Below the wide open window there was borne on the soft warm air the sound of chariot wheels passing in the street; the cry of the charioteer, the voice of the newsman, and now and then the low growl, which told that the menagerie was near at hand. The sound which was “the electric touch” that the Poet speaks of, awoke memories in Casca’s heart of that day, so many years before, when the roar of the wild beasts which were to tear the Christians to pieces, floated to his ear as he passed by the Forum to the schools at Rome. He remembered the horror he had always felt at such sounds, and how once when Antonius had insisted on his accompanying him to a great fight with the beasts, he had fainted away, and on recovery had heard the mocking laugh of some of his companions, and the scornful words of Antonius:—
“Bear him hence; he has not the courage of an infant of days.”
How dreamlike it all seemed now—the fate of his patron Antonius, his flight, disgraced and dishonoured, from his princely villa; the return for a time to the house of Clœlia; and then the sudden resolve to cast in his lot with the old Jew Ezra, and some of his people, who were bound for Alexandria, learning that trade in precious stones and gold was making the fortune of some of the Jewish race, who were forming a large colony there.
His father, Severus, cared little what became of him, and after his mother’s death and his second marriage with Junia he had heard but rarely of him.
When he first came to Alexandria, he had to live partly by the office of scribe, but by degrees his scholarship attracted attention, and his quickness in deciphering old manuscripts, and his acquaintance with many languages, for which he had a natural gift, was in his favour. Casca Severus was now held in honour amongst the literary world of Alexandria, holding a post in the magnificent library as custodian and secretary, which had raised him to a position of competence if not affluence.
Some years before this time, Casca had married the daughter of a Greek merchant, a beautiful gentle girl, who though less of a companion to her learned husband than a joy for her beauty and goodness, was most dear to him. After some years of waiting a little daughter was given to them, and from the moment of her birth the mother drooped and faded before Casca’s eyes.
Old Ezra’s death happened about this time, and Anna, the Saxon Ebba, returned to serve Casca, and to take charge of his motherless child. The Greek name of Hyacintha, which had been given to Casca’s sister, was now passed on to his little daughter, and the name was as a sound of music in Anna’s ears.
The dreaming over the past in which Casca indulged that morning was broken in upon by the sound of footsteps, and one of his servants drew aside the curtain from the doorway, and admitted a tall soldier-like man with grizzled beard, and a face bronzed with exposure, who advanced towards him with outstretched hands, pronouncing his name—
“Claudius, is it possible!” was the almost instant reply, and then the two men looked at each other with that curious inquiring gaze with which we scan the features of those whom we have known in youth, and meet in later years.