CHAPTER X.
Dusk had already fallen on island and sea, when Martialis returned to his quarters at the villa Jovis. He had departed in brilliant spirits, and with the brightest anticipations; but the latter had not been realised, and his mood had suffered. The untimely and unexpected advent of the Suburan had been by no means welcome; added to which, the failure of his purpose to exact a settled arrangement for his union with Neæra had further irritated and annoyed him. The parting caress of the laughing, lovely girl had hardly relieved his chafing spirit, and the journey home was performed at a prodigious speed both by land and sea. The violent exertion allayed the sting of his feelings, but his mood was far from smooth when he saw and lifted the ill-fated missive of Plautia from the table, where the slave Lygdus had finally left it.
His first exclamation, as he read its brief lines, was contemptuous and irritable, and he threw the paper impatiently back on to the table. In another moment curiosity had its turn, and he lifted it again for a further examination. The handwriting furnished him with no clue to the writer, and he was equally at a loss to imagine who could have occasion for summoning him in such a mysterious manner. He remained in doubt whether he should give the anonymous epistle any further attention or not; but his little chamber seemed oppressive to him, and his ruffled thoughts inclined towards any occupation which might relieve and turn their current.
He scarcely thought it necessary to arm himself; but, being in utter ignorance of what kind of entertainment he was invited to, a moment’s reflection told him he had best be on [pg 207]the safe side. He, therefore, put on a light, flexible cuirass under his tunic, and took a sword, of the usual short, straight Roman pattern, under his cloak. Thus prepared he once more took the way down to the south landing, glad to be quit of his dark, cheerless rooms.
The white rock, which Plautia had specified, was one she had particularly noticed on her way from the boat. It was of chalky formation, and was embedded in the side of a craggy eminence, around which the rough path wound on its way down to the narrow little beach below. This eminence, which was an irregular spur of a hill, was very rough, and thickly covered with trees and underwood of all kinds, thus affording an excellent shelter, which, in accordance with our story, had already been taken advantage of. On the other side of the footway was only a narrow strip of green turf, fringing a precipitous descent to the sea below.
Night had now quite fallen, and the young moon shed a hazy light from its narrow crescent. The Centurion paced leisurely onward, keeping instinctively on the outer edge of the path, and from under the shadow of the rocks and brushwood which walled in the land side. He was well muffled up in his large cloak, and, whilst his hand kept a ready grasp of his sword beneath, his eyes maintained the keenest scrutiny of every object and shadow as he paced along. Not a sound nor a movement, except the light fall of his own feet on the short mossy turf, broke the perfect repose of the spot, and he had now arrived opposite the mass of white chalk or limestone in question. Concluding that this was the appointed place, he stopped and waited, whilst he cast a curious glance around. He looked and listened in vain for a few moments; there was the faint murmur of the sea below, and the fitful breath of the night breeze ever and anon, and that was all. ‘Um!’ he muttered doubtfully.
As he spoke, something moved out of the black shadow of a thicket, and stood partly athwart the ghostly white face of the chalk rock. He perceived, by the flow of drapery on the form, that it was a woman, and surprise and wonder took more possession of him than ever. He remained motionless for a space, and finding that the strange figure did not move, he [pg 208]stepped forward two or three steps; upon which the mysterious shape drew back into the dark shadow of the thicket whence it had appeared.
‘This is the white rock,’ said the Pretorian; ‘who wants me?’