Quintus looked coolly after her as she was borne away, and shrugged his shoulders; then he took Euterpe by the hand.
“It is a bargain then,” he said in distinct tones. “You will find me in Rome! Now, farewell—till we meet again.”
He turned towards home; sea and sunrise were alike forgotten. Euterpe hurried down to Cumae, and disappeared behind the ridge at the same instant as the Empress within the Corinthian portico of the palace.
In a few minutes the Claudia family were sitting in the triclinium to take a slight breakfast before starting. Octavia was thoughtful; her husband’s letter had made her anxious. She knew how stern a view Titus Claudius took of his duties, and how much would devolve upon him in these agitated times. Claudia too was graver than usual. Only Aurelius and Lucilia looked bright and contented.—Lucilia, warm and rosy from her busy exertions in the court-yard and atrium—and in her excitement she would not give herself time to do more than drink a cup of milk and swallow a morsel of sesame-cake.[121]
The respectable Herodianus too, against his custom, was silent. What could be so absorbing to that simple and garrulous nature? From time to time he frowned and stared at the ceiling, moving his lips in silent speech like a priest of the Pythian oracle. The honey, generally his favorite dainty—he left untouched; the egg he was about to empty with a spoon[122] broke under his fingers. Aurelius was on the point of taking the matter seriously, when the mystery found a natural solution. When, presently, Blepyrus appeared to announce that it was time to start, the ponderous ponderer rose, went to the door, and began to exclaim with terrible pathos a valedictory poem of his own composition. It was based on the model of the world-renowned Hymenaeus[123] of Catullus;[124] and its climax was the most extravagant refrain, that the Muse of occasional verse ever hatched in mortal brain.
For a few minutes the party listened in respectful silence to the cadences of this solemn effusion; but as it went on and on, apparently endless, Lucilia, who from the first had had great difficulty in keeping countenance, broke into a fit of laughter, and Aurelius good-naturedly put a stop to the freedman’s recitation.
“I mean no offence, my excellent Herodianus; but though poetry is said to be the mirror of reality, it must not interfere too much with the progress of real events. Twelve times already have you resolutely asserted: ‘Far must we wander, far from hence!’ but our feet are still rooted to the spot. You may give us the rest of your poem on board the vessel, but for the present make way and take this ring as the prize for your effusion.”
Herodianus, who had at first been half inclined to take the interruption in ill-part, felt himself fully indemnified by his master’s gift, but his gaze lingered for a while in silent protest on Lucilia. However, he presently joined the rest of the party, who were mounting their horses or settling themselves in litters, and soon they were all fairly in motion.
They went down the hill in a long file. Baiae, now in full sunshine, seemed to nestle in a golden shell; the sea was as smooth as a mirror, and the clear atmosphere promised a prosperous voyage. They soon reached the stone quay, where the motley crowd of the harbor was already at high tide of noise and bustle. There lay the proud trireme before their surprised eyes, gaily dressed out like a bride waiting for the bridegroom. Long garlands of flowers floated from the spars, tied with purple knots and blue streamers; magnificent carpets from Alexandria and Massilia hung from the poop, and the crew were all dressed in holiday garments. When they had got into the boats and were fast approaching the vessel, strains of music were heard greeting the visitors. Claudia colored deeply; she recognized her own song—that impassioned address to the Spring, which she had sung the first evening in the peristyle.
In ten minutes the Batavia had weighed anchor and was being rowed in majestic style past the quays and mole. Quintus, Claudia and Lucilia leaned silently over the side, while Aurelius sat under the awning with Octavia, talking of Rome. Beautiful Baiae sank farther and farther into the background with all its palaces and temples. Still, above the trees, a corner of the snug villa they had left was visible, and to the left Domitia’s palace. Then the vessel shifted its course, and the shining speck grew smaller and smaller till it was lost to sight.