Caesar Dies - Talbot Mundy
"I sacrificed a white bull to Jupiter Capitolinus, as is customary, to
confirm a sacred oath," he answered.
"Very well, suppose you break the oath!" said Marcia.
He managed to look scandalized--then chuckled foolishly, remembering
what Pertinax had said about the value of an oath; but his own dignity
obliged him to protest.
"I am not one of your Christians," he answered, stiffening himself. "I
am old-fashioned enough to hold that an oath made at the altar of our
Roman Jupiter is sacred and inviolable."
"When you took your oath of office you swore to be in all things true to
Caesar," Marcia retorted. "Do you prefer to tell Caesar how true you
have been to that oath? Which oath holds the first one or the second?"
"I could ask to be released from the second one," said Livius. "If you
will give me time--"
Marcia's laugh interrupted him. It was soft, melodious, like wavelets
on a calm sea, hinting unseen reefs.
"Time," she said, "Is all that death needs! Death does not wait on
oaths; it comes to us. I wish to know just how far I can trust you,
Livius."
Nine Roman nobles out of ten in Livius' position would have recognized
at once the deadliness of the alternatives she offered and, preserving
something of the shreds of pride, would have accepted suicide as
preferable. Livius had no such stamina. He seized the other horn of
the dilemma.
"I perceive Pertinax has betrayed me," he sneered, looking sharply at
Cornificia; but she was watching Marcia and did not seem conscious of
his glance. "If Pertinax has broken his oath, mine no longer binds me.
This is the fact then: I discovered how he helped Sextus, son of
Maximus, to avoid execution by a ruse, making believe to be killed.
Pertinax was also privy to the execution of an unknown thief in place of
Norbanus, a friend of Sextus, also implicated in conspiracy. Pertinax
has been secretly negotiating with Sextus ever since. Sextus now calls
himself Maternus and is notorious as a highwayman."
"What else do you know about Maternus?" Marcia inquired. There was a
trace at last of sharpness in her voice. A hint conveyed itself that
she could summon the praetorians if he did not answer swiftly.
"He plots against Caesar."
"You know too little or too much!" said Marcia. "What else?"
He closed his lips tight. "I know nothing else."
"Have you had any dealings with Sextus?"
"Never."
He was shifting now from one foot to the other, hardly noticeably, but
enough to make Marcia smile. "Shall we hear what Sextus has to say to
that?" asked Cornificia, so confidently that there was no doubt Marcia
had given her the signal.
Marcia moved her melting, lazy, laughing eyes and Cornificia clapped her
hands. A slave came.
"Bring the astrologer."
Sextus must have been listening, he appeared so instantly. He stood
with folded arms confronting them, his weathered face in sunlight.
Pigment was not needed to produce the healthy bronze hue of his skin;
his curly hair, bound by a fillet, was unruly from the outdoor life he
had been leading; the strong sinews of his arms and legs belied the ease
of his pretended calling and the starry cloak he wore was laughable in
its failure to disguise the man of action. He saluted the three women
with a gesture of the raised right hand that no man unaccustomed to the
use of arms could imitate, then turning slightly toward Livius,
acknowledged his nod with a humorous grin.
"So we meet again, Bultius Livius."
"Again?" asked Marcia.
"Why yes, I met him in the house of Pertinax. It is three days since we
spoke together. Three, or is it four, Livius? I have been busy. I
forget."
"Can Livius have lied?" asked Marcia. She seemed to be enjoying the
entertainment.
Livius threw caution to the winds.
"Is this a tribunal?" he demanded. "If so, of what am I accused?" He
tried to speak indignantly, but something caught in his throat. The
cough became a sob and in a moment he was half-hysterical. "By
Hercules, what judges! What a witness! Is he a two-headed witness who
shall swear my life away? I understand you, Marcia!"
(At least two witnesses were necessary under Roman law.)
"You?" she laughed. "You understand me?"
He recovered something of his self-possession, a wave of virility
returning. High living and the feverish excitement of the palace regime
had ruined his nerves but there were traces still of his original
astuteness. He resumed his air of dignity.
"Pardon me," he said. "I have been overworked of late. I must see
Galen about this jumpiness. When I said I understand you I meant, I
realize that you are joking. Naturally you would not receive a
highwayman in Cornificia's house, and at the same time accuse me of
treason! Pray excuse my outburst--set it to the score of ill-health. I
will see Galen."
"You shall see him now!" laughed Marcia, and Cornificia clapped her
hands.
Less suddenly than Sextus had appeared, because his age was beginning to
tell on him, Galen entered the court through a door behind the palm-
trees and stood smiling, making his old-world, slow salute to Marcia.
His bright eyes moved alertly amid wrinkles. He looked something like
the statues of the elder Cato, only with a kindlier humor and less
obstinacy at the corners of the mouth. Two slaves brought out a couch
for him and vanished when he had taken his ease on it after fussing a
little because the sun was in his eyes.
"My trade is to oppose death diplomatically," he remarked. "I am a poor
diplomatist. I only gain a little here and there. Death wins
inevitably. Nevertheless, they only summon me for consultation when
they hope to gain a year or two for somebody. Marcia, unless you let
Bultius Livius use that couch he will swoon. I warn you. The man's
heart is weak. He has more brain than heart," he added. "How is our
astrologer?"
He greeted Sextus with a wrinkled grin and beckoned him to share his
couch. Sextus sat down and began chafing the old doctor's legs. Marcia
took her time about letting Livius be seated.
"You heard Galen?" she asked. "We are here to cheat death
diplomatically."
"Whose death?" Livius demanded.
"Rome's!" said Marcia, her eyes intently on his face. "If Rome should
split in three parts it would fall asunder. None but Commodus can save
us from a civil war. We are here to learn what Bultius Livius can do to
preserve the life of Commodus."
Livius' face, grotesque already with its hastily smeared carmine,
assumed new bewilderment.
"I have seen men tortured who were less ready to betray themselves,"
said Galen. "Give him wine--strong wine, that is my advice."
But Marcia preferred her victim thoroughly subjected.
"Fill your eyes with sunlight, Livius. Breathe deep! You look and
breathe your last, unless you satisfy me! This astrologer, who is not
Sextus--mark that! I have said he is not Sextus. Galen certified to
Sextus' death and there were twenty other witnesses. Nor is he Maternus
the highwayman. Maternus was crucified. That other Maternus, who is
rumored to live in the Aventine Hills, is an imaginary person--a mere
name used by runaways who take to robbery. This astrologer, I say,
reports that you know all the secrets of the factions that are
separately plotting to destroy our Commodus."
Livius did not answer, although she paused to give him time.
"You said you understood me, Livius. But it is I who understand you--
utterly! To you any price is satisfactory if your own skin and
perquisites are safe. You are as crafty a spy as any rat in the palace
cellars. You have kept yourself informed in order to get the pickings
when you see at last which side to take. Careful, very clever of you,
Livius! But have you ever seen an eagle rob a fish-hawk of its catch?"
"Why waste time?" Cornificia asked impatiently. "He forced himself on
Pertinax, who should have had him murdered, only Pertinax is too
indifferent to his own--"
"Too philosophical!" corrected Galen.
Then Caia Poppeia spoke up, in a young, hard voice that had none of
Marcia's honeyed charm. No doubt of her was possible; she could be
cruel for the sake of cruelty and loyal for the sake of pride. Her
beauty was a mere means to an end--the end intrigue, for the
impassionate excitement of it. She was straight-lipped, with a smile
that flickered, and a hard light in her blue eyes.
"It was I who learned you spy on Marcia. I know, too, that you keep a
spy in Britain,--one in Gaul, another in Severus' camp. I read the last
nine letters they sent you. I showed them to Marcia."
"I kept one," Marcia added. "It came yesterday. It compromises you
beyond--"
"I yield!" said Livius, his knees beginning to look weak.
"To whom? To me?" asked Sextus, standing up abruptly and confronting
him with folded arms. "Who stole the list I sent to Pertinax, of names
of the important men who are intriguing for Severus, and for Pescennius
Niger, and for Clodius Albinus?"
"Who knows?" Livius shrugged his shoulders.
"None knew of that list but you!" said Sextus. "You heard me speak of
it to Pertinax. You heard me promise I would send it to him. None but
you and he and I knew who the messenger would be. Where is the
messenger?"
"In the sewers probably!" said Marcia. "The list is more important."
"If it isn't in the sewers, too," said Livius, snatching at a straw.
"By Hercules, I know nothing of a list."
"Then you shall drown with Sextus' slave in the Cloaca Maxima, the great
sewer of Rome," said Marcia. "Not that I need the list. I know what
names are written on it. But if it should have fallen into Caesar's
hands--"
She shuddered, acting horror perfectly, and Livius, like a drowning man
who thinks he sees the shore, struck out and sank!
"You threaten me, but I am no such fool as you imagine! I know all
about you! I perceive you have crossed your Rubicon. Well--"
"Summon the decurion and two men!" Marcia interrupted, glancing at
Cornificia. But she made a gesture with her hand that Cornificia
interpreted to mean "do nothing of the kind!"
Livius did not see the gesture. Rage, shame, terror overwhelmed him and
he blurted out the information Marcia was seeking--hurled it at her in
the form of silly, useless threats:
"You wanton! You can kill me but my journal is in safe hands! Harm me--
cause me to be missing from the palace for a few hours, and they may
light your funeral fires! My journal, with the names of the
conspirators, and all the details of your daily intriguing, goes
straight into Caesar's hands!"
The climax he expected failed. There was no excitement. Nobody seemed
astonished. Marcia settled herself more comfortably on the couch and
Galen began whispering to Sextus. The two other women looked amused.
Reaction sweeping over him, his senses reeled and Livius stepped
backward, staggering to the fountain, where he sat down.
"Bona dea! But the man took time to tell his secret!" Marcia exclaimed.
"Popeia, you had better take my litter to the palace and bring that minx
Cornelia. I suspected it was she but wasn't sure of it. Don't give her
an inkling of what you know. Go with her to her apartment and watch her
dress; then make an excuse to keep her waiting in your room while you
go back and search hers. Have help if you need it; take two of my
eunuchs, but watch that they don't read the journal. Look under her
mattress. Look everywhere. If you can't find the journal, bring
Cornelia without it. I will soon make her tell us where it is."
VIII. NARCISSUS
"A gladiator's life is not so bad if he behaves himself, and while it
lasts," Narcissus said.
He was sitting beside Sextus, son of Maximus, in the ergastulum beneath
the training school of Bruttius Marius, which was well known to be the
emperor's establishment, although maintained in the name of a citizen.
There was a stone seat at the end where sunlight poured through a barred
window high up in the wall. To right and left facing a central corridor
were cells with doors of latticed iron. Each cell had its own barred
window, hardly a foot square, set high out of reach and the light,
piercing the latticed doors, made criss-cross patterns on the white wall
of the corridor. Narcissus got up, glanced into each cell and sat down
again beside Sextus.
"The trouble is, they don't," he went on. "If you let them out, they
drink and get into poor condition; and if you keep them in, they kill
themselves unless they're watched. These men are reserved for Paulus,
and they know they haven't a chance against him."
"Paulus' luck won't last forever," Sextus remarked grimly.
"No, nor his skill, I suppose. But he doesn't debauch himself, so he's
always in perfect condition."
"Haven't you a man in here who might be made nervy enough to kill him?"
Sextus asked. "They would kill the man himself, of course, directly
afterward, but we might undertake to enrich his relatives."
Narcissus shook his head.
"One might have a chance with the sword or with the net and trident,
though I doubt it. But Paulus uses a javelin and his aim is like
lightning. Only yesterday at practise they loosed eleven lions at him
from eleven directions at the same moment. He slew them with eleven
javelins, and each one stone dead. Some of these men saw him do it,
which hasn't encouraged them, I can tell you. In the second place, they
know Paulus is Commodus. He might just as well go into the arena
frankly as the emperor, for all the secret it is. That substitute who
occupies the royal pavilion when Commodus himself is in the arena no
longer looks very much like him; he is getting too loose under the
chin, although a year ago you could hardly tell the two apart. Even the
mob knows Paulus is Commodus, although nobody dares to acclaim him
openly. Send a gladiator in against another gladiator and even though
he may know that the other man can split a stick at twenty yards, he
will do his best. But let him know he goes against the emperor and he
has no nerve to start with; he can't aim straight; he suspects his own
three javelins and his shield and helmet have been tampered with. I
myself would be afraid to face Paulus, being not much good with the
javelin in any case, besides being superstitious about killing emperors,
who are gods, not men, or the senate and priests wouldn't say so. It is
the same in the races: setting aside Caesar's skill, which is simply
phenomenal, the other charioteers are all afraid of him."
"If he isn't killed soon, Severus or one of the others will forestall us
all," said Sextus. "Pertinax has only one chance: to be on the throne
before the other candidates know what is happening."
Narcissus' bronze face lighted with a sudden smile that rippled all
around the corners of his mouth, so that he looked like a genial satyr.
"Speaking of killing," he said, "Marcia has ordered me to kill you the
moment you make up your mind the time has come to strike!"
"You promised her, of course?"
"No, as it happens we were interrupted. But she relies on me and if she
ever begins to suspect me I would rather die in the arena than be racked
and burned!"
"Why not then? How is this for a proposal?" Sextus touched him on the
shoulder. "Substitute yourself and me for two of these men! Send me in
against him first. If he kills me, you next. One of us might get him.
I am lucky. I believe the gods are interested in me, I have had so many
escapes from death."
"I haven't much faith in the gods," said Narcissus. "They may be all
like Commodus. I heard Galen say that men created gods in their own
image."
Sextus smiled at him.
"You have been listening, I suppose, to Marcia and her Christians."
"Listening, yes, but I don't lean either way. It doesn't seem to me
that Christianity can do much for a man when javelins are in the air.
And besides, to be frank with you, Sextus, I rather hope to make a
little something for myself. God though he is said to be, I would like
to see Commodus killed for I loathe him. But I hope to survive him and
obtain my freedom. Pertinax would manumit me. That is why I applied
for the post of trainer in this beastly ergastulum. It is bad enough to
have to endure the gloom of men virtually condemned to death and looking
for a chance to kill themselves, but it is better than treading the sand
to have one's liver split, one's throat cut, and be dragged out with the
hooks. I have fought many a fight, but I liked each one less than the
last."
He got up and strode again along the corridor, glancing into the cells,
where gladiators sat fettered to the wall.
"This whole business is getting too confused for me," he grumbled,
sitting down again. "You want to kill Commodus, as is reasonable.
Marcia has ordered me to kill you, which is unreasonable! Yet for the
present she protects you. Why? She knows you are Commodus' enemy. She
seems anxious to save Commodus. Yet she encourages Pertinax, who
doesn't want to be emperor; he only dallies with the thought because
Marcia helps Cornificia to persuade him! Isn't that a confusion for
you? And now there's Bultius Livius. As I understand it, Marcia caught
him spying on her. No woman in her senses would trust Livius; the man
has snowbroth in his veins and slow fire in his head. Yet Marcia now
heaps favors on him!"
"That is my doing," said Sextus.
"Are you mad then, too?"
"Maybe! I have persuaded Marcia that, now she has possession of the
journal Livius was keeping, she can henceforth hold that over him and
use him to advantage. She can win his gratitude--"
"He has none!"
"--and at the same time hold over him the threat of exposure for
connection with the Severus faction, and the Pescennius faction, and the
Clodius Albinus faction. He had it all down in his journal. He can
easily be involved in those conspiracies if Marcia isn't satisfied with
his spying in her behalf."
"Gemini! The man will break down under the strain. He has no stamina.
He will denounce us all."
"Let us hope so," Sextus answered. "I am counting on it. Nothing but
sudden danger will ever bring Pertinax up to the mark! I gave a bond to
Marcia for Livius' life."
"Jupiter! What kind of bond? And what has come over Marcia that she
accepted it?"
"I guaranteed to her that I will not denounce herself to Commodus! She
saw the point. She could never clear herself."
"But how could you denounce her? She can have you seized and silenced
any time! Weren't you in Cornificia's house, with the guard at the
gate? Why didn't she summon the praetorians and hand you over to them?"
"Because Galen was there, too. She loves him, trusts him, and Galen is
my friend. Besides, Pertinax would turn on her if she should have me
killed. Pertinax was my father's friend, and is mine. Marcia's only
chance, if Commodus should lose his life, is for Pertinax to seize the
throne and continue to be her friend and protect her. Any other
possible successor to Commodus would have her head off in the same
hour."
"Well, Sextus, that argument won't keep her from having you murdered. I
am only hoping she won't order me to do it, because the cat will be out
of the bag then. I will not refuse, but I will certainly not kill you,
and that will mean--"
"You forget Norbanus and my freedmen," Sextus interrupted. "She knows
very well that they know all my secrets. They would avenge me instantly
by sending Commodus full information of the plot, involving Marcia head
over heels. She is ready to betray Commodus if that should seem the
safest course. If she is capable of treachery to him, she is equally
sure to betray all her friends if she thought her own life were in
danger!"
"Now listen, Sextus, and don't speak too loud or they'll hear you in the
cells; any of these poor devils would jump at a chance to save his own
skin by betraying you and me. Talk softly. I say, listen! There isn't
any safety anywhere with all these factions plotting each against the
other, none knowing which will strike first and Commodus likely to
pounce on all of them at any minute. I don't know why he hasn't heard of
it already."
"He is too busy training his body to have time to use his brain," said
Sextus. "However, go on."
"I think Commodus is quite likely to have the best of it!" Narcissus
said, screwing up his eyes as if he gazed at an antagonist across the
dazzling sand of the arena. "Somebody--some spy--is sure to inform him.
There will be wholesale proscriptions. Commodus will try to scare
Severus, Niger and Albinus by slaughtering their supporters here in
Rome. I can see what is coming."
"Are you, too, a god--like Commodus--that you can see so shrewdly?"
"Never mind. I can see. And I can see a better way for you, and for me
also. You have made yourself a great name as Maternus, less, possibly,
in Rome than on the countryside. You have more to begin with than ever
Spartacus had--"
"Aye, and less, too," Sextus interrupted. "For I lack his confidence
that Rome can be brought to her knees by an army of slaves. I lack his
willingness to try to do it. Rome must be saved by honorable Romans,
who have Rome at heart and not their own personal ambition. No army of
runaway slaves can ever do it. Nothing offends me more than that
Commodus makes slaves his ministers, and I mean by that no offense to
you, Narcissus, who are fit to rank with Spartacus himself. But I am a
republican. It is not vengeance that I seek. I will reckon I have lived
if I have ridded Rome of Commodus and helped to replace him with a man
who will restore our ancient liberties."
"Liberties?" Narcissus wore his satyr-smile again. "It makes small
difference to slaves and gladiators how much liberty the free men have!
The more for them, the less for us! Let us live while the living is
good, Sextus! Let us take to the mountains and help ourselves to what
we need while Pertinax and all these others fight for too much! Let
them have their too much and grow sick of it! What do you and I need
beyond clothing, a weapon, armor, a girl or two and a safe place for
retreat? I have heard Sardinia is wonderful. But if you still think
you would rather haunt your old estates, where you know the people and
they know you, so that you will be warned of any attempt to catch you,
that will be all right with me. We can swoop down on the inns along the
main roads now and then, rob whom it is convenient to rob, and live like
noblemen!"
"Three years I have lived an outlaw's life," Sextus answered, "sneaking
into Rome to borrow money from my father's friends to save me the
necessity of stealing. It is one thing to pretend to be a robber, and
another thing to rob. The robber's name makes nine men out of ten your
secret well-wishers; the deed makes you all men's enemy. How do you
suppose I have escaped capture? It was simple enough. Every robber in
Italy has called himself Maternus, so that I have seemed to be here,
there, everywhere, aye, and often in three or four places at once! I
have been caught and killed at least a dozen times! But all the while
my men and I were safe because we took care to harm nobody. We let
others do the murdering and robbing. We have lived like hermits,
showing ourselves only often enough to keep alive the Maternus legend."
"Well, isn't that better than risking your neck trying to make and
unmake emperors?" Narcissus asked.
"I risk my neck each hour I linger in Rome!"
"Well then, by Hercules, take payment for the risk, and cut the risk and
vanish!" exclaimed Narcissus. "Help yourself once and for all to a bag
full of gold in exchange for your father's estates that were confiscated
when they cut his head off. Then leave Italy, and let us be outlaws in
Sardinia."
Sextus laughed.
"That probably sounds glorious to one in your position. I, too, rather
enjoyed the prospect when I first made my escape from Antioch and
discovered how easy the life was. But though I owe it to my father's
memory to win back his estates, even that, and present outlawry is small
compared to the zeal I have for restoring Rome's ancient liberties. But
I don't deceive myself; I am not the man who can accomplish that; I can
only help the one who can, and will. That one is Pertinax. He will
reverse the process that has been going on since Julius Caesar overthrew
the old republic. He will use a Caesar's power to destroy the edifice
of Caesar and rebuild what Caesar wrecked!"
Narcissus pondered that, his head between his hands.
"I haven't Rome at heart," he said at last. "Why should I have? There
are girls, whom I have forgotten, whom I loved more than I love Rome. I
am a slave gladiator. I have been applauded by the crowds, but know
what that means, having seen other men go the same route. I am an
emperor's favorite, and I know what that means too; I saw Cleander die;
I have seen man after man, and woman after woman lose his favor
suddenly. Banishment, death, the ergastulum, torture--and, what is much
worse, the insults the brute heaps on any one he turns against--I am too
wise to give that--" he spat on the flag-stones--"for the friendship of
Commodus. And Commodus is Rome; you can't persuade me he isn't. Rome
turns on its favorites as he does--scorns them, insults them, throws
them on dung-heaps. That for Rome!" He spat again. "They even break
the noses off the statues of the men they used to idolize! They even
throw the statues on a dung-heap to insult the dead! Why should I set
Rome above my own convenience?"