CHAPTER III.
The following day had been fixed by Tiberius for the formal betrothal of his daughter-in-law Livia to the Prefect; and with the intention of dining and passing the night at the villa Neptune, so as to be in readiness for the ceremony, the Imperial lady set out thitherwards, from her own palace, attended by a numerous retinue. A special command had been received to include the unhappy Neæra among the latter.
The past few days had wrought a change in her appearance. Her form had wasted, and her face was thin and wan with excess of mental affliction. Much as Martialis had suffered, she was even more overwhelmed at the agonising sight of her lover and protector torn away by the soldiers, to what, she concluded, would be an ignominious punishment, or perhaps death. After a sleepless night of horror, she was transferred to the dwelling of Livia, where she was well cared for. This important lady was verging toward middle age; was of somewhat masculine appearance, and as haughty and full of ambition as her intended husband. But, being duly acquainted with Neæra’s story, even her proud nature could not help unbending with pity. The girl’s beauty also impressed her, and she placed her in attendance on herself, and caused her to lay aside her poor homely garments for more suitable apparel.
The Prefect, when he came, was curious to see her and bent admiring eyes on her. ‘It is no wonder Martialis should dare so much,’ he said gallantly, not to say grandiloquently, after his fashion before women. ‘He is the best of my Centurions—but have courage; I will put this matter straight. He is something to me as well as to you. They [pg 400]have penned him up, but I will have him at liberty ere long. He knows you are safe, so take heart.’
With a mind dazed and only half-conscious through suffering, Neæra was thankful for the encouraging words of this personage, whom she surmised to be some one of high position. When she fell back to where the group of attendants were standing, one of them whispered to her that it was the Prefect who had spoken to her. A great load fell from her thankful heart at the words. She gazed back with something like awe at the most feared and powerful man at that moment in the empire. From Martialis she had learned much, from time to time, concerning him; and the assurance, coming from the mighty personage’s own lips, changed at once her agony into hope.
Another sorrow haunted her with an intensity of suspense. Her father—where was he? Was he sick or dying as she had been told? A mysterious dread of ill weighed upon her. The details of her own rough and forcible abduction could not fail but impress her mind with a sense of some evil-doing, so, at the first opportunity, she began her efforts to obtain information respecting the potter. Those whom she asked either denied all knowledge of him or gave evasive answers. In one or two cases, her strong suspicions were aroused that actual knowledge was not wanting, by the hesitating manner in which a negative answer was made. More than ever alarmed by the confused and embarrassed manner of those who seemed to falter before her earnest gaze, her acute anxiety at length emboldened her to speak to Livia herself. The lady received the application condescendingly, and promised that inquiries should be made at the palace. Later on the same day she summoned Neæra and made known to her the fact of the potter’s death. He had been taken ill with a sudden and strange sickness, and had only lived a few hours afterward. Such were the fatal words which fell on the stricken girl’s ears, and, after the first gust of wild grief had passed away, a brooding melancholy possessed her. Her lover was a close prisoner, whose fate hung on the whim of Caesar. The gentle, simple-minded, sweet-natured potter, whom she had filially loved and revered with all the strength of her nature, being also reft from her, no wonder the burden of her sorrow sapped the beauty [pg 401]swiftly from her face, leaving hollow eyes and thin cheeks. She knew that Martialis had been removed to the villa Neptune, and, by the last report, was still there, so, when she received intimation to accompany Livia thither, her heart bounded and her eyes brightened. The journey itself, and the melancholy satisfaction that at each step she was nigher to her lover, did something to restore more colour to her cheek and vivacity to her manner. But what was her unutterable delight, when no other than Zeno, the steward, appeared before her, not long after her arrival, and led her away into a room where she saw Tibia waiting alone to receive her. With an indescribable cry of thankfulness and relief she sprang forward, and the two women were locked in each other’s fast embrace. Neæra was shocked to see the ravages which affliction had wrought in her mother’s appearance, and the heartbroken widow, on her part, scanned the pale face of her fosterchild with tenderness and pity. When Neæra had related her experiences, since she had been taken away from her home, she led Tibia on gently, in her turn, to speak of herself, and of him they had so looked up to, and reverenced. But as the dame came at length to mention her husband, her voice broke down at the word, and she got no further. They said no more—all that was in their hearts was merged in silent weeping. The wonder of Neæra was no less than her joy at the presence of the dame in the island, but the latter seemed loth to give any explanation thereof, and tried to turn from the subject as often as it was put.
Neæra, at last, pressed the matter in an unavoidable manner. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘you have not yet told me how you contrived to get here. Did they bring you away as they brought me? Or did you come of your own accord to seek me? It was strange if you were able to enter here alone.’
‘No—I came with others,’ said Tibia. ‘You shall know everything.’ She stopped and turned her eyes to the floor, and her breast began to heave with emotion.
A dull, chill horror sank into Neæra’s heart. Her mind was prone to fear, being overcharged and susceptible through long and dark brooding.
‘Speak!’ she whispered. ‘What new trouble is this? Tell me—I can bear it.’