Authors: Unknown
'That's too much to ask of you, my sweet,' he protested. 'You must be very
tired. And I have my breakfast at dawn.'
'I'll be with you!' announced Diana. She softly patted him on the head.
'Good-night, Your Majesty.' Dropping to one knee, she bowed ceremoniously and
rising retreated--still facing him--until she reached the door where she
paused, puckered her smiling lips, and pantomimed a kiss.
The aged Emperor of Rome was much pleased.
It was high noon and the day was bright. Not for a long time had
Tiberius enjoyed himself so fully. This high-spirited girl was renewing his
interest in life. She had matured beyond belief since he had last seen her. He
responded to her radiant vitality with an almost adolescent yearning. Had Diana
hinted that she would like to own the Island of Capri, Tiberius would have
handed it to her without pausing to deliberate.
After breakfast they had walked to the far east end of the enchantingly
lovely mall, Diana ecstatic, the Emperor bumbling along with short steps and
shorter breaths, scraping the mosaic pavement with his sandal-heels. Yes, he
panted, there was plenty of room at the far end of the row for a magnificent
villa. Nothing, he declared, would ever obstruct this splendid view. He
stopped, clutched at Diana's arm for steadiness, and pointed toward the
north-east with a shaky cane. There would always be old Vesuvius to greet you
in the morning. And do you not see the sunlight glinting from the white roofs
of Pompeii and Herculaneum? And across there, close at hand, is sleepy little
Surrentum. You can sit at your window and see everything that is going on in
Surrentum.
Observing that the old man's legs were becoming unsteady, Diana had
suggested that they should turn aside here and rest in the arbour that marked
the eastern boundary of the new, and still unoccupied, Villa Quirinus. The
Emperor sank heavily into a rustic chair and mopped his perspiring brow, his
thin, mottled hand trembling as if palsied. For some time they sat in silence,
waiting for the old man to recuperate. His lean face was contorted and his jaw
chopped convulsively.
'You have grown to be a beautiful woman, Diana!' he remarked, in a thin
treble, after blandly evaluating her charms with the privileged eyes of
eighty-two. 'You will probably be married one of these days.'
Diana's bright smile slowly faded and her heavy lashes fell. She shook
her curly, blue-black head and gave what seemed a painful little sob through
locked teeth. Tiberius snorted impatiently and pounded the pavement with his
cane.
'Now what's the trouble?' he demanded. 'In love with the wrong man?'
'Yes.' Diana's face was sober and her reply was a mere whisper. 'I don't
mind telling you, Grandfather,' she went on, with overflowing eyes, 'I'm in
love with Marcellus.'
'Well, why not? What's the matter with Marcellus?' The old man leaned
forward to peer into her unhappy eyes. 'It would be a most excellent alliance,'
he went on. 'There isn't a more honourable man in the Empire than Gallio. And
you are fond of Lucia. By all means--marry Marcellus! What's to hinder?'
'Marcellus,' murmured Diana, hopelessly, 'has been sent far away--to be
gone for years, perhaps. He has been put in command of the fort at Minoa.'
'Minoa!' shouted Tiberius, straightening his sagging spine with an
indignant jerk. 'Minoa!' he shrilled--'that dirty, dried-up, pestilential, old
rat-hole? Who ordered him to go there, I'd like to know?'
'Prince Gaius,' exploded Diana, swept with sudden anger.
'Gaius!' The Emperor pried himself up by his elbows, struggled to his
feet, and slashed the air with his cane. His leaky old eyes were boiling. 'Gaius!'
he shrieked. 'The misbegotten, drunken, dangerous fool! And what made him think
he could do that to the son of Marcus Lucan Gallio? To Minoa indeed! Well!
we'll see about that!' He clawed at Diana's arm. 'Come! Let us return to the
villa! Gaius will hear from his Emperor.'
Leaning heavily on her, and wasting his waning strength on savage
screams of anger, Tiberius shuffled along toward the Villa Jovis, pausing
occasionally to shout long vituperations composed of such ingenious sacrileges
and obscenities that Diana was more astounded than embarrassed. On several
occasions she had witnessed the old man's grumpiness when annoyed. This was the
first time she had seen him in one of his celebrated rages. It was commonly
believed that the Emperor, thoroughly roused, went temporarily insane. There
was a rumour--probably slanderous--that he had been known to bark like a dog,
and bite, too.
Deaf to Diana's urgent entreaty that he should rest a little while
before dictating the message to Gaius, the old man began howling for his chief
scrivener while they were still trudging through the peristyle. A dozen
dignified servants approached from all directions, making as if they would be
of service, but keeping a discreet distance. Diana finally got the fuming
Emperor as far as the atrium, where she dumped him on a couch and into the
solicitous hands of the Chamberlain; then scurried away to her room, where she
flung herself down on her bed, with her face buried in the pillow, and laughed
hysterically until she cried.
After a while, she repaired her face at the mirror; and, slipping across
the corridor, tapped gently at her mother's door. She pushed it open and peeped
in. Paula Gallus stirred and sleepily opened one eye.
'Mother!' Diana crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
'What do you think?' she whispered, dramatically. 'He's going to bring
Marcellus home!'
'Well,' said Paula, from a considerable distance, 'that's what you had
planned to make him do, wasn't it?'
'Yes, but isn't it wonderful?' insisted Diana.
'It will be, when he has done it,' drawled Paula. 'You'd better stand
over him and see that he doesn't forget all about it.'
'Oh, he wouldn't forget! Not this time! Never was anyone so angry!
Mother, you should have seen him! He was terrific!'
'I know,' yawned Paula. 'I've seen him.'
'Well, in spite of everything,' declared Diana, 'I think he's an old
darling!'
'He's an old lunatic!' mumbled Paula.
Diana pressed her cheek against her mother's heart.
'Marcellus is coming back,' she murmured ecstatically. 'Gaius will be
very angry to have his orders flouted, but he won't be able to do a thing about
it, will he?' And when Paula did not immediately reply, Diana added, anxiously,
'Will he, Mother?'
'Not at present--no.' Paula's tone carried a hint of warning. 'But we
must keep it in mind that Tiberius is a very old man, my dear. He shouts and
stamps and slobbers on himself--and forgets, in an hour or two, what it was
that upset him. Besides, he is going to die one of these days.'
'And then Gaius will be the Emperor?' Diana's voice was full of trouble.
'Nobody knows, dear.'
'But he hates Gaius! You should have heard him!'
'Yes, but that's not imperial power: that's just an angry old man's
noise. Julia and her little clique will appoint the next Emperor. It may not be
Gaius. They quarrel frequently.'
'I've often wondered whether Tiberius might not appoint Father. I know
he likes him.'
'Not a chance in a thousand.' Paula waved aside the suggestion with a
languid hand.
'But Father is a great man!' declared Diana, loyally.
Paula nodded and her lips curled into a grim smile.
'Great men do not become Emperors, Diana,' she remarked, bitterly. 'It's
against the rules. Your father is not eligible. He has no talent for treachery.
He is brave and just. And, besides, he is not epileptic. . . . Now, you had
better run along and see that the letter gets safely started on its way.'
Diana took a few steps; and, returning slowly, sat down on the bed
again. She smiled mysteriously.
'Let's have it,' encouraged Paula. 'It seems to be a secret--yes?'
'Mother, he is going to build a great villa for me!'
Paula grinned.
'Nonsense!' she muttered. 'By noon he won't remember that he ever said
such a thing. At least I sincerely hope he doesn't. Imagine your living here!'
'Marcellus, too,' said Diana. 'He wants Marcellus to live here, I
think.'
'And do what?'
'We didn't talk about that.'
Paula ran her fingers gently over Diana's hand.
'Well, be sure you don't introduce the subject. Let him talk. Promise
him anything. He'll forget. You don't want a villa on Capri. You don't want
Marcellus living here in this hateful atmosphere. Hot-headed as he is, you
would be a widow in a week! Go now, child! Make him write that letter!'
Lucia's intuition told her that Marcellus was on board this galley. For
an hour--ever since its black prow had nosed around the bend, and the three
banks of long oars had pushed the heavy hull into full view--she had been
standing here alone in the pergola, leaning against the balustrade, intently
watching.
If the
Vestris
had experienced no delays, she could have arrived
in Ostia as early as the day before yesterday. Father had cautioned them to be
patient. Watched pots were slow to boil. It was a long voyage from Joppa, and
the
Vestris
had several ports to make on the way home. But even Father,
in spite of his sensible advice, was restless as a caged fox; you could tell
from the way he invented time-killing errands for himself.
The whole villa was on edge with impatience to have Marcellus safely
home. Tertia was in a flutter of excitement for two good reasons: she was eager
for the return of Marcellus, of course; and she was beside herself with anxiety
to see Demetrius. It was a pity, thought Lucia, that Demetrius had been so
casual in his attitude toward Tertia. Marcipor drifted about from room to room,
making sure that everything was in first-class order. Mother had ordered gay
new draperies for Marcellus's suite. The only self-possessed person in the
household was Mother. She had wept happily when Diana came to tell them what
had happened, but was content to wait calmly.
As for Lucia, she had abandoned all pretence of patience. All yesterday
afternoon, and again to-day, she had waited in the pergola, watching the river.
Sometimes she would leave her post and try to stroll in the rose arbours--now
in their full June glory--but in a few minutes her feet would turn back, of
their own accord, to the observation point at the east end of the pergola.
As the galley crept up the river, veering toward the docks, Lucia's
excitement increased. She knew now that her brother was one of the passengers,
probably fidgeting to be off. If her guess were correct, it would not be long
now until they would see him. He would hire a carriage at the wharf and come
fast. Wouldn't Father be surprised? He wasn't expecting Marcellus to-day; had
gone over beyond the Aventine to look at a new riding horse; it was to be a
home-coming present. Maybe Marcellus would be here when Father returned.
It was going to be a great pity that Diana would not be at home to
welcome him. Tiresome old Tiberius had sent for her again, and there was
nothing she could do but obey him.
'Will he keep on pestering her like that?' Lucia had wondered.
'She must not offend him,' Father had said, seriously. 'The old man is
malicious enough to hand Marcellus over to the Prince, if Diana fails to humour
him.' After a moment of bitter reflection, he had muttered, 'I am afraid the
child is in an awkward--if not dangerous--position. And while we are not
directly responsible for it, her predicament worries me.'
'But the Emperor wouldn't harm Diana!' she had exclaimed. 'That old
man?'
Father had growled deep in his throat.
'A Cæsar,' he had snarled, contemptuously, 'is capable of great
wickedness--up to and including his last gasp--though he should live a thousand
years!'
'I don't believe you like the Emperor,' she had said, impishly, to cool
him off, and she made for the door. He had grunted crossly--and grinned.
You could just see the stern of the galley now, as it slipped into its
berth. Lucia had been on this tension for so long that she was ready to fly
into bits. She couldn't wait here another instant! The servants might think it
strange if she went alone to the entrance gate. But this was a special
occasion. Returning to the house, she ran on, through to the imposing portico,
down the marble steps, and set off briskly on the long, shaded driveway that
wound through the acacias and acanthuses and masses of flowering shrubbery. A
few slaves, ending their day's work in the formal gardens, raised their eyes
inquisitively. At a little distance from the ornate bronze gates, Lucia,
flushed and nervous, sat down on a stone bench, resolved to hold herself
together until the great moment.
After what seemed a very long time, a battered old public chariot, drawn
by two well-lathered horses, turned in from the busy avenue. Beside the driver
stood Demetrius, tall, tanned, and lean. He sighted her instantly, clutched the
driver's arm, handed him a coin and dismissed him. Stepping down, he walked quickly
toward her, and Lucia ran to meet him. His face, she observed, was grave,
though his eyes had lighted as she impulsively gave him her hands.
'Demetrius!' she cried. 'Is anything wrong? Where is Marcellus?'
'There was no carriage at the wharf,' he explained. 'I came to find a
better conveyance.'
'Is my brother not well?' Still holding his hands, Lucia searched his
eyes anxiously. He flinched a little from this inquisition, and his reply was
evasive.
'No, my master is not; my master did not have a pleasant voyage.'
'Oh, that!' She smiled her relief. 'I thought my brother was a better
sailor. Was he sick all the way?'
Demetrius nodded non-committally. It was plain to see he was holding
something back. Lucia's eyes were troubled.
'Tell me, Demetrius!' she pleaded, huskily. 'What ails my brother?'
There was a disturbingly long silence.