‘No, no! Masthlion—my husband!’
‘Did I not say he would never return? But the girl—where is she, in the name of the furies?’
‘Gone—they have taken her away.’
With a cry like the howl of a wild beast, Cestus threw up his arms. Everything was plain.
His face grew purple; the veins swelled like cords, and his eyes glared with an insane fire. His tongue found vent in a torrent of mad ravings and horrid imprecations, accompanied with the wildest gestures, till the heart-stricken woman herself forgot her own anguish for the moment, and shuddered in horror.
When the fit had partially exhausted itself he turned to his sister, and hoarsely demanded a recital of what had passed. A few words sufficed, and she threw her apron over her head, and rocked herself to and fro.
The bluster of the tempest was over, and silence succeeded. For a moment Cestus remained in meditation, with his eyes fixed on the floor. Then bidding her not to quit the house, he rushed out headlong into the street, and rapidly ran toward the Marina. Here, with much difficulty, for few people were astir, he satisfied himself that no party had landed or embarked, at all answering to those whose track he sought to discover. Thence he hurried to the posting-house in the town, where he was just as unsuccessful. Sustained and spurred on by terrible excitement, he ran out to the very outskirts of the town, till he reached a tavern, standing on the side of the road which led from the southern coast. Here he was well known, the establishment being a favourite port of call in his rambles. He called the landlord aside, who looked with surprise on his customer’s disordered aspect. In answer to the Suburan’s inquiries a youth was summoned, who was employed in all kinds of outdoor jobs about the premises, which included a small farm as well as the business of a tavern. The lad, to the intense delight of his questioner, proved to have been loitering at the entrance of the house about nightfall, and had taken particular note of the six horsemen who had composed the party led by Plautus. Giving the lad a coin, Cestus briefly informed the master of the outrage and went back home.
‘It is as I said it would be!’ he burst out as he entered the room where Tibia remained. ‘A gang of Caesar’s rascals from the island, and back they have gone, taking her with them. It is all over with her, and I am ruined. You would not listen to me, would you not?—they would have been [pg 342]cheated of their prey if you had. Now you know who was the wisest! Fools! fools! fools!’
Pale with excitement he threw himself on the floor, and, save for his heavy breathing, deep silence fell on all—the terrible silence of desolation and woe.
It was a dismal, weird scene, lighted by the dull, smoky flame of a rude lamp. The contents of two chests littered the floor with homely linen and wearing apparel, together with numberless odds and ends stored by a thrifty housewife. The simple articles of furniture were awry and overturned. The broad, burly form of the man lying face downwards, half upon the pile of bedding and half upon the floor; the woman crouching beside the naked pallet bed, with her head bowed down upon her knees. Two or three locks of her thin gray hair had escaped from their fastening, and hung loosely down over her tightly clasped hands. She was most to be pitied. She had lost her husband and child, and sat, an aging woman, amidst the wreck of her home, which had hitherto bounded her life and thoughts.