The old crone, who was seated in this bower of delight, had an expression of countenance in keeping, not with the place, but with the furniture with which it was adorned; that furniture told her trade. Whether the root of superstition might be traced deeper still, and the woman and her traps were really and directly connected with the powers beneath the earth, it is impossible to determine; it is certain she had the will, it is certain that that will was from their inspiration; nay, it is certain that she thought she really possessed the communications which she desired; it is certain, too, she so far deceived herself as to fancy that what she learned by mere natural means came to her from a diabolical source. She kept up an active correspondence with Sicca. She was consulted by numbers; she was up with the public news, the social gossip, and the private and secret transactions of the hour; and had, before now, even interfered in matters of state, and had been courted by rival political parties. But in the high cares and occupations of this interesting person, we are not here concerned; but with a conversation which took place between her and Juba, about the same hour of the evening as that of Cæcilius’s escape, but on the day after it, while the sun was gleaming almost horizontally through the tall trunks of the trees of the forest.
“Well, my precious boy,” said the old woman, [pg 259]“the choicest gifts of great Cham be your portion! You had excellent sport yesterday, I’ll warrant. The rats squeaked, eh? and you beat the life out of them. That scoundrel sacristan, I suppose, has taken up his quarters below.”
“You may say it,” answered Juba. “The reptile! he turned right about, and would have made himself an honest fellow, when it couldn’t be helped.”
“Good, good!” returned Gurta, as if she had got something very pleasant in her mouth; “ah! that is good! but he did not escape on that score, I do trust.”
“They pulled him to pieces all the more cheerfully,” said Juba.
“Pulled him to pieces, limb by limb, joint by joint, eh?” answered Gurta. “Did they skin him?—did they do anything to his eyes, or his tongue? Anyhow, it was too quickly, Juba. Slowly, leisurely, gradually. Yes, it’s like a glutton to be quick about it. Taste him, handle him, play with him,—that’s luxury! but to bolt him,—faugh!”
“Cæso’s slave made a good end,” said Juba: “he stood up for his views, and died like a man.”
“The gods smite him! but he has gone up—up:” and she laughed. “Up to what they call bliss and glory;—such glory! but he’s out of our domain, you know. But he did not die easy?”
“The boys worried him a good deal,” answered Juba: “but it’s not quite in my line, mother, all this. I think you drink a pint of blood morning and even[pg 260]ing, and thrive on it, old woman. It makes you merry; but it’s too much for my stomach.”
“Ha, ha, my boy!” cried Gurta; “you’ll improve in time, though you make wry faces, now that you’re young. Well, and have you brought me any news from the capitol? Is any one getting a rise in the world, or a downfall? How blows the wind? Are there changes in the camp? This Decius, I suspect, will not last long.”