Domitia said nothing. She was eager to be on her way, was impatient of the smallest delay. Euphrosyne came up, and obeyed a sign from the Briton. He caught a scullion who was rubbing his sleepy eyes, and wondering what had caused the commotion, and had roused him from his bed. Eboracus thrust the torch into his hand and opened the door for the Empress.
Domitia stepped out to the head of the stairs. The rain had ceased, but the steps were running with water. The eaves dripped. The shrubs were laden with rain, they stooped their boughs and shed a load of moisture on the soil, then raised their leaves again, once more to accumulate the wet, and again to stoop and shower it down. Runnels conveying water from the roof were flowing as streams, noisily: the ground covered with pools, reflected the torch; as also every gleam from the retiring storm. Still in the distance thunder muttered, but it was a grumble of discontent at having failed to achieve all it had been sent to execute.
On such a night few would be abroad, except the patrols of the Vigiles and them there would be no difficulty in passing as the watchword was known to Eboracus, the word which allowed those only who could say it to traverse the streets at night in the respectable portions of the city. But there were no lamps, not even the feeble glimmer of a lantern slung in the midst of the street. Notwithstanding all the civilization of ancient Rome the art of lighting the thoroughfares at night was unknown. Such as were constrained to walk abroad after dark were attended by slaves bearing torches.
The streets of Rome had for long been of bad repute for the brawls and murders committed in them at night. Tipsy youths and rufflers had assaulted honest men, and should a woman be out after dark, she was certain of insult. Nero himself had distinguished himself in such vulgar performances. But under the Flavian princes much had been done to establish order and to ensure protection to life and purse of such as were out after dark, so that now, except in the slums, a citizen could visit his friends, a doctor his patients, by night, without fear of molestation.
And of all portions of Rome, the Forum with its splendid monuments, its rich temples, especially that of Saturn, that contained the city treasures, was most patrolled and therefore the safest. Eboracus had little expectation that his mistress would meet with rudeness or encounter danger, the rain must have swept the street of all idlers.
The long flight of steps was descended with caution, as they were slippery with rain, indeed with more caution than Domitia approved, so impatient was she to reach the object of her journey. The distance was not great. She had but to traverse the upper end of the Forum.
That at which she aimed was the prison of Rome. It lay at the foot of the Capitoline Hill, and consisted of an ancient well or subterranean chamber in which flowed a small spring. Above this was the prison, consisting of a series of cells that rose in stages to a considerable height, against the rock, the chambers being in part scooped out of the travestine. From the top of the hill ran a set of steps called the Gemonian stair, and it was customary for State prisoners who had been condemned to death, after execution to be cast from the upper chamber of the Tullianum down the stairs; whence with hooks the corpses were dragged across the Forum and then flung into the Tiber.
To the house of the jailer, Domitia with her attendants made her way. She had been stopped once in crossing the Forum, but the watch recognized her, and saluted with respect, though with an expression of astonishment on his countenance at seeing Cæsar’s wife abroad at such a time of the night, in such weather and with such scant attendance.
On reaching the jailer’s door, Eboracus knocked. No answer was given. He knocked again and louder, and continued knocking, till at length a gruff voice from within called to know who was without, and what was wanted.
“Open—in the name of the Augustus,” said the British slave; and at once the keeper of the prison let down the bars and withdrew the bolts and chains, then carrying a lamp, peered out at those who demanded admittance.