CHAPTER XVII.
April, the sweetest month in the south, had decked the land in all its wealth of beauty. The City of the Seven Hills, with its endless gardens and plantations, wore a really enchanting aspect. It seemed to have put on its freshest and gayest attire in honor of the secular games, which had already begun on the previous day with magnificent races in the Circus Maximus. To-day, the sixth after the calends,[125] at two hours after sunrise, gladiators and ships were to fight in the Flavian Amphitheatre, and men were to fight with beasts.
It was still nearly an hour to the time, but in the Forum and all the neighboring streets the slanting light of morning fell on a crowd so dense as to defy all description. Long files of litters, gorgeous in purple and gold, pushed their slow way through the surging masses of men struggling along the Via Sacra towards the entrance to the amphitheatre.
Three hundred lions[126] and as many panthers, fifty Cantabrian bears, forty elephants and other beasts, six hundred gladiators and boxers—among them some women and dwarfs—a dozen of highwaymen from the Appian Way, and about ninety Christians, were to shed their blood, some in single combat, others in larger or smaller divisions, and all in the course of the next three days, for the evening of the fourth saw the end of the great festival.[127] Indeed, the herald who invited the populace in the Emperor’s name, spoke the truth in more senses than one, as he shouted the usual proclamation: “Come hither to see what none of you has ever yet seen, or ever will see again!”[128] To-day, the second day, the interest and excitement seemed even greater than yesterday. The number of strangers, gathered together from all parts of the Empire, was certainly swelled and, although the amphitheatre could accommodate above eighty thousand spectators, the crowd was so enormous, that many visitors were doubtful of succeeding in fighting their way to places.
In the stream of litters, which were moving towards the Arena, not from the Forum only but from the Cyprian Way, was one of conspicuous elegance and splendor. The curtains were drawn open, and two handsome but over-dressed and painted girls sat chattering among the billowy cushions. These were Lycoris and one of her friends, Leaina, a native of Asia Minor, who had spent the winter in Athens as companion to an Egyptian lady of rank, and had arrived only yesterday evening in Rome, the sea-passage being only just considered as open for the season. Lycoris had a sort of sisterly kindness for Leaina—all the more because she was well aware, that the oriental could not compare with her in beauty; and Leaina, who had originally filled a very humble position as a dancer in a low tavern at Capua, had been introduced into society by Lycoris, and felt for her a feeble reflection of the feeling, which in a deeper nature might have risen to gratitude. As they sat together in the litter, splendidly dressed, their eyebrows darkened with stibium,[129] and the veins in their temples outlined with blue color, they seemed to be of one heart and one mind.
“It is delightful,” cooed Lycoris, “to have you at least—to enjoy the fights in the amphitheatre with me. That stupid ship to be so late—particularly when I think of your love for races. They were splendid, my dear, positively splendid! First there was the great procession from the Capitol to the Circus Maximus;[130] all the finest young men in Rome on milk-white horses—a lovely sight! Then the two-wheeled and four-wheeled chariots, the dancers, flute-players and cithara-players, the priests in full dress, and last of all the judges, with crowns of golden oak-leaves and robes of ceremony, like the hero of a triumph. That was enough to show what the greatness of Rome means! As a rule, all that people say of the glory of the Roman name and such speech-making, is to me simply laughable; but when I see a sight like that, it gives me a shiver down my back, and I feel a sense of—what shall I call it?—the sublime—of—I do not know whether you understand the feeling?”
“Yes, yes,” said Leaina, vaguely. “But you mentioned the priests; was Titus Claudius present, the high-priest of Jupiter? You wrote to me, a few weeks since, that his son Quintus had been charged before the Senate with having joined the Nazarenes, and was condemned to the beasts. I should think his father would hardly care to take part in a festival....”
“My dear child!” interrupted the Massilian. “I see that Athens is indeed out of the world. You do not know what has been the talk of Rome for some days; ever since the ides of March Titus Claudius has been lying at death’s door. He has a violent fever, is quite delirious and, indeed, out of his mind. His hair, they say, has grown white in these few months like that of a very old man. Rome does not generally find time to think of the misfortunes of individuals, but the sympathy in this case has been universal. At first every one blamed Quintus Claudius, but now he is only pitied, and hundreds of the most influential men in Rome are exerting themselves to save him. Even I, who am indolence itself, have appeared as a suppliant at the consulate. Seriously, Leaina, I feel for him deeply; it is a pity, he is so young and so handsome. Wherever I had a chance I tried—with the chamberlain, whom I can generally twist round my little finger—at last even with the Empress—I forget, whether I told you when I wrote, that even the Empress had done me the honor to smile upon me.... All in vain, Caesar is inexorable. Even when the father offered in sheer despair to be a victim to the law in his son’s stead, and to kill himself in expiation, Domitian would not hear of mercy. Now the only hope is, that even in the Arena the people will demand his release.”
“And Cornelia, his betrothed? She too was arrested?”