Domitia

“Lady Longa,” said Elymas, “There are moments that are turning points in every life. A great chance offers. Take it, or put it away forever.”

“You worry me past endurance. What is it? Look! the flames are licking Jupiter in his chariot.”

“If you will step aside I will speak. Not here.”

Duilia with an impatient toss of her head and shrug of her shoulders, gathered up her garment with one hand, stepped to a distant part of the roof, and said, sulkily —

“Well, what is this about?”

“You know that the Præfect of Rome who supped at your house the other day is besieged in the Capitol.”

“Well – this is no news.”

“And that for security, lest they should be put to death by Vitellius or the soldiery, he took his children and his nephew there with him.”

“So I have been told. That does not concern me. Why did he not take also his fat wife? she would have fed the flames.”

“My lady – the Capitol cannot hold out another half hour, and then all within will be butchered.”

“Can I help that? They all do it. This sort of thing happens in revolutions invariably. I cannot alter the course of the world.”

“But, madam, the son of Vespasian, Flavius Domitianus has escaped through the Tabularium, by a little door into the Forum.”

“He might have escaped by turning a somersault over the walls for aught I care.”

“His life is in extreme jeopardy. If discovered he will be assassinated, most assuredly.”

“Well, that is the way these things go.”

“I have brought him hither – disguised as a priest.”

“What!”

The lady became rigid, eyes, mouth and nostrils.

“What!”

“He escaped disguised as a priest of Jupiter. As such, with veiled head he has passed unmolested, even through the ranks of the soldiery and people, inclined to tear him to pieces, for they are all on the side of the reigning prince.”

“Domitian here! What a fool you are, Elymas. I’ll have you tossed off the roof, in punishment. By Hercules! you compromise me. If it be suspected that he is here, I shall have the house ransacked, and all my valuables plundered, and the Gods alone know what may become of me.”

“That is true, lady, and you must run the risk.”

“I will not,” said Duilia, stamping angrily on the concrete of the roof. “Is it not enough to have the house turned upside down with this detestable Saturnalia! Age of Gold indeed! Age of tomfoolery and upside-downedness. If my poor dear man had but done what he ought, there would have been none of these commotions, and I – well – I – I would have put down the Saturnalia.”

“Madam, this is all beside the mark. Domitian, the son of Flavius Vespasian, whom the world has saluted Emperor, and sworn to, is under your roof as a suppliant.”

“How unfortunate!”

“How fortunate!”

“I cannot see that.”

“Then, madam, the clouds of night must have got into your brain. Do you not see that you are running a very slight risk. None suspect that he is in concealment here, as I smuggled him into the house.”

“There are my slaves.”

“They regard him as a priest escaping from the fire and the siege,” said the soothsayer. He continued – “Before morning the Illyrian legions will have arrived in Rome. Do you suppose the German bodyguard can stand against them? What other troops has Vitellius to fall back on? None – he is deserted. His cause is fatally smitten. By to-morrow evening he will be dead, cast down the Gemonian stair. Vespasian will be proclaimed in the Forum. Your risk will be at an end, and you will have obtained the lasting gratitude of the Imperial father, who will do anything you desire, to show his thankfulness to you for having saved the life of his son.”

“There is something in that,” said Duilia.

“And suppose now that Domitian is here, that you bid your slaves eject him, and he falls into the hands of Vitellius, how will you be regarded by the Flavian family? Do you not suppose that you will be the first to suffer the resentment of the Augustus?”

“There is a good deal in that,” said Duilia, to which the Magus said, —

“I have no fear of betrayal from any in the house save Senecio, that owl-like philosopher. He is not like the slaves, he may suspect, and trip me up.”

“My good Elymas,” interrupted Duilia, “do not concern yourself about him. He is not a man to chew nutshells when he can munch kernels.”

“Domitian is in my apartment, will you see him, lady?”

“By all means. I have a notion. Go, fetch Domitia, bring her down there to me.”

Then Longa descended to that portion of the mansion where were situated the rooms given up to the soothsayer; they were on one side of a small court, and the philosopher occupied chambers on the other side. Across the water tank in the midst many an altercation had taken place.

Senecio was not there now. He was probably out taking a philosophic view of the internecine strife, and moralizing over the burning of the Capitol.

With a benignant smile and a tear in her eye, Duilia almost ran to Domitian, her two hands extended. She had just looked round the court to make sure she was unobserved and that there was no one within earshot.

“I am so grateful to the Gods,” she said, with a tremor in her voice, “that they should allow me the honor and happiness of offering you an asylum. Blood is thicker than water. Though I perish for my advocacy of your dear father – I cannot help it. Cousins must be cousinly. It is with us a family peculiarity – we hang together like a swarm of bees.”

The young man cautiously removed his white veil or head-covering, and exposed his face, that was somewhat pale. He had a shy modest appearance, a delicate complexion that flushed and paled at the changes of emotion in his heart. His eyes were a watery gray, large, but he screwed the eyelids together, as though near-sighted. He was fairly well built, but had spindle legs, no calves, and his toes as if cut short.

In manner he was awkward, without ease in his address; owing to the low associates with whom he had consorted, having been kept short of money, and to his lack of acquaintance with the courtesies of the cultured classes.

“I thank you. My life is in danger. I came hither, as my uncle supped here the other day, and I knew something about kinship. I had nowhere else whither to go. I would have been hunted out and murdered had I gone to my uncle – my mother’s brother. They would have sought me there first of all.”

“You shall stay here till all danger is past. I should esteem myself the vilest of women were I to refuse you my protection at such a time as this. Senecio, my philosopher, is out, gadding about – of course. You shall occupy his room, and I shall give strict orders that he be not admitted. I will not have philosophers careering in and out of my house, at all hours, as pleases them. This is not a rabbit warren, as the Gods love me! But here comes my daughter to unite with me in assurance of welcome and protection.”

Domitia had entered, in obedience to the command transmitted by the sorcerer.

There was but one oil lamp on a table in the chamber, and consequently at first she did not discern who was there addressed by her mother. But Duilia stepped aside and allowed the light to flash over the face of Domitian.

The moment the girl saw it, she started back and put her hands to her bosom.

“My dear child,” said Longa Duilia, “you will thank the Lares and Penates, that our cousin has taken refuge with us. The Capitol is in flames, the Imperial guards are storming the walls, there is, I fear, no hope for our dear good friend Flavius Sabinus. Poor man, how he enjoyed himself at supper here the other day! We may hope for the best, but not expect impossibilities. Revolutions and all these sorts of things have their natural exits, the sword, the Tullianum and the Gemonian steps – horrible, but inevitable. Domitian has fled to us, disguised as a priest of Jupiter. O my dear, what a nice thing it is that there is so much religion left among the common people that they respected his cloth. Well, here he is, and we must do what we can for him.”

“Cast him out,” said Domitia hoarsely.