‘There is nothing due to me,’ said the Prefect; ‘the transfer was already accomplished; but, being where she is, she shall not fail of careful watching. The noble Livia, as you may have heard, becomes my bride ere long.’
‘I knew it not, but wish you every joy,’ said Martialis, yet without warmth; for he could not help recalling to his thoughts the Prefect’s divorced wife Apicata, who had been frivolously put aside, no doubt to make way for his present betrothal. ‘It may be I have only a few hours to live, but the sting of death is gone since I know my Neæra is safe. Tell her, Prefect, that my last thoughts were of her and for her.’
‘Humph, Caesar is ruffled without doubt, but he does not make away with my Pretorians so easily,’ said Sejanus, with a proud curl of his lip; ‘you may leave your last will and bequest over for a space yet.’
‘It is all in your hands, Prefect,’ returned the other.
Sejanus retired, and Martialis was left once more alone with his thoughts. They were tranquil and even buoyant to what they had been, and he began to conjecture and weigh arguments in the discussion of his own case. He had no craven fear of death, but, at the same time, he was young and an ardent lover, and life had gone pleasantly with him. It cost him a deep pang to think on what might have been, and [pg 372]Neæra being out of peril, his hold on the hope of liberty was strengthened in spite of himself. He knew the stern relentless nature of Tiberius, but he relied on the influence of the commander, who he was certain would hazard much in his defence.
So he ruminated and turned these things over and over in his mind, wondering when he should again see the light of day. Zeno, with a guard, paid him a visit to attend to his wants, and bring him a fresh supply of provisions, but the worthy Greek was singularly uncommunicative.
When they were gone the prisoner ate and drank more heartily than he had hitherto done, and, lying down again, fell asleep.
He was awakened by a touch on his shoulder. Opening his eyes he saw, to his extreme surprise, the Emperor himself standing by his side. He started up and perceived they were alone together. His heart beat quickly, and wild thoughts began to rise. There was the tyrant defenceless before him—the cause, as he believed, of the present situation of himself and Neæra,—an old man, whom he could crush like a nutshell, delivered to his hand. Whilst his mind flamed with this idea, his eye instinctively sought the door, to ascertain whether it was closed upon them. Tiberius, meanwhile, stood motionless before him. He read the young man’s passing thoughts quite readily—not a motion or glance escaped him.
‘We are alone, and it occurs to you that I am now in your power,’ said he, with the utmost calmness; ‘I admit it.’
A flush arose to the cheek of Martialis. It needed no words of Caesar to show him that he had little to gain from such a desperate act, save a momentary satisfaction of savage revenge.