The sub-prefect immediately departed for Rome. “Fare thee well, O Gyges!” he said, as he parted from the charioteer in the atrium. “Thou hast made the name of Macro great.”
“Happy omens be thy speed, O future prefect! Fare thee well!”
Chapter XX
THE wind was howling around the bleak cliffs of Capri. Huge waves dashed and broke against the rocks below. On the eastern heights of the island the newly completed Villa Jovis was lost in the clouds. Sheets of rain fell, drenching the island and the surrounding country. Frightful lightnings flashed, and tremendous thunders rolled. The beautiful white columns and statues and the massive walls of the courtyards caught the wind and held it until it escaped with violent whistlings and shriekings. Fields of maturing vines were gutted out by raging torrents. Havoc and ruin relentlessly stalked through the island, uprooting trees and throwing down buildings. A tempestuous sirocco was at its height.
Down in the depths of the palace, in a vault to which no daylight could penetrate, the cowardly Tiberius, with a wreath of laurel on his head, crouched, trembling at every burst of thunder. From time to time he would ask what signs there were of clearing. A statue of Victory fell from its pedestal into the courtyard below and was dashed to pieces. The noise of its fall was heard by Tiberius. The tyrant trembled.
“What was that noise?” he shrieked.
In a few minutes a servant replied, “The statue of Victory has fallen, my lord.”
“Call the astrologer!” Tiberius commanded excitedly.
“Ay, my lord.”
“Bid him quickly come!” repeated the emperor.