CHAPTER XX.
Day was dying; the sun sank, blood-red, into the Tyrrhenian sea. The Capitol and the arches of the Amphitheatre still glowed in fiery purple, when the streets already lay in cool twilight. Then the last glory died away from their topmost crests, and the blue darkness stole up the walls; night enveloped the pleasure-loving crowd and their martyred victims—at last the people seemed to have had their fill. They poured out of the Amphitheatre like an overflowing stream, over the Forum, through the Vicus Cyprius and the neighboring streets.
While Rome was resting and refreshing itself after the exciting pleasures of the day, and giving itself up to the sweet influences of the warm spring evening, six noble ships were flying before the wind from the island of Igilium.[161] At about three hours before midnight the vessels came to anchor close by Alsium[162] and landed their passengers—three cohorts of picked men—without let or hindrance. The son of the Propraetor of Lugdunensis, was at their head, and with him were Caius Aurelius Menapius and the one-armed centurion. The Propraetor himself was advancing with the rest of the forces by the main north road, the Via Cassia,[163] and had already reached Clusium,[164] while the rest of the conspirators were coming round south-eastwards with a smaller following from Luna,[165] and Pisae[166] to Rusellae,[167] to join the Propraetor’s troops at the Forum Cassii.[168]
Domitian knew only of the advance of the Propraetor, and still supposed that it was in fulfilment of his own orders. Completely hoodwinked as he was by Clodianus, he had himself insisted on reinforcements within the city itself. The adjutant had indeed here taken advantage of the circumstance, that Caesar had received repeated and mysterious warnings that a great conspiracy was on foot. The disembarkation at Alsium was the first step towards open revolt, and though Clodianus, in collusion with Parthenius, did his utmost to prevent this news from reaching the Palatium and the Praetorian guard, whom they could not yet regard as secured—nay, though he was prepared in case of need to account for it by some plausible lie, still they could not but expect every instant that the mask would be torn aside. Clodianus and Parthenius spent the evening outside the walls of Rome in the adjutant’s villa, and after midnight they adjourned to the house of a freedman of Parthenius’s, where they held a momentous conference with Norbanus, the prefect of the body-guard. After much parleying and persuasion he was won over to the side of the conspirators. Caesar’s latest outrages, more particularly his monstrous injustice towards the senators and knights who had lingered, untried, in prison since the day when they were arrested, struck the balance in the upright and honorable soldier’s mind. But even then, to the great regret of the conspirators, Norbanus could only answer for the adhesion of three of the cohorts under his command; the others had been freshly recruited at the New Year, and the growing distrust of the Emperor had filled every post, particularly those of the officers in command, with his own special favorites and creatures. Whatever the result might be, it was too late to avail themselves of every resource; the road straight forward was the only one now open to them. Still, an attempt was worth making at any cost. At the worst the Praetorian guard could certainly be kept in check for two days, and by that time the Propraetor and his forces might have reached Rome. Possibly too there might be another solution of the difficulty.—Clodianus was thinking of Stephanus.
By the time the sickle of the waning moon rose ruddy above the horizon, the Propraetor’s son and his eager troops had already left half the road between Alsium and the capital behind them. Aurelius, accompanied by the faithful Herodianus and the Goth, rode by the young leader’s side, marking with happy anticipation the growing distinctness of a black cloud on the southern horizon—that dark silhouette was Rome. Now, as the moon rose, Aurelius fancied he could recognize the buildings on the Janiculum, and distinguish to the left the temple on the loftier Quirinal. Between these points—which he saw more in fancy than in fact—dwelt his Claudia—adored and beautiful, “the only She.” What must she not have suffered during these last months! Ah, and even now be suffering! This very day probably the brother, that she so devotedly loved, had fallen a victim to Caesar’s hideous mania for persecution. Clodianus had indeed promised to do everything, even the impossible, only to postpone the frightful climax; but who could tell!
Aurelius set spurs into his horse, as if he could not bear a moment’s delay till he dashed through the streets of Rome, tore open the prison doors, and clasped his rescued friend in his arms. How could he face Claudia, if he came too late to save her brother? Why had the execution of the conspiracy been so long postponed? The reasons, it is true, had been irresistible—even Cinna had confessed that; but an aching, longing heart ignores every motive of strategy and of state-craft, and the days, which had been allowed to slip by in inactivity, had seemed a dreary eternity. Well, the immediate future would put an end at any rate to suspense, and surely the gods could not so cruelly betray his fervid hopes. If he should succeed, if fate had such mercy in store—what joy for him of all men to break the chains, what a triumph over the stern and inexorable father, who to uphold the law could not spare his own son!
Aurelius was half-ashamed to find himself thinking so exclusively of his own future, when the next few hours must decide the fate of millions—nay, of the Empire. But of what avail were strength of resolve and effort of will? His thoughts would revert to the scene he so fondly pictured in his dream, when he should clasp his Claudia in his arms, and stand proudly before the high-priest with the words: “I restore you your son.”
The road was lonely, the step of the marching men sounded loud in the silence. The few passengers and vehicles that they met were allowed to pass on; but all who were going towards Rome were, willy-nilly, detained, and only allowed to proceed in the midst of the cohorts.
In spite of these precautions they kept on the alert. At about half a mile outside Rome, Clodianus and Parthenius joined the force, as had been agreed, and the soldiers halted for a moment. The conspirators greeted each other warmly. Still, it was only with a determined effort, that Aurelius could find a civil word for the chamberlain, for whom he had always felt a deep aversion, and who, even now, impressed him as odious and repulsive. The loud bluntness of Clodianus, on the contrary, who harangued at some length about freedom and patriotism, he felt had the ring of genuine coin.