To Neæra, when she had been dismissed to safe keeping, Tiberius gave, for the time, no further heed. Weightier matters engaged him, and very shortly after the conclusion of the scene described in the last chapter, he rose from the supper-table and returned to his own apartment, from which he dismissed every one.
Suspicion and dissimulation equipoised the Imperial mind. The former fed the latter, and both were unutterably profound. Only the day before he had yielded to the importunities of the Prefect, and had consented to give him his daughter-in-law in marriage. Sejanus retired in joy, with everything arranged for his early reception into the Imperial family. His plans, long and carefully followed up, were now well-nigh matured, and he laughed in his sleeve at the earnest, trustful affection which the Emperor had displayed very liberally toward him. He was not aware of the fact that he daily and hourly filled the buried thoughts of the old man—thoughts which trusted nobody; that his own eager ambition was blinding him, and actually supplying a fatal web for a subtler mind than his own to weave around him.
The close attention which the Emperor devoted to the Prefect, by a natural sequence, could not fail to follow the person of the Prefect’s favourite officer. If not so familiar with Martialis personally, he was well-informed by report in [pg 362]all concerning him. Up to the moment when the Centurion hurriedly accounted for his movements, the mind of Tiberius was smouldering with passion, on the point of breaking into a fierce flame of summary vengeance for the unparalleled temerity of a reckless invasion of his privacy. At that particular moment his craft seized like lightning upon an idea; his wrath sank subordinate, and became a mere simulation. We shall presently see how his subtle conjectures were realised. For the time, however, Martialis was spared, providing his own stubbornness presented no further obstacle to lenience. His personal attributes, his fearless, soldierly defiance, reached a vein of sympathy which yet lived dormant, far down in the depths of the tyrant’s heart. In his youth Tiberius himself had been comely, tall of stature, strong of limb, and skilled in hardy exercises; therefore the handsome face and athletic form, the extraordinary strength, skill, and address of the young officer, had not failed to arouse his secret admiration. The downfall of his gigantic Nubian struck him with wonder, and relit a ray of the joys of the palæstra of his own youthful days. But more grateful than this to his suspicious nature, was the conclusion he drew from the frank, fearless countenance and the simple faith of the Pretorian. Such a man might be invaluable, and he determined that he should not be uselessly butchered, if it could be profitably avoided. When Zeno stooped, and whisperingly reminded him of the fact of the existence of a door, but seldom used, and hidden by the curtain, immediately behind the position of Martialis, he assented eagerly to the suggestion, which, we have seen, was carried out successfully.
So far all had gone fortunately. The Emperor withdrew; and, from the dark expression of his face, it was readily inferred that the culprit would have short shrift.
When alone, however, in his apartment, and safe from every eye, his mien altered. Fits of abstraction and restless pacings of the room passed the silent time, and as the hour of midnight approached, his impatience and nervousness grew more marked. Several times his hand rested on a small silver bell as if to ring, and, as often, after a few moments of indecision, with his ears strained to catch the least sound in the deep stillness, he turned away. Occasionally he went to [pg 363]one corner of the room, and, drawing back a curtain, placed his ear close against the wall for a few moments. Thence he would return to his seat and his book, for a space, to leave them by and by for another excursion. Many varied positions he occupied, now sitting, now reclining, now ambling hither and thither, impelled by the pains of impatience and anxiety. Trifling with this object, touching that, lifting and examining another, half unconsciously, his state of nervous unrest, finding full vent within the deaf and sightless walls of his retreat, was a wonderful relaxation from the inscrutable impassiveness of his public demeanour.
Midnight had barely passed, when two or three taps proceeded from that corner of the room where he had often paid a visit, and bent a listening ear. His face cleared instantly, and he stepped at once toward the sound. Stooping down he pressed a particular spot in the angle of the wall, and a narrow, secret panel, wholly indistinguishable before, shot silently and swiftly upward. Through the opening stepped Zeno.
‘Well?’ said Tiberius sharply; ‘at last! I have waited almost beyond my patience.’
‘I have not lingered one second longer than I could possibly help,’ replied the Greek; ‘to have come sooner would have been rash.’
‘Is all safe now?’
‘Quite—he is off as sound as can be.’