."
Cleonicé
was quite sure that the matter did concern her. She was a little vexed at
feeling [237] the blush that rose to her face, but she did not pretend to any
lack of interest.
"They
will ask a ransom," she said, "and the ransom will have to be paid.
There will be no difficulty, I suppose, about that. Eubulus has good friends in
"Very
true," replied her father, "but as my friend here points out, it is a
matter of time. Eubulus must be back before the race is run, and that is now
but a few days off. These ransom affairs cannot be finished quickly. Neither
side trusts the other. And if the brigands choose to make delay, they easily
can."
Cleonicé,
after considering the problem to be solved, was obliged to confess that it
puzzled her. Her father suggested a rescuing expedition, but soon allowed that
it was impracticable. In the first place the city, though fairly well furnished
with ordinary guardians of the peace, had no disciplined force at command, and
this was a service, too, in which even an effective force may very easily fail.
When the soldier is pitted against the brigand, he is very apt to be beaten. It
is true that a State resolutely determined to clear its territory of banditti
is bound to succeed sooner or later. But the success comes later rather than
sooner. And, as has been said before, this was a question, and a very urgent
question, [238] of time. The brigands might be driven from their usual haunts,
but they would find others. Wherever they went, they would take their prisoner
with them; and if pushed too hard, they might kill him. It would not be the
best policy to do so, but temper, always a force not easy to calculate, and
especially violent in men used to deeds of violence when they feel themselves
driven into a corner, has to be reckoned with. The Corsican suggested that
possibly the bearer of the false message might be made use of. He was a
scoundrel, but still it might be made worth while even for a scoundrel to act
straight. There was much to be said against the plan, but it might be better
than nothing, and so might be used in the last resort.
Cleonicé
left her father and the Corsican still debating, and retired to her chamber to
think the matter over by herself. A little further reflection showed her that
the first thing to be done was to communicate with Priscilla. That lady had
showed so friendly and so practical an interest in the welfare of Eubulus, that
it was her right to be at least informed of what had happened. To her
accordingly the girl repaired without further delay.
But
Priscilla, with all her acuteness, common sense and readiness of resource,
could add nothing [239] in conference. The dilemma still presented itself in
all its cruel cogency. Force was inapplicable, and no adequate stratagem could
be devised. The idea of employing the fraudulent messenger was hardly worth
considering.
The
situation had been discussed for half an hour or more without making any apparent
progress when an idea suddenly presented itself to the girl's mind. She smote
her hands together, and cried "By Hermes!" then she paused and
excused herself to her companion, "I know that you don't like this way of
talking, but it is an old habit, and the words were out of my mouth before I
was aware. But it is really a happy thought, a godsend, if there ever was one.
You know, or rather I should say, you don't know, that my foster-mother lives
in one of the villages which lie near to the brigand head-quarters. Her husband
is the chief man of the place, and though he is supposed to be on the side of
order, and would not, I am sure, lift his hand against a traveller, yet he is
on good terms with the brigands. This is a kind of alliance that holds good, I take it, all the world over. The villagers, whose
lot, after all, is a hard one—they do all the work and get but little for
it—are paid for what they do, and the robbers, on the other hand, could not
carry on without the villagers' [240] goodwill. This good woman loves me as
much as if I were her own child, and I am sure that
she, and for the matter of that, her husband, would do anything they possibly
could to help me. Yes! I will see whether I can't get Manto to do something for
that unlucky young man."
"But
how will you get at her," asked Priscilla. "Where is your messenger?
Whom can you trust? Not that scoundrel, surely, who brought the forged letter?
"No!"
replied the girl, "certainly not. I would not trust him an inch further
than I can see. No, I would sooner take the message myself."
"Well!"
said Priscilla, "that would be one way of doing it. But let me tell my
husband; perhaps he may be able to think of something."
Cleonicé
was more serious than her friend imagined in what she said. "Yes, yes,
tell him, and if he suggests anything, let me know at once." And she
hurried back to her father's house.
CLEONICÉ TO THE RESCUE
[241] WHEN Cleonicé got back to the Mansion-house she
found her father and the Corsican still engaged in the discussion of the
problem before them, and still far from any reasonable solution of it. She had
been struck, as indeed was every one, with the energy and common sense which
were obvious characteristics of the captain, and she determined to enlist him
as her ally. Her scheme was as yet but dimly outlined in her mind, but she felt
that it was one which it would be prudent to keep to herself. The first thing
to be done was to have a confidential conversation with her new ally. This
could be easily managed under cover of the hospitality which it was only common
politeness to offer to a guest.
"Don't
you think, father," she said, "that your friend would like some
little refreshment? It is past
"By
all means," said Archias. "It was very [242] remiss of me not to
think of it before. My daughter," he went on, turning to the Corsican,
"will take you to the steward's room."
"Many
thanks," said the Corsican, who had an intuition that the girl had
something of importance to communicate. A touch of eagerness in her manner had
suggested the idea, and he had caught it with the rapidity which made him so
invaluable an assistant where promptitude of action was required.
Cleonicé, however, was too hospitable to broach the subject that was
uppermost in her mind till she had seen him seated at his meal, and indeed
fairly well advanced towards the end.
"You
see no way," she said, "of helping the young man?"
"No,"
he said, "I do not."
"Well
then," she went on, "if you don't mind taking a hint from a woman, I
think I do see a way."
My dear
lady," replied the man, "I not only don't mind taking such a hint,
but I shall be delighted. I am quite sure that when the ladies condescend to
trouble themselves about any matter whatever, they have a readier wit and a
finer sense of what can and what cannot be done than we men can ever pretend
to."
"Thanks
for your compliment," said Cleonicé [243] with a smile, "but
mind what I say is in confidence; you must tell no one, least of all my father
and mother. And I look to you for help."
"Whatever
you may tell me will be an absolute secret," said the captain.
"Listen
then," replied the girl with a prettily imperious air which sat very well
upon her. "I have a scheme for getting Eubulus back, and back in time to
run the race, and that neither by force nor by purchase."
"Go
on, madam, I am all attention."
"My
foster-mother lives in the village close to the robber's headquarters: I mean
her to do the thing for me, her or her husband."
"But," said the captain, "how will you communicate with
her?"
"I
shall go myself."
The girl
had been thinking hard all the time, and had come to the conclusion that this
was the only thing to be done. Even if she could find a messenger, he could not
do such an errand. Only a practical appeal could avail. It would try this
woman's love to the utmost, for it was a dangerous service; only a personal
appeal, backed up by all the influence that she could bring to bear upon the
heart of her foster-mother could possibly succeed. The Corsican was fairly
[244] taken aback. He was, a man of audacious expedients, but this staggered
him.
"You,
dear lady, you?" he stammered out.
"Yes,"
answered the girl, "I—I myself, and I look to you to help me. Mind, I have
your promise. You will keep the secret, and you will do what you can to back me
up."
"I
am not one to go back from my word," said the man, "but I must
confess that I don't like it. The risk is too awful."
"Never mind about the risk—that is my look-out. I shall, of
course, disguise myself as a boy. But that I have done for a joke before, and
now the cause is serious enough in all conscience. I have thought out the whole
plan. I have a little horse of my own that is kept in my father's stables; I
shall ride that. There will be no difficulty about getting it. By good luck the
man who looks after the horses does anything I tell him without asking a
question. Will you come with me? I don't mean the whole way; the last bit, when
I get near the end of my journey, I must be alone. But will you go with me as
far as I think fit? If so, I will find a horse for you too. I must own that I
should like to have your company as far as it is possible."
"Of
course, my dear lady, I will come."
The
captain had begun to recover from his [245] surprise, and saw that the best
thing he could do was to help this determined young woman as much as he could.
After all, though it looked like a wild scheme, it was not wholly without
promise. Then a thought flashed across his mind. Why not get Rufus to come
also? A grim smile passed over his face as the idea occurred.
"Yes,
I will come," he repeated, "and if you agree, I will bring some one
else with me who may be very useful. To tell you the truth, my friend was a
robber himself not very long ago. But he is as true as steel. I was able to
help him when he wanted help very much, and he is never likely to forget it. He
is a stout man of his hands, if there ever was one, and, besides that, his old
experiences may come in useful."
THE RELEASE
[246] IT is needless to describe minutely the preparation of
Cleonicé and her allies for their expedition to the hills. The Corsican
and Rufus were provided with horses from the Archon's stables, and furnished
themselves with arms such as could be carried without any display.
Cleonicé, it is hardly necessary to say, made a very good-looking boy.
She had to shorten her hair, but not to crop it, for it was the fashion for the
young to wear it long, even beyond the limits of boyhood. (Footnote: It was worn long
up to the time when the boy became an ephebus, and this time was fixed
at the completion of the eighteenth year. So Phaedo, who
tells the tale of the last day of Socrates, as having been himself present,
relates that the philosopher made a pleasant jest about his long hair.)
It was not wholly without a pang that she made this sacrifice, but it was not a
time for hesitating at trifles. A skilful application of dye gave a sunburnt
look to her face and hands. Altogether [247] the disguise was as successful as
could be desired. Everything was complete while the sun was still high in the
heavens, and the start was made in such good time that the travellers might
expect to reach their journey's end about sunset.
The plan
of operations had of course to be left to Cleonicé, for she, and she alone of the three, knew anything about the
region to be traversed. Her object was to reach her foster-mother's cottage
without observation, and the way in which she hoped to accomplish this end was
as follows. The road was bordered on one side by a wood, and she proposed that
she and her companions should diverge into this while still two miles or so
short of the place where the outposts of the robbers might be expected to be
found. She had a thorough knowledge of the locality. When she was some ten
years old she had paid a long visit to her foster-mother. Her health had seemed
in some danger of failing, and the family physician had recommended a complete
change of life. Archias had proposed to take a house somewhere out of
"She
wants," he said, "something more than a change of air. You say that
And so
it was settled. Cleonicé went for a year to her foster-mother's cottage,
and the change was as thorough as could be desired, and it had all the bracing
and restoring effect upon her health that the physician had expected. It was
then that she began to learn all the ins and outs, all the highways and byeways
of the great wood at the edge of which the cottage stood. This knowledge she
had increased by frequent visits in after years. When the summer was at its
hottest in
She and
her companions struck into a green road which would take them, she knew, by
almost a straight line to the cottage. The distance was traversed without
incident. When the party was about three hundred yards from its destination,
she called a halt. There was a shed used by wood-cutters for sleep and meals
when they were busy with their spring or autumn work. It was now unoccupied,
and here the Corsican and Rufus were to wait, and she would join them when her
errand had been accomplished.
Manto,
the foster-mother, was busy preparing her husband's evening meal, when she was
startled to see a quite unknown figure standing in the doorway of her cottage. For it was not only unknown, but of an appearance wholly
unfamiliar. It was a handsome lad attired in an elegant riding costume whom she saw, and for a minute or so her powers of
recognition absolutely failed her. Then her visitor bade her good-evening, and
the voice—it is curious how we recognize voices, for the recognition is an
absolutely unaided effort of memory—seemed to bring back some recollection. The
recollection became more vivid when she [250] heard a pet name which had been
frequently on the lips of her foster-child in former days, and it became
absolute recognition when the stranger threw his arms round her and kissed her
on either cheek.
"Good
Heavens, my darling! what is the meaning of
this?" she gasped out. "You are not really changed, are you?"
Stories
of change from youth to maiden and maiden to youth were among the legends told
in Greek cottages of old days, and Manto had not
failed to hear them.
"Changed!"
cried Cleonicé. "Certainly not. I am still
your dear daughter, as you are still my dear mother."
"But
what does all this mean—this riding coat and breeches? You make a very good
looking young man, I must allow, my dear child; but still I like you better as
you really are."
"In
a moment, dearest mother," said Cleonicé. She was burning with
impatience to do her errand, but she knew also that the subject must not be too
abruptly introduced. "All in good time, mother," she said; "but
just tell me all about yourself and everybody. How is father?" Father was
Manto's husband, and she was always especially pleased when her foster-child
called him by this name. "And Theon?" Theon,
[251] it should be said, was the foster-brother, who was then serving in the
body guard of Herod Agrippa.
Her
questions duly answered, she went on to give news of Tecmessa, and her baby,
the finest baby, she said, in
"And
you have come to rescue him? Oh, you brave child!"
This was
quite true, but somehow, stated in this abrupt way, it struck the girl with
confusion, especially when Manto looked at her with a penetrating glance. She
coloured up to the roots of her hair.
"My
father," she began—then she remembered that her father knew nothing of
what she was doing. "Well," she stammered, "I could not help
being interested, and trying to do something. All
"Yes,
dear," said Manto, "and you love him," going to the point with
the directness of her class.
"Certainly
not," cried Cleonicé with another furious blush. "He hasn't
said a word about love to me."
"That'll
come in good time, my dear," said Manto, and she evidently considered the
matter as good as settled. "But now what is it that you want me to
do?"
"To
set him free," replied the girl.
Manto's face
fell. That was a very difficult and risky business, and she did not see how she
was to [253] set about it. Just at this moment the husband returned. He was
carrying a basket, and was evidently in a great hurry.
"Give
me a snack just to go on with," he said to his wife. "I have some
business to do at the camp, and must do it at once. They"—he did not
specify any further who was meant by the "they"—"have taken some
one on the road, and I have been getting something for him from the inn. He
seems to be a person of some importance, for he can't do, it seems, with common
fare. I have got a roast fowl and a flask of Chian here for him, and I must
take them to him, for he will be wanting his
meal."
"Yes,
father," said Manto, "but here is the dear child from
"The
dear child from
"Surely,"
said Cleonicé, "you haven't forgotten me, though I must allow that
I am not dressed as usual."
There
was no time to lose, and the story was told again. The shepherd, for this was
the man's occupation, was not less taken aback than his wife had been.
"Set
him free!" he exclaimed, when he saw what he was asked to do. "Set
him free! [254] But what are Manto and I to do afterwards, for we shall
certainly not be able to stay here any longer?"
"I
have thought of that, dear father," said Cleonicé. "That can
easily be settled, if you are willing. My father has a farm about to become
empty just now on the
"Well,"
said the shepherd, "I don't want a reward. I am ready to do anything in my
power for you, my dear child; but one has to look ahead a bit. But now let us
consider what is to be done."
This was
not difficult to see. The prisoner was in charge of two of the band. These
would have to be disposed of in some way, and the readiest and safest way was
to drug their drink. The shepherd, who had served the robbers for some years,
was implicitly trusted. All his interests were supposed to be identical with
theirs; it was the accepted rule that he had a share in the ransom of a
prisoner, and no one so much as imagined that he would ever have an interest in
setting a prisoner free.
"By
good luck," he said, "I bought a couple of flasks. It would save me a
journey, I thought to [255] myself, to get it at once, and now the second will
come in handy."
"But
how about the drug?" said Manto.
"Oh!"
replied the shepherd, "I have something here that will do perfectly well.
It is something that I give the sheep now and then when they have the colic.
I'll warrant that it does the business, and in pretty quick time, too. But now
I must be off."
Everything
went well. Eubulus, who had a happy, faculty of getting on in every company,
and making the best of every situation, was already on friendly terms with his
guards. When the shepherd made his appearance with the fowl and the flask of
Chian, he at once proposed to the men that they should pledge him in the wine.
This he did out of simple bonhomie, but it worked into his deliverer's
hands with admirable effect.
"Will
you have it neat or mixed?" asked the shepherd. The men would have
preferred the drink without water; but prudence prevailed.
"Well,"
said one of them, "for my part I think that water somewhat spoils the
taste. But we have to be careful. Supposing that we should fall asleep? There
would be a pretty to do?"
The
shepherd retired to the kitchen of the hut to mix the bowl, and had, of course,
an admirable [256] opportunity of putting in the narcotic. When he returned
with the doctored wine, he was thinking how he could manage to warn the young
man against the beverage, and was not a little perplexed by the problem to be solved.
Eubulus relieved him quite unintentionally. "For myself," he said,
"I prefer water. I am in training, and wine does not suit me."
"The
better for us," whispered one of the guards to the other, "though we
must really be careful."
"Then,
gentlemen," said the shepherd, "I will wish you good-night. I must be
off home, where my wife is waiting supper for me."
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|
He left
the hut, but, of course, only to wait outside for so long as might be necessary
before the drug did its work. It was amusing, or would have been amusing, to
one not directly interested in the matter, to note the working out of the plan.
The talk of the two men grew louder, then there was an
attempt at singing, and in a few minutes absolute silence. The shepherd looked
in, and saw that both the men were stretched on the floor, snoring loudly enough, it might have been said, to bring the house down. On
this he slipped in, cut the string by which the prisoner's ankles were tied
together, and the rope—by which he was bound to a staple in the wall [257] and
whispered in his ear—he might have shouted the words for all power of hearing
that was left to the guards—"Come along, sir, now is your time," and
he led the way to the cottage.
Manto
meanwhile had been collecting her personal belongings. All the furniture of the
cottage would have to be abandoned. Luckily there was very little of this; the
average cottage of the Greek labouring man was very scantily furnished. But she
had a few ornaments, a necklace and such like, a band of coins, and some other
trifles, and a gala dress. These things, with Cleonicé's help, she made
up into a bundle, not without tears, which the girl did her best to dispel.
Everything
was ready when the shepherd returned. The meal was hastily dispatched, neither
of the women, however, being disposed to share it. In less than half an hour
they had rejoined the party in the barn. Rufus, who had the strongest horse,
took up Manto behind him; the Corsican and Cleonicé rode on before, and
the shepherd with Eubulus made his way through the wood to the high road on
foot. Before dawn on the following day they were all safe at
UNDER COVER OF THE LAW
[258] OF the three confederates, two, as has been seen, had
attempted to "get at" the favourite for the Long Race, and had
failed. The third was now to take his turn. His scheme was more ambitious than
theirs, and as they were very soon to find out, far more costly. The abortive
effort to poison Eubulus had not cost much more than the price of the drug, to
the bandits nothing had been paid. They were to be remunerated by the ransom
which, as a matter of fact, they never got the chance of demanding. The scheme
now to be tried was to bring against the young athlete a charge so serious that
the authorities would be obliged to take action upon it. This charge was the
taking part in a Secret Society. There was nothing against which the Imperial Government
was so jealously on its guard, of which it was so
sensitively suspicious as the Secret [259] Society. (Footnote: Example may be
found in the correspondence of the younger Pliny and the Emperor Trajan. Pliny
had been sent as a special commissioner to the
Aristagoras
now felt that he had sufficient pretext for action. Accordingly he sought an
audience of Gallio, the matter being obviously for the representative of the
Imperial government, rather than for the head of the Corinthian municipality.
Gallio received him in private, with no one present but his secretary, and bade
him state his case. Aristagoras put it forth with no little skill, and
certainly did not suffer the few facts that he had to lose any of their
importance. He spoke of meetings of Jews in the house of a prominent member of
the community, and of the frequent attendance of Eubulus, known to be regarded
with uncommon favour by the whole population of
Gallio
heard the story with considerable doubt. He did not know much about
Aristagoras, but he had some suspicion of his sincerity. The fine instinct of a
well-born, well-read man told [263] him that there was something not quite
genuine about him. His secretary also, when appealed to, had nothing very
favourable to say. Aristagoras was in a good position, he knew, but was not in
the very best odour. Still the matter was not one which Gallio felt himself
justified in ignoring. He knew that the Home Government regarded such accusations
as very important matters. He had his private opinions, but it was not for him
to act upon them in his official capacity. He consented to receive the
deposition of Aristagoras. This was duly drawn up in form by the secretary, and
signed by the informer.
But when
Aristagoras went a step further, and sought to have Eubulus arrested, Gallio
met the request with a distinct refusal. "I have consented," he said,
"to receive your accusation, though it is, as you must be aware, very
vague. Still, it is not for me to ignore an affair which may possibly be of
more importance than it appears to me at present—for so much I do not hesitate
to say—to possess. But when you ask me to arrest the young man, I feel bound to
say 'No.' I do not know, sir, whether you, occupied, as you doubtless are, with
graver matters, are aware how the young man is situated. Anyhow, I may tell you
that he is about to take [264] part in the Games, and that he is confidently
expected to win the Long Race. It would hardly be fair to make such a victory
impossible by arresting him. These charges often come to nothing, more often
than not, as far as I can judge by my experience in office. If that should
happen in this case, I should have inflicted a very serious injury on the young
man and his friends. On the other hand there is no danger of the accused
escaping. He is a public character. He is the object of universal observation,
all the more so as he has been the object of two somewhat singular attacks. No,
sir, I decline to arrest Eubulus; when the race is over I will make inquiry.
Meanwhile, to avoid any chance of injury to the common weal I will give such
instructions as will ensure his being watched. He is no more likely to try to
leave
Aristagoras
was forced to be content with this. As he turned to leave the audience chamber,
Gallio regarded him with a scornful smile. "I strongly suspect, my good
man," he said to himself in a low voice, "that you have a hand in
these villainous plots."
THE GAMES
[265] THE action of Aristagoras, as described in the last
chapter, was known to but very few, but the affair of the bandits was no
secret, and the failure of the attempt made an immense sensation in
At an
early hour in the morning, which, appropriately enough, was one of brilliant
sunshine, all
The
first day of the Games was spent for the most part in ceremonial. The judges
formally took their seats. It was their business to decide any point of
difference that might arise. They were all Corinthian citizens. The right of
presiding had belonged to
This
brought the regular proceedings of the day to a close. The vast meeting then
resolved itself into a great social gathering. At the same time business was
not forgotten. The Greek, with all his sentiment, had always a keen eye to the
main chance. These occasions were convenient for the meeting of those who had
transactions to conclude or schemes to talk over, and a detached observer, had
he passed from group to group, might have heard the most multifarious variety
of affairs discussed. The great Isthmian assembly
rivalled, or even surpassed in this respect, even its great Olympian rival. It
had, it is true, no such splendid associations as had the
little town on the coast of
The
second day was given to the boys' competitions. The lads ran and wrestled and
boxed, to the intense interest of their fathers and other kindred. This part of
the festival was, in one sense, the most satisfactory. Both the competitors and
their friends took a frank and simple interest in the struggle, and there [272]
was very little of the noxious element of betting.
On the
third day began the competitions of the men, and the first of these to be taken
were the foot races. The reason for this is obvious. A foot race did not
interfere with any other competitions, but it might itself be interfered with
by others. A wrestler might wrench an ankle; a boxer might receive some blow
that would seriously damage his chances as a runner.
The
short race (Footnote: Called the Stadium.) was the first run. Here
the distance was two hundred yards or thereabouts. Eubulus had at one time
intended to compete, and would in all probability have won it, for he was known
to have for a short distance an unrivalled speed. But his trainer had persuaded
him to stand out. The two adverse experiences through which he had passed had
not, to all appearance, left any traces behind. Still it was possible that they
had told upon him in some way which would show itself only when the reserve of
strength was called upon. There was a certain disappointment in the crowd of
spectators when his well-known figure was missed in the line of starters, but
it was generally recognized that his action in reserving all his energies [273]
for the great effort of the long race was judicious. (Footnote: We call it
"the long race," but it does not seem long as judged by the practice
of modern pedestrianism. It is true that there are different opinions about the
distance traversed, but the commonly accepted notion is that this distance was
seven stadia, equal to 1,358 yards, not quite four-fifths of a mile. A
present-day runner would look upon this distance as neither one thing nor the
other. In the representations of long-race runners which have come down to us
the attitude with the arms pressed close to the sides is that which pedestrians
running a long distance would assume.)
When
that important event came on, it was seen that the reputation of Eubulus had
had the effect of diminishing the number of competitors. We have seen how
Dromeus disappeared; others retired for the more creditable reason that they
were manifestly outpaced by the young Corinthian, that
it was only by the merest accident they could hope to beat him, and that such
an accident was not worth waiting for. The consequence was that the starters
were not numerous enough to make it necessary to have more heats than one.
An
admirable start was effected, Eubulus being, if
anything, a little later than his competitors in springing from the line. This
he did by the trainer's instruction. With a well-grounded confidence in his
favourite pupil's superiority to his rivals, the man had said, "Don't
[274] give them a chance to complain; you will soon have it all your own
way." And have it his own way he certainly did.
The race, in fact, was a surprise, to his most confident backers, and nearly
went to the extent of revolutionising the pedestrian art in
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The rest
of the contests that took place that day need not be described. The wrestlers, the boxers, the competitors in that most arduous of
all the competitions, the Pancratium, received perhaps less attention than
usual. The victory of Eubulus had taken off the edge, so to speak, of
the popular interest. Still there was a sufficiency of applause, and the
meeting, as a whole, might be safely pronounced to be a success. But the great
sensation of the day was yet to come. When at the close of the competitions a
herald proclaimed the names of the successful competitors, and announced as
"Victor in the Long Race, Eubulus, son of Eumenes," and one of the
spectators stepped forth from the crowd that stood round, and said, "I
object to Eubulus, reputed son of Eumenes," with an emphasis on the word
"reputed," there ensued, as may be easily supposed, a prodigious
tumult.
THE CASKET
[276] THE judges at once adjourned the inquiry to the private
room provided for them in one of the buildings that adjoined the course, and
began by calling on the objector for a prima facie justification of the course
which he had taken. By common repute, they said, Eubulus is the son of Eumenes,
for many years a well known and generally respected inhabitant of
The
woman concluded her story thus,
"I
took the casket with the letter and the money, the child being carried for me
by the woman whom I have mentioned. Before long I brought back the
acknowledgment de- [280] sired. The stranger received it from me in silence,
and I saw him no more. The next day I heard that a man had been found dead,
apparently from the effects of poison, in the house before mentioned."
"Is
this," asked the Archon, "the first time you have told this
story?"
The
woman looked distressed. "Yes," she said, "it is, except that I
told my husband at the time what had taken place. He has been dead about two
years. He was a very good husband to me, but a little wine got into his head,
and at such times he let his tongue run away with him."
The
Archon was extra-judicially acquainted with the fact that Eumenes had left
The
president of the committee opened the casket in the presence of his colleagues,
and took out its contents. These were a paper closely written on both sides and
a small leather bag, containing some twelve jewels of great size and evidently
of great value. The writing was a singularly beautiful script, which did not
require more than a few minutes to read. When the Proconsul had mastered its
contents, he handed it to the [282] Archon, and the Archon, having perused it,
passed it to his colleague. It ran
thus—
"I
who write these words am by name Alexander, son of
Philip, and by family of the royal house, or I should rather say of what was
the royal house, of
A pause
of some duration followed the reading of this document. Gallio broke it by
announcing a decision which his colleagues promptly recognized as indicating
the only course which under the circumstances could be followed. He said:
"We will dismiss the objection to the Greek descent of Eubulus, and will
announce that it has been proved to our entire satisfaction that in this
respect the competitor is fully qualified as victorious in the Long Race to
receive the Crown of Pine, and we will add, if it pleases you, some special
distinction on account of the unprecedented character of his victory. But the
strange revelation of the young man's parentage makes it necessary to act with
the utmost prudence in dealing with the charge which has been brought against
him. It is manifest, indeed, to us that he is wholly free from any guilty
knowledge of plans adverse to the public welfare. Yet they who govern this
Empire are bound to be on their guard against all possible danger, and they rightly
expect caution and discretion from those to whom they delegate their power. I
dare not release on my own responsibility one [285] who may by some
possibility, however remote, become dangerous to the peace of the world,
Eubulus must go to
REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS
[286] THE decision of the committee of the judges was announced
by the Archon on the morning of the fourth day. It was usual at the Games, as
it is usual in similar celebrations in this country to reward the winners at
the close of the festival; but in this case the Presidents determined, and for
what seemed to them quite sufficient reason, to make an exception in favour of
Eubulus. The pine-crown was to be put on his head just before the beginning of
the contests of the day. The Archon, accordingly, stepped forward to the front
of the official "box," if the term may be permitted, occupied by the
judges, and spoke as follows:
"We
have examined the objection made to the parentage of Eubulus, first runner in
the Long Race, have taken evidence, and have come to the conclusion that he was
qualified to compete. Indeed, we may say that there is no one in the whole of
Hellas, who, so far as ancestry is concerned, is more fit to win and wear the
[287] honours of the fleet of foot. More I will not say at present. You will
soon know what I mean. That he is not a Corinthian born we regret, but we must
not grudge him a distinction of race which even
Shouts
of deafening applause rose again and again from the crowd as Eubulus stepped
forward and received from the hands of the Archon first the palm branch and
then the Crown of Pine.
The
unprecedented departure from the order of proceedings described above brought
well-merited disaster to Cleon and his associates. If they had been wise they
would by this time have left
"Not
so fast, my fine fellows," he cried; "there are a good many friends
here who would like to have a word with you before you go."
Retribution
was at hand for the scoundrels, and was likely to be as complete as the
sternest lover of justice could desire. The "welsher"—it may be
explained that the word means a low-class better who cannot pay his bets—was
wont to meet with as little mercy on the racecourse of antiquity as he meets
with at Epsom or Doncaster. And the three were more than "welshers."
Their misdeeds were not fully known to the crowd that rapidly gathered round
the Corsican and his captives, but some were sure and many more suspected that
they had practised against the life of Eubulus, the most popular candidate that
The
Corsican apprehended the situation in a moment. Leave these fellows to the
vengeance of the mob, and by the time one had counted a hundred, there would
not be one of them left alive. This was [291] not a result which he desired. He
had not a grain of compassion for the villains; whatever they might suffer
would be less than their deserts. But still it would be better that they should
not be killed. Death, even the death of such worthless creatures as these,
would cast a gloomy shadow over what was a day of triumph and joy. He saw his
way in a moment. "Let them run the gauntlet!" he cried, and the
suggestion was taken up with a tumult of applause, and so the stadium was put
to a use for which it certainly was not intended. The three rogues,
stationed some ten yards apart—by a rude justice the eldest, as presumably the
least active, had the least distance to run—were started, and had to make their
way as best they could along the line of spectators. No one had any deadly
weapon wherewith to strike the runners—it was forbidden to carry weapons within
the precincts of the Games—but there were belts and other implements handy, and
in default of anything better a sandal or a shoe. It is probable that even from
this ordeal not one of the three would have escaped alive but for an
interruption to the sport which the Corsican had foreseen. The keepers of the
course were scandalized at the base use to which it was being put, and, as soon
as they had recovered from their astonishment, [292] interfered and put an end
to it. It was about time. Cleon and Ariston lay bleeding and senseless on the
ground; Democles was staggering on alone. The keepers carried them off the
ground and put them in safety in one of the buildings that adjoined the course.
It is needless to pursue their story any further. A few days later, when they
had recovered sufficiently to be able to walk, they were conducted to the
frontier of the State, and summarily ordered to depart. They were given to
understand that if they were seen again in
BACK TO ROME
[293] WHILE the enemies of Eubulus were thus receiving their due,
his friends found themselves in no small perplexity. After giving his evidence,
You are
right," answered
[294]
"Not we," said Priscilla. "I have not been banished. Why should
not I go and leave you safely here?"
"That
is impossible," replied
Priscilla
reluctantly acknowledged that it was. "We will disguise ourselves,"
she said; "that ought not to be very difficult."
Nothing
could be done that evening, but early the next morning
While he
was looking about him he observed a small sailing vessel rowed with sweeps up
to the quay side. It was made fast to the quay, from which a gangway was pushed
out, and some five or six passengers landed. Two sailors [295] carried after
them a few articles of luggage. One of the passengers was obviously a person of
some importance, at least in the eyes of his fellow-travellers. One of these
supported his steps as he passed along the gangway, and another looked out for
a seat on the quay where he might be sheltered from the sun. There was no sort
of distinction about his general appearance, which was indeed insignificant. He
was short of stature, and stooped, but his countenance was of an aspect so
remarkable that no one who saw it could ever forget. The eyes, though to an
expert's look they betrayed the signs of ophthalmia, were singularly brilliant
and penetrating, and the whole expression was full of energy. While
"I
think you will be able to help us," the man said; "our
fellow-traveller whom you see is Paul of Tarsus. We had heard at
"By
all means," cried
"Well,"
replied Trophimus, "this will require a little management. He makes a
great point [296] of earning his own livelihood, and especially in a commercial
place like this, where he thinks the man who shows himself careless of gain is
likely by the force of contrast to be appreciated. So, if you please, we will
find a shelter for him for a day or two, and then bring in the subject of your
occupation. He is a worker like you in Cilician cloth, and it would please him
greatly to think that he will be earning, by his own special handiwork, his own
living."
With
this
They had
come, not, as may be supposed, without great reluctance, to this
conclusion—Eubulus [297] was very near to the hearts of both of them—when
Manasseh was announced.
"You
must not think that I am ungrateful," said the old man, "because I
have not come sooner to express my thanks. Be sure that I shall never forget
your kindness, and that if I have the chance I will
show my sense of it. And that, indeed, is the reason of my coming to-day. What
I have heard makes me think that this may be an opportunity for something more
than words. I have heard that Eubulus is to go to
"So,"
he exclaimed, after a pause in which he seemed to be meditating the state of
affairs, "so Paul of Tarsus is here. Well, you will not expect me to think
about him as you do. I know that wherever I go he is spoken against. He seems
to me to be one of the men who turn the world upside down. Perhaps it is good
for the world to be so turned; but old men of my way of thinking cannot be
easily brought to believe it. And you are going to make a home for him here in
"But
the risk?" said
"You
thought nothing of the risk," answered Manasseh,
"and I am an old man for whom there can be left but a small span of days,
and you are a young one with life before you. Never mind about the risk. And I
feel pretty sure that the worst of the feeling against us is over. It was
always something of a plot rather than a real movement, and they are beginning
to feel that things don't go very smoothly without us. In any case there would
be far less risk for me than there would be for you."
"But
your health?" said Priscilla. "Are you equal to the fatigues of the
journey?"
"Perfectly
so," replied Manasseh, "thanks in the first place to you, dear lady.
Yes; there is nothing on that score to give you any hesitation. So you can stop
here and take care of your master, as you call him. He may be all you think
him. I, as you may guess, have had my thoughts fixed upon other things. Perhaps
it would have been better if they had not, but I am too old to change."
"Dear
sir——" began Priscilla.
But Manasseh
held up his hand. "You must let me go my own way."
[299] And so it was settled. Manasseh, accompanied by Raphael and
Eleazar, who would, however, leave him before he reached his journey's end, was
to go to Rome, timing his arrival some day or two before that of Eubulus, who
would travel slowly as became a State prisoner. This would give him a chance of
making arrangements in advance, and favourably prepossessing, in one or more of
the many ways of which he was master, those who would have to judge the young
man's case.
And to
Manasseh
was almost paralysed with dismay when he found that the influences on which he
had hitherto relied for the accomplishment of his object, and never relied in
vain, were failing. "All things at
Eubulus
had been as much impressed with the seriousness of the situation as was his
veteran companion, but in a very different way. The revelation of the casket
had greatly impressed him. He had been simply an athlete, with something indeed
of the old simplicity and honesty which had almost disappeared from a
degenerate age, but with a necessarily narrow view of life. Then he had learnt
the secret of his descent. It roused in him no secular ambitions. He was far
too sensible and too conscientious to become a pretender. Yet he felt that it
was not for nothing that he could claim a share in the glories of Achilles and
Alexander. There was no vanity or self-seeking in these new emotions. It was
the working of the old motive of noblesse oblige
in a nature singularly pure and unselfish. And then [302] in the tedious
solitude to which he was consigned—he was in the custody of an opportunist
senator, who left him severely alone when he knew that the Emperor was
hostile—other thoughts, linked somehow with those which I have described, began
to visit him. Face to face with death, he began to recall some of the teaching
which he had received from
But the
prospect was at its gloomiest when an unexpected interference changed the
situation. The young Nero, a boy scarcely thirteen, but beyond
his age in an intelligent knowledge of affairs, heard, almost by accident, the
story of Eubulus. The young man's adventures, the [303] dangers he had
encountered and escaped, and the victory achieved in spite of so many enemies,
interested him as they would have interested any boy of intelligence. But when
he heard of the secret of his birth, when he was told that the young man was
the descendant of Achilles and a kinsman of Alexander, all the romance in him
was moved. The generous instincts, which in after years the corrupting
influences of power so sadly overlaid, were roused to activity. This young man
was the very ideal of which he had dreamed—the descendant of heroes, himself a
hero! He flew to his stepfather, the Emperor, and overwhelmed him with
entreaties and reproaches. How could he think of harming so noble a being? It
would be sheer profanity, he cried, to shed blood so sacred! And how splendid
the revenge if a descendant of Aeneas were to extend
mercy and protection to the descendant of Achilles! That would be indeed to add
a crowning glory to the triumphs of the Second Troy.
Claudius
could not resist these appeals. It would have been hard to refuse anything to
the brilliant lad whom he had already put over the head of his own somewhat
stolid son, Britannicus. And the sentiment of the ancestral glories of his
house touched him at a tender point. And after [304] all, when he came to
reflect on it, the sympathy which the world might feel for the descendant of
Achilles could not be other than remote, whereas a Pompey might have a real
party behind him. Eubulus, he promised his young champion, should go unharmed.
The next
day he sent for the young man, was pleased to find that he had a sufficient
knowledge of the distinctions of his house, both legendary and heroic, and not
ill content to discover that there was also much in which he could himself
instruct him. The young Corinthian had to listen to a long and erudite lecture
on the history of the House of Aeacus, (Footnote: The grandfather
of Achilles.) a small price, however, he felt, at which to purchase the favour
of the Master of the World.
When he
had done sufficient homage to the past, Claudius condescended to deal with the
affairs of the present. Had Eubulus any plans for the future? where did he think of making his home? "I should not
advise
Eubulus
answered, not without a blush, that he was not, but hoped to be. Claudius
thought, not without bitterness and self-reproach, of his own experiences of
marriage. But he was not lost to better feelings, and it touched him to see
this youth still full of the innocent hopes of a first love.
"The
gods prosper you," he cried.
And to
Massilia Eubulus went, and found there, in company, it need hardly be said,
with Cleonicé, a happy home. He became a true lover of books, but never
a bookworm; and it was his delight to exchange now and then the pleasures of
his library for the sports which the rivers and forests of
On one
memorable occasion, however, Eubulus left his beloved retirement to fulfil what
he could not but regard as a sacred duty. His old friends Aquila and Priscilla
had given up their residence at Corinth, after giving the great teacher, Paul
of Tarsus, shelter and companionship during his stay in that city. They had
accompanied their guest to
"
"Know
that our beloved master is again in prison at
Eubulus
did as his teacher bade him, and had no doubt about the answer which was
vouchsafed to him. In the course of a few hours the messenger was on his way
back to
What he
saw and heard there it is not for me to tell. It is enough to say that his name
stands first among the faithful few who had gathered round the great apostle
when his pilgrimage was drawing to its close. He did not share the prisoner's
fate. He was kept to do more work for the Heavenly Master on earth. It may be
that Nero remembered the romantic story of an earlier time, and when he sent
the Apostle to suffer death on the Ostian road by the headsman's [308] axe,
sent back his companion to his home at Massilia. Here he disappears from our
ken, but all his distinctions may well seem insignificant in comparison with
this, that he was permitted to associate himself with the last messages of
greeting sent by the Apostle of the Gentiles to his brethren in the faith.