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Golden Peacock

After witnessing the murder of my parents my mind was somewhat disordered.

It all happened so suddenly and swiftly. We were sitting in the peristyle and Daddy was reading aloud Uncle Horace’s latest Ode that he had sent to us that morning. Mummy’s hair had been waved the day before, and although no one could call thirty-four young she looked quite lovely as she lay back in her chair fanning herself with a cluster of peacock’s feathers and smiling at Daddy, who read beautifully and liked an appreciative audience. I was not listening very attentively for I don’t care much about Odes and would rather have been on a horse gallopping over the estate, but I was not permitted to ride alone and my tutor had gone to Rome with the other Greek slaves to attend the yearly celebration of one of their gods. I had seated myself beyond the range of Daddy’s eagle eye and was gazing up at the deep blue sky and wishing I had a mantle of just that shade. I wonder if the sky anywhere else in the world is as blue as it is in Italy. Uncle Horace says it is even a richer blue in Greece——Oh, dear, I mustn’t ramble, but my mind runs away from that deed.

My thoughts had wandered to Mallius, with Agrippa in Gaul, and I longed for the moment when he would march into Rome at the head of his Legion. A girl should be married and have a baby at sixteen and I might have to wait a year longer. Who could expect me to be interested in an Ode to Augustus, perfunctory at that, for I knew that Uncle Horace, although he now approved of the Emperor, would always yearn over the Republic he had fought for in his youth.

They crept up to the house so quietly that we had not one instant’s warning before they came shrieking down the upper court and were upon us with their flashing knives and faces distorted with hate and triumph. Daddy was on his feet in an instant, knocking two of them down, but he fell a moment later pierced with many daggers. Mummy screamed and then fainted. I am a tall strong girl and I ran to protect her. I did manage to wrest one man’s dagger from him and slit his throat but before I could reach Mother they had killed her too, plunging their knives into her breast.

Then I turned and ran. They ran after me, howling like wolves, but I darted this way and that and finally when they lost me for a moment I slipped into my own room, lifted the lid of my marriage chest, and was safely hidden before they ran screaming past the door, turned back and pulled the room to pieces looking for me. But I had had time to burrow under all my woolen garments before they lifted the lid, and I held my mouth wide open so that my teeth wouldn’t chatter. Then one of them cried: ‘She’s gone to the stables for a horse,’ and they all ran out again.

For long I heard them shouting and hacking things to pieces, and although I pushed up the lid occasionally for air I dared not leave that chest where I was so cramped I could have cried with pain if my mind had not been so distraught thinking of my dear parents whom I should never see alive again.

My lovely sweet mother who looked the dignified Roman matron of the old breed when at the court of Augustus (not like some of those silly old women who think of nothing but dress and jewels and lovers and smearing their hair and faces) but was so gay and charming at home. My kind if somewhat stern father, a patrician of ancient lineage who had distinguished himself in many wars, an orator, a senator (not that being a senator means much in these days) the intimate friend of Maecenas, Horace, Virgil and Varius, admired and trusted by the Emperor—both shamefully dead at the hands of slaves.

What had we ever done to those wretches that they should turn upon and massacre us? But no matter how kindly we treated them they must have hated us because we were noble and wealthy and powerful and they lowly and enslaved who had once been free in Gaul. It seems to me that when one fights and loses one should accept the fortune of war, but perhaps if Rome had been conquered by Gaul I should think otherwise. There had been servile uprisings in the past but now that the civil wars were over and all was quiet under the beneficent rule of Augustus, who had even quelled brigands and pirates, we had never given a thought to the possible menace of those barbarians in our midst. Ours had always looked docile enough, tilling the fields, working in the vineyards and orchards of the estate, and several of our former slaves were now freedmen and had little farms of their own or shops in the towns. My father was so kind there was none of them without hope, and they were not manacled like so many farm slaves. What evil gods had possessed them?

And our household gods? Why had they not protected us? We prayed to them daily and that very morning I had made offerings at their shrine. What are gods for if they cannot protect the innocent who do them homage? As I lay there listening to those barbarians hacking and slashing I didn’t care if the heads of all our deities were rolling on the floor. Served them right.

Alternately I wept and raged and finally I fell asleep: I had propped the lid open a trifle that I shouldn’t smother. When I awakened it was dark and the house was silent. I crawled from the chest and then nearly fainted from the agony in my limbs, but I rolled over and over on the floor until the blood ceased to tear at the walls of my veins and I could stand upright and walk.

My room opened upon the atrium and I looked out warily and listened intently. In that silence I think I could have heard anyone breathe at the other end of the house but there was not a sound.

I was alone in that great quiet house and our good Greek slaves would not return before dawn and I felt that if I remained there another moment I should fall into a frenzy. I must go far—far—but where? Our nearest neighbor was a mile away and might have met with the same fate. I dared not seek the refuge of our house in Rome for those Gauls might be lurking on the road. And then I thought of Uncle Horace. His farm in the Sabine Hills was only ten miles away. He was always so calm and poised, so wise and kind. He would give me shelter and comfort and advice. Those murderers must be brought to justice and he had great influence in Rome. Augustus was far away in the East, but Maecenas and Livia were all-powerful in his absence, and they had been fond of my parents. They would see that those Gauls were captured and crucified.

I had started to run out of the house when I remembered my beloved parents lying there neglected in their blood. I shuddered from head to foot, but my duty was plain. I could not leave them to be desecrated by birds of prey. I controlled myself and by the light of the stars I dragged them both into their bedroom, covered them decently, closed the door, and then ran as if Orestian furies pursued me.

Alas, they had taken all the horses, even the carriages were torn to pieces. I remembered the field where the mules were kept when not at work. At first I thought they had taken those too, but in the distance I saw something move—still it might be—I crept closer. Yes, several mules were there, nibbling peacefully. I climbed on the back of one and pointed its docile head toward the hills.

The sky was bright with many stars and I knew the by-road well that led to the valley in the Sabines so beloved of our great poet. I knew he would be there unless Maecenas had enticed him to Ostia for the night, for he spent only the short winters in Rome, and even if he were away a slave would go for him immediately when he heard the dire news.

The Apennines loomed a black ragged mass that seemed to scrape the stars. I could hardly distinguish their outposts the Sabine Hills, but the kindly stars when I came near would guide me to the entrance to the Digentia Valley. Oh, unmerciful gods how peaceful it was, how quiet, how safe! Sweet scents rose from the earth. The orchards were so laden with ripe fruit I could hear the dull plump as some fell to the ground. Nightingales sang in the ilex trees, pouring out a flood of melody as if rejoicing in the happiness of the world—a world in which men were always slaughtering one another to add to the glory of ambitious rulers and my parents lay stiffening in their blood. My father had fought in Britain, in Gaul, in Hither Spain, Sicily, Illyria, at Actium. He had pierced many men with his sword and dagger, and helped to rout the hosts of Mark Anthony, that fat red-nosed middle-aged man who made a fool of himself over a homely scheming woman but the aptest pupil of Venus in the world. (Daddy.) Although Rome itself despises and execrates them some of the minor poets are quite silly about those two and say it was a great romance, but my opinion of them is they were old enough to know better. He must have been drunk most of the time and a nuisance about the house even if it was a palace and covered several acres, and if Cleopatra killed herself it was because she had lost Egypt not Anthony. That is what all we girls think, who know that love is for the young, the love that poets should write about despite the maudlin stuff Catullus wrote to that Clodia; although during the long years of wedded life there should be calm and dutiful affection, that is if one concludes to live according to the old ideals and not have lovers and get divorces. But poets are made silly by great names, and will write about anything that will bring them money enough to carouse in the wine-shops. Uncle Horace never writes such nonsense.

Daddy once told me that Rome was rather snobbish about Uncle Horace when his satires were first circulated and Varius and Virgil took him to call on Maecenas. He was only the son of a freedman, a small farmer and banker in the provincial town of Venusia, but his father had great ambitions for him and took him to Rome to be educated. Father used to meet him in the various lecture rooms and when they were both about twenty they went to Athens to study philosophy, but after the assassination of Julius Caesar Uncle Horace joined the army of Brutus, who hoped to restore the Republic. As all the world knows they were defeated at Philippi, and it is quite amusing to hear Uncle Horace tell how he flung away his shield and ran for dear life. After the amnesty he came to Rome but his father was dead and his inheritance confiscated because he had fought against the might of Anthony and Octavian. So for years he was a poor clerk in the Treasury and too proud to seek any of his old school friends, but he and Virgil met in a wine-shop and I fancy they made merry; anyhow Virgil had his satires copied and circulated and they made a sensation and Maecenas received him graciously, although he had attacked with such biting satire the extravagance and immorality and frivolity of Roman Society, and not a word in praise of Octavian, whom, at that time, his friends were trying to deify alive; although he put a stop to that and before he was induced to accept the title of Augustus. But Maecenas, although he spent more money than anyone in Rome and loved luxury and entertained every day, and was the devoted friend and advisor of the Emperor, was kind and just, and ready to overlook any faults in a young genius. There were those who said he took up Uncle Horace with the intention of diverting that powerful pen to the service of the Empire, but at any rate he grew truly fond of him and some years later gave him the Sabine farm so that he could be independent of that clerkship and write at leisure.

Daddy met him once more at the board of Maecenas and renewed their old acquaintance. It was shortly after I was born that he came to dinner one evening and Mummy took him to the nursery and exhibited with pride something that must have looked like a sausage judging from other babies I have seen. After that Daddy and Mummy couldn’t pass a week when in Rome without seeing the new great man and one day when he was dancing me on his knee I startled the family by calling him ‘Unk-Ortz.’ After that we were all more intimate than ever, and as I was always rather wild and wayward and spoilt, being the only child (for although Father had been married before his two boys and one girl had died), Uncle Horace gave me much sage advice. When I told him once I should never be an obedient wife, that old Roman ideal, he smiled in his serene way and said: ‘My dear Pomponia, you will be a true Roman matron of the old breed; although you are quite clever enough to make your husband and the world believe you are a dutiful and obedient wife the while you manage to have your own way.’ ‘I’ll be dutiful,’ I replied, sticking out my tongue at him, ‘but I won’t be obedient.’ And of course Mummy came in at that moment and slapped me for being vulgar. But Uncle Horace only laughed.

No wonder I turned to him in my affliction.

I avoided the little town of Varia for it was pricked out against the dark mountain-side by a light here and there, and who could tell what enemies of my house it might harbor? One of our former slaves, freed by my father, had a wine-shop there and might be giving shelter at that moment to his old companions in captivity. Could I ever trust even my Greek slaves again? My tutor Polos, and our steward Diomedes had been of good families in Athens; how many others there were in Rome, forced to do the bidding of haughty Romans who had conquered and enthralled them, for not all were as kind and understanding as my father, Maecenas, and a few others. In truth most of them despised any one of a conquered race and would have treated Plato himself with arrogance.

Why should they not hate us? In every rich man’s house in Rome in the more splendid of the villas, in all the public galleries, were masterpieces of Greek art ancient and modern, the loot of the conquerors; they bought the work of the Greek artists living in Rome, and sent to Athens for philosophers to teach their children or to improve their own minds with learned conversation, but they held artists and philosophers themselves in contempt and took no pains to hide it. How often I had heard that subject discussed at my father’s table when only a few intimate friends were present; so different they from the majority of patricians who thought only of politics and war and pleasure and making grand orations in the Forum and winning the favor of Augustus; or of juggling with the law or making millions in business if they were of the Equestrian Order. I had sat at table since I was four, unless there was a banquet and then I contrived to hide behind a couch or in a bay for I wanted to know everything at once. Many things I had heard discussed, but it was of my Greeks I was thinking as I rode up the valley toward the villa of Horace at its head four miles distant, and wondering if they had been in the plot. But I hardly believed they would have stooped to conspire with barbarians and doubted if they had ever condescended to speak to those Gauls.

Oh, how quiet that valley was between the steep high walls of the hills, more quiet even than the campagna without. Not the lightest breeze rustled the pines and the oaks; now and again I heard the singing of a little waterfall or the hoot of an owl, but even the river beside the path barely murmured. The nightingales had gone to sleep. I had always thought this valley very beautiful despite its wildness and severity, but I had seen it only in the sunshine and never alone. I tried to kick my mule into quicker action but he was old and tired and refused to go off a walk, so I concluded to use my own long legs for the rest of the way, and in less than an hour I had skirted two villages sound asleep on their lofty rocks, and knew by the scent of the roses that I was close to the villa, but as it showed not a point of light it was hardly distinguishable from the steep mountain behind it. I knew my way, however, and a moment later was running through the long portico, dark as the tunnel Agrippa built through Mount Avernus, for it was covered with grapevines. It seemed endless! Then I saw the stars above and felt my way to the front door. There was no bell, not even a knocker, for in the daytime the door stood open and no visitors were expected at night. I rapped with my knuckles but the door was heavy and who would hear the faint sound? And then suddenly, in that lonely darkness, in that profound stillness, that morning’s deed I had kept at bay with trifling thoughts and reminiscences, galloped like wild horses across my mind and I beat on the door with hands and feet and screamed and screamed.

I hardly heard the door open a crack and the voice of Davus, Uncle Horace’s favorite slave, quaver: ‘Who is there? Who comes screaming at this hour of the night?’ but I flung back the door crying: ‘Lights! Lights! Ask no questions but bring lights or I’ll scream louder and louder.’

I heard him mutter: ‘Pomponia, by all the gods!’ But he asked no more questions and followed me into the library and lit several candles. By this time I could hear that I had roused the house, for servants were running to and fro. ‘Call your master! Call your master!’ I shouted, but my voice died away as Uncle Horace entered the room. He wore a mustard-colored dressing-gown drawn tight over his big round middle, and wisps of hair stuck out from a green nightcap all askew. Never had I seen such a funny sight and I went off into a wild peal of laughter, and then cried, and laughed again. It was only when I had been shaken and my face well slapped and cold water thrown over me that I was able to stop.

‘You slapped me!’ I stuttered. ‘How dared you slap me?’

‘Dare?’ he asked indignantly. ‘How dare you come to my house at midnight—the house of a bachelor who loves quiet and peace above all things, and act like a fury?’ But although he glared at me out of a very red face I could see the fear in his eyes.

He waved to the gaping servants to leave the room and then sat down heavily as if those thin legs under that fat body had gone suddenly weak. ‘Now,’ he commanded. ‘Tell me at once. Why are you here? Where are Quintus and Cornelia? Have—have you run away?’

I tried to speak but my lips stiffened and felt like bark. How could I tell him? Poor Uncle Horace, who for long years had known nothing but suffering and disappointment and bitterness, and was happy at last in his beautiful villa, exercising his genius in leisure, looking forward to a serene old age with his beloved friends, none of whom had he loved more than my father and mother, and somehow he no longer looked comical. Then I wondered why I should think of him instead of myself. If he had had many troubles they had taught him how to bear others and I had still to learn and had come to him not only as a refuge but for guidance. So I blurted it out.

He turned livid, all the red sinking out of his face. Then he dropped his head in his hands and sat silent for so long after I finished that I asked him angrily if he had gone to sleep.

He looked up with a deep sigh. ‘No, Pomponia, the beneficence of sleep is far off. Have you had anything to eat since the midday meal?’

‘No, I haven’t!’ And suddenly hungry little demons with gaping mouths seemed to be dancing up and down inside of me. He rose and summoned Davus and a few moments later I was devouring bread and cheese and cold roast kid, and drinking the excellent wine for which Uncle Horace is as famous among his friends as if he were of the Epicurean cult instead of the Stoic. When I had finished I turned to where he sat staring, still pale, his eyes swollen.

‘Well,’ I asked, ‘Why don’t you say something about it? You haven’t even said “How horrible!” ’

He tried to smile. ‘Tomorrow we will talk of it,’ he said. ‘Now you will go to bed.’ And I was so sleepy all of a sudden that I was marched off unresistingly and his old housekeeper, Salvia, who had been his nurse in Venusia, put me to bed.

I knew when I awoke that it must be late for the lazy air that came in through the window was very warm and the birds had ceased to sing. I looked about the strange room for a moment wondering where I was and then I remembered and sprang out of bed and ran into the court and clapped my hands. Old Salvia came running. ‘Where is the Master?’ I cried. ‘The Master! I wish to speak to him at once.’ ‘The Master has gone for the day and you are to remain here quietly,’ she said in that dictatorial manner she used even with Uncle Horace. But I can be dictatorial too, and I stamped my foot. ‘Gone? Gone for the day? Where? Tell me at once. Why did he not speak to me before he left?’ ‘The young need much sleep and the Master is thoughtful. But if you must know, he has gone—to attend to many things. You should be able to guess what they are.’ And then of course I knew he had gone to take the dead bodies of my parents to Rome and arrange for the funeral, and I wept once more. Old Salvia, who is really kind, led me to the bath and then dressed me and brought my breakfast into the court. I was hungry, for it would seem that the body has a life of its own apart from the mind, but I made a resolution not to break down again. After all, I was a Roman of the old breed, and after yesterday I should never be a child again. I could have laughed as I remembered how grown up I had felt while Daddy was reading that Ode, thinking I should be married and dandling an infant because I was well past the marriageable age and sixteen. It seemed to me now that I had been a baby myself and even Mummy seemed years younger than I had thought her then. Mummy—Mummy——I choked the tears back and stuck out my under lip. You are a Roman. A Roman. And then I could have shrieked and flung the dishes across the court but I didn’t and went on eating bread and honey and drinking cold spring water. If the Romans have nothing else they have character; have I not had that dinned into me since I was born? ‘Even in these degenerate days the worst of us stand up to a crisis.’ But I resented the idea of standing by myself so soon. After all, even though I had been ‘independent’ (and often well smacked for it) I had been petted and indulged and my parents had sheltered me. And now the gods knew when Mallius would return, and what was I to do meanwhile? Those wretches should be pursued and brought to justice and who would do it? Not Uncle Horace. He had no energy of that sort and was too philosophical to think vengeance worth while. Then I thought once more of Maecenas and Livia. Why should I not go to them at once? I ran out to the stables to demand a mule, but Salvia, who followed me, said that Uncle Horace had only three and had taken two slaves with him. No one had seen anything of my own mule; doubtless he had wandered home. I hate inaction, but I didn’t care to borrow a mule from any of the villages, for I should have to answer questions, and all the other slaves were up on the steep hillsides harvesting the fruit.

I spent that long day wandering over the farm, although I should have liked to walk to the end of the valley and back, for I seemed to have the energy of ten girls and nothing to do with it. Fortunately this Sabine farm which Maecenas gave Uncle Horace—not as an act of charity but in compensation for the one the Triumvirs had confiscated—is quite large, perhaps eighty acres, and some of it on almost perpendicular hills. I did manage to tire myself after many hours, and late in the afternoon as I was standing on the roof gazing anxiously down the valley I saw three men ambling along on mules and knew that my long wait was over. My first impulse was to run to meet them and I should have obeyed it if Uncle Horace had been alone, but before slaves it behooved me to be dignified. I had made a spectacle of myself last night and that was enough for a lifetime.

When Uncle Horace dismounted I was in the library taking from one of the boxes a roll of the Æneid, and in truth I wished I had thought of it earlier for I could have lost myself in that wondrous story. Not that I sympathized with Dido, who should have pursued and killed that faithless man instead of burning herself to a cinder after falling on a sword on top of a pyre. She was no Roman. Never would I kill myself for any man, not even for Mallius, whom I loved to distraction and sometimes could not sleep at night thinking of him and wishing I were a wife like some of my friends who had told me things that would have made dear Mummy’s hair wave by itself. But if he had preferred glory or another girl I should have told him to go straight to Tartarus and marry a ghost.

When Uncle Horace came in looking very tired and old I went forward and kissed him calmly, and it was almost comical how relieved he looked when he saw he had no longer a weeping hysterical girl on his hands, poor old bachelor. But he merely patted me and we both sat down. I asked him if he didn’t want some refreshment, but Davus always looked after his needs and brought in bread and wine as I spoke. He ate and drank a little, then looked at me and away again.

‘I suppose you know where I have been,’ he said after I was ready to dance up and down with impatience. ‘I went first to Tibur and obtained a litter with stout runners, then—to—to the villa. The Greek slaves were still screaming and tearing their hair—all but Polos, who sat apart weeping silently. When I told them you were safe they were somewhat comforted, and wrapped the bodies in linen and would permit no one else to dispose them in the litter. Then we all set out for Rome, but even although the runners kept up a good pace it took us three hours. My next task was to calm the slaves left in charge of the town house, but at last the bodies were placed on beds and I directed Polos and Diomedes to send for the undertaker, and then send messengers right and left bidding all who would honor Quintus and Cornelia to the funeral on the morrow. Then I hired a carriage and went to Ostia. No words of mine can describe the horror and grief of Maecenas as he listened to what I had to tell him. He set off at once for the royal villa, and already many men are in pursuit of those villains. What was the cause of that uprising? We discussed it for a few moments before he left. He leaped to the conclusion there was something behind it, something more than the natural hatred of barbarians for their proud masters. They might need little to incite them, but they hardly would have taken such a risk unless plentifully supplied with money to carry them far. It was known that Quintus kept little at the farm. It must have been promised them by someone—but whom? Quintus and Cornelia had no enemies——’

But I had sprung to my feet and was clenching my hands. ‘None but his own sister and brother-in-law, Lydia and Caelius. They would be on the corn dole if it had not been for the generosity of my father, and if we were all dead they would inherit, for Caelius is also of our gens and the nearest male relative. They must have stolen the money for bribery or borrowed it from some other scheming villain. Caelius’ estates were confiscated when he deserted to Mark Anthony and hoped to become an Eastern potentate. In Egypt he came cringing to Octavian and the Emperor spared his life because he loved my father, but would not restore his estates. Of course he and Lydia would be my father’s sole heirs if I had been killed too—and now—now—will they be my guardians? I won’t submit to that! I won’t!’

‘You think quickly, my Pomponia,’ said Uncle Horace, looking at me approvingly. ‘Maecenas had somewhat the same idea, but also that there might be still worse behind—something political. Caelius has been suspected before this of plotting against the Emperor, for he imagines he has great abilities. He was a senator once and would be again, but for that he cannot hope while he is a pauper, and to succeed in any enterprise against Caesar Augustus he must have both wealth and the power of high office. Be sure there will be a thorough investigation, and meanwhile, dear child, we shall protect you.’

‘You’d better,’ I said grimly, ‘or I’ll turn Rome upside down. How I should like to have seen their faces when they heard I too had not been murdered! I always did hate their smiling hypocritical faces. They never came to visit us that Lydia didn’t wheedle out of Mother some of her newest garments—to catch a new lover with no doubt. My friend Atia wife of Calvus told me she has been seen running round at night with men half her age, all painted up and her hair dyed blonde with leeches steeped in vinegar and rancid goat fat mixed with ashes. Nasty mess. I know she always hated me because it was nature gave me my lovely gold-copper hair.’

‘Vain little piece!’ Poor Uncle Horace smiled for the first time. ‘Your hair is very beautiful, and you are beautiful altogether, my Pomponia, but you should leave it to others——’

‘Nonsense. Why? Cannot I see for myself that I am beautiful? That my hair is—look.’ I plucked out the pins and shook it down my back where it fell to my knees. ‘And that my eyes are black, and so are my brows and lashes, and my skin a nice pale olive and red and my features finest Roman? If I were “modest” I’d be a hypocrite. I know what I am and what I want and what I intend to have, and so do all of us girls, and grown people don’t know as much about girls as they think. I’m thin yet but one day I’ll have a beautiful figure and then I’ll be one of the great beauties of Rome, but I’ll be intellectual instead of a society harlot and all the more remarked. The men of the inner Augustan circle may be intellectual and gifted, but the women are ordinary enough. I shall be the exception.’

‘Far be it from me to discourage so laudable an ambition,’ said my Uncle Horace drily. ‘And now we will have dinner and go to bed early, for we must start at cockcrow for Rome.’

Davus had sent to Tibur for a carriage and Uncle Horace and I travelled rapidly across the Campagna in a four-wheeled vehicle behind two fiery Gaulish ponies. At first I thought only of the dire fact that I was about to attend the funeral of my parents . . . my father and mother . . . Daddy and Mummy . . . and my face must have looked like stone in the effort to keep it from crumpling with grief. But my mind was like a bed of hot lava that broke into bubbles on the surface and those bubbles were vagrant thoughts. I still wore the white linen stola in which I had escaped from the villa, and although Salvia had washed and pressed it, it was by no means fresh nor befitting my station, and I had long streets to traverse in Rome before reaching my house on the Palatine. A married man might have had sense enough to go to my room and pick out my very best stola and palla, but what could one expect of a bachelor?

And then I remembered that no horse vehicles were allowed in the narrow streets of Rome during the day, and I knew those streets would be more crowded than ever, all talking of nothing but the massacre of my parents. To force my way through those throngs on foot! To be gaped at! Not I! I was about to order the driver to go round to the Capena Gate where there were litters for hire when I saw a superb litter approaching carried by slaves wearing the crimson and gold liveries of Maecenas. Uncle Horace, who had been very sad and quiet, drew a deep sigh.

‘Terentia!’ he said. ‘I hoped she would come for you, for I would not have you stared—alas, I never thought of a litter myself until it was too late.’

I kissed him and told him he was wonderful and hopped out and a moment later was reclining behind drawn curtains beside Terentia, the beautiful and brilliant wife of Maecenas whom I had forgotten when I spoke slightingly of the women of the court. She merely held my hand and said nothing for which I was grateful. I had always liked Terentia, partly because the young, I think, always like anyone who is beautiful and kind, but also because she is the wife of Maecenas whom my parents so loved. And she bears herself with dignity and reserve and doesn’t smear up her face and is a friend of Livia, who is very strict in her morals and must be sorely tried by Julia, who is not only the leader of the rebellious and riotous younger set, scandalizing even Rome with their reckless extravagance, but is said to have had already more lovers than she can remember, young as she is, and to have turned the very Temples in the Forum into a harlot’s house. How we girls had gossiped about her and longed to know her! It was a wonder Livia hadn’t poisoned her, the more so as she hated her mother Scribonia, who had preceded her in the palace of Augustus.

It was with these vagrant thoughts I diverted my mind until we entered Rome by the Esquiline Gate. Then I peeped between the curtains and saw the excited crowds in the streets and women leaning from the windows of the high tenement houses on the spur of the Esquiline Hill and heard their shrill voices. But they couldn’t see me and it was not long before we reached the northern end of the Palatine.

As the slaves trotted up the gentle slope I shrank back despite my will, but Terentia gave my hand a firm pressure. ‘I shall remain beside you as long as you wish,’ she said. ‘And although Maecenas will walk beside you to the Forum I shall be just behind——’

‘The Forum?’

‘Yes, dear Pomponia. The bodies of Quintus and Cornelia will be carried to the Forum and lie in front of the Rostra while Maecenas makes the funeral oration. All honor will be paid them. The city is in a great state of excitement, and it would have been demanded had not Livia herself given the order.’

I clutched her hand. ‘Yes, stay with me!’ I exclaimed. ‘I will not let Caelius and Lydia come near me. It would be like them to push themselves in and make Rome think they are my guardians and strut with importance.’

‘I understand that Lydia is ill in bed,’ said Terentia drily. ‘And if Caelius annoys you he will be shown his place.’

The door of the vestibule was open and between the two cypress trees the undertaker had placed there, I could see that a large company had gathered in the atrium, although the light was subdued owing to the purple curtain that had been drawn across the opening in the roof. But Terentia directed her slaves to go round to the garden door, and she went with me to my room, and my maid Erinna, who had returned to Rome with the other servants, dressed me in a fresh white stola and palla and shook my hair down and rumpled it, according to usage, and I wished I could draw it across my face, but I must bear myself proudly as became a daughter of the Senatorial Order. Erinna wept all the time but stared at me curiously, for I seemed very young to her who was twenty and she thought I should be too bewildered and crushed to hold up my head.

My room opened upon the peristyle and as I went forth with Terentia the first person I saw, standing close to the door, was Livius Caelius Piso. He wore a black mantle over his toga and his handsome false face was doing its best to look woebegone, but he couldn’t hide the excitement in his eyes and I doubted not that his pallor was due to two sleepless nights during which he had discussed many things with Lydia.

He started forward. ‘My darling Pomponia!’ he exclaimed. ‘I would have gone to you at once had I known where you were——’

I was about to hiss at him when Terentia gave my arm a warning pressure. So I merely nodded as if dismissing a slave, and as I had always snubbed him he could not guess I held him in suspicion. His mouth twisted with hate but he followed close behind us as we walked slowly toward the high reception room between the peristyle and atrium. Here the couches of my parents lay side by side, my father clad in his toga of consul, it being the right of every Roman to wear the garment of the highest office he had held in life, and my mother was all in white, and both looked serene and beautiful. The bodies were covered with wreaths, and pans of incense burned beside them. Maecenas, Uncle Horace, Virgil, and the consuls of the year were in the reception room, and down in the atrium it looked as if all the six hundred senators were present, and many of their wives, waiting to form the funeral procession to the Forum and then to the tomb. Many carried branches of cypress.

I stood back against the wall between Terentia and Uncle Horace and kept my eyes lowered. There might be times when I would like to be stared at but this was not one of them.

The undertaker and his gloomy assistants were forming the procession and making a lane through the assemblage. The minstrels, who were to lead, began to play upon the flagelot, trumpet, and horn. Then came the wailing women who lamented in high monotonous voices and beat their breasts. I did look up as I overheard a whisper, and saw many men wearing the wax masks of my ancestors, effigies I had laughed at when Daddy had shown them to me with pride and told me that when his time came they would escort him to the underworld where the prototypes awaited him, a goodly and distinguished company. I had thought those wax masks both hideous and funny but now I clenched my hands and shut my teeth as those strange men wearing them fell into position behind the wailing women.

Then purple covers were thrown over the corpses, the couches were lifted high by slaves and carried down into the atrium and out of the house, other slaves carrying torches that looked like silver fire in the bright sunshine. I walked with Maecenas, Uncle Horace and Terentia followed, and all the others fell into line two and two. There was a slight commotion and I heard Maecenas mutter and looked up and what did I see but Caelius who had forced his way in front of us so that he could exhibit himself to all Rome walking alone behind the biers. He paid no attention to Maecenas who ordered him to fall behind but he did to me. I leaned forward and slipping my hand under his toga gave him such a pinch on the inside of his upper arm that he yelped like a cur and stumbled out of line, and before he could recover himself we had closed in. The hate I felt streaming from him stimulated me for the ordeal to come.

We marched slowly down the hill and along the Sacred Way where every shop and every window was crowded with men and women, and many wept for my father had been kind to the poor. I saw the faces of several Gauls and they had drawn down their chins to their chests trying to look woebegone, and no doubt secretly terrified, for if those murderers were not caught and crucified our good Roman plebs might rise and massacre them.

How slowly we walked, and every time I raised my eyes I could see the faces of my dear parents so close I could have touched them. It seemed to me they looked not only serene but indifferent and wherever their spirits had gone would never give another thought to the poor girl they had left behind. The grander shops of the Sacred Way are in the Forum and in this humbler quarter are those for the better class of plebs, among them many that supply their household wants and I shall always remember the smell of freshly baked bread mingling with the faint odor of corruption.

When we entered the Forum my mind was diverted by its marble magnificence. I had always loved its beauty and made Polos take me to walk there every day when we were in town, and for a moment I forgot myself as I gazed about, my eyes roving over those Temples on different elevations with their slender columns and statues, the long grand Basilicas, and towering over all the great temples of Jupiter and Juno on the Capitoline. From end to end, even in the upper and lower arcades of the Basilicas, it was packed with Romans in deep mourning, and mounted soldiers were at each entrance to keep out the rabble.

As we wended our way slowly toward the Rostra Terentia leaned forward and whispered: ‘Look upward! Livia! How like her. Pity she cannot wear a crown.’ I raised my eyes and saw the Empress standing on the steps of the Temple of Juno wrapped in a long mantle of Tyrian purple girt with gold. She looked very magnificent standing there alone in her glory. I believe the kings and queens before the days of the Republic wore crowns, but Augustus affects a republican simplicity that the people may be lulled into forgetting he is as absolute a monarch as Jupiter among the gods and even more of a dictator than Julius Caesar himself. He doesn’t fool the patricians and the equites and as long as the plebs have plenty of corn and amusements he might erect himself a palace that would cover the Palatine and crowd the nobles out for all they would care.

The couches were lowered to the ground. Maecenas mounted the Rostra. He had whispered to me that he spoke seldom in public and wished now that he had the eloquence of Cicero, that poor old great man murdered to gratify the hatred of Mark Anthony and with the consent of Octavian, who was murdering right and left himself and had no pity for the old man who had been his devoted friend and mentor. Those were the days when he was so cruel and ruthless he would strike off anyone’s head to gain his own ends. How can any man be so wicked and bloodthirsty in his youth and then turn into so kind and beneficent a ruler? I heard them discussing that once at my father’s table and he said it was because Octavian had been carried away by his desire to avenge the murder of Julius, but Maecenas said it was because he was young and full of fear, for his inheritance hung in the balance, and he was as ambitious as Julius himself; but when the time came that his ambition was gratified and he could expunge fear from his heart he was sated with cruelty and glad to be able to indulge only the better impulses of his nature. Well, maybe. Uncle Horace says the gods made mankind out of many contradictory particles some of them so secret and queer none but the gods will ever understand them. Men change in other ways with the passing of youth. There are stories that Uncle Horace was extremely lustful and ran after this trollop and that, but now that he is getting on and his health none too good he has put all that behind him. I wouldn’t have trusted myself alone with him in his villa if he had been like the Emperor who once pinched my leg and another time tried to kiss me, and is well known to like above all things to deflower maidens. Augustus may have changed in some things for the better but not so much in others. They say that Virgil, dear old thing, used to be too fond of boys, but they will say anything in Rome, and he too reformed for he had asthma and something the matter with his stomach. I must say our poets are not very romantic in their persons. Uncle Horace has a weeping eye, and Augustus once said of him and Virgil who wheezed, ‘When they are near me I feel as if I were between the wind and the waves.’

Oh, dear! Oh, dear! More bubbles. But perhaps it was as well, for I didn’t want to listen to the recital of the virtues of my dead parents, for I might have wept after all. I believe Maecenas made a fine oration and his sonorous voice rolled through the hills and echoed, but not one word of it would I permit to enter my ears. I knew what was expected of me however and when he descended from the Rostra amidst a deep murmur of applause I whispered that Cicero could never have been more eloquent, nor Mark Anthony when he pronounced the funeral oration over the murdered Julius. He smiled at me fondly, and I recalled that Mummy used to say one of the gods’ kindest gifts to women was the vanity of men.

Then the procession was formed again and we marched down to the Capena Gate and out into the Appian Way. In that street of tombs none is more imposing than that of my house which had stood there in the time of the Tuscan Kings, but had been enlarged by my grandfather and covered with marble; but I nearly gave way and clutched hard the kind arm of Maecenas as I saw the pyres, for that would be the end. At least until now they had not been bereft of their fair bodies. Maecenas understood and pressed my arm, and Uncle Horace came and stood on the other side of me and took my hand. All Rome had followed us and spread over the Campagna as far as one could see and I diverted my eyes.

The couches were lifted to the top of the pyres, incense and unguents sprinkled over the bodies, wreaths covered them. Then the torch was applied by Maecenas amidst loud lamentations, and as the logs were saturated with pitch they were soon a roaring blaze. But before they fell to ashes Terentia took me away. She said I was too young to gather up the bones and this sad duty was left to our friends.

The litter had followed us for we must pass the Caelian Hill, that swarming quarter of the poor, and Terentia told me the police had prevented the women and children from following the procession into the Campagna. Our curtains fluttered in the breeze and I could see them staring down at us eagerly, but they were silent and respectful. I wondered what it was like to live in those huge tenement blocks called ‘islands’ and sleep and eat in two rooms or perhaps one, although some had a community kitchen and eating-room. But they spent all day and half the summer night in the open and looked contented enough. There were always the games and gladiatorial contests to look forward to or enjoy and hundreds of free seats in all the theatres. That triple brain of Augustus, Maecenas, and Agrippa is the cleverest in the world, so often had I heard my father say that.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, for the litter after passing the Caelian had turned suddenly to the left instead of proceeding directly to the northern end of the Palatine.

‘To the palace,’ said Terentia, smiling. ‘Livia will receive you and express her sympathy.’

‘I don’t like Livia,’ I said rebelliously. ‘Once Mother took me with her to call and she never noticed me except to say when I broke a vase that I was as awkward as most brats. I remember Mother was very angry although for some reason she was fond of that woman.’

Terentia smiled. ‘Livia has her faults, and is none too gracious when in a bad humor, but she is really a great woman; and never forget that in her own way she loved Cornelia. She feels her death bitterly and has vowed vengeance upon those wicked Gauls and their instigators. Do nothing to antagonize her. You will need friends, dear child, for I fear you have enemies, and no one can be so powerful a friend as the Empress—save Maecenas, of course,’ she added proudly.

I shrugged, and muttered: ‘Very well. I’ll put on my best manners, but I can’t like a woman who is said to have poisoned——’ But Terentia interrupted me sharply with the reminder that slaves have ears.

The royal palace is not as imposing as my own house nor half as grand as the palace of Maecenas on the Esquiline, for lack of all ostentation is part of the Augustan plan which fools nobody. Even the furniture is plain but the panelled walls of the atrium are set with medallion portraits of the historic clans from which Octavian and Livia descended, and there is an enormous bust of Julius Caesar on the pedestal with a shrine before it. (And a laurel wreath like the one he always wore, whenever he could find an excuse, to conceal his bald head.)

Livia stood in the reception room between the two courts, and she looked less cold and haughty than usual and as if she had shed a few tears. She even kissed me and as we all sat down held my hand. She really is beautiful with her sculptured face and skin marble-white and regal figure, and I could understand why Augustus, although he runs after every new ankle, is still in love with her and respects her so much that when they are to have a serious conversation he writes out his part of it beforehand. She spoke of the impressive scene in the Forum and I thanked her for the honor she had done my dear parents, and she said graciously it was no more than their due, and afforded her some measure of consolation.

It wasn’t long before I discovered why she had sent for me and was making herself so fascinating. She wanted to hear all about that deed from my own lips for she had heard nothing so far but the bare facts and I suppose she thought the full details would be as interesting as a play by one of the old Greek dramatists. Even Terentia had not asked me a question and when I saw what Livia was leading up to I was so angry I had half a mind to tell her bluntly I couldn’t speak of it. But I caught a warning, nay a peremptory, glance from Terentia and reflected once more that I was no longer a child and might as well regard this as being my first lesson in behavior at court.

So I shut my eyes and began rather stammeringly, but in a few minutes I was back again in that villa and every bit of it tumbled out, one horrid detail after another, and I got so excited I suppose I couldn’t help being dramatic. I even told her how I had fled through the night and reached the villa of Uncle Horace in a panic. The only thing I didn’t tell her was how funny he looked, and that I’ll never tell anyone and am ashamed now that I could see anything ridiculous in that dear kind old man who is more of a patrician than some of my own relations who claim that their ancestors sat in the original hundred of the senate of Romulus. And I hated Livia when I saw her eyes gleam and distend as I told of those flashing knives and all that blood; she may be a good wife and mother and a great consort but one side of her heart is flint and I believed then she would rather put her enemies out of the way with a dagger and see the blood spurt than poison their wine or pay someone else to do it. I prefer Julia who may be a shameless wanton but has a really kind heart, and just as I was thinking that she ran in from behind a curtain and flung herself at my feet and caught my hands and the tears ran down her lovely face as she cried: ‘Oh, you poor child! You poor child! And how brave! How brave! Oh, Livia, how can you torture her? She is too young to live over again that dreadful experience—and after all she has endured this morning—but you get most of your sensations vicariously——’ ‘You mind your own business,’ hissed the Empress. ‘And you have come here uninvited——’ ‘I don’t have to be invited into the public rooms of my father’s palace!’ shrieked Julia, and for a moment I thought those two would go at each other’s hair. I had learned another lesson, however, that even majesties are none too elegant when in a temper, not even Romans. But I liked Julia as much as I hated Livia and squeezed her hand. Then Livia rose to indicate the audience was over, and Terentia led me away, and as we walked along the Clivus Victorias to my house I asked her why the Empress hadn’t poisoned her hated step-daughter before this, and Terentia laughed and said there were a few things even Livia wouldn’t dare. Julia, despite her wild ways, had many friends, especially those of her own age, who were wealthy and powerful, and she was so lavish with the poor that they worshipped her. If anything of that kind happened to her they would storm the palace and tear Livia to pieces. ‘Moreover,’ said Terentia, ‘sooner or later, when Augustus is in Rome for long enough at a time, he will learn of her escapades and threaten her with banishment if she doesn’t behave herself. It would suit Livia’s vengeful spirit more to think of Julia languishing in exile with never a man but her jailors, whom, no doubt, she would seduce between two cockcrows—— What handsome Egyptians!’ she exclaimed, and I saw three men dressed in togas but many shades darker than Romans entering the house opposite mine. ‘Rich merchants, no doubt, here on business, and that house has not been rented for some time. They must intend to remain many months. I hope they have not brought letters to Maecenas, for I do not like Egyptians, although I must confess that some of them are magnificent to look at.’

I saw she was trying to divert my mind and mumbled something polite but took no interest in men who looked more like bronze than flesh and blood.

Uncle Horace and Maecenas came to lunch which was laid in the peristyle. They were arm in arm and those two are so devoted they wouldn’t pass a day apart if Uncle Horace didn’t love his farm even more and needed its peace and leisure to write more Odes and those things he calls Epistles. How handsome Maecenas is with his fine features and brow and dark eyes both piercing and kindly, and even more kingly to look at than Augustus, as why should he not for he is descended from those old Etruscan Kings who once conquered Rome, and Augustus has no royal blood and is only patrician on one side. Maecenas is so tall, so graceful in his regal dignity! And with such an air of indolence one would never guess it concealed the most active mind in Rome, or that he had been a soldier in his time, although when all those wars were on Augustus usually left him here to administer the affairs of the western half of the Empire. He even writes verses and other things, although I believe they are not very good, and I should think he would be satisfied to be the greatest patron of letters in the Roman Empire and of all the poets worth while. The day they publish a new volume he has his scribes make many copies to sell publicly in the Forum and the Campus Martius, and others he sends to his friends. Of course no poet ever made more than wine money out of his books, but they are welcome to dine at his board every night, and unless they have parents to support them or a clerkship he makes them an allowance until he can find someone to take them on as a secretary. Augustus likes to be known as a patron of letters and art but unless prodded by Maecenas he forgets that poets and artists as well as philosophers have to eat. Sometimes he grumbles that he has more secretaries than he knows what to do with and some of them he sent off to Gaul with Agrippa, no doubt hoping they would get killed. But Maecenas will do nothing for the mere versemakers, or poetasters as they are called, and it is quite funny to see them shouting their effusions in the Forum and no one paying any attention.

Maecenas and Uncle Horace talked about the last indecent poem by the young poet Ovid and the latest news from Gaul, and when luncheon was over Terentia led me to my room and told me to take a nap as all the family friends and no doubt many others would come before long to offer their condolences. I should have liked to sleep for hours and grumbled when Erinna awakened me and gave me a bath and dressed me in a long stola of soft white silk. I still had to wear my hair hanging, but she smoothed it and told me I was the most beautiful girl in Rome and I said crossly I knew it but would far rather go back to bed. Then she brought me a glass of wine and after that I felt wide awake and Terentia came for me and I went out into the atrium which was crowded once more. I suppose many were friends and admirers of my dear parents but I am sure most of them came out of nothing but curiosity and I held my head high and never moved a muscle of my face as they said their little pieces of which all I can remember are the words ‘sorry’ and ‘horrible.’

Julius Anthony, son of Mark and his first wife Fulvia was there for he had hurt his leg when thrown from his chariot in the Circus Maximus and couldn’t go with Agrippa to Gaul; the two Ciceros father and son, who live next door; C. Scribonius Libo, a great orator and ugly as a bald eagle; the epic poet Varius, quite elderly now, but looking very proud and important, Virgil—Oh, a lot of others whose names I cannot remember, rich equites as well as patricians and all had brought their wives and daughters if they had any. I noticed there were many young men, very languid and elegant with rings above their knuckles and reeking with perfume, and some not so young, who, Terentia whispered, were single also, for the Romans of today brave the displeasure of Augustus and marry as late as possible. But a great heiress is a bait few can resist, and although all knew I had been engaged to Mallius since I was six years old no doubt they hoped he might fall in battle. (When I said this to Uncle Horace, who kept close to me, he told me sharply I was too young to be cynical and how did I know such things anyhow? I replied that girls know everything and they do.) My dearest friend Atia was there and she merely kissed me and said nothing, and the two Cicero girls, Metella and Phoebe, Rufilla Gracchus, and Drusilla, wife of Belerius, Praefectus of Rome’s seven thousand police—who, she whispered to me, were searching the islands hoping those assassins might be hidden in one or more of those rabbit warrens.

Of course Caelius had forced his way in but he had sense enough to keep his distance, and made himself conspicuous by talking with an air of intimacy to this prominent man and that and looking very much at home. He wore a fine new toga, which he had probably stolen from Daddy’s room, for he had looked rather shabby that morning.

I was wishing they would all go when Terentia whispered excitedly: ‘Look, who comes! This is a great honor, my Pomponia, for Constantia rarely comes to Rome and then only at the bidding of the Empress.’

I looked with much curiosity at the small dowdy pathetic figure for whom all stood aside as she walked slowly up the room and I advanced to meet her. Constantia had married a relative of the Caesars and when he fell in battle she was so overcome with grief that she retired to her country place to mourn him in solitude until she fell in love with a fish which she kept in a pond by itself and made it wear earrings. Of course Rome thought her mad but she looked gentle and sane to me as she took my hand and told me quietly how she had loved my mother who had been a friend of her girlhood and how sad it was to lose those we loved, but that I was young and would soon have a husband to comfort me, and, she hoped, many children (I only wanted two), and that I must carry on the great and honorable traditions of my house. Then she kissed Terentia, and Maecenas took her hand and led her forth, and somehow she had given me more comfort than the others, who none of them seemed to have suffered much, but Romans look hard and proud and perhaps I seemed so to them.

At last they were all gone and Maecenas, Uncle Horace, and Terentia went with me into the private part of the house to discuss my ‘immediate future.’ We sat in the colonnade on the shady side of the peristyle and slaves brought us cake and wine and I was glad to say nothing for a time and listen to the splashing of the fountain and watch the gold fish darting through the sparkling water and wonder how they would look with earrings.

But they soon began to talk. Maecenas and Terentia wanted me to go with them to Ostia whither they would return that night, but I shook my head so hard my hair would have fallen down had it been dressed. Their country houses were always full of guests and I was in no mood for company.

‘Besides,’ I said, ‘I want to send word to Mallius, and I don’t wish to leave Rome until those Gauls are caught and punished. Drusilla told me the police are searching the islands, thinking it likely they are hiding there, and I know every one by sight and could identify them if caught.’

But Maecenas drew his brows together and looked very black, ‘I am afraid they have escaped,’ he said. ‘A ship is missing from the port, and a man has been found who saw a large number of ruffianly-looking men sneak down to the harbor about midnight although he was too frightened to follow them. But I have no doubt they were those Gauls, and they may be half-way to the Spains or Africa by this time.’

‘Then they are safe, those wretches who slew my parents and never will be punished!’ I sprang to my feet and Maecenas must have thought I was going to attack him for he moved his chair back a trifle. ‘My dear Pomponia,’ he said, ‘they will be caught in time, for two ships have gone in pursuit, one toward the Spains, the other toward the African shore. Be sure we shall never rest until they are caught and tortured, not only for their foul deed but because we must learn who incited them and the reasons thereof. Horace has told you what I suspect. Meanwhile spies here are doing their stealthy work.’

‘If they are watching Caelius,’ I said, ‘they’ll have hard work catching him for he is as cunning as a fox. But if they do I hope you crucify him.’

‘A patrician may not be crucified, but be sure he will be punished if he is proven guilty. But meanwhile he will give us trouble. You have asked me nothing of your father’s will, my dear, but I and Horace are your guardians, and no doubt Caelius will go to law and try to upset it as he and Lydia are your nearest relatives. I am sure I can circumvent him, although there may be tiresome litigation. He will have a case, no doubt of that, and we have lawyers in Rome who would take a worse one for a big fee. Unfortunately he will have sympathizers of his own class, for he is popular, and many think that as Caesar Augustus could take into his household the children of Mark Anthony and Cleopatra he could have restored the estates of one whose house, at least, has been faithful to the Caesars. I have told Octavian he was inconsistent in giving the man his life and keeping his estates, but in some things he is very wilful; and, as you know, he detests Caelius personally and will receive neither him nor Lydia at court. Your father would have settled upon him the necessary sum to enable him to take his place in the Senate once more but Augustus forbade it. Another motive for hatred; but it is not his hatred I suspect but his ambition. Meanwhile you must be closely guarded, for if he tried once to put you out of the way he will not hesitate to try again, and there are murderers for hire. For that reason I would have you live under my roof until Mallius returns and you can marry. He will know what has happened soon enough, for I sent a messenger at once to Agrippa.’

‘I wish to stay here in my own house,’ I said stubbornly. ‘I must buy other slaves and send them to the farm. The fruit and olives must be harvested and the vines tended. I’ll never go there again and the villa shall be closed and sealed but the farm must be cared for. My father would have wished it.’

Maecenas laughed. ‘I had no idea that one so young and beautiful would be so practical (it was the first excuse that had popped into my head). One of my agents shall go tomorrow to the Temple of Castor and buy new slaves and send them with a bailiff to the farm—of course they murdered your old one. That was one of your father’s finest estates although not the most ornamental. But remain alone here in Rome, Pomponia—that you shall not. I am your legal guardian and I forbid it. I know that Horace agrees with me.’

He looked as if he meant it and when had Maecenas ever failed to have his own way? I felt helpless and angry, but Uncle Horace warded off another outburst by asking the extent of my fortune and I suddenly felt some curiosity myself.

‘I have only a general idea,’ said Maecenas. ‘Besides this house and four or five villas, there are several islands, which bring in a good revenue when it can be collected or they don’t burn down. But there are thousands of acres of sheep runs in the south, at least one large wool-mill and one tile and brick factory, many shares in contracting firms, and Proculus told me yesterday there is a large sum in his bank loaned at a high rate of interest. Then there is the racing stud at the farm in Etruria, and large quantities of oil are made on one somewhere else which is devoted entirely to olives. Probably you do not know, Pomponia, but no one of the Senatorial Order may engage in business, so their more sordid affairs are in the discreet hands of certain men of the Equestrian Order, certain firms that are both enterprising and trustworthy. All that need not concern you. Quintus left an income in trust for Caelius and Lydia, but with the exception of a legacy to Augustus, you are sole heir to that large estate, and although the death duties will be heavy, perhaps you will realize why you must be careful: it is a prize worth murdering for, and you alone stand between that fortune and a man whom I believe to be a thorough-paced villain, although many will not agree with me. He is an adroit flatterer and is invited to many tables because he is entertaining and apparently good-humored. He is certainly intelligent.’

I was somewhat awed at being the mistress of so much wealth but determined that when I was older and married I’d not be dictated to by any man. It is no longer the custom for a girl’s fortune to be handed over to her husband, and besides Mallius has one of his own. His parents died when he was very young and he was the ward of my father until he came of age. I forgot all that wealth as I remembered the day he put on the toga virilis and looked so proud and handsome and we were all so proud of him as we walked with him in the Forum where all Rome might see that he was now a man, and when we came home I threw my arms round his neck and told him I hadn’t wanted to marry anyone before but now I did. But alas I was only twelve and he sixteen and he had to go to the Greek colony of Apollonia in Illyria to study philosophy and what-not, and then pass two more years in the army——

‘What are you thinking of, my Pomponia?’ asked Uncle Horace. ‘Your eyes are far away and shining.’ And then I remembered my parents who were but three days dead and would have burst into tears if I had not made up my mind to be a woman and not a child in public, and I went over and sat beside him. ‘I am going back with Uncle Horace for a time,’ I said, ‘for it is quiet there and I can think about the future.’ Then I remembered my manners and thanked Maecenas and Terentia for their kind invitation and said I would love to visit them later, but after Uncle Horace got tired of me—and he was looking rather dismayed, poor old bachelor,—they must find me some nice elderly patrician widow of broken fortunes who would live with me, and they could keep a guard at my house back and front. And after more arguments and talk talk talk so it was arranged. Of course it would never do for Caelius to know where I was so Terentia departed to spread the news I was going with them to Ostia, and Horace—and Virgil—would set out at nightfall in a carriage for all the world to see that cared to look and when it was quite dark I would join them in my own carriage, which could come to the door at that hour, and my faithful Polos would drive me. (Polos says I write like wild horses stampeding down hill and I ask him what about Thucydides and I write the way it comes out so that’s that.)

It was late when we reached the villa and they wanted me to go straight to bed, fussing over me like two old hens, but I had slept in the carriage and took each by the arm and made them take a walk in the garden for they needed limbering up after that long drive. So they grumbled but paced up and down, Uncle Horace wiping his eye and Virgil wheezing and I thought of Augustus. Virgil was tall and dark and is said to have been handsome in his youth when he came to Rome from Mantua, but he had to live on milk now and was pale and stooped. But he was good and kind like Uncle Horace and I loved him, and when he heard the nightingales singing he and Uncle Horace began to recite their own poetry and then had an argument as to whether birds sang more sweetly in the north or the south and who were the best pastoral poets after themselves, and forgot all about me and I forgot them. Why was not Mallius with me listening to those love songs more liquid and sweet than any poetry, under the big golden stars and a crescent moon impaled on the tip of a pine tree high above? Even the owls hooting made me homesick for our villa on the Bay of Naples where I had last said good-bye to Mallius. We had managed to evade my parents who fortunately had invited a large company for the betrothal ceremony, and walk alone in the gardens heavy with the scent of roses like these, and he had put his arms round me and kissed me and I had made him promise to come back soon and marry me; and he said he hoped it would not be long because the trouble in Gaul was only one of the usual revolts incited by the Druids, those funny old men with long white beards and done up in sail-cloth, who are supposed to be priests but are more interested in politics. Then he kissed me many times and I had a wonderful feeling and now here I was walking in the scented starlight between two old poets, famous but what of that? Even if everybody did say they would be read for thousands of years to come when young lovers were dust? Mallius and I were more alive than they were now and that was all that mattered and young love is worth all the Odes and Epics in the Roman Empire which extends half over the world. Suddenly I dropped their arms and ran into the house and flung myself on my bed and wept for Mallius who is tall and straight and dark and looks like Mars in his armor and would have scorned to wear rings on his knuckles like those dandies who were hoping he was dead this minute, hacked to pieces by some Gaul. And that might be and I almost screamed as I thought of it, but no the gods would never be as cruel as that and I knew he was alive and thinking of me in his tent or sound asleep and dreaming of me.

And then I remembered I should be weeping for my dear father and mother who had loved me so much, but they now seemed far away. I could only think of them as ashes in two glass urns, not full of life and happiness and smiling at my vagaries. Father believed in the Epicurean philosophy and had taught me to love life but not to fear death, but if I didn’t fear I could hate it for it had snatched my beloved parents away into the realm of shades. I wished they were embalmed like the Egyptians for then I could have gone often to look at them and pretended they were asleep, but what can you make of urns full of ashes and bones, and it terrified me when I realized I could hardly recall their dear kind faces and voices. There was nothing to do but turn my own face to the future and think of vengeance on their murderers and a lifetime of happiness with my husband, and after a while I undressed and fell asleep.

The next morning Uncle Horace before he went up to his hut on the hillside to polish off his latest Ode until each line was a shining spear (Daddy) set me the task of translating the Antigone to keep my mind occupied—a nice cheerful story to select and just like a bachelor. I told him I preferred something more modern, but he said I must never waver in my taste for Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides as they were the greatest dramatists the world will ever know; and what I should like to know is how he can see so far ahead, and if there have been great dramatists once why there shouldn’t be again. But I have learned better than to argue with old people who are set in their ideas, and went to work on Antigone although I knew it would make me want to cry. I did translate a page or two but idled more for I had gone out to sit under an ilex tree and the air was so sweet with roses and the scent of pines; and the cascade Uncle Horace loves and has written about, his Fons Bandusiae, and all the other little springs on the hillsides, sang like birds. And I didn’t care much what had happened to another girl who had lived hundreds of years ago if she had lived at all—and alas will some one say that about me hundreds of years hence, I who am so alive today? Who, in the ages to come, if they excavate the old villa of the great Roman poet as they have excavated buried villas in Etruria will know that a girl in a white linen stola and making marks with a stilus and as beautiful as a golden peacock, to quote Uncle Horace, once sat under that tree and dreamed of her lover and had suffered a more terrible tragedy than Antigone? Oh yes, Epicurus was right. Let us love life while we have it for it flits away soon enough.

After lunch Virgil read me scenes from the Æneid, and he read so beautifully in a low musical voice that I forget everything else except to wish he looked more like a great romantic poet, but at least he didn’t wheeze, and as I could no longer sit on his knee as I did when a child, I sat on a cushion at his feet and leaned my head against his knee and worshipped him and after a while fell asleep.

‘Pomponia! Pomponia! Pomponia!’ Mallius far away in his tent in Gaul was murmuring my name and it was wafted on some friendly breeze down all those long miles and into my sleeping brain although I was not even dreaming of him. ‘Pomponia! Pomponia! Pomponia!’ It went on and on and at last it so teased my eardrums that I tossed my head about and awakened. And then I still heard it and it didn’t sound as far away as Gaul and I suddenly sat up in bed with my mouth wide open and my eyes popping out, for how could one be awake and still dream. No! No! ‘Pomponia! Pomponia!’ I snatched up a mantle and ran to the window and there was a man moving back and forth among the trees, and I feared a trap. ‘Who is it? Who dares?’ I asked in my haughtiest voice, and then he called my name again and ran to my window and dark as it was I felt that it was indeed Mallius and no other. The window was so narrow I could only put my hand through but he kissed it all over as I babbled his name.

‘Come out,’ he whispered. ‘I must talk with you at once. I dare not come by day as no one must know I am in Italy.’

I was dressed in a trice. The guest rooms are in a wing, but Virgil slept on the other side of the house near Uncle Horace lest he be ill in the night. If only they were not both awake, Uncle Horace working over him or getting him a cup of milk! But all was quiet and I slipped out by a side door near my room and ran straight into Mallius’ arms and this wicked world always heaving inside and out was translated into the Elysian Fields the Greeks still believe in. After a few moments he led me away from the house and we sat down on the grass by a stream and listened to the nightingales and the murmuring fountains just as I had longed for two nights ago, and I was in such a state of bliss that I never thought to ask him why he had come from Gaul and how he had found out where I was but he soon told me.

A young relative of Agrippa had slipped out of Rome by night and sped to the army’s headquarters in Lugdunum and told of a strange rumor running about of a threatened uprising in Rome. It was whispered in the wine-shops that Augustus was about to abolish the corn dole and deport all the unemployed to the provinces where they could find work or starve; he was tired of an overcrowded city and of supporting plebs whose votes were no longer of any account. Of course this was sheer nonsense for Augustus was too clever even to think of such a thing, but someone with a dark purpose of his own had started the story in order to inflame the plebs who would rather die than live elsewhere than in Rome. If they could be made to believe in such a menace it would be easy enough to incite them to revolution, and especially if they were promised security for all time and even more games and races and coarse farces and gladiatorial combats and men fighting wild beasts.

But who were the conspirators behind this fabulous story the messenger had been unable to discover, although, said Mallius, it was well known that certain members of the Senate descended from other patrician senators whose word had once been all-powerful in the state, were galled and restive because they now had less power than the Emperor’s bodyguard, for all the smooth flattering words of their master and his pretence of consulting them and asking their advice. There was but one will now in the great Roman Empire and they might as well have sat at home and twiddled their thumbs. That Caesar Augustus had enforced the Pax Romana and given peace and prosperity from Ocean to the Euphrates, save for an occasional revolt, meant nothing to them. They longed to have the Republic back, not because they cared anything about political ideals, but in a Republic ambitious men might rise to individual power and glory as they never could under the falsely soft hand of Caesar Augustus. Think how Julius Caesar had risen to be an all-powerful Dictator on the ruins of the Republic, and what could happen once might happen again. Many thought themselves quite as much of a genius as that great man, and some of them had stabbed him not so much to defend what was still a Republic in name only as from envy and hatred. They had hardly needed Brutus and Cassius to incite them.

Mallius had not heard of the murder of my parents until his arrival in Rome. Diomedes had told him, for he had gone to our town house to ask at which of the villas we were spending the summer. Agrippa had bidden him seek out Maecenas and my father, whom he could trust to run the rumor to earth, and of course he would come first to us so that he could see me at once. The revolt of the Druids had been suppressed but danger was threatening on the German frontier and Agrippa had been about to march when the messenger came. He would remain in Lugdunum until Mallius returned.

When Mallius heard what had happened to those two whom he had loved almost as much as I did he was overcome with horror and grief, but had borrowed a fresh horse from our stables and come straight to the Digentia Valley, where luckily he had been a guest as a boy and we had both tormented Uncle Horace with our pranks. I had told him I was resigned and looked only to the future and vengeance, and now I told him of our suspicions of Caelius. But he said it was more likely Caelius was the tool of a stronger character, and although he may have instigated the uprising of the slaves in order to gain control of my father’s wealth, and no doubt thought so well of himself that he would aspire to a consulship and a great position in Rome, he had neither the force of character nor the initiative to engineer a conspiracy on so vast a scale. Maecenas was older than Mallius and more experienced and wiser, but I didn’t say that aloud, only that Caelius might be deeper than we thought for he was sly and patient, moreover had the gift of eloquence and had studied in his youth to perfect it. I reminded Mallius that years ago he had made the funeral oration over his elder brother who had been esteemed by all and elected twice a consul, and that oration had been talked about for weeks, and the Emperor had forbidden him ever to speak in public again.

When Mallius asked me where he lived I told him that like a few others of the broken-down aristocracy he had a flat in one of the best of the islands on a spur of the Esquiline below the great palace of Maecenas where he was never invited. My father had given him three flats rent-free and thrown into one, but he was always hinting he should have one of our villas at least. He was known to frequent the wine-shops on the Caelian and Aventine and was popular with the plebs on account of the free and easy manner he could assume when he chose, although he would have liked to be as haughty as any of the great and wealthy patricians, or even equites, and with a throng of parasites following him in public. But he craved importance and could get it nowhere else, although—this thought came to me suddenly—he for long may have had something like this in mind; that would be a reason for patronizing the wine-shops of the plebs, so unbecoming in one of his birth. Mallius was very thoughtful when I had finished and said he was glad for more reasons than one that he had lost no time in seeking me out.

‘What is this I see?’ cried a voice of thunder, and Mallius and I sprang apart and stumbled to our feet. There stood Uncle Horace like a figure of wrath and by no means funny for he had put on a toga and taken off his nightcap, and he looked almost majestic in his high indignation. ‘You, Pomponia,’ he went on in the same awesome tones that made me think it a pity he couldn’t be a senator, being only the son of a freedman, ‘you, the daughter of Quintus Pomponidus Taurus stealing out to a midnight tryst with a lover like any kitchen wench——’ But this made me furious and I stamped my foot and shrieked: ‘Don’t you say such things to me! What does an old bachelor know of girls anyhow to think I would disgrace my house? Can’t you see who this is?’ And then Mallius stepped forward and Uncle Horace nearly staggered.

‘You—you—’ he stuttered. ‘Why are you not with Agrippa in Gaul? Why are you here?’ And then he was angry again. ‘Why do you steal to my house in the night and entice this girl out to meet you instead of coming like a gentleman by day and asking my permission to see her?’

Poor Mallius was so taken aback by this outburst of our mild and amiable Horace—known in Rome as ‘the genial bachelor!’—that he stammered like a school-boy and I had to tell why he had come. Uncle Horace’s anger gave way to alarm, but he remembered it behooved him to be the stern guardian, and said coldly: ‘There was no reason for this romantic folly. Suppose one of the farm slaves had seen you? It would have been all over the valley tomorrow and spread farther still. A fine joke it would be on the Villa Horace, sacred to the Muses! You knew quite well you could trust me and that Maecenas would tell me anyhow. Even if I am a poet I am a man-of-the-world, and the Emperor himself respects my judgment. Come into the house. My feet are cold.’

He stalked on ahead and we followed meekly and he led us into the library and lit candles and then went to find Mallius something to eat, for no anger could quench his hospitality. As Mallius attacked the simple fare with a fine appetite, Uncle Horace, who had seated himself magisterially in his largest chair, looked at me sternly. ‘You go to bed,’ he said. ‘Mallius and I shall talk for hours and little girls need their sleep. You have lost quite enough as it is.’ ‘There’s only one way you can make me go to my room,’ I said, dancing up and down in front of him, ‘and that is to carry me. Want to try it?’ I heard Mallius suppress a chuckle, but Uncle Horace made himself look even more dignified and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘I have no intention of engaging in an unseemly struggle. Nor is any man a match for a headstrong girl.’ Then I ran over and kissed him and rumpled his hair and he forgave me, only when I tried to sit on his knee he pushed me off saying he didn’t want his old bones cracked, so I sat on the floor at his feet and asked him how he knew I was out of the house.

‘I had gone to the kitchen to heat milk for Publius, who could not sleep,’ he said, ‘and when I came back I saw that the side door was open. Then in alarm I went to your room and found that door open too and the bed empty. I nearly dropped the milk and hardly know how I managed to give it to Publius and then make an excuse to leave him. I went to my room and threw on the first thing that came to hand and ran out to see if anyone were stirring in the grounds, or if you were there—perhaps slain like your parents!’ And then for the first time I felt repentant. Poor Uncle Horace. How glad he would be to get rid of me.

He and Mallius talked for a long time and looked very grave and didn’t know whether to believe Caelius was at the bottom of all this or not. At cockcrow they set out for Ostia, Mallius disguised as a slave. Uncle Horace ordered me not to go forth until their return but I slipped a note into Mallius’ hand and as soon as they had had time to get well beyond the valley I roused Polos and told him to bring the carriage and drive me to Rome. If there was to be any excitement I wanted to be in the midst of it, not tucked away in a Sabine valley, and Mallius was sure to be in Rome most of the time. Uncle Horace had left a message with Davus for Virgil, who was now asleep, and of course I paid no attention to the remonstrances of a slave. Uncle Horace intended to hire a carriage in Tibur to take them to Ostia more quickly, so there was no danger of passing him. Thank the gods he had never thought of my carriage or I should have had to go to Rome on mule-back, or be stared at in Tibur.

We made a detour to the Capena Gate and Polos hired a litter. As I covered my face with a fold of my palla not even the runners would guess who I was and no doubt thought I was some married woman whose husband was with the Emperor or Agrippa and had been out all night with a lover. Poor Polos! He left the carriage in one of the public stables and walked beside the litter and we let the runners take us past the House of the Vestals and then dismissed them and turned back on foot. Polos drew a long breath of relief and wiped his brow when we were safely in the house. Poor man he is no longer young, being all of thirty-six, and as he spends most of his time in the library when he isn’t forced to be with me, writing a book on Empedocles, and has malaria off and on, he isn’t very strong. He is tall and thin with a long white face and sad eyes. He was very patient with me and taught me to love the Greek poets and historians—Thucydides is my favorite—and the Dialogues of Plato and even some of Aristotle, so that I know more than most girls; and I think he was long since resigned to his fate for we never treated him like a slave and he could have sat with us at table when there was no company but preferred to have that time to himself, and his meals were taken to the library where he could read and write as he ate. It is said the Greeks despise the Romans who have conquered and enthralled them as much as the Romans despise the Greeks for their intellectual and artistic ideals and indifference to law and politics, but it was not so with us, and Polos had wept over the death of Pomponidus and Cornelia until his eyes were red and swollen, and it had consoled him a little when he was permitted to help gather up the ashes and bones and put them in the urns.

I wondered I could ever have doubted his fidelity or that of my other Greek slaves who were so excited and happy when I came in. Diomedes told me that Caelius had come twice to the house and asked to read in the library; but that faithful steward would not permit him to pass the portals, saying he had instructions from Maecenas to let no one enter; and he had his own opinion of that man I have no doubt, although he merely lowered an eyelash at Polos and glanced at the big chest in the atrium which is always kept full of money. Caelius went away shouting that he would report him for impertinence, but had made no attempt to enter the house at night. I wished that he had for there were always slaves on watch and he might have been taken for a robber and got a knife in his ribs. I’d have liked to put one there myself, but he’d never give me the chance, and although I could invite him to dinner and poison his wine I’d never stoop to that for I think poisoning is low.

I had made up my mind it was time to have an understanding with Polos, who had been my tutor for ten years and used to telling me to do this and that. So I asked him to follow me into the library—although that beautiful great room almost made me cry, so proud had my father been of its hundreds of books and its busts of Homer, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Thucydides, and one of Pericles whom my father so much admired, and Demosthenes, and Alcibiades, who was the naughty boy of the Golden Age and must have had something of the fascination and charm of Julius Caesar himself, but was not quite clever enough; or, as Polos, who has high moral ideals, says, his downfall was due to defects of character. Well, he’s dead now, anyway. There is only one private library in Rome that is more splendid and that of course is on the Esquiline Hill in the palace of Maecenas.

I thought I would look more majestic standing, so I didn’t ask him to sit down but drew myself up until I felt very tall, and looked my old tutor straight in the eyes. ‘Polos,’ I said, ‘I shall not be under your tutelage any more, for although you may think I have yet much to learn I am now more interested in life than in books, and am the head of my house and have great responsibilities. You may have all your time to write your book, and when it is finished I shall see that it is published and that the scribes make many copies, and if you like you may take a vacation and visit your family in Athens.’

I expected him to put up an argument as a matter of duty but he did not and I knew by the sudden light in his tired eyes that he was quite resigned to be rid of the task of making me translate pages of Greek every day and improving my accent; and to be free to write all day and all night if he chose. He bent down and kissed my hand.

‘Thank you, dear Mistress,’ he said, and as that was what he had called Mummy whom he so loved, I nearly cried, but of course I did not. ‘I shall never leave you until you are married and under the protection of Mallius. All I ask is that you do not go abroad without me and that you do not leave the house at all at present.’

I promised him that, and then as I turned to leave the room I thought: Why do I do things by halves? And I turned back and said: ‘I shall give you your freedom, Polos, as soon as it is in my power to do so. I am sure my father meant to free you when I married, but as he had no boy he wanted me to be educated like one and there was nobody he knew of to take your place, and he feared you would go straight to Greece. And be sure you shall not go without many sacks of silver and two slaves of your own and the toga of a freedman,’ I went on, feeling more generous every moment and tasting the sweets of power. And then I saw his eyes flash for the first time in all the years I had known him, and his face flushed, and he threw back his head, but all he said was: ‘Ah! Ah! . . . thank you again, Pom——dear Mistress.’ Then as I was getting tired of feeling so grand I laughed and said: ‘As you’ve called me Pomponia for ten years and slapped me more than once and once turned me over your knee and spanked me, you might as well keep on.’ And I ran out of the room.

Then I sent Erinna to see if Atia were still in Rome and she came running in breathless with excitement. Atia is not beautiful but her little face is mobile and animated and she has sparkling brown eyes and curly hair which she wears simply and not pulled out over a wire cage like most of the fashionable Roman ladies. We six, Atia, Metella, Phoebe, Rufilla, Drusilla, and myself, had vowed we would dress our hair to suit ourselves, and we like to be different anyhow. Atia has been married nearly two years and has a baby and her husband is Praefectus of the three cohorts of Pretorian Guards stationed inside the walls, and she is happy that he didn’t have to go off with the Emperor or Agrippa, but must remain at home to keep peace in the city; for although the police are many and put out fires beside patrolling the streets at night, in case of trouble a mob would be much more awed by an Imperial Guard. And Calvus, who has had fighting enough, is well content. All Roman marriages are arranged and girls never consulted, although the man may refuse or back out if he chooses, and many marriages are little more than formal partnerships, but some of them are happy and Atia’s is one. Drusilla is happy too, and she is as fortunate as Atia, for the Praefectus of Police cannot leave Rome. The other girls are all engaged and will marry as soon as the armies return from Gaul and the East and don’t know whether they will be happy or not, although Metella is in love with Vinicius, who had written verses to her and once kissed her behind a pillar, but the others will be married anyhow, which will be exciting enough. We are not brought up to think about love but we do all the same.

After we had talked both at once for a time, for we had not met for two months as her villa is in the Alban Hills and she had only come to Rome for the funeral and stayed on in the hope of seeing me, hot as it was, she suddenly exclaimed: ‘Oh, I forgot——’ She put her hand under her pretty green silk palla and I heard something rattle, but she hesitated and glanced away and muttered; ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t——’ But I was fired with curiosity and cried: ‘What have you there?’ and thrust my hand under her palla and brought out a large folded parchment. ‘It—it—’ stammered Atia, ‘it is the news-sheet that was published as soon as Quintus Horace Flaccus brought the terrible news to Rome. It was pasted all over the Forum and Calvus says you never heard such shouting and excitement. All business was forgotten in the Forum, and even the bankers, and lawyers that were trying cases, ran out and surged round the columns to read for themselves. Calvus brought this home, and I thought you should read it—but now I don’t know!’

I had spread the sheet out and was reading the large letters written by the public scribe. The horrid word MURDER was sprawled across the top, and then followed an account some of which was true and some exaggeration, although I hadn’t thought that would be possible. The house had been set on fire and the bodies of my parents burned to cinders, and I had killed three of the murderers and then escaped on a horse pursued by six of them but got away and was now desperately ill at the villa of the great poet, Q. Horace Flaccus.

I threw it on the floor and exclaimed: ‘I don’t believe any people in the world are as avid for sensation as the Romans, and no matter how horrified and indignant, no doubt they were secretly delighted, for Augustus keeps such strict order they haven’t the constant excitements they had in the last years of the Republic. Polos says that is why Augustus gives them so many gladiatorial contests and fights with wild beasts and other coarse and violent amusements that no Greek would attend, and although I never thought about it before, now I believe him. How disappointed they must have been to see me in the funeral procession looking quite well, and haughty and remote. I did look haughty and remote, didn’t I, Atia?’

‘You did, darling, and we all admired you for you looked a patrician of the old breed, not like some of those women whose husbands have made vast fortunes and we are forced to receive in our houses for business reasons; and some of them even senators if they have found favor with Augustus. Calvus says he thinks more of the middle-class than of patricians or plebs. Most of those women would have been crying the paint off their faces, unless they had been glad to be rid of a husband without the bother of divorce, and they couldn’t have hidden that either.’

Then in a roundabout way I tried to find out if Calvus had heard anything of the threatened uprising, but if he had he had told her nothing or I should have had no trouble getting it out of her for she loves to talk, so I changed the subject for never should any man say I couldn’t keep a secret because I was a woman. I asked her if she knew of any nice old lady who would come and be my duenna, so that Maecenas and Horace would have one excuse the less to prevent me from living in my own house, and she clapped her hands and said that an old friend of her family, nearly fifty, who had been a great lady in Rome until her husband spent all his money on public festivals and Syrian courtesans and dicing and then killed himself leaving his wife with nothing,—and was living with a daughter with whom she didn’t get on very well, would more likely than not be glad of such a position and to live luxuriously once more. I told Atia to go to her at once and bring her back if possible for I wanted her installed before my guardians descended upon me. Just an hour later she came in, a tall dignified old lady with large Roman features that once must have been severe, but now her face had little expression for her spirit had long since been broken. But she was just what I wanted for she looked imposing and aristocratic and would give me no trouble. Her name is Volumnia Marcia and as all old Roman families are more or less related I suggested that I call her aunt in public and she agreed. I gave her the large guest room next to mine and told her to rest for a while, and then I called Diomedes and made him get some money from the chest and Atia went out into the Flaminian Way and bought some handsome clothes for my new aunt. Then Atia went home as she was returning to her villa that night but promised to come to Rome every few days if I were determined to remain here, which I was despite the heat. Calvus, she said, would insist upon placing a guard about the house now that I was in it, and to this I consented, for once more Maecenas and Uncle Horace would have less to argue about.

I walked up and down the atrium when I was alone for I was accustomed to exercise, and wished I could take Erinna and go out and walk over every one of the seven hills, but I had given my word to Polos, and besides I wanted to show my guardians how prudent I could be. Then the thought suddenly came to me that I must leave this beautiful and beloved house when I married and I made up my mind I would persuade Mallius to live here whether it were the custom or not. His house on the Quirinal was badly out of repair as it had not been lived in since his father had been killed by a wild boar while hunting and his mother had died of grief soon after, and like me he was an only child.

This hall is one of the largest and finest in Rome, and the house is far older than the palace of Augustus which is nothing but three or four ordinary houses thrown together, while as for that of Maecenas, he built it to please the Emperor and redeem the top of the Esquiline which was an old cemetery of the poor where bones lay rotting on the surface and it was a disgrace to Rome and an eyesore to Augustus who wanted Rome to be as beautiful as it was peaceful and prosperous. So now Maecenas, who does nothing by halves, has the most magnificent palace and the finest private gardens in the city, and the old necropolis would have been forgotten but for Uncle Horace whose poems about it make me shiver.

Of course the house built by my more remote ancestors had been destroyed when the Gauls sacked Rome, but that was nearly three hundred years ago, and this one, built soon after, is of the yellowish-gray tufa used for the battlements and public buildings and stuccoed, but my grandfather had it faced with marble, so now it is beautiful outside as well as in which cannot be said for most of the private houses of Rome. This atrium is covered with panels from top to bottom, each painted, some with gods and sylvan scenes, and many set with medallion portraits of my ancestors, and in niches are statues that once adorned Athens and Alexandria. I’d never leave that house, never, never. If I did and it was closed and sealed Augustus might express a polite wish to buy it for one of his favorites and a royal wish is a command, but if I lived there he was not likely to think of it.

There are flowering shrubs but not so many as in the peristyle, which is a lovely inner garden, but also has paintings on the walls of the colonnades and statues between the pillars and a fountain in the middle that throws a column of spray as high as the roof. But here in the atrium there are many portrait busts and the most notable are those of Julius Caesar and Augustus, crowned with bay leaves, and standing on high pedestals on either side of the steps leading up to the reception room. Over the entrance is a bust of Father’s ‘genius.’ He had laughed and said that sort of thing was superstition, but his father’s had been there before him, to shed its beneficence upon the house, and he had sat to one of the Greek sculptors and had it put up there to please Mother, who cherished the old beliefs and prayed to the gods. Father, like other intellectuals,^[1] did not, although he went through the forms in public like every one else, for Augustus was determined to revive the old religious spirit nearly destroyed during the civil wars and other wars and disasters that had preceded them; and as a revival of love for their gods and belief in them would make the great mass of common people more easy to manage, Augustus expected all his patricians and equites to help him, and indeed if they did not they were likely to find themselves lamenting their fate in some distant province; so they all turned out and made a tremendous fuss over the gods at the different Temples on occasions great and small. I hadn’t thought much about gods one way or another except to enjoy the magnificent ceremonies at the shrines of Jupiter, Juno, Saturn and others, but had prayed to them and made offerings to our household gods because Mother bade me, but never would I again, for they were either indifferent to our welfare, or ungrateful, or didn’t exist at all. I looked over at the hearth and scowled. Let the servants make offerings there if they chose, but not I.

And that made me think of vengeance again and I wondered if those Gauls had been overtaken and wished I were a man that I could have gone in pursuit of them myself. And just then I heard the voices of Caelius and Lydia in the vestibule demanding admittance, and I thought, Why not? I knew I should have to make a mighty effort in the presence of the man I believed to have caused the death of my parents, but even Polos had reminded me when I flew into one of my tantrums, that self-control was a Roman quality, and if I had exercised it at the funeral and reception I could do so now. I must see them sooner or later, and Lydia, although by no means a fool with her scheming mind, loves to hear herself talk and might let something fall that I could pass on to Mallius. So I went to the entrance of the passage and called to the doorkeeper to admit them and then ran up to the more formal parlor where I stood, hoping I looked as tall and imposing as Livia when she received me. They stalked in, trying to conceal their fury by a mien of haughty indignation, for they were followed by two Pretorians who stationed themselves on either side of the entrance and brought their spears down on the mosaic floor with a clang.

Caelius wore his toga, hot as it was, for he never showed himself abroad without it, so ashamed he was there was no broad purple stripe on his tunic, he who by birth had a right to a seat in the Senate House and might have aspired to a consulship. Lydia’s dyed hair was seven different shades of red and yellow, and even green in some places, and stretched out over those wires looked like a bird’s nest that had been blown across the Campagna. She wore a stola of peacock blue silk with a deep flounce, and many wondered how she always managed to dress in the height of the fashion, buying all her clothes in the Flaminian Way, but I had overheard much gossip when Mother’s friends visited her, and knew others didn’t wonder at all but said she was still pretty enough to find some man to pay her bills, and many bachelors would rather do that than marry and be nagged at, and were too fastidious to take up with dancing-girls and other trollops. She was younger than Father or even Caelius, about thirty-six, and I suppose all the stuff she puts on her face makes her look younger still.

I did not give them my hand, much less my cheek, but asked them to sit down and myself took Daddy’s high-back chair, not saying a word but leaving it to them to open the conversation. Caelius, swallowing hard, was too angry to speak, but Lydia broke out: ‘I must say, Pomponia, you have treated us very badly. It is very strange you didn’t come straight to us, your only near relatives, after that awful thing happened, instead of running to that old poet, whom I have cause to hate for he always looks down his nose at me, he the son of a freedman, even if he is a poet, although why all Rome should run after him when he never tells interesting stories in his poetry as other poets do I can’t see. But that is not what I came to say, only those soldiers following us in have so upset me I hardly know what I am talking about. But surely you know how improper it was to go alone to the house of a bachelor, at night besides, and calling him uncle doesn’t make him one, whereas we are your relatives by law.’

‘I care nothing about law,’ I said coldly, ‘and would adopt other uncles if I chose, only I am quite satisfied with Uncle Horace, and it was to him my murdered parents would have wished me to go and to no one else. Why are you such a hypocrite, Lydia? You never could endure me nor I you, and now that my parents who were so kind to you from a sense of duty are dead, there is no need for us to meet——’

Lydia interrupted me with a look of triumph. ‘But you cannot live alone! All Rome would be scandalized, and I notice you didn’t stay long with Terentia. It is I—I and Caelius who must live with you here, and as soon as word was brought to us that you had been seen going into your house with Polos, I ordered our things to be packed and we shall move in before nightfall. All Rome will expect it, and even the Emperor, if he were here, could have nothing to say, however he may hate us. Isn’t he always talking about the sacredness of family ties and all that?’

So that was what they had come for! It was a bold stroke and I rather admired their cleverness, but I merely laughed. ‘Oh no, dear Lydia, I could not think of making you live in the same house with me. That would be cruel. Moreover, I have already provided myself with a duenna and one of whom all Rome, if it worries about me at all, will approve. Volumnia Marcia Rutilus, widow of L. Curtius Balbus, who had been a consul in his best days and a senator until he lost his fortune. A most respectable old lady who will live here and go everywhere with me in public. She is taking a nap in the guest room next to mine or I should bring her forth and introduce her.’

I shifted my eyes from her white furious face to that of Caelius, which was quite as revealing in its disconcertion and wrath. Their ‘Roman self-control’ seemed to have deserted them, but no doubt Polos would say that was because they had deteriorated in so many other ways. ‘Say what you have come to say and get it over,’ I said to him. ‘I had made up my mind to have an understanding with you as soon as possible. Probably you have already found out that you have been left an income by my father’s will; and I am willing to increase it if my guardians—Maecenas and Horace—will permit, but if you had any dreams of exercising authority over me and my fortune and living in this house put both out of your mind at once. I shall live here quietly until Mallius returns from Gaul, and when we are married and entertain I shall be glad to receive you with others, but not here on intimate terms.’

I watched his face closely as I spoke of Mallius, for if he was in a conspiracy there must be spies everywhere and one might have seen Mallius enter this house the night before and leave it. But his expression did not change and he merely continued to glare at me.

‘We shall see! We shall see!’ he exclaimed. ‘There is law and justice in Rome and I shall have many friends to testify that I am the proper guardian for your person and property. My abilities are well known, little opportunity as I am given to display them, and, unlike others who have been humiliated, I do not gamble nor drink. Maecenas has too many affairs of his own and of the state to be burdened with a ward, and what does a poet know about business? The equites who managed your father’s affairs are personal friends of mine, and, although the best business men in Rome, often consulted me. They will testify before the court——’

‘You mean you will bribe them with a promise of some share in my fortune,’ I interrupted him, for I was tired of his fluent lies, and forgot my resolve to be cold and calm. ‘And how can you say you live a dignified life when you spend half your time in low wine-shops, consorting with plebs as if they were your equals?’

His face went from red to purple at that but no one was ever readier with an answer than Livius Caelius Piso. ‘If I spend some of my time in the wine-shops of the poor it is because I cannot afford to entertain my equals, and I respect the plebs who are sincere and honest and look up to me and not down their noses, but I never drink more than enough to establish good-fellowship, nor than a gentleman can carry, nor do I ever dice with them.’ He drew himself up and looked very virtuous, but I had heard Uncle Horace say last night to Mallius that he was the more to be feared because he never muddled his cunning brain, nor gave Rome any chance to despise him for bad habits. ‘And as for Quintus Pomponidus Taurus, many of his own friends think that with his great wealth he should have put a house with many slaves at our disposal instead of compelling us to live in an island with one wretched Cappadocian to serve us. My family on my mother’s side is of your own gens, and Lydia his only sister.’

I did not answer for a moment for I was thinking. I knew I must be very wary with this man, and although I might know more than most girls thanks to Polos and the intellectual and worldly men to whose conversation I had been privileged to listen, still I was very inexperienced and might easily betray myself unless I chose my words carefully and thought well ahead. Nevertheless, I must make him let fall something if I could.

Finally I said, looking at him with no change of expression: ‘You know that my father would have done more for you if the Emperor had not forbidden it. It is Augustus you should blame and not the most generous man that ever lived.’ And then I was rewarded by a scowl of black hatred, and went on with more confidence. ‘If the Emperor will permit I shall give you the Villa Cornelia, for I could never live there again——’ But I was interrupted by a shriek from Lydia.

‘Oh! No! No! We could not live where that dreadful thing happened! My darling Quintus and Cornelia! I should hear their ghosts moan all night!’

Caelius laughed. ‘Do not worry, Lydia. Augustus would never consent for he well knows I could sell it and have capital enough to be a senator once more. Oh!’ he cried, as if carried away by a sudden emotion, ‘Oh, if Mark Anthony had been victorious at Actium!’ He looked at me with proud defiance. ‘Of course that is treason, and if you betray me I am lost. Fortunately those Pretorians who had the impertinence to follow me into this house are too far off to have overheard my imprudent words.’

‘I have no intention of betraying you. Who would wish to have an uncle decapitated?’ Then I giggled and looked as silly as I knew how and clapped my hands. ‘Oh, how exciting Rome would have been,’ I cried, ‘if Cleopatra had been our Queen! She would have built a magnificent palace with a thousand rooms, and Temples to Osiris and Isis on the Capitoline, razing those of Jupiter and Juno, and there would have been gorgeous entertainments every night and ceremonies every day, and she would have sailed up and down the Tiber with no clothes on when it wasn’t too cold, although she would be pretty old by this time and might think she would look better covered up. Tell me, Caelius,’ I rattled on, looking as if he had so excited my imagination I quite loved him for the first time, ‘Tell me—if Augustus were killed out there in the East or in Gaul or one of the Spains, who would be Emperor in his place? Would Tiberius snatch the throne from the others? And do you like him and he you? Would he be more kind to you and restore your estates? Or let me do as I wish?’

Caelius scowled again. ‘Tiberius likes no one I ever heard of. He is morose and disagreeable and Rome would be a dreary place under his rule. Rome would hate him.’

‘Well they could have a revolution and put him out,’ I said innocently. ‘Augustus is said to have put down eight or nine conspiracies since he became all-powerful, but perhaps Tiberius would be less fortunate.’ I wanted to say something about restoring the Republic, but concluded it would be well not to venture too far, and Caelius’ face had suddenly gone blank.

‘Revolution.’ He shrugged. ‘No danger of that for generations to come. Rome has had enough of civil wars, and would be content with any Emperor who saw that it was well fed and had plenty of amusement. As for Augustus, these fools of Romans fairly worship him.’ Then I knew he was up to something and managed that giggle again. ‘It would be rather exciting, though, and fun to stand on the roof and see them fighting in the streets. Well,’ as he motioned to Lydia and rose to go, ‘I’ll double your allowance and Augustus need know nothing of that, and you can spend the hot months in one of the villas. But—but—I am sorry I was so abrupt at first—only you must give up the idea of living with me, for as you know, I am fond of having my own way and we might not get on and I hate quarrelling. As for upsetting the will you can settle that with Maecenas and Uncle Horace.’

He made no reply but said good-bye haughtily and took pains to walk with dignity and grace across the atrium and between those Pretorians, ignoring their presence. But Lydia ran back and clasped her hands. ‘Oh, Pomponia!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do give me a few sesterces. I am in rags and have only stale vegetables in the flat. Couldn’t I have all darling Cornelia’s clothes? You cannot wear stolas with flounces until you are married——’

‘No, you shall not have my mother’s things!’ I cried, letting anger get the best of me. ‘Never! But I’ll give you money.’ I clapped my hands, and Diomedes, who had probably been listening, came in promptly. At my order he opened the chest with the great key he carries at his girdle and handed me a sack of silver. When he had discreetly retired I gave it to her, and she babbled gratitude with her lips but her eyes had lost the languorous expression she cultivates and had a very queer one in its place. If she had had a dagger in her girdle I think she would have tried to stick it into me, but those soldiers still stood by the door, and she tripped out in the mincing manner she affects. I had much to think of when they were gone, but it was time to take a bath and dress for dinner, for I had told Mallius in my note I should expect him with Uncle Horace, as he knew he could trust my servants.

But they did not dine with us and I had a note from Mallius saying they would come to Rome after dark and Maecenas would come with them and I must expect a terrible scolding, but he knew that wouldn’t worry me, as I’d find some way to overmatch my stern guardians or he didn’t know his Pomponia. So Volumnia Marcia and I had dinner by ourselves in the dining-room where so many great banquets had been held and Augustus more than once had been my father’s guest. And when no ladies had been invited Diomedes had hidden me in a bay where I could improve my mind by hearing all that wise and witty conversation, and I must say some of it was not very edifying, and by no means always wise and witty. Some of them drank too much and went to sleep and had to be carried home by their slaves, but Uncle Horace never over-ate nor drank more than he could carry and that was one reason I admired him, but he could be hilarious enough and some of his stories were none too refined. But you cannot expect too much of men (Mummy), and knowing this I shall not criticise my husband as so many wives do, and that is one reason, they say, there are so many bachelors in Rome.

Volumnia Marcia and I sat in chairs, for although men like to recline, ladies do not as it rumples their clothes, and the tight bands the plump ones wear would cut them in two. V. M. told me that she had become a convert to the religion of Isis and when I opened my eyes wide and asked her why, she replied that she had found life so grievous she had been attracted to a religion that promised another life after death and a happier one. Some, she said, were drawn to the religion of Judea for the same reason, but the glamor and beauty of the Egyptian cult had more appeal for her, and she had been grateful its worship was permitted in Rome and she could go to the beautiful Temple of Isis every day and take part in its inspiring ritual and be filled for a time with a sense of purification and hope. But now she was sad because Augustus had closed the Temple, determined as he was that Romans should worship their own gods, and forbidden any Temples of Isis to be open within a mile of the city. Many other women, disillusioned like herself, or for many other reasons, had embraced the religion of Isis and were deeply resentful, but, more fortunate than herself, possessed carriages and could visit Temples beyond the walls; but she was too old to walk, and had made a little shrine in her own room, which was a poor substitute. I told her she should have a carriage and a slave of her own and go whither she would when not obliged to be in attendance upon me, and she wept with gratitude and I was very sorry for her but couldn’t get up much interest in Isis as I had other things to think of.

After dinner I had all the lamps in the atrium lit until it was as bright as noonday, and then I arranged my duenna—who looked very fine in a new stola of wine-colored silk and her white hair done up over a cushion—in the very centre of the reception room, and when I heard the sonorous voice of Maecenas in the vestibule I sat down on the upper step and looked as meek as Mother used to look when she wanted to wheedle something out of Father. I wore simple white and my hair in two hanging braids and lifted my eyes until the white showed below the iris.

Maecenas strode in with a brow of thunder and looking like Jove about to hurl bolts in every direction, but when he caught sight of the tableau^[2] I had prepared for him he stopped short, then threw back his head and laughed until the lamp-holders rattled. It is said that a great man always knows when he is beaten.

‘What shall we do with this girl, Horace?’ he cried. ‘It will take all our wits to keep ahead of her!’ Uncle Horace shook his head but he too laughed and the anxious frown left his brow for now he could go back to his Muse with a peaceful mind. As for Mallius he merely grinned and didn’t even look surprised.

Of course Maecenas had known Volumnia Marcia in the days of her glory and he went forward and kissed her hand and said he was not only happy to see her once more but that she was a gift from the gods. And the old lady, who no doubt hadn’t been treated with deference for ten years, turned pink with delight, but my eyes flew from her to Mallius who even in the gray tunic of a slave looked so tall and splendid even beside Maecenas that I wished he were Emperor and I Empress and felt like being a conspirator myself.

Then they sat down and I told them that Atia had persuaded Volumnia Marcia to come and be my duenna until I married, and after that every word of my conversation with Caelius and Lydia. Maecenas listened very intently and nodded his head several times with approval.

‘Clever girl! Clever girl!’ he said, and I wanted to laugh, for although Romans may give their wives a freedom the poor Greek ladies never had, they cannot help feeling lofty and superior and showing it. ‘But the gods blessed you with intelligence, and we have played our part in developing it, eh, Horace?’ And I thought: If Mallius ever puts on such airs with me I’ll slap him, but he was grinning again. Maecenas went on. ‘It is evident you gave him no hint of our suspicions, and it may be that you are right in thinking his lamentation over Mark Anthony was to create the impression he is without hope. What he said about Tiberius is significant, for it indicates, I think, that he and no doubt others have given the matter thought. He would be no welcome change from Augustus, but despite the ambitions of Livia her son will have no chance of succeeding Augustus as long as Julia has sons by Agrippa.’

‘She might poison them as she is said to have poisoned Julia’s first husband when there was talk Augustus would adopt him,’ I began, but was interrupted by a ‘Tut! Tut! You should not say such things, and you certainly never heard them in your father’s house.’

‘I have been in other houses,’ I said, tossing my head. ‘Many believe she poisoned Marcellus and perhaps others, and would put any one to death who stood in the way of her ambitions. Of course Augustus is safe for she wouldn’t like taking a back seat even for her Tiberius.’ Once more I was reproved, and although I longed to ask him if it was true he had said to Augustus some years before: ‘You have made Agrippa so great that he must either become your son-in-law or be put to death,’ I thought I’d better not, and he went on musingly: ‘No, it is the restoration of the Republic they seek, I am convinced of that—but who they are! Caelius, is he their tool or instigator? I sent for Calvus and Belerius to come to Ostia, and they were amazed and in a great state of consternation at what we had to tell them, for they had heard nothing. But of course even such plebs as may be in the conspiracy would guard their tongues when soldiers or police were about. They have now dispatched spies everywhere, but although it will be easy enough to overhear loose talk in the wine-shops or on street corners, it will be far more difficult to discover who planted those seeds of discontent with stories of banishment from Rome and other absurdities. Be sure that has been accomplished with great subtlety. Caelius has probably been the most active, but they would betray him only under torture and we do not care to resort to that.’

‘Those Gauls!’ I exclaimed. ‘They were to have been caught and tortured. Have they not been overtaken? Have you heard nothing?’

‘There has not been time, my Pomponia, but it will not be long now. And we must think of other things at present.’

Then Uncle Horace said surprisingly: ‘I suspect Caius Scribonius Libo.’

Maecenas stared at him. ‘Scribonius? Why have you come to that sudden conclusion?’

‘It occurred to me during the drive from Ostia, but I dislike talking in a carriage, and you are so grand you must have a Roman driver. Scribonius comes of a long line of ambitious nobles, many of whom attained to eminence under the Republic. His father was suspected of being one of the adherents of Catiline left behind to betray the city when the moment came, but when Cicero and Cato laid bare the plot in the senate he saved himself by his ready wit. Realizing that all was lost, he sprang to his feet and made such an eloquent speech of denunciation against traitors to the Republic, adjuring them to send an army against Catiline at once, that he convinced even Cicero of his loyalty and saved his head. When some of them changed their minds later he was quite safe and Catiline dead. That story is forgotten in Rome, but I had it from M. Cicero, who of course had it from his father. This Scribonius, as you know, fought on the side of Pompey and held several commands. Then, like his elder brother, he followed the fortunes of Sextus Pompey until he saw that cause was hopeless and deserted him for Octavian, to whom he has pretended devotion ever since. Octavian would never have been persuaded by him—and by you, Maecenas—to marry Scribonia, an unattractive woman years older than himself, if he had not been made to believe Sextus Pompey might form an alliance with Mark Anthony and crush him, and he well knew the influence exerted by the Scribonius family in Rome. While this Scribonius was the brother-in-law of Octavian he was a very important man in Rome, and what love can he have for the man who cast his sister out of the royal palace and put Livia in her place? I have never gone to his house, for I dislike him, but have often observed him at court and at the table of others. He has a fierce hooded eye and ambition is writ on the very bridge of his nose. He is in debt and would like to get his hands into the Treasury. He never utters a word, in public at least, against the Empire, but I am told that when the senate sits he comes strolling in late with a shrug of the shoulders and looking both sulky and scornful. But he is by far the most brilliant member of that body, although well past sixty, a great orator and natural leader. And at the last Saturnalia he flung money about among the plebs and slaves as if it were rotten fruit. Davus came home with a full wallet and shouting his praises. So I say, beware of Scribonius—and I might add of Scribonia, who is a member of his household and unreconciled. If they could manage to get rid of Augustus, Livia’s sons and Agrippa, the sons of Julia would be next in line and Scribonius their natural guardian, for he is now the head of his house.’

Maecenas exclaimed: ‘Jove! Jove!’ and I was proud of my wise Uncle Horace, for Maecenas is supposed to be the greatest statesman in Rome and should have thought of that himself. Uncle Horace went on.

‘He is probably now at his villa in Tusculum. Why not invite him to Ostia? He might betray himself, clever as he is, and while he is away Calvus may be able to bribe one of his slaves to steal his private papers.’

‘I’ll do it!’ said Maecenas with enthusiasm. ‘Right or wrong it is something to begin on. And you may have forgotten, but his wife Sabina, who is his third, was a love of Augustus several years ago and flung aside in due course, after the habit of our Emperor. She keeps a Greek philosopher in her house, and has published a book of poems, and no doubt had dreams of being an Emperor’s Egeria. But she has never shown resentment, however she may rage in secret, and flatters both Augustus and Livia. I’ll invite them both to the villa, and as it will not be for the first time no suspicion will be aroused.’

And then Volumnia Marcia made an unexpected contribution. ‘I happen to know,’ she said, ‘that Caelius is one of Scribonius’ parasites. He attends the great man’s receptions every morning, and then forms one of his escort in the Forum. I have had little diversion these many years and it has amused me to go to the Forum and stand in the colonnade of the Basilica Julia and watch the surging life of “toga’d Rome.” Nothing amused me more than observing those flocks of anxious parasites, following such men as Scribonius, who spends money freely whether he is in debt or not, Marsalla, Mark Cicero, who must have wrung a fortune out of Syria, and many rich men of the Equestrian Order. Oh, my husband had his own needy and greedy following in his day. I know every face of those parasites and have remarked that Caelius is never seen in the train of any one but Scribonius, and sometimes walks beside the great man conversing, instead of falling respectfully behind.’

‘Good!’ exclaimed Maecenas. ‘The plot thickens, as these farce-makers say.’ He turned to me. ‘And you, headstrong Miss, no doubt will return with us to Ostia as Mallius remains with me until I have news to send to Agrippa. If Calvus and Belerius discover there is serious unrest I shall also send a messenger to Augustus urging him to return at once. Meanwhile Calvus has spread the report that Agrippa, with Drusus, is on his way to the German frontier, and the Emperor, with Tiberius, is seriously engaged with the Parthians. I happen to know he is at Samos. And now tell your maid to pack. You, Volumnia Marcia, will come too, and be a welcome guest.’

This time I was quite willing to go, and Mallius rode with me in my carriage. Of course we had to take my duenna, but she obligingly went to sleep, so we sat close together and whispered many things. I said I should tell Uncle Horace, whose slave he was supposed to be, to order him to follow me everywhere, which would be natural enough, so recent was the danger I had escaped and no one knew where those Gauls might be hiding. We could wander about the gardens together for hours! I wondered what the slaves of Maecenas thought of Mallius, who looked as little like a slave as Augustus himself, but they were too well treated and too devoted to Maecenas to gossip save among themselves so what they thought didn’t matter. And I was really excited at the idea of seeing all those fine new villas that had been erected since the great court physician Antonius Musa had cured the Emperor of some disease with cold baths, and Baiae with its hot springs was no longer the fashion. Of course Maecenas had the grandest villa of them all and his gardens were larger and even more beautiful than those on the Esquiline or even at Tibur, but although Daddy and Mummy had often visited him there they had never taken me, for girls are not invited to house-parties as they are of no consequence until they have a flounce on their stola.

Two large carriages full of men and women, young by their voices, passed us and they were shouting and laughing as if they had been to a banquet and drunk too much. They awakened Volumnia Marcia and she said they were probably friends of Julia who had a villa at Ostia and was no doubt among them.

The town of Ostia was very quiet and almost dark as we passed through it, although there were a few men in the Forum accompanied by slaves bearing torches. We could hardly see the outline of the theatres and temples. Suddenly I became aware that Volumnia Marcia was clutching my arm. ‘There is a Temple of Isis here!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, could I?—But a moment——’

Of course I gave my consent and Mallius inquired the way from one of the pedestrians. The Temple is in a side street and all we could see at first were the high walls of a court, although light streamed through the open portals as well as a curious sound like that of many rattles. ‘Sestrums,’ replied Volumnia Marcia absently to my question. ‘Be sure to sprinkle yourselves with holy water at the entrance. It is from the Nile. You would not be admitted without purification. I hope you will enter. This is not the season for the great ritual dramas but on many nights there is a simple service which gives me more pleasure.’ The carriage had barely stopped when she was out, and although I was sleepy I was filled with curiosity and followed her, dragging Mallius with me.

A tall dark Egyptian extended a vessel filled with water and we duly anointed ourselves, wondering if it were really from the Nile and harboring doubts. The court was quite large and so well lighted that we could see the hieroglyphics that covered the Temple, and the carved pillars, behind which were paintings of Osiris and Isis and other gods. There were many palms and several altars against the walls of the court before which priests were making sacrifice, surrounded by devotees.

We followed Volumnia Marcia up the steps into the Temple and I forgot to be sleepy for it was a sight to inspire both pleasure and awe. At the end of the long room was another flight of steps, very broad, and on the platform above stood a priest dressed in a robe of light blue linen, and with shaven face and crown, holding some kind of sacred vessel and chanting, and on either side of him but at some distance were priestesses and other priests rattling the sestrums which look like tiny harps. This sound was rather discordant but the sweet notes of a flute floated in the air like birds. The ceiling was painted blue with golden stars, there were almost as many palms as outside, strange paintings on the walls of gods with heads of beasts and birds, and at either end of the platform recumbent figures, half beast, half human—sphinxes, they call them; but when the priest drew aside a linen curtain behind him one forgot everything else for there stood a statue of Isis with horns on her head which was covered with a mass of jewels that dazzled my eyes although I had seen many jewels. She was awesome to look upon but very benign and rather motherly. Her robe, of azure and gold, caught at the breast with a scarf, was also covered with sprays of jewels, and I thought it a good thing there were no more pirates for they would surely have descended upon Ostia some dark night and slain every one in the town to get that fortune in jewels. It was a wonder she could shine out herself, but she did and looked almost alive and I wasn’t surprised the Egyptians worshipped her and had for more centuries than we know anything about.

The Temple was filled with people, some standing half-way up the steps. Suddenly there was a loud blast from a trumpet. Every one present pressed the right elbow to the side, lifted the palm and began to chant in Greek. I can remember some of it: Great One who is from the Beginning. The Divine One. The Only One. The Eye of Rā. The Golden One. Lady of the North Wind. Occupier of the chief place in the Boat of Heaven. Mother of the God Horus. Bestower of Life. Lady of Life. Lady of joy and gladness. Child of Nut. Lightgiver of heaven with Rā.

It was a grand harmonious sound chanted in perfect unison and the incense that rose from open vessels was intoxicating, but Polos always says I see too much and this time I did and all that wondrous scene might have vanished as I clutched Mallius’ arm and whispered: ‘Look! Look! Over there—at the foot of the steps. Julia! Julius Anthony! Ovid!’ There they were, three of the wildest spirits in Rome, faces uplifted, arms up, palms raised to heaven, or to Isis, as rapt as Volumnia Marcia herself.

We turned and ran out for we were stifling with laughter. ‘What a sight for the gods!’ exclaimed Mallius when we were in the carriage and out of earshot. ‘But it can be nothing but a freak of the moment, for the votaries of Isis must practice asceticism at times and that word has no meaning for Julia.’ At this moment V. M. came forth and we told her what we had seen. She shrugged and said her daughter was a friend of Julia although not of her set, and had heard her say she and her intimates were bored with the old gods and fascinated with the ritual of Isis, although she doubted if they were ever serious about anything. Since the Temples in Rome had been closed they had made a practice of lending their countenance to those outside the mile limit, because a part of their creed was to violate all laws, and as it was Agrippa who enforced this one when he was Governor of Rome, it gave Julia the more pleasure to defy him.

‘Why doesn’t he divorce her?’ I asked. ‘He must know that showing herself in the Temples of Isis is a small offence beside the other things she does. Or is he the only one in Rome who doesn’t know of her wild ways?’

‘There is little Agrippa doesn’t know,’ said my duenna drily. ‘But he cares nothing for Julia and much for Augustus. Moreover, to divorce Julia, on whatever pretext, would offend the Emperor so deeply he would never be forgiven. Even if he were not banished to some distant province, he would no longer be the Emperor’s son-in-law, only second in power to Augustus himself. Julia knows she is quite safe. But as she wishes the succession for her sons she has taken care they shall be lawful.’

‘There are queer people in this world,’ I said, feeling I had lit upon a profound truth, and Mallius laughed and kissed me before Volumnia Marcia. Then in a few moments we were at the villa, which is down the coast, and were explaining our delay to Maecenas, who, no doubt despising all foreign religions, merely shrugged and himself showed us to our sumptuous rooms—at least Volumnia Marcia and me. Poor Mallius had to sleep in an out-building with the slaves, but he laughed and said that meant nothing to a soldier, accustomed to sleep on the ground more often than not, so I wasted no time sympathizing with him for I was so sleepy I could no longer keep my eyes open.

The next morning I forgot for a time all that had happened so short a while before and even my desire for vengeance, for I rose early and roamed through the gardens with Mallius. They covered many acres and ran right down to the sea which I had never been so close to before. The port of Ostia was not far off and there were ships coming and going, the former, Mallius told me, laden with merchandise from every clime, and likely there were passengers too, for many from the conquered but friendly states, now provinces, came to visit the wonders of Rome, Mistress of the World, which was always full of foreigners anyhow, who preferred to live there: Jews, Greeks, Gauls, Egyptians, Hispanians, even Germans, all welcome so long as they minded their own business and gave no trouble to the state.

Oh, but the gardens were beautiful! Every flower in the world, great formal beds of color, and a maze, in which Mallius and I got lost, and gave scant thanks to a gardener who came in and led us out. And great trees and summer houses and statues everywhere, statues that may or may not have been turned out of the Greek workshops in Rome by the hundred and looked like those of old Greece, but neither I nor Mallius could tell the difference and they were white and beautiful, gleaming in the sunshine or sprayed by water in the fountains. There were peacocks, some of them white, strutting on the terrace about the villa which has five peristyles and fifty rooms and surely a hundred slaves who wear a sort of livery, a red tunic girt with black, and curled their noses (Uncle Horace) at the dull gray smock Mallius had to wear, and that amused and delighted us both. The rooms and walls of the colonnades are decorated something in the style of Pompeii, bright red, with mural bands of paintings in miniature representing scenes of war, the chase, mythology, domestic life, and what-not against a background of shining black, and no other paintings but much beautiful furniture and many potted trees and shrubs and fountains. It is said that Maecenas’ bedroom always opens on a private peristyle where three fountains soothe him to sleep, for he suffers, poor man, from insomnia and is very nervous, and perhaps that is one reason he likes to talk most of the time.

Augustus often stays here and at the other villas of Maecenas at Tibur, Herculaneum, and the gods know where else, and enjoys himself although he would never dare have such a villa of his own, and he nearly as rich as that old Croesus Polos has told me about; but grandeur and display suit Maecenas, so lordly and generous, and under no obligation to play a part. Uncle Horace said so much splendor oppressed him and he would hasten back to his ‘humble farm,’ only it was his duty to remain and use his wits. Sometimes, so he has told me, Maecenas visits him, bringing only one slave, and is quite as much at home as in all this magnificence and no trouble whatever; but Uncle Horace grumbles that when he departs he leaves behind him so much silver to divide between the slaves they’ll soon be buying their freedom.

In the afternoon came Scribonius and Sabina, their six Gaulish ponies gallopping down the road in grand style, and followed by another carriage with their personal slaves and luggage. There were about twenty house guests and they had been strolling in the gardens after siesta, the ladies in bright silk stolas, looking like peacocks themselves, and I had thought it best to mingle with them for a while, but wore white, and Erinna, who had arrived that morning with my things, had arranged my hair in a high crown stuck all over with pins crested with little images. They had all been very kind to me and asked no questions, however full of curiosity they may have been, for they were all Romans of the old breed, and even if some of them had lovers or had been divorced four or five times that hadn’t spoilt their manners, as why should it? There was one who had never had a lover nor a divorce and never would have for she was Turia the devoted wife of Q. Lucretius Vespillo, whose story I had heard told many times and now regarded her with a new interest for she too had once nearly been killed in a servile uprising. Her husband had been on the proscribed list of the Triumvirs when little boys were kicking heads about the streets of Rome, and every man of wealth or who had offended Mark Anthony or was suspected of complicity in the assassination of Julius Caesar was sitting in his house holding on to his head with both hands unless he had managed to escape—but Turia got word to Lucretius somehow, and first he hid in a tomb on the Appian Way and then entered Rome in the disguise of a slave and she hid him in her house, and after a long while obtained his pardon from Octavian who by this time was sick of cruelty and barely on speaking terms with Mark Anthony. That was many years ago, but Turia is still beautiful and has a lovely expression of peace and happiness, and Lucretius, now a senator and friend of Augustus, is handsome too and very dignified. She was very sweet to me and I liked her better than any one there, for I too intend to be a happy and faithful wife, and not have to smear up my face with cosmetics like some of these women who are no better than Julia only more quiet about it; but Turia is rather meek with Lucretius, spirited as she must have been once, and that I’ll never be and Mallius knows it.

We all stood still to watch the new arrivals and while Scribonius strolled off with Maecenas, Sabina came toward us and I looked at her with curiosity for I had heard much of her from the girls but never seen her before. She is very tall and thin with immense eyes and wears her hair in the Greek fashion, as she fancies she looks like Sappho or Aspasia, I forget which. She is just the kind to flatter a man like Augustus, always looking for something new, and then bore him to death (Atia). She has a slight lisp and looks very intellectual and superior and I expected her to quote one of her poems but she talked only of the heat.

I didn’t see Scribonius until dinner, where he reclined in the place of honor on the couch at the head of the table. Maecenas reclined beside him, and then came M. Valerius Messala Corvinus, that great noble who had fought against Octavian at Philippi but was now his devoted adherent, and a great friend of Uncle Horace, who often talks of the hardships they endured together in the army of Brutus. Of course there were three sides to the table and the first on the couch at the right of Scribonius was Uncle Horace, and next to him came Titus Livy, who is said to be writing a history of Rome, then the poet Varius, but poor Virgil wasn’t there and no doubt still at Uncle Horace’s villa drinking milk instead of eating snails from the Balearic Islands and lampreys and little roast pigs, and all the delicious sweets I love more than anything. The other men were leading senators, or as leading as they can be in these days, and all had laid aside their togas as it was so warm and wore only handsome silk tunics and I must say the arms of some of them were hideous, skinny or fat or gnarled like gladiators’.

Terentia preferred a table to herself and we sat at another three-sided one not far off. The foot was near the head of the other and as I was the youngest I was down at the very end, of which I was glad for I had a good view of Scribonius.

I could see what Uncle Horace meant by his hooded eyes, which had heavy drooping lids that only half-concealed an excessive restless brilliancy. But whether his high Roman nose expressed more ambition than those other high noses of which there were many I left it to a poet to determine. I thought his mouth might once have been sensual but that he had pinched his lips together for so long it now was almost drawn back over his teeth which were remarkably good for a man of his age. He tried to be genial but one could see it was not in his nature, but he talked politely and looked every inch a great noble however black he may have been inside. He had a curiously melodious and seductive voice for one who looked ruthless enough to have plunged his dagger into Julius Caesar if he had not been engaged elsewhere.

Musicians played on the harp and the flute in one of the bays. It would not be dark until quite late so no lamps were lit to draw the mosquitoes and the windows were open and I could hear the sound of the sea and sailors singing, and I hated the heavy perfumes of the women that nearly smothered the lovely scents from the garden. My mind had wandered and when it came back I realized they were talking of Augustus, which was natural enough. Maecenas mentioned casually that the Emperor was having trouble with the Parthians, and I saw one of Scribonius’ eyebrows quirk, but his hooded eyes were inscrutable and I wondered if they’d get anything out of him especially as he drank very little. He and Caelius were a formidable pair if Uncle Horace was right, and why shouldn’t he be? Although he laughed and looked very gay I could see that he was watching Scribonius, and sometimes he frowned as if worried. Poor Uncle Horace, the Fates were ironic to turn him into a policeman when he should have been at his farm preparing his next Book of Odes for publication.

As I looked from one to the other of those proud Roman faces so different from the faces of other peoples one saw in the streets of Rome, I wondered if any of those men were also conspirators against the Empire. Of course they were all patricians, for no member of the great middle-class, to whom Romulus, so legend says, gave the title Equestrians, could aspire to sit at the table of Maecenas unless endowed by one of the Muses, and I had often wondered about them too, although I had never met any—save Maecenas, who didn’t count for he was grander than all the patricians put together—and he was wrong when he said I knew nothing about them, for I had heard them discussed at my father’s table, and the millions they made in business, and that Augustus encouraged them in that to keep their mind off politics.

And they had played their part in Roman history, in which Polos had instructed me as thoroughly as in that of his beloved Greece. I knew all about the Tuscan Occupation, and the invasion of the Gauls, and the Punic Wars, and Hannibal, who so nearly conquered Rome, and if he had where would patricians and equestrians be now with Carthage ruling the world? Slaves, of course, as the Greeks, once so mighty, are our slaves today, or, if not slaves, to be exact—as Polos has tried so hard to make me—the mere members of a Roman province, free to practice their own religion and laws, but subjects none the less, and perhaps Carthage would not have been as generous and kind as Rome. And I had had to learn by heart the lives of all our famous men: the Gracchi, Marius, Sulla, Cinna, Cato, Catiline, Crassus, Lucullus, Cicero, Mark Anthony, although I sometimes got them mixed, all but Julius Caesar. But Polos is skeptical about Romulus, for in that remote time there were no historians; but, he says, all countries must have their myths and Romulus would do as well as any.

But someone divided those Romans long ago into three Orders: the Fathers, whose descendants are called Patricians, and were then a hundred in number and formed the Senate; three hundred Equestrians, or middle class; all the rest were the People or Plebeians. Where, asks Polos, did Romulus find so many families to divide into classes, when there were only a few barbarians to divide into anything? But if he did not create those classes someone did, and I knew that several of these men, like Daddy and Scribonius, chose to believe they were descended from those early Fathers, and after all there was no one to contradict them. The Jews have a funny legend about the first man and woman being born in a ‘Garden of Eden,’ and if that were true every King of Judea and every street hawker in Jerusalem was descended from that first couple, and no doubt Alexander of Macedon believed he had the ichor of the gods in his veins and acted like it anyhow.

As for myself I cared not one spurious Praxiteles whether my far-off ancestors, who probably wore skins and never took a bath, were descended from those hundred Fathers or not, and as little did I care—except for family pride when I think of it—for all those ancestors who had sat in Senate houses since, and fought in the wars Rome was always having with other states in Italy and other countries as proud and greedy as herself, or fighting one another in those terrible civil wars. The present is all that really means anything to me, and I don’t see why anyone, but a historian like Livy, should bother about a past that is dead and never can come to life again. All that matters is to be alive and make the most of life while it lasts.

But I knew that those proud men long past their youth and at the age when power means more than aught else to ambitious men (Polos) cherished every memory of past greatness, and could well imagine they resented the political insignificance to which they were now reduced; and I wondered if they hated Maecenas who, it is believed, persuaded Augustus, when he was merely Octavian and wishful of doing the wise thing, that to restore the Republic would be fatal, and that the world, emerging from turmoil, must be governed well and wisely by one powerful hand. But if they did they didn’t dare show it, for Maecenas like Agrippa stands next to Augustus in power although he will accept no office.

Daddy told me once that many like himself were loyal to Augustus, not only for the peace and prosperity he had brought to the great Roman Empire, but because they exalted Rome herself above all personal ambitions. Rome was Mistress of the World, of one hundred million people, and although Julius Caesar had done much to make her so and was the greatest General that ever lived, not even excepting Alexander, he made as many enemies as friends among the two Orders, and inspired so much jealousy and hatred, and the fear that he would make himself King, that even if he hadn’t been assassinated they would never have united to make him supreme ruler as they had Gaius Octavian, whom they now called Augustus—and who is cleverer than all of them put together, for he has nothing of the magnificent arrogance of Julius, and will never permit anyone to address him as Emperor, and says if they must call him anything it should be Princeps, and all the vast territory he rules the Principate. He protests he is merely their First Citizen and Commander-in-Chief, and only because they had come to the conclusion that so vast an ‘Empire,’ long riven by war, must have a figurehead in Rome that would inspire it with awe; and these were the thoughts he put into their heads and they were under his heel before they knew it and no figurehead is Caesar Augustus. He had himself elected consul year after year until he got tired of that and ‘accepted’ the tribunician power for life instead and now is Dictator of the world, and I wondered how Scribonius and Caelius imagined they could dethrone him. Mallius and I had talked it over that morning and he said if those men were really conspiring they would strive to assassinate Augustus and Agrippa in order to rule the Empire through Julia and her infant son. Tiberius and Drusus, being only the sons of Livia and not adopted by Augustus, could be set aside were it not they had a large following in the army, and no doubt it was planned to dispose of them as well. But all that was easier said than done for each had a bodyguard, and so far as anyone knew the army was loyal, although one never could tell and there might be resourceful traitors both in Gaul and the East. If these men planned to arm the plebs and the wild men in the mountains of the south and march them against the trained soldiers of Agrippa when they marched home from Gaul, and attempted to sink the ships which would bear Augustus and his legions home from the East, they must be madmen, and he didn’t think they were. All that he and Maecenas and Uncle Horace had been able to think of was a quadruple assassination (probably by poison) and then while the populace was quite stunned, the senate would proclaim a Republic, and, to keep the client-states, the princes, and the provinces quiet, proclaim the infant son of Julia and Agrippa the successor of Augustus, who would immediately be deified.

Well, I couldn’t do anything about it, although I’d have been willing to stick a dagger into Scribonius myself if I thought he threatened the greatness of Rome, Mistress of the World, and as none of the younger married women near by thought me worth talking to and were gabbling about a new silk that had come from India, and plucked eyebrows, and whether it was lead paint that made the skin break out, I looked at Uncle Horace whom all those great Patricians were flattering and begging to recite an unpublished Ode, and wondered about his ancestry. Daddy had told me that his father, although a freedman, must have been a prisoner of war, perhaps a man of good family, not the son of a common slave nor the captive of some piratical gang sold at Delos. Otherwise Brutus would never have made him a tribune in his army, for that was an honor forbidden to the son of a freedman of the lower order. But if Uncle Horace knew he was indifferent and had never said a word about it, although he often alluded to his father in terms of the greatest affection and respect. At first he was too proud, no doubt, and then he was content to be known as a great poet, and envied no one of the ancient Orders. It is true that for some years he has worn the ring of the Equestrian Order, but that may have been a favor conferred by Augustus. Just now they were all insistent that he recite, and he finally began his last Ode, which was the one Daddy was reading when those assassins rushed in, and he looked at me and away, and said he had forgotten how it went but would try to remember the poem Augustus had asked him to write for the renewal of the old Secular games which would take place when he returned from the East and had time to attend to that great ceremony. Uncle Horace did recite a few lines of which all I remember were ‘the gods who love the Seven Hills,’ and ‘Oh, quickening Sun, that in thy shining car usherest in the day and hidest it, and art reborn another and yet the same, ne’er mayest thou be able to view a sight greater than the City of Rome,’ and I didn’t think it was up to his other poems, and supposed it was difficult for a genius to compose to order, and doubtless it would sound well enough when chanted by youths and maidens; and I should have been one of those maidens if those Gauls had not turned me into an orphan, which made me ineligible, and anyhow it was to be hoped I’d be married by that time.

And then my heart felt like water splashing about in my breast for I saw Scribonius staring at Mallius.

Mallius, being Uncle Horace’s ‘slave,’ stood behind his master’s chair. I had protested, but Mallius told me they had talked it over and there was nothing else to be done. There would be no reason at all for Mallius to be here if Uncle Horace sent for Davus, and they had concluded that as he had barely been seen in Rome since he put on the toga virilis four years ago and was now three inches taller and bronzed by warfare and looks at least twenty-four, there was no danger he would be recognized. So far as he knew none of Maecenas’ guests had ever seen him, he knew none of their sons, for Daddy, instead of sending him to school, had kept him in the country with a tutor where he could have exercise and good air all the time, and grow tall and strong, and none of these men’s sons had been at Apollonia; the only young men he had known there were with him in the army, and these were the reasons why Agrippa had chosen him to come to Rome and find out what was going on. At least those were the reasons he gave Mallius, but I knew it was because of that young man’s quick alert mind combined with discretion and other admirable qualities too numerous to mention.

And who, asked Maecenas with a shrug, looked at slaves standing behind their masters’ chairs?

But, alas, Mallius, try as he might, could not look like a slave, to say nothing of the fact there are no Roman slaves anyhow, and he looks like nothing but a Roman, not even as if he might have been the son of a father who, a citizen of one of the old Italian states, had been taken prisoner during the civil wars. He had kept his eyes down and rounded his shoulders, but as my terrified eyes moved from those hooded ones gleaming with speculation and malice, I saw that Mallius had forgotten his part and was standing erect, his martial shoulders thrown back, and his eyes laughing as he watched the antics of one of the guests who was now quite tipsy and solemnly pouring his wine down the front of his tunic instead of into his mouth which was pursed and moving about like a baby’s in search of its mother’s nipple.

But that man didn’t look funny to me and I could have killed him. Mallius suddenly remembered his rôle and drooped meekly over Uncle Horace’s bald pate, but it was too late. Scribonius had either seen him somewhere or recognized him as a man of his own class who was too evidently playing a part. And if he really were a conspirator he would infer that a spy in the house of Maecenas boded no good to him.

How should I warn Mallius, or Uncle Horace, or Maecenas? I might not have a word with any of them tonight. Nor even with Terentia without exciting the curiosity of the other women. Mallius and I had agreed that our eyes must never meet in public so I could not flash him a warning glance, and I felt as if my chair had turned into a thousand pins and I thought I should have to pretend to faint, when Terentia rose, and of course all the rest of us followed and we sat on the terrace in the moonlight. I stood their chatter about this and that for half an hour until I thought I should scream. My mind was filled with wild apprehension, and then suddenly I had an idea and I slipped away and told a slave to send Erinna to me in my bedroom.

When she came in, looking rather red and cross for no doubt I had interrupted her in a flirtation with one of those slaves decked out in red and black, I asked her abruptly if she had recognized Mallius.

‘Oh, yes, Mistress,’ she said. ‘Have I not seen him since I was ten and are we not both of an age? But I have taken care to stay as far from him as possible, and no one would guess I had ever laid eyes on him before.’

‘Good Erinna!’ I exclaimed. ‘And when we go back to Rome Diomedes shall give you silver to buy yourself something pretty in the Flaminian Way, and you may have one of my amber necklaces from the Baltic. And now you must use all your cleverness and manage to get a word with him alone as soon as he goes to the slaves’ quarters for the night, and tell him that Caius Scribonius Libo has recognized him and that he must let Gaius Cilnius Maecenas and Quintus Horace Flaccus know at once.’

‘Oh, yes! Yes!’ cried Erinna, who was panting with delight. ‘And I shall not have to wait so long. It will be easy to get a word with him when he comes out for more wine, for the other slaves will be too busy running about to notice. He can whisper in the great poet’s ear when he stoops to fill his goblet.’

I drew a deep breath of relief, but I asked: ‘What do these other slaves think of Mallius? Do they suspect—Well, he is here for a purpose, Erinna, which I cannot tell you, although no doubt you are devoured with curiosity.’

‘Yes, I am, Mistress,’ she said frankly, ‘but it is not for a slave to ask questions nor to think too much. I—I—have been walking in the vegetable garden with the personal slave of the great Master and he told me they all believe that Mallius—whose name, of course, he doesn’t know—is a young patrician who has deserted from the army or been invalided home, and induced Quintus Horace Flaccus to bring him here that he may be near you. They noticed you were together all the morning in the gardens and are sure you are in love with each other, and hope that if he has run away from Gaul for love of you he will not be tracked down and lose his head.’

I laughed at that, uneasy as I was. ‘If he loses his head it will not be by the Emperor’s decree, but he will be in danger from others if—— Go now, and be discreet.’ And my mind was more at ease, for Erinna, if only the daughter of our old cook and born in captivity and with no education but what she has picked up, is very intelligent and sharp and quick. Many a time she had helped me to get the best of Polos. And she is pretty too with her curly dark hair and pert little nose and bright eyes, and as I suspect she is a great flirt besides, no doubt she could worm any information, or suspicion, out of her admirers they might have.

How could I sleep? Erinna, when she came to undress me, told me she had given my message to Mallius and he had merely frowned. Then she had watched from behind the door that led from the passage into the dining-room and seen him bend over Uncle Horace, who had turned pale and nearly spilled his wine. When Scribonius was bending over his own goblet, newly filled, Uncle Horace had shot a glance full of meaning at Maecenas, who knew at once that something was wrong, for he has the quickest mind in the world. A few moments later he rose and poured a libation to Caesar Augustus, and Erinna saw Uncle Horace watching Scribonius, whose face she could not see. But she saw his back stiffen before he rose with the other guests to join in the ceremony. And then he asked Uncle Horace sarcastically why in those Odes he wrote in honor of the Princeps he didn’t address him as a god as other poets did, and Uncle Horace replied with a shrug that he preferred the Greek fashion of addressing their great men as ‘heroes.’ And Scribonius took pains to refer again to Augustus as the Princeps, although that title is rarely used now as everyone prefers the grander title of Emperor, despite the wishes of Augustus, and it looked as if he had been thrown a little off his balance by being forced to do public homage to a man he hated and let his spite get the better of him. And Uncle Horace was wise to have had him brought here in the hope he would betray himself.

But I wished, how I wished, how I wished he had not, as I lay there tossing in my bed, my imagination racing like horses round the Circus Maximus. Of course Scribonius had given the money to Caelius to bribe those Gauls and provide them with daggers and knives, on condition that half my father’s fortune should be his, and the moment he had gone to his rooms he had summoned one of his slaves and sent him to Rome to bid Caelius hire two of the bad characters he must have met in those low wine-shops and bring them at once to the slave-quarters here to seize Mallius as he slept and take him somewhere and torture him hoping to make him confess why he was in Italy and if Agrippa had sent him. They would never make him speak but the thought of Mallius under torture nearly made me scream aloud.

Why, oh why, hadn’t I thought of somehow getting a word with Uncle Horace and tell him to have Mallius sleep in his room under the pretext that he felt ill and would require attention? I would have gone to him then but I had no idea where his room was and I’d be sure to blunder into another’s, perhaps Scribonius’, and of course he suspected me too now—and how he must hate me for saving a life that stood between him and that treasure!

And even if Caelius came with those bad men to question Mallius himself, both he and Scribonius would be safe, for whether Mallius spoke or not he would be put to death and thrown into the sea with a bag of stones round his neck and no one would ever know what had become of him. Maecenas and Uncle Horace might suspect but what good would that do?

And then I could stand it no longer and sprang from the bed and put on my sandals and stola and a dark mantle with a hood for rainy days I had told Erinna to pack lest I should steal out at night to meet Mallius (for consultation) and thrust into my girdle the dagger I had worn in a belt round my knee from the day I returned to Rome. It couldn’t be an hour since everyone had gone to bed and it would take far longer for a messenger to go to Rome, rouse Caelius, who would have to find those bad men and then get back to Ostia—not even on the fleetest horses. I didn’t care whether I might encounter danger myself or not for if I lost Mallius, after my parents, I should kill myself anyhow—and if anyone did try to kill me he would get a slit from my dagger first.

When I left my room, which opened into one of the peristyles, I hardly knew which way to turn, for finding one’s way about a strange house in the daytime is one thing and quite another by night, and heretofore there had always been a slave to escort me. The young moon had set and it was very dark for there was even a light mist over the stars. But get out of that house I would and did, for after wandering down one corridor and another and crossing three peristyles I found myself at the front entrance. And there was a slave on watch! And no doubt one at every door leading without, for Maecenas, like all men eminent in the state, has many who envy and hate him, and although brave he is not reckless.

I walked straight up to the big black Numidian and said haughtily: ‘I am Pomponia ward of Gaius Cilnius Maecenas. I have a headache and wish to walk in the garden.’ Then before the astonished African could protest I walked rapidly away and turned the corner of the house. It reassured me somewhat to know there were slaves on watch who would hear if I found it necessary to cry out, but I took the dagger from my girdle and carried it in my hand, and kept well away from the house for I didn’t care to be seen and perhaps hailed by other guards.

It was a little lighter in the open and I picked my way among the flower beds, stopping occasionally under a tree to listen. Mallius had shown me the slaves’ quarters that morning, and although there were no lights to guide me I knew the general direction. How I was to find him when I got there I left to the fates to determine; perhaps I would merely stand and call his name, then tell anyone who ran out that Quintus Horace Flaccus was ill and required the attention of his slave.

And then to my consternation I heard the sound of voices and steps approaching from the direction of the road. There was no time to retreat and I had left a grove of trees behind me. But there was an oak near by, and no monkey can climb a tree with more agility than I. In a second I was safely hidden on a long low branch and thankful I had merely laughed when Polos called me unladylike.

And then I almost believed in the gods once more for two men halted beneath my tree, intent no doubt on shelter, and although I could not see their faces I recognized the voices of Scribonius and Caelius.

And they were talking about me! It was all I could do not to shiver and then grind my teeth but I didn’t.

‘I don’t like the idea of a viper,’ said Scribonius crossly. ‘If you had thought of it earlier it might have been possible to get it into her bed, but even so it might have been discovered by her slave woman. And how are we to put it through her window when I have no idea where her room is? You should have sent me a note earlier in the day. The only thing we can do is to wait until tomorrow night. By that time I shall know where she sleeps. Then when all are in their first heavy sleep, you will call through her window that Mallius has important information and must see her at once—naming the maze as a trysting place. Then we can strangle her and throw her into the sea.’

‘You are sure it is Mallius?’ asked Caelius in a tremulous voice.

‘Yes. I visited the army’s headquarters before it marched for Gaul and saw that young man at the head of his Legion. I asked who he was, for he is very noticeable.’

‘Then it must be as you think! Some spy has gone to Agrippa, and he has sent Mallius to spy on us. Gods! Let us kill him at once.’

‘I have no further interest in Mallius. His harm is done. What he came to tell has been told. Why kill him and incur the suspicion of Maecenas, who could send any messenger to Agrippa in his place? That is if they find proof of any suspicions they may have, and how will they? But suspicions are bad enough and it means we must move more quickly. The first thing to do is to get rid of that girl, for her fortune is necessary. I will see that your claim is pushed with speed before the courts, and Maecenas himself cannot dispute it. Nothing can be done tonight. Tomorrow I will send you word where her window is. You will come very late. Perhaps you had better whisper through her window that you are Mallius. One whisper is very like another and it will be dark. My slaves will do the rest. Go now—and take that viper with you!’

‘You don’t know that girl,’ said my uncle-in-law glumly. ‘She’s as sharp as a dagger and I believe would see through any trap. The best thing to do is to kill Mallius and then she would kill herself. Lydia says she is madly in love with him, and she has always been passionate and impetuous. She would follow him into the realm of shades.’

‘Good idea!’ exclaimed Scribonius. ‘I’ll see that the viper is put in his bed——’

‘Oh, would you!’ said I to myself. Their heads were directly beneath me. The dagger was in my right hand. I leaned down and with two swift turns of my wrist I slashed a cheek of each to the bone. Then while they were staggering and gasping and grunting I scrambled down that tree and scampered across what seemed like a hundred flower-beds, pausing only to dip my dagger into a fountain and then conceal it. Not a sound came from behind. I walked more slowly as I approached the house to recover my breath, and was extremely dignified and casual as I passed that Numidian. When I reached my room I went to bed with a light heart for Mallius was safe. Some time later I heard the sound of distant wheels and just before there was a shout for ‘help’ from Scribonius. Then the sound of running feet, more shouts, the flare of torches—I curled up and fell asleep.

The next morning when Erinna awakened me her eyes were as big as a Victory Medal and she was fairly swollen with importance. ‘Oh, Mistress,’ she gasped, ‘something terrible happened in the night—did you hear nothing?’

‘What was it?’ I asked sleepily. ‘A fight in the slaves’ quarters?’

‘Oh, no! That Scribonius—it seems he went out very late for a walk, for like the Great Master he suffers from insomnia, and someone attacked him and nearly cut his face to pieces. It was under a tree far from the house and there is blood all over the ground and shrubs. He says he fought for his life, and finally the other man ran away. He thinks it may have been a political enemy, unless it was someone who intended to rob the villa and was angry at being seen. As soon as the man ran away he cried for help, and it was well he could raise his voice or he might have bled to death, although he had been clever and torn a strip from his mantle and tied up his head—why—why are you laughing, Mistress?’

‘I was only thinking he would be uglier than ever,’ I said innocently. ‘And that will be a pity for those who have to look at him. But what an interesting story, and how excited the household must be!’

‘They talk of nothing else, and they say the Great Master is terribly put out that such a thing should happen to a guest of his, but the slave at the door by which Caius Scribonius Libo left the house says he was sharply forbidden to follow, so he will not be punished. It is well the Great Master brought his doctor with him.’

After the bath I made Erinna, despite her protests, braid my hair in two long plaits and leave them hanging, for I knew that would make me look as harmless and innocent as a little girl of ten. And it was well I did, for when I went out into the colonnade to eat my breakfast whom should I see, sitting at the little table daintily eating a pear, but Sabina. I exclaimed with delight and clapped my hands, but I’d had no idea that big poetical eyes could look so sharp, and I knew quite well why she was there just as I had known from all those lies Scribonius had made up that he suspected me.

‘Erinna, my maid, has just told me the most terrible story,’ I said, as I dipped my bread in Attic honey. ‘I do hope your great husband is not suffering. What a shocking thing to happen! Why didn’t he take a slave with him?’

‘How could he apprehend danger in the gardens of Maecenas? And he is in the habit of walking at night, even in the streets of Rome.’

‘But the streets of Rome are quite safe, with police at every corner, and in a seaport there are always drunken sailors. No doubt one was wandering through the grounds and assaulted him when challenged.’

‘It is possible,’ said Sabina coldly. ‘And whoever did will be punished with death. Of course Maecenas thought of that at once and sent for the Praefectus of Ostia. A man may be crucified before night.’

In spite of myself I made an uneasy movement but nevertheless raised my eyes to a bird who was singing sweetly in a tree near the fountain, knowing that I looked like a Vestal Virgin when the white showed beneath the iris, and said dreamily: ‘Why are there such wicked people in the world? How nice it would be if everybody was good and kind—and never got drunk,’ I added as an afterthought, hoping my face looked as inane as my words. ‘But of course the sailor—if it was one—will be wounded too, for Erinna said your dear husband fought him valiantly. Does he carry a dagger when he goes out at night?’

‘Er—always!’ Sabina looked suddenly thoughtful. Well she knew whose face had been slashed and that it would bear an identical scar.

I went on. ‘I feel dreadfully nervous, for I have just been through a terrible experience myself, and after this shall never feel safe even in the house of Maecenas. One of his slaves must stand at my door all night. And it would be as well if one stood at every door, for Erinna says it may have been a political enemy and many here must have those also.’

‘And what enemies could you have?’ Sabina asked softly.

Once more I lifted my eyes. ‘Of course I am not important enough to have enemies myself, but Maecenas must have many, and as I am his ward if anything happened to me it would bring him into disrepute, and the Emperor, who loved my father, would never forgive him and might banish him to some horrid place like Gaul or Britain.’

I could see that she was nonplussed. Being so much older and experienced in the world she had been convinced no doubt that she could make me betray myself, little knowing that Polos, by means of a sound drilling in mathematics, had trained me to think and reason quickly. And that I purposed to be well guarded in the future must have made her want to grind her teeth. She rose in a moment and left me, saying she must return to her suffering husband.

I went to my room to give Erinna a message and found her holding my dark mantle up to the window and examining it closely. She gave me a long look as I entered. ‘These spots look like blood, Mistress,’ she said, ‘and I found this mantle on the floor although I carefully laid it yesterday in the chest.’

I caught her shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. ‘Erinna,’ I said, ‘I am sorry you have lost your memory, but some day you may find it again and then it won’t matter.’

She tried to laugh. ‘Pomponia knows she has nothing to fear from her Erinna, who would not betray her under torture. But dear Mistress, dear Mistress, do not take such terrible risks, for women may have wits but men have muscles.’ And then she burst into tears.

I threw my arms round her neck and kissed her as I used to do when a child after I had kicked and scratched her. ‘I’d give you your freedom, Erinna,’ I cried, ‘only I couldn’t do without you and nothing could make me doubt your loyalty.’ When she had finished sobbing that she would never leave me and had dried her tears I sent her to find Maecenas, Uncle Horace, and Mallius and ask them to meet me in some secluded room where no one could overhear what I had to tell them.

Before long Erinna returned and led me out of a side door and down a loggia to a room which she said was the study of the Great Master. As I entered I encountered three pairs of hostile eyes; even Mallius looked at me severely and not a good-morning did one of them give me. They stood silent like three accusing gods. Of course that Numidian, whom I had forgotten, had reported to Maecenas, and for a moment I was disconcerted for I had intended to tell a story that would prepare them by degrees for the grand climax. And to have three of your best and most admiring friends, to say nothing of one being your lover, look as if their affection had turned to gall induces no pleasant sensation.

But I am not a woman for nothing. I gave an agonized cry, the tears spouted from my eyes, and running forward I hurled myself into my lover’s arms. ‘Oh, Mallius! Mallius!’ I sobbed wildly. ‘You don’t know how near I have been to death. Caelius brought a viper and as they couldn’t get it into my bed they were going to put it through the window so that I would hear a noise and then jump up and step on it and be stung to death and then when Scribonius didn’t know my window they were going to entice me out imitating your voice and strangle me and throw me into the sea and if that wouldn’t do they were going to put the viper into your bed so that I would kill myself too! Oh, Mallius, protect me! And look in your bed every night or I shall go mad, and I was so terrified at what they might do to you right away when I heard that, I slashed their faces and even then they might have got me but I ran so fast——’

Mallius had stood rigid at first but it was not long before he gave a shout of fury and then caught me so tightly in his arms I could hardly breathe but I got it all out. Maecenas and Uncle Horace had also made loud exclamations and were now close behind me and patting my head. ‘Darling!’ cried Uncle Horace. ‘What are you saying? Calm yourself, my Pomponia.’ And Mallius shouted: ‘Let me go! I must get my hands on those murdering demons.’ But I held him tight. Maecenas went to a table and poured out a cup of wine.

‘Drink this, dear child,’ he said. ‘And then tell us the whole story, and why you went out in the first place, and where you overheard them. What an experience! Poor, poor little girl!’

‘She is a brave girl,’ said my Uncle Horace proudly. ‘And this is not the first time she has proved it.’

I drank the wine and let it calm me and sat down and so did Maecenas and Uncle Horace, but Mallius stood beside me and I never let go his hand for a moment. He was scowling frightfully and must look like that when he is running his spear into Gauls and Germans. Then I began at the beginning and told them the whole story from the moment I had seen Scribonius recognize Mallius and the terror which turned my bed to a live brazier until I could stand it no longer and went out to seek him. When I described how I swung myself up into that tree Maecenas laughed and threw out his hands, but Uncle Horace didn’t even look astonished for many a tree of his own had he seen me climb. Then I related the conversation of those two word for word and that brought Maecenas to his feet to pace up and down the room and Uncle Horace turned pale and Mallius kept up a constant muttering, vowing he would kill them both.

When I had finished, making them all gasp again as I told how I had leaned down and slashed their faces and then run, Maecenas said: ‘You must be calm, Mallius, and sit down while we discuss what we have heard and come to some decision. To run two men through as they lay helpless in bed would bring you into disrepute, as you must realize for yourself. Moreover, it would involve us all in a public scandal that would betray our knowledge of their plot——’

‘But surely,’ I interrupted, ‘now that you have proof of the conspiracy you can have those men put to death or imprisoned.’

Maecenas shook his head. ‘No, Pomponia, the law requires two witnesses and those men would deny every word you said, even that they had met here in Ostia. Who would take the word of a girl against that of a Roman senator whose loyalty has never been questioned? He would merely shrug and say that your recent tragedy had affected your mind, and that would sound plausible enough.’

I jumped up and stamped my foot. ‘Do you mean to say those men will go free to work their will—and how will they explain two slashed cheeks just alike? Take me before a praetor and I will convince him.’

Maecenas smiled. ‘No doubt! But I do not choose that you shall become a notorious figure—you a patrician girl of sixteen, your name bandied about in every low wine-shop in Rome! To have made a brave escape from those Gauls after the murder of your parents inspired pity and admiration. But if the story got about that you had gone out alone at night to hunt for your lover and had scrambled up a tree and overheard talk about vipers in your bed and slashed the faces of two of the best-known men in Rome with a dagger——and what Roman maiden was ever known to carry a dagger?—or to climb trees for that matter! All Rome would be roaring your name—patricians, equites, freedmen and slaves. They would scorn the theatres for a month! You could never live it down, never take your position as a dignified Roman matron of the old breed—you, Pomponia, daughter of Pomponidus and wife of Mallius! As for those two slashed faces, trust them to invent some story. That need not concern us now.’

I wrung my hands and this time tears sprang from Nature’s own font as I cried: ‘But they must be punished! They must be! And I thought of Rome as well when I was in that tree and glad when I had scarred them for life and as proof of what I had heard. And now it is all for naught!’ I turned to Mallius, and although he was still scowling he was much calmer and shook his head. ‘Maecenas is right my Pomponia,’ he said. ‘But it is not for naught. At least we know now what before we could only suspect, but never, never must you take such a risk again.’

Said Maecenas: ‘I shall see that she does not. Not only will she have a guard at her door every night but he will have orders to keep her behind it. And others shall follow her wherever she goes——’

‘It isn’t positive they suspect it was Pomponia in that tree, and her dagger——’ began Uncle Horace, but I interrupted:

‘Oh, but it is. Caelius would suspect me anyhow even if he didn’t see me, and he must have told Scribonius for Sabina joined me at breakfast and tried to make me betray myself but she got nothing.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Maecenas. ‘Then your life will be in constant danger. I think I shall send you with Polos, Volumnia Marcia and a strong bodyguard to Alexandria and the ship will sail with sealed orders——’

‘I won’t go!’ I shrieked. ‘You can’t make me, and if Mallius lets you even try it I shan’t marry him. And I’ll scream until all Rome hears me and the police rush in and then you would have a scandal for I’d tell everything. I can be guarded well enough here, and in my own house, and meanwhile you will find the proof you want, or force those two men to confess. If you put them to the torture it would be no more than they deserved, and they know they were overheard and that you must have been told. And my testimony may be needed if you couldn’t get them any other way. And if that would save the Empire and the life of Augustus, you are too good a Roman to think of anything else.’

‘She is right, Gaius,’ said Uncle Horace. ‘I see no reason for sending her away, although I too hope her name may never be brought before the public again. Better go now to your room and rest, my Pomponia, for you are tired and excited, and we still have much to discuss.’

But I sat down again. ‘No, I won’t go to my room, be sent there as if I were a little girl. What would you know if it were not for me? I mean to hear what you intend to do.’

Maecenas shrugged. ‘It would take a Legion to march her out. Let her stay. All I can do is to protect her, and that I shall do whatever wild ideas she may conceive. Dear little Pomponia, remain with us by all means.’

He looked at me sarcastically and I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but I was now too dignified for that so I merely made a face. He walked up and down for a moment and then spoke again. ‘We must consider many things. It is true we have reason to think our suspicions are verified, but it must not be forgotten that Scribonius and Caelius, whether they suspect Pomponia or not, know that someone overheard their words and has probably reported them to me. It is quite as likely they think Mallius himself was in that tree and contented himself with marking them, rather than jump down and engage them in a fight that might have brought the guards running. What were you wearing, Pomponia?’

‘A long dark mantle with a hood. They could not tell whether I were a man or a woman as I ran away.’

‘I know your father seldom asked Caelius to any of his villas. Has that wily man ever seen you climb trees?’

‘No, but Mallius is much taller. They may have noticed that.’

‘With blood in their eyes and a face ripped open! Not likely . . . But no, they would naturally assume that Mallius would have been more likely to bring an iron fist down on each head than used a dagger. Possibly they think it was a faithful slave—my secretary or doctor, for instance—for it seems to me incredible they should imagine Pomponia would be out of the house at night and hiding in a tree at that. But Pomponia must be guarded in any case, so that is not the point. Scribonius told me a fine convincing lie last night as I sat beside his bed, and of course it was to discount whatever I might be told later. A cold brain like that, despite bodily pain, would function clearly and he would recall every word that was said and know how incredible it would sound when repeated. He will stick to his story, no doubt of that, feeling quite safe: remember neither he nor Caelius gave a hint of their plans, and if it had been a slave in that tree, horrified at the idea they intended to attack one of Terentia’s friends, and never having heard the name of Mallius, he could not have received a glimmer of the truth, possibly not have known who those men were. If Caelius did suspect Pomponia—on general principles!—I think she deluded Sabina this morning, for women hold girls in light esteem and few know our Pomponia! No! We have been misled by our own knowledge of the truth, and I believe that even Caelius when thinking it over will discard the idea of Pomponia out alone in the gardens at night, to say nothing of being concealed in a tree. This is well, for, hearing that your uncle is ill, my dear, what more natural than that you should pay him a visit of sympathy—and offer him one of your villas for the period of convalescence? Both men can be watched better in the country than in Rome. As for myself, I shall pretend to accept Scribonius’ story and have the Praefectus of Ostia running here every hour. Scribonius is no fool, but I have not had my diplomatic talents in constant use all these years for nothing, and it is more than possible he will believe that some officious slave overheard that conversation and then was afraid to confess—also, not know who the speakers were; and certainly, if such were the case, would have no inkling of their plans, nor for whom the viper was intended. That is all plausible enough. Do not be impatient, Pomponia; remember our old proverb: Rome was not built in a day. I am thankful to say that Scribonius, painful as his wound is, insists upon returning to Tusculum this evening. Calvus, I fear, has had no time to get hold of his papers but his spies will be on watch: I shall send a letter to him within the hour. There is no doubt in my mind that Scribonius will send for some of his confederates . . . confederates. . . . It may be indeed that we have not reached the heart of this conspiracy: Scribonius and Caelius may be the confederates, and someone of whom we have not yet thought. . . . I have been thinking aloud and on every side at once! Have you anything to suggest, Quintus?’

‘Yes,’ said Uncle Horace, who was looking as unhappy as if his Muse had deserted him, and a nice mess it was for a poor poet to be mixed up in. ‘I don’t like the idea of Pomponia going to call on Caelius. The farther she keeps from that scheming villain the better.’

‘She will be accompanied by Polos and Volumnia Marcia, and escorted by two Pretorian Guards; a precaution at which no one will wonder after her recent experience. And her wits are very sharp! But if she has any qualms——’

‘No! No!’ I exclaimed. ‘And the other day I made him think I now felt kindly toward him and only objected to having him and Lydia establish themselves in my house. It would be quite natural to run in excitedly and tell him what had happened to Scribonius. He has such a scheming mind of his own he will assume I am trying to flatter him into giving up his idea of contesting the will. And I simply cannot exist until I hear his excuse for having his face bound up. Do you mind?’ I asked Mallius, trying to look meek.

He was scowling again and answered shortly: ‘Not if you are well guarded. And we must use every means to get to the kernel of this conspiracy. I have too little so far to report to Agrippa.’

‘Do you know—do you know——’ I said haltingly. ‘Polos once told me the brain is made up of little cells. I feel as if something were knocking in one of them—trying to tell me something—but the door of that little cell is locked. It can’t get out! Oh, what is it!’

They were all looking at me expectantly. ‘Try, try, Pomponia!’ exclaimed Maecenas. ‘Who knows? It might be the key to the whole mystery.’

I shook my head despondently. ‘It won’t come out. But it will! It must! Suddenly I shall think of something—something that happened not long since. . . . What, what can it be!’

‘Forget it for the moment,’ said Uncle Horace. ‘Then when you least expect it there will be a flash like lightning in your mind. Often have I had that experience when I have searched my own mind in vain for a word or a phrase and almost nibbled the end off my stilus. Go now and roam the gardens with Mallius, for I doubt not that Maecenas will send you home this evening if you are to see your wicked relative tomorrow. Be happy for a while.’

Mallius and I were nothing loath and this time we did manage to elude the gardeners and get lost in the maze. And the first thing he told me was that he had spent the night in Uncle Horace’s room!

I was feeling very low that night, for a messenger had come before I left the villa with the news that those Gauls were now believed to have gone not to Africa nor the Spains but were safely on their way to the northern coast of their own land, and in that wilderness among their own people how could they ever be caught or even recognized? It was a blow to Maecenas, who had expected them to confess under torture, but it was a far greater blow to me, who recalled those horrible distorted faces, those flashing knives and daggers before they were buried in the breasts of my beloved parents. When I raved and raged to Polos, he, philosopher though he is, exclaimed that he would gladly have seen them crucified, and that comforted me somewhat for I had expected him to ask what good would it do Pomponidus and Cornelia to kill their murderers too, and that would have enraged me further and made me try to tear up his book.

As it was I calmed down and told him of my latest experience and for the first time since he came to us I heard him laugh heartily. But he shuddered too, for well he knew what might have happened if I had not taken it into my head to go out that night or if I had fallen from the tree. But it was all over now and although I dearly love to tell a dramatic story, particularly when I am the heroine of it, I have not been brought up on the Greek drama for nothing and know when to stop. So I asked Polos to think up some excuse for calling on Caelius and Lydia. It was too soon to have heard he had met with an accident, nor, on second thoughts, could I burst in on him with the story of Scribonius’ misadventure, for it was no habit of mine to call on them at all, nor would they expect it unless I had a good reason.

Finally Polos said: ‘Send me with a message to Caelius tomorrow morning, and then when I return with the news that he is ill it will be only decent for you to call on him.’

Then we both racked our minds for a message that would not excite their suspicions and it was Polos again who thought of one. ‘I shall go to them with an invitation for lunch and tell him you have been in consultation with your guardians and there is a question you wish to discuss with him at once. Put that fertile imagination of yours to work meanwhile and have the “question” ready.’

So it was that at nine o’clock next morning I was ascending the humble spur of the Esquiline with Polos on one hand and Volumnia Marcia on the other and two Pretorian Guards stalking behind. I had never been inside an island, those great square blocks with a street on every side, but the streets so narrow the occupants could almost shake hands with neighbors in the block opposite, and Polos told me to let nothing escape my attention, for the intelligent patrician should know something of the life of all classes.

So I stared without appearing to and saw women in bright-colored tunics jabbering from every window when they were not in the street and I’d never known there were so many children in the world. But Polos knew and had brought a big bag of copper coins and I scattered them among those half-naked brats and it was fun to see them scramble and to hear their shrieks of delight, while the women stopped talking to stare, even a number of men who were loafing about, and it was all very interesting but I must say the smells were not very nice.

I wore a white linen palla and my hair in hanging braids and covered my head with a parasol for the sun was very hot. Volumnia Marcia, who was feeling quite happy once more, so kindly had she been treated at the villa and knowing nothing of the dangers that had threatened me, wore her new wine-colored stola and palla and also protected her white head with a parasol and looked as important and imposing as Livia herself.

It must have been seldom that anyone of our rank visited an island, but I encountered no glances of envy or hatred. It is not the plebs that hate the patricians—those who were not impoverished by the cruel Proscriptions of Mark Anthony, Octavian, and Lepidus; nor do they hate those men of both Orders who were enriched by Augustus with the wealth of Egypt and other client-states and provinces. It is the old patrician and equestrian families, once so important and wealthy, as their fathers had been for generations, and who were the victims of the Triumvirs, that hate us. My father had been with Octavian in Apollonia and retained his friendship, nor had he incurred the enmity of Mark Anthony, but he was one of the fortunate few; and although Augustus repented later and bestowed lands and even money from his own treasure upon families whose heads had been murdered, or their wealth snatched from them to fill the public Treasury, emptied after twenty years of civil war, it is well known that the greater part of his own immense wealth and that of Maecenas, Agrippa, and other favorites, came later out of Egypt; and that would seem to have been a vast treasure house, for when he came home after the death of Anthony and Cleopatra, with Egypt his vassal, his ships had been laden not only with magnificent specimens of Oriental art but millions and millions in money, and he gave a present out of it to every pleb in Rome and even some to freedmen and slaves, and from that moment he held Rome in the hollow of his hand. Uncle Horace says he was very handsome then with his fair curly hair and features like a Greek statue, and large gray eyes benign and kind but so compelling when he wished that all others fell before them. And he isn’t so bad now, although his teeth are uneven and turning black, and his graceful figure is hidden in winter under four woolen tunics besides his toga, chest-protector and what-not, and he so hates the sun on his head that he wears a broad hat which makes him look like a countryman in Rome. So much for Augustus, whom I didn’t intend to write about here, only seeing those plebs who think him perfect flashed him across my mind. I was going on to say that Mummy often wondered with a sigh if certain of her friends really cared for her, despite her generosity, or because of it, but she didn’t blame them, for who would like to live in a small house in an unfashionable street when she had been brought up and spent many years in a mansion with forty slaves and now had only two or three; and the father or husband—if he had kept his head on—or the eldest son, was now too poor to be a member of the senate unless Augustus supplied the capital, which to do him justice he often did: and whether this was due to repentance, policy, or bad health which would make him fear death and the wrath of the gods, no one knew. Some of the wild set Julia runs with are members of the Equestrian Order whose fathers had escaped the Proscription or quickly refilled their coffers, so great is their genius for business and so many their opportunities for plunder in the provinces, after they were restored to the good graces of Augustus; and these young men had managed the affairs of certain young patricians and made them wealthy too and were rewarded with their intimacy.

We had three stairs to climb and they were dark and none too clean and rather slippery and the smells were worse than those without. When Polos knocked on a door it was opened by Lydia herself and she was not taken by surprise for he had told her that when I heard the bad news I would naturally wish to visit my afflicted uncle, but she exclaimed at my escort. She could do no less however than invite V. M. and Polos to enter but slammed the door in the face of the Pretorians. ‘Polos will be able to protect you against a helpless man,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Will you sit down? The chairs are not very comfortable but they are clean even if the neighborhood is filthy.’

It was a nice airy little parlor, neatly furnished and everything in good order, but no doubt one slave can do the work of ten, and when there are many slaves in a house they do little but loaf and gossip. I asked her what was the matter with Caelius. Was it the fever that so often raged in Rome at this season? And she said no, he had been knocked down by a wagon and cut his face on a rock, and when I said I’d like to see him she took me into the next room where he lay on a day-bed, his face so nicely bound up I knew he had called in a doctor, and when he saw me his one exposed eye half-closed looked like a snake’s and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see his tongue dart out.

Lydia gave me a chair and went out and I sat beside him and told him how brave he was to make so little fuss after so painful an accident and said a lot of conventional things and knew that I looked as innocent and harmless as when I had routed Sabina. ‘I’ll have Diomedes send you delicacies every day,’ I said, ‘and when you are better you must go to our little villa in the Alban Hills near the sulphur springs. And you must consider it your own henceforth, even if I cannot make it over to you legally, for when I am married I shall spend the summers at the villa on the Bay of Naples or at one I intend to build at Ostia. I have fallen in love with the sea—and that reminds me: your friend Caius Scribonius Libo was a guest at the villa of Maecenas where I have been staying and last night but one he had a dreadful experience. He went out late for a walk in the gardens as he couldn’t sleep and was set upon by some drunken sailor or perhaps by some political enemy who had followed him there, knowing that he was in the habit of walking abroad at night and thought he would be safe—I mean the man did—where there were no police. Or maybe it was some one of the impoverished patricians who hate him for being a friend of Augustus and retaining his own great wealth. Anyhow, whoever it was made a desperate attack on him and cut his face. Maecenas ordered the Praefectus of Ostia to examine every sailor in the port, for Scribonius had his dagger with him and wounded his assailant and that wound will betray the man, even if he swears he got it in a fight with another sailor. Unfortunately a ship got away before the Praefectus was sent for, but if the man is caught he will be crucified. Maecenas is furious, as why should he not be? A guest of his! In his own gardens! And such a grand splendid man as Scribonius Libo! The greatest of all the senators and so generous at the Saturnalias! It was an abomination! An abomination! And we all pray to the gods that wretch will be captured and crucified before another sun goes down.’

So fraught was my voice with virtuous indignation that Polos who overheard me despite the chatter of V. M. and Lydia, nearly burst into laughter, so he told me afterward, and an uncertain glimmer came into that narrowed eye watching me. He pretended surprise and whispered: ‘Scribonius? He is indeed my friend! What happened? Tell me all.’

And I related all that Maecenas and Sabina had given out and made up anything interesting I could think of, and then told him that Scribonius, despite the doctor’s orders, had returned to Tusculum. ‘What a pity you cannot go to him nor he come to you,’ I said sympathetically. ‘Would you like me to send him word? He is so kind, no doubt he would want you to come to his villa and remain there until you are well. But if you prefer to go to the Alban villa you will find a carriage there and can visit him as often as you like. When did you say you had your accident?’

‘Evening before last,’ he whispered painfully, his eye now less hostile than puzzled. ‘It was on the Appian Way. I had gone to visit the ashes of Quintus and Cornelia, and just as I stepped from the tomb a big wagon laden with vegetables from some farm knocked me down. But it was dusk and the man didn’t see me, or pretended not to, nor did he hear me call. I had fallen on a sharp rock and cut my face, and no doubt my voice was feeble, for the pain was intense. I bound up the wound as best I could and staggered home, receiving no help, for those that passed thought I was drunk and only laughed when I tried to stop them. It was a wonder I did not bleed to death.’ And I thought: This is a grand lying game and I wonder who will carry off the honors. But I realized afresh that Livius Caelius Piso was no enemy to be despised, for that was a good plausible story. My own part in this comedy was more difficult and my wits rushed together as he asked, still in that ghostly whisper: ‘What was it you wished to talk to me about if I had been able to lunch with you today?’

I drew a deep sigh. ‘It is that Maecenas and Uncle Horace think I should travel and divert my mind—from—from that awful experience. If I could marry now it would be different but that cannot be; and I should like to see Alexandria and Thebes and other places in Egypt—and all those Temples! Of course Polos and Volumnia Marcia would go with me, and as we would sail under sealed orders I shouldn’t need a bodyguard—and the gods know I am tired of being followed about, to say nothing of a Pretorian before my door at night and another in front of my window. But Maecenas thinks it would be more proper if I were accompanied by some of my own family, and of course there is no one so closely related as you and Lydia. Then too you know Egypt well and could show me all those tombs and that great palace of the Ptolemies where Anthony and Cleopatra lived in such splendor and tell me of many scenes you witnessed in those magnificent rooms. I—I know we haven’t got along very well and I won’t pretend I like you very much, and still wish to live alone when in my own house, but travelling is different—and of course as head of the party you would be abundantly supplied with money, and Lydia with many beautiful stolas and pallas to wear at the court of the Governor. Do you like the idea?’

I had summoned my most ingenuous expression as I uttered this string of preposterous lies but I never took my eyes from his face and over what I could see of it flitted several different expressions. Surprise. Doubt. Uneasiness. A brief swivelling of the eye like that I had once seen in the eyes of a cornered rat. But all suddenly merged into one of suspicion. ‘You are trying to bribe me,’ he whispered harshly. ‘And you want to get me far from Rome where I cannot go before the courts and demand my rights.’

I sighed again. ‘Yes, I was afraid you would think that. But if Maecenas had any such idea in his mind he did not mention it to me. And surely your lawyers can attend to the matter—I do not know any legal terms. It wouldn’t be for long anyhow, only two or three months. But wouldn’t you like to see Egypt again? And what an experience for Lydia!’

‘Rome in summer is hot enough, but the inside of a volcano is no hotter than Egypt is now. Why not wait until the autumn?’

‘I am so depressed—both my guardians think I should have a change now, and it is hot everywhere. Of course we would not go until you were well and strong again.’

And then came the question I was prepared for but dreaded and he asked it abruptly. ‘When did you last hear from Mallius? Pity he is not here to marry and protect you.’

I rolled up my eyes then dropped them and fluttered my eyelashes and by giving my arm a hard pinch under my palla made the blood rush to my face as if I were blushing and stammered: ‘I—I—promise me you won’t tell anyone, not even Scribonius, if I tell you something——’ And I leaned forward confidingly and hoped I looked impulsive and silly.

He mumbled something that might be taken either way and I bent down and whispered ecstatically: ‘Mallius has been here! Think of that! And I had not seen him for nearly a year——’

But he was sitting up and exclaiming: ‘Mallius in Rome!’ And I knew it was not the news that amazed him but that I admitted it and he was now more puzzled than ever. Then he fell back and muttered something about being taken by surprise as he had understood the army was on the march for the German frontier.

‘Mallius came on a secret mission,’ I whispered importantly, and had the pleasure of seeing him writhe and once more look like a cornered rat. But he managed to whisper back, and I never knew before that a whispering voice could tremble: ‘What mission? As you have told me this much you may as well tell me all.’

‘Yes, I will,’ I said sweetly, ‘and it is very interesting and will give you something to think about while you are lying here, but you mustn’t tell anyone, not even Scribonius, for it is a very great secret and both Maecenas and Mallius would be angry with me——’

‘Go on! Go on!’ He barely managed to articulate for he was holding his breath. ‘Of course it will interest me.’

‘It is this, then. Just as Agrippa was about to march out of Lugdunum someone came from Rome with the story that serious trouble is brewing in Hither or Farther Spain—I forget which, and he feels that if true it is very serious indeed—on account of those gold mines, you know—and perhaps he should let Drusus take a part of the army to the German frontier and go himself to Spain. But he wants to be certain—there are always so many rumors—so he sent Mallius off—in disguise, of course—to tell Maecenas to worm the truth out of a very rich Hispanian who has lived in Rome for several years, and has been suspected before this of plotting, or if that proves impossible, to dispatch spies into both Spains at once. Maecenas is very much upset, for if the story should get out that no more gold would flow from those mines into Rome there might be trouble—so many are resentful anyhow that Augustus won’t conquer Persia as Alexander did and bring back an even greater treasure than he did from Egypt after Actium. It is wonderful for me that Agrippa entrusted this mission to Mallius for I have been happy for two whole days!’

Mallius and I had concocted this story between us, as his presence must be accounted for, but I must say it didn’t sound very probable as I heard myself telling it and wished we could have thought of something better. I heard a lot of air come out of Caelius’ lungs, which may have been a sigh of relief but his voice was a little stronger as he said, very non-committally: ‘Hm. Hm. Quite possible. And in what disguise did Mallius enter Rome?’

‘As a slave. And he stood behind Uncle Horace’s chair night before last hoping to watch every expression of the Hispanian’s face, only at the last moment the man sent word he had a touch of fever and couldn’t come, and Maecenas, who had invited him, was very much disappointed. But he intends to drive to his villa today.’

‘And did anyone recognize Mallius?’ asked my uncle-in-law.

‘No!’ I replied triumphantly. ‘He didn’t look like himself a bit and no one looks at a slave anyway. And now he has gone! When shall I see him again! If Maecenas learns anything he can send a messenger of his own to Agrippa, for,’ I added proudly, ‘Mallius is very important in the army and must go with Drusus to the north.’

I rose and shook out my palla. ‘I won’t tire you any more. Let me know if you will go to the villa in the Albans for a week or so, and I will send a carriage for you; and of course I didn’t expect you to decide at once about Egypt. But don’t keep me waiting too long!’

As he murmured good-bye his eye was closed and he looked very white and pathetic. No doubt I had tired him out and I certainly had given him something to think about!

‘I hate lying! I hate lying! I hate lying!’ I cried to Polos when we were alone in the library and I was storming up and down. ‘I never told a lie in my life before now. I’ve always said everything I meant and I love truth. I never thought anyone worth lying to before. I would have thought it too great a compliment to pay anyone and now I’ve paid it to that murdering villain. How I longed to tell him I knew he was the murderer of my parents and all about that viper and when he said he had paid a visit to the tomb I don’t know how I refrained from spitting on him and telling him that he couldn’t fool me with his stupid lies. And I sat there and told lies myself! I feel as if my tongue were blistered and my head full of slime.’

‘My dear Pomponia,’ said Polos drily, ‘you have merely learned one of Life’s most painful lessons: that truth is a luxury to be indulged in only when quite safe. Safe not only for yourself but for others. It is only the selfish egoist who indulges himself in the truth at any cost. Console yourself with the thought that you have lied for Rome: without fear for yourself or Mallius, for you will both be well guarded. And you showed yourself a true Roman, for there are no better liars in the world. Think of Maecenas, who is too arrogant to lie for his own sake but is the greatest diplomatist in the Empire. Diplomacy is the art of lying on stilts—for the good of the state.’

‘Well, I’m thankful I’m not a diplomatist and anyhow I’ll never have to lie to Mallius, any more than I did to my parents and I am sure he’ll never lie to me.’

‘No. Mallius is an honest man, a true Roman of the old breed we hear so much about, but he is also very clever and would never hesitate at a lie if it served his purpose. And now we have something else to consider. Did Caelius believe you or not?’

‘I can’t tell. I think so. He may or not on thinking it over. On the whole I think he will, for he has always known me to be truthful to the point of rudeness—and it certainly would be hard for him to imagine why I should be out alone at night and concealed in a tree.’

‘And if he takes you at your word and agrees to go to Egypt? How are you going to wriggle out of that?’

‘Go to bed with an attack of Roman fever. More lies! I feel almost sure he will accept for he will reason that never will he have a better chance to get rid of me for it would be easy enough to throw me overboard some dark night. At least so he would think! I’m as strong as he is, and I’d watch out that he didn’t stick a dagger into me first. He wouldn’t think of that! But it will be at least ten days before he is well enough to travel and I hope all will be discovered before then. I think he will go to the Alban villa, and Calvus will plant a spy among the slaves.’

Diomedes came in to announce lunch and we had it in the small dining-room, although that made me feel sad for when we had had no company Daddy and Mummy and I always had our meals there, but we had agreed that it was rather lonesome for three persons to dine in the great room used for banquets—three, for I insisted that Polos sit with us and he consented for he now had so much time to devote to his book, and I wanted him to feel he was no longer a slave but as much my trusted friend and adviser as Uncle Horace and Maecenas. And I am sure that after I had told him he was soon to be a freedman he no longer felt like a slave, for his eyes were less sad and brighter and his step almost buoyant. How dreadful it must be, and I had never thought of it before, to be an educated man of good family and yet a slave. And I might be one myself if we had lost in those Punic Wars, or if Greece long ago had not been too brave and strong for the Persians, who would have swept over all Europe, and Polos says it was that Marathon battle that decided the fate of the world, but the Romans in their arrogance have forgotten it and shown Greece the basest ingratitude. When Daddy told him it was the fate of all countries to decline after they had reached their zenith Polos exclaimed that was quite true and Rome would be the next to go down to destruction for she was rotten to the core. But to that Daddy would not listen; Rome was to be the great exception, for she would profit by the follies of other nations and Augustus in time would root out all the evils bred by hatreds and jealousies and extravagance and dissipation, and restore the highest ideals of the old Republic. And Polos told him he had always been too fortunate, despite his intelligence, to know what fear was or to anticipate evil for the future, but Augustus could do so much and no more for he was a man not a god, and no man, not even the Emperor of half the world, could make human nature over nor reverse the course of destiny. But they always argued amiably and Daddy had great respect for Polos even if he wasn’t convinced.

Nor could I ever be convinced that Rome would not be great until the end of time, but I didn’t think it worth arguing about, for I had other and more important things to think of. Who cares whether this state or that will be ruling the world centuries hence when we will all be dead anyhow?

Volumnia Marcia talked of our visit that morning and said she had found Lydia very animated and gracious, if a little forced, for no doubt she was worried about her husband; and although she was a friend of her daughter Tullia she had barely spoken to her before, as the people who came to her daughter’s house were very modern and regarded an old woman like herself as of no account. She was glad I had been brought up in the old manner and had respected as well as loved my parents, for it gave me a dignity those others did not possess, and I was delighted at her praise and made up my mind she should live in my house always and never have to go back to one in which she had been so unhappy and of no account.

She sighed deeply as she went on. ‘Poverty has embittered Tullia, for not only was she brought up in luxury but the father of her husband, Publius Valerius Antias, lost both head and fortune during the Proscription, and although the Valerii, as you must know, are one of the old patrician families, Augustus does not like my son-in-law personally, as he suspected him of being engaged in one of the conspiracies, and will not give him the sum of money that would restore his senatorial rank, so that he has dropped down into the Equestrian Order and been obliged to engage in business. A terrible descent for one of the Valerii! Fortunately he made a friend of the eques Glyco Assellio, who has given him a good position in his firm, for before that he had to live on what those relatives who had escaped the Proscription, doled out. The son of Assellio, Priscus, is a friend of Julia and that is the way Tullia met her. Occasionally she goes to one of her parties, and it was in Julia’s palace that she met Lydia——’

‘Lydia at Julia’s!’ I exclaimed. ‘Augustus will not have Caelius and Lydia at court—although I suppose Julia cares nothing for that. Still, I can’t imagine what Julia can see in Lydia.’

‘Lydia, Tullia says, can be very charming, for she is a great flatterer and very amusing. Caelius and she are popular in society.’ And then I remembered what Maecenas had said and wondered if Lydia had been with Julia’s party at Ostia. I hadn’t seen her in the Temple of Isis, but I doubt if Lydia cares for any religion and so I said to V. M. who shrugged and replied she had no idea, but thought it likely she might pretend, for she would do anything to keep in the good graces of Julia, who was very generous with her friends, besides including even the poorer ones in her gay parties.

‘There is nothing of the snob about Julia,’ she said. ‘And she has so many good points. What a pity it is she is so voluptuous! The stories about her are shocking but she has a lovely disposition and the kindest heart in Rome. Once she came to the house when Tullia gave a little party and sat beside me in my corner for ten minutes, and she is the only one who ever did. Would that I could protect her from herself—and I fear she is now more desperate than ever, for the reform clique is growing more powerful every day as well as in influence over Augustus, and it is said he will be induced to enforce strict laws against adultery, extravagance and luxurious living upon his return. You are too young to know about such things but not long ago he did revive the old office of censorship and appointed two censors, but they were deplorable failures. And now, it is said, he will assume that office himself. Julia is not only in despair at the prospect of having her extravagances and incessant gaieties prohibited, but afraid he will find out about her loose and promiscuous conduct. But it would take a brave person to defame Julia to Augustus; I doubt if even Livia, much as she hates her, would dare, for she knows exactly how far she can go with Augustus, much as he loves and respects her, and is careful to take no risks. It is Agrippa’s policy to shut his ears, so long as he makes sure that her children are his, and even she would not dare, reckless as she is, to have one after he had been too long away.’

My ears were prickling. I had acquired a fine gossip in Volumnia Marcia as well as an imposing duenna, and I dearly love gossip, and should have much to tell the girls when we were all together in Rome once more.

When I awoke from my nap I found I was sitting up and reaching out with my hands as if to capture something. And then I realized I had been on the point of uttering something that my ears not my hands would have caught, and that I had been dreaming—dreaming—yes! yes! that something I had felt at Ostia knocking in a little brain-cell, and forgotten, had got out and told me what I should remember when I woke up, and now it was gone, gone, shut up again and not even knocking, and I grasped a handful of hair in each hand as if I would pull it out by the roots and rocked my head back and forth and used all the force of my will to remember, and I couldn’t and was ready to scream with vexation, when Erinna came in and told me that Uncle Horace was without and I bathed and dressed hurriedly.

He was sitting in the colonnade on the shady side of the peristyle and looking as if every friend in the world had deserted him, and one had for he told me that Virgil had sent him word he was leaving at once for Brundisium to sail for Athens and thence for the north as he wanted to revisit the scenes of the Æneid before he published it. So far only a few copies had been made for his friends and both Augustus and all Rome were demanding the publication of this great work and he was dissatisfied with it and thought he would gain inspiration from going over the background of his epic, beginning with Troy, although the original Troy had disappeared long ago.

When Uncle Horace told me this he heaved a great sigh and said mournfully: ‘I have a presentiment I shall never see him again and he is the half of my own soul.’

‘I remember that lovely line in the Ode you wrote to him when he went to Greece before. Why don’t you write him another? And after you have delivered your soul in beautiful verse you will feel better and be happy in paying a tribute to Virgil besides, and your mind will be diverted looking for the right words.’

His eyes lit up and he exclaimed that he would and I was a dear little girl to have thought of it, and he could always feel free of this dreary earth when soaring aloft with his Muse.

And then I said: ‘I don’t believe in presentiments a bit. You had none when you bade good-bye to my mother and father for the last time, so why should you be right about Virgil? He is no worse than he has been for years and a sea-voyage will do him good.’ And Uncle Horace laughed and said that the practical sense of women was refreshing and he was glad he had come to see me, although it had been for another reason.

So I told him about my visit to Caelius, and he listened intently and forgot all else, and then he said only time would prove whether that man had believed me or not.

‘And what do you think of all the lies I told?’ I asked gloomily, and repeated what Polos had said and then told him he wouldn’t dare lecture me for it was at Maecenas’ suggestion I had gone to see Caelius, and how could he expect me to do anything but lie?

‘Polos is right,’ he said sadly. ‘And this wicked world will never turn you into a liar for you are honest and truthful—and proud—by nature. It is a terrible world, my Pomponia, and the gods must have created human nature so they could sit on high and laugh. It would have been quite as feasible for them to have made all men good and none evil, but that would not have amused them—and—who can say?—perhaps life would have been too monotonous to be borne. Alas, however, that civilization should have made us worse instead of better! I doubt if there was lying and deceit among our ancestors when they wore the skins of wild beasts, but even then they killed one another for as trifling reasons as those behind the wars of today.’

Then I asked him if he knew anything of that ‘reform clique’ Volumnia Marcia had told me about, and he laughed harshly and said: ‘Oh yes, and with reason! It is a very strong party composed mainly of the poorer patricians and equites and many of our literary class, who envy the rich and hate them for the millions they squander on pomp, dress, jewels, ostentatious entertainments and public festivities. They would like to see all those indulgences banned, the rich forbidden to spend any more than the poor. Not that many of them are insincere in wishing to curb by law the shameless immorality which is a bad example to all classes; but even if Augustus does impose sumptuary laws and exile those who persist in adultery, I doubt his success. Today is not yesterday. In former times when morals were austere the father was head of the family—a king in his little domain—and could punish his wife and daughters if they indulged in extravagances and loose morals, even putting them to death if he so willed. But woman is the equal of man in these days in everything but politics, and if a husband or father dare remonstrate he is run out of the house with shrieks. Do you wonder there are so many bachelors in Rome! The women would be too strong even for Augustus who rules half the world. But whether these men are sincere or not the principle is right. Have I not inveighed, myself, against the shamelessness and excesses of the wealthy? But as I have also satirized the hypocritical zeal of the “reformers” I have merely incurred the hatred of both sides. I am a sad example, my Pomponia, of one who loves truth more than applause.’

‘But you have applause enough,’ I said, staring at him, for I had never seen him in this bitter mood before. ‘All Rome hails you as one of its two greatest living poets. How could anyone be more famous?’

‘There is a difference between fame and approval,’ he replied rather shortly. ‘You were too young at the time to take notice, but when I published the first three Books of my Odes, every professional critic excoriated them and so did all the intellectual hangers-on, as well as these vociferous would-be reformers of Rome’s habits and morals. I was called immoral, arrogant, unoriginal, a poor imitation of the Greeks. All the petty cliques I had ignored cried out that my Odes were an insulting challenge to the Roman classics, of whose monotonous hexameters they should be as tired as I am, and probably are. Even when Augustus, Maecenas, Virgil, Varius, pronounced my work both original and beautiful they would not listen. The truth may be that the public was seething with discontent about many things at the time, and when my Odes came out those who commanded attention vented their ill humor on me. Probably it would have been the same if Virgil had published his Æneid. A fair example of the logic, consistency, and justice of the human mind. But, as I have said elsewhere, justice was born of the fear of injustice—and easily becomes dormant.’

I stamped my foot and running across kissed him all over his nice big smooth face and then returned to my seat. ‘Darling! Darling Uncle Horace! How I hate them! But surely they’ve got over all that now for I’ve heard nothing of it even from the girls—although—I remember now, I did hear it discussed once at table, and was angry that anyone should be unkind to you but forgot about it. And they must have forgotten it too for they have had to accept you as a great poet whether they like it or not, and why should you care for the opinion of critics and fools?’

‘Alas, Pomponia, even we who strive to be philosophers love approbation and are stung by dispraise. And I was the more deeply hurt for I knew that hostile criticism to be unjust, particularly when they called me unoriginal.’ He threw back his head and I knew he was quoting when he chanted: ‘I was the first to plant free footsteps on a virgin soil; I walked not where others trod. Who trusts himself will lead and rule the swarm. I was the first to show to Latium the iambics of Paros——’ He broke off and looked rather shame-faced. ‘See what an egotist I am! That is from one of my epistles; but written when I had found some compensation in the “swarm” of imitators—although the imitations were so bad they read like parodies and made me blush that I had inspired them.’

‘Well, you should feel safe from the critics now,’ I said. But he shook his head.

‘They hate me the more. And I had already incurred the enmity of those who make reputations because I would not run round to their suppers and give suppers in return and make them presents and flatter them. Virgil, with no thought of literary politics, liked that sort of life when he was well and let them swarm in his house, and scattered largesse among them. But they call me a snob because I prefer the society of Maecenas, Marsalla, Augustus and others—Pomponidus alas!—wishing to believe that rich and powerful men can have no other attraction. The truth is that with few exceptions I don’t like men of letters and prefer the society of men of the world, who have seen and experienced much, not lived in their infertile minds or little cliques. Moreover, I choose to live in seclusion for the greater part of the year, finding my happiness in work, my library, my farm, and the beauties of nature. And that too they cannot understand, or at least resent. Any normal being, they think, must prefer to live in this crowded, noisy, scheming, stinking Rome.’

‘But don’t you love Rome?’ I asked wonderingly.

‘Oh, yes, as a symbol. But sun worshippers have no desire to dwell in that fiery body. Rome is a religion once more, thanks to the statesmanship of Augustus, but I happen to be a poet and am content to worship Rome in the peace of my Sabine farm.’

‘And can you return there now?’ I asked.

He shook his head with another deep sigh. ‘No. Maecenas wants me to remain with him, for as I had an inspiration about Scribonius he hopes I may have another about someone else! He is the one to get to the bottom of this mystery, not I. But the truth is, he wants someone to talk to, and can trust no one else. He thinks Mallius will be more useful in Rome——’

‘Mallius in Rome!’ I was so overjoyed that I jumped up and danced round the fountain. ‘Oh, I am so glad, for I suppose Maecenas wants me to stay here too!’

‘Yes, and we think it would be a good idea if you had Caelius and Lydia here in this house until he is well enough to travel to the villa.’

‘I won’t! I won’t!’ I cried. ‘How should I ever see Mallius? They would spy on me every minute.’

‘I am afraid you will not see Mallius. He will come to Rome in another disguise and work with Calvus and Belerius. Maecenas has sent to an actor he knows for a red wig and beard——’

‘Mallius in a red beard and false hair! Oh, no! No!’ I went off into such a convulsion of laughter that an unfortunate thing happened to me and as I couldn’t run to my room before the embarrassed eyes of a gentleman and poet there was nothing to do but stumble and fall into the fountain and poor Uncle Horace was terribly concerned and hauled me out but suspected nothing. Then I did run to my room and put on a fresh stola and was very sedate as I sat down to resume the conversation.

‘You will readily see, my Pomponia,’ said Uncle Horace, ‘that it would never do for Mallius to come to the house in that disguise, for how could you explain him to the servants? Even if Calvus gave him a permit to pass the Pretorian Guards what would the slaves think—and slaves are the most curious creatures in the world—if they saw you entertaining a barbarian? And that is what he will look like.’

‘He could come after dark without his disguise, his head covered with a fold of his mantle, and if he had a permit the doorkeeper wouldn’t notice him, and Volumnia Marcia and Polos are to be trusted. For that matter I could let him in through the garden door.’

But Uncle Horace shook his head with decision. ‘He must not put off his disguise for a moment, and you must trust no one—Polos perhaps, but no one else. All women are gossips,’ he added virtuously.

I thought: Well, I’ve got my own way before and I’ll have it again but say no more at present; and merely asked him to what country Mallius was supposed to belong.

‘To Transalpine Gaul. He has picked up their language, and the trousers they wear will disguise him further. Many of them travel to see the sights of Rome, as you probably know, and he will excite no attention.’

I had wanted to go off into another gale of laughter at the thought of Mallius in trousers, but controlled myself this time, and my mind was diverted at once when Uncle Horace said again that both he and Maecenas thought it best that Caelius and Lydia should stay in my house until they could go to the villa. ‘It will be only for a few days,’ he said soothingly, ‘and we rely on your sharp wits.’

‘I hate the sight of them both,’ I said rebelliously, but after a while I consented, for if those wise men thought I could do my part in solving this mystery my duty was plain.

‘And remember that you have the rest of your life to be with Mallius,’ said Uncle Horace as he rose to go. ‘Remember also, my Pomponia, that the folly of women has plunged the world into war before this. If Helen of Sparta had not made a fool of herself over that Trojan boy Troy might rival Rome in greatness today; nor would the great Agamemnon have been slaughtered by his adulterous wife and her paramour. And Cleopatra, if she had not been weak in love, would be Queen in Egypt if she were still alive, for there would have been no Battle of Actium. It is true she wanted to conquer Rome, but she never would have attempted it without the help of Mark Anthony—nor yielded to his persuasions.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and history would not be half so interesting, and Æschylus never would have written the greatest drama in all the world.’ But I was immensely flattered at being mentioned in the same breath with Helen and Cleopatra, and made up my mind to be prudent for I had no wish to bring ruin upon an Empire. That I might do my part in saving one was thrilling enough—although I thought it a pity one had to be bad and foolish to win immortality—that is if one were a woman. Electra murdered her mother and had two grand plays written about her, Helen is the heroine of the Iliad, and neither Æschylus nor Sophocles would have made great characters out of Clytemnestra and Medea if they had been nice good little wives; even Cassandra had to go raving mad to get into a play. Of course there were Andromache and Creusa and a few others that are mentioned, but no one cares much about them, not even Penelope. There doesn’t seem to be much drama in virtue. Dido founded Carthage, and got the best of a lot of men, and hurt no one and had no lovers except that Æneas, but if he hadn’t come along and given her the chance to be the heroine of a whole Book of the Æneid, she would probably have reigned quietly and died in her bed and no one would remember much about her. Of course there have been women with great intellectual gifts like Aspasia and Sappho, but I notice no great plays have been written about them for they were the cause of no disasters, and who knows if they will be remembered a hundred years hence, for fashion in poetry changes, and Aspasia would probably have risen to no such eminence if Pericles hadn’t fallen in love with her and made her the most powerful woman in Athens—and where is the Athens of that day made so great in politics and art and commerce by Pericles? As dead as Vesuvius.

I thought all these things as I walked across the atrium with Uncle Horace, who was silent and despondent because he had to go back to that villa full of noisy fashionable people instead of to the peace of his beloved farm; but after I had rearranged his rumpled linen toga and told him to go to the barber and have his hair cut and kissed him good-bye, I forgot about them and sent Diomedes with a litter for Caelius. How I hoped he and Lydia would refuse my invitation but they didn’t and I put them in two rooms off the atrium so they would be as far from me at night as possible. Not that I feared them, with a house full of slaves, and a Pretorian before my door at night, but I couldn’t have slept without many walls between us.

Horrid hateful murderous liars. I had to be polite and ‘kind,’ but I simply couldn’t talk to Lydia at dinner and pretended I had a headache, but she and Volumnia Marcia had so much gossip to exchange they didn’t notice my silence.

How I hoped for some word from Mallius, but none came, and the next morning I made Polos and Volumnia Marcia take me for a walk in the Forum for it was possible I might see him there. Polos demurred, saying he didn’t like taking me into crowds, and a walk on the Appian Way would give me more exercise, but I asked how, with him on one side of me and V. M. on the other and those two Pretorians behind, could any one stick a dagger into me? So he consented and we slipped out by the garden door as I certainly didn’t want Lydia along, and Polos, in whom I’d had no chance to confide and knew nothing of my impatience, asked if I would mind stopping for a moment in the Temple of Apollo as he wanted to consult a book in the library. I could do no less than nod amiably, although seething, and we walked along the brow of the Palatine to that grand marble edifice Augustus built to the god because lightning had struck that spot and for some reason or other he interpreted it as an omen that Apollo wanted a Temple there. So when he was restoring the other Temples out of his own purse, or cajoling money out of other rich men, for there was none in the Public Treasury for such extravagance, he had erected this most magnificent of all at the very door of his own house which looked poor and mean beside it. Besides the cella with its statue of the god, there is a vast library and a gallery, and Uncle Horace and Virgil and Varius and other scholars helped Augustus to collect the books, and all the conquered kingdoms and client-states and provinces have contributed to the gallery. The Temple is of dazzling white marble like the others and there are beautiful statues in the court. The Egyptians say our Temples as well as our gods are cold and austere, the Greeks call our sacred architecture florid and meretricious, and travelled Romans criticise the Egyptian Temples as too ornate and their gods voluptuous if not obscene, and from what I saw in the Temple at Ostia they certainly are hideous with their heads of animals or birds or the other way round, I forget which.

There were guards everywhere and we had to do homage at the shrine of Apollo, and I wondered if the statue or its original had been modelled on some ancient Greek and if any man had ever been as beautiful as that. I asked Polos why the Italic people had no gods of their own except Mars but had adopted those of Greece merely giving them different names, and he said it was because they didn’t have imagination enough. ‘And no doubt,’ said he, ‘your ancestors were too busy killing one another for centuries, and were glad to get their gods ready-made when they became civilized enough to hear about Greece at all.’

It made me angry to be told my countrymen lacked imagination and I flashed a few words at him—out of my eyes too—and he shrugged and replied they made up for the lack in hard common sense and political and legal and military genius; and then being in one of his pedantic moods he went on to say that although Horace might be the equal of the Greek lyric poets and Propertius and Lucretius and Catullus had done some fine work, and this young Ovid was promising, it was by great epics and tragic drama that true genius revealed itself and did as much to immortalize a state as the conquests of Alexander, Lucullus, Julius Caesar or Agrippa. And if he had trained my mind to a true appreciation of great poetry I must admit that the Æneid was second-rate beside the Iliad and the Odyssey to say nothing of the immortal dramas of Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. As for the Roman dramatists past and present they were beneath contempt; and we would have had a row then and there but at that moment we came to the door of the library and in that vast gold and white room no one was allowed to talk. A few men who looked like scholars were reading and Polos went to a gilded cupboard and took out a roll and forgot my existence.

Volumnia Marcia and I went into the gallery and looked at the busts and statues of bronze or marble, the medallion portraits, the Oriental vases and rugs and hangings stiff with gold, and priceless objects stolen from Egyptian tombs by ancient robbers which had found their way into the possession of rich Egyptians and thence to Augustus, or Octavian as he was then and who took all he could lay his hands on. And there were two or three mummies he brought back as curiosities, and gold and silver chariots inlaid with enamel and jewels, and glazed pottery threaded with gold, and even coins and toilet articles of the different nations and provinces of Rome.

But nothing interested me as much as the magnificent jewels of Cleopatra: diadems, breastplates, necklaces, bracelets, rings, sceptres, fans, whole garments sewn with precious stones, strings of immense pearls, hundreds of them, so long they must have swept the ground, and emeralds, emeralds, emeralds! A fortune in jewels if Augustus ever got hard up and had to sell them. Of course I had seen them before but never tired of looking at that dazzling magnificence and when Volumnia Marcia told me that Julia had often begged the Emperor to let her wear them in the theatre or on other grand occasions, and resented it bitterly because he wouldn’t consent, I didn’t blame her, for what is the use of having anything just to look at?

‘Julia has a lake at her villa near Pompeii,’ said V. M., looking so virtuous I knew I was about to hear some spicy gossip, ‘and Tullia has been there when she floated naked in a barge as Cleopatra used to do. Tullia says that the Egyptian wanton could never have had a more perfect body than Julia, who certainly is more beautiful of face if we are to judge what Cleopatra looked like by that medallion over there.’

Polos came for us and we went down into the Forum, and he looked worried for the crowd was so dense he feared we might be jostled apart, and finally took hold of one of my arms and told V. M. to take the other and as for those Pretorians they fairly trod on my heels. I could hardly hold up my parasol and the sun was hot enough to roast an egg and the white marble of the Temples nearly blinded me but I love the Forum. It roars like a little ocean between those hills, for everybody always seems to talk at once and all the time, although what I never could make out, but of course there is always news from the provinces brought by the ships, and rumors from the armies in Gaul and the East, and bankers and money-changers doing business in the porticoes of the Basilicas, and merchants standing on the steps of the most sacred Temples wrangling, and shopkeepers standing in their doors soliciting, and men playing backgammon on the platforms of the Temples and betting, and hawkers crying their wares, and scribes waving news-sheets in the air and men snatching them, and other men darting about begging any one to come into the law courts to witness a will or something else, and the gods know what not.

There were no rich patricians and equites on their way to the Senate House or the baths followed by a throng of parasites, for Augustus had agreed to let the senators off in summer from meeting twice a month, as it is hard enough to get them to sit anyhow, and of course those of both orders who are rich spend the hot months in their villas. Only the poorer patricians and equites were getting what amusement they could out of Rome in summer and it was pleasant in the colonnades. I saw few women in the grand shops of the Sacred Way with their dazzling displays of jewels and silks from India and China, and other Oriental luxuries Volumnia Marcia told me the wealthy Romans are so crazy about; and when she was young all the houses of the rich, or with few exceptions, had the austere elegance of my own, but now many were cluttered up with Oriental, particularly Egyptian, furniture carved grotesquely and covered with rich brocades, and divans with cushions and gorgeous hangings; and I replied that the house of the Ciceros was full of splendid things from Syria, but that my parents had chosen my friends from families that were still strictly Roman. I’d like very much to see one of those houses all the same, I said and she replied that perhaps Tullia could take me to see Julia’s, but I wasn’t much interested for I was looking about for Mallius; but although there were many foreigners in the Forum I didn’t see one ‘trousered Gaul.’

Finally I went into a shop, pretending I wanted to get out of the heat, and told V. M. to buy a present for Lydia, and while she was engaged and those Pretorians were no longer on my heels, I told Polos about Mallius and he was very kind and said he would do all he could to help me.

So after we had made sure there was not a red hair in the open Forum we went up into the gallery of the Basilica Julius and looked down on one of the law courts, thinking that perhaps Mallius might pretend to hurl an accusation against some one and start a row that would bring a flash of truth into the light. But Mallius wasn’t there, only another man vociferating an accusation of adultery or bribery I couldn’t make out which he talked so fast, and the praetor was asleep and the jury whispering about something else or yawning. V. M. told me the prosecutor was one Cassius Severus, a leader of the reform clique and a man to be feared: a low-born rascal who had cultivated a gift for oratory and sold his eloquence to men who wished to bring accusations against wives or enemies but had no eloquence themselves; and he pretended to be the sternest moralist in Rome but was suspected of not being above blackmail. And Polos said if the reform clique had many like him it would soon expire, but making use of such a man was a part of the general rottenness of Rome, and Augustus had no easy task to hold it together, for it was far easier to govern a vast Empire than to dig the rotten spots out of ‘Domina Roma.’ I left them to argue it out and wandered across to look down on other courts, but no Mallius! No Mallius! No Mallius!

We had no better fortune in the Basilica Æmilius, and wandered out of the Forum into the Argiletum and I tried to divert my mind by reading the lists of new books fastened to the door-posts of the book-shops. I had never heard of most of the authors and Polos said I probably never would again, and there must be a thousand men in Rome—and by Rome he meant all Italy—who thought they could write, and the scribes made a fine living copying their stuff, for some of them were rich and others had patrons who wanted to rival Maecenas; and some of them never sold a copy of their dramas or epics or satires or what-not, but others were the rage for a season and hailed as greater than Horace and Virgil and then forgotten.

He knew this street-of-the-books well and took me into the finest of the shops and it hadn’t the tawdry look of the others and I was very much impressed as well by the man who kept it and greeted Polos like an old friend. He was very tall and thin with a scornful nose and long beard which he combed as he talked with long white fingers. His name was Menas and Polos told me afterward that although of the plebeian class he was believed to be the illegitimate son of one of the Scipios.

Menas informed me with pride that he carried only the books of the great and he certainly had a grand display on long tables of the works of Horace, Virgil, Propertius, Catullus, Terence, Varius, Polybius, Caelius Antipater, Parsalius of Rhodes, Lucilius, Ennius, Cicero, Homer, the Greek tragic and comic poets, Plato, Aristotle, Sappho, Alcaeus, Pasidomus, Lucretius, Julius Caesar, Pindar, and others I can’t remember and only wonder I remember so many, each in its own case of colored parchment with the name of the author written on it by some highly accomplished scribe.

Some one came in and asked for the new book by one Proculus that ‘every one was talking about,’ and Menas drew himself up and looked as haughty as Maecenas as he told the man he had come to the wrong shop for trash, and that he did not expect to have anything new until Q. Horace Flaccus published his fourth Book of Odes or P. Virgil Maro his Æneid. The man went out looking as if his ears had been stung, but I was so delighted with Menas that I bought fifteen books and he had to send them to the house to get his money from Diomedes as we had none with us. He told me he had sold many books to my father and then he asked Polos how his own book was getting on and I was glad to learn that Polos had made a friend outside of the house and wondered how much we knew of the private lives of our slaves anyway.

When we went out Polos told me that Menas was believed to have a small private fortune given him by his father long ago and had a real love of books and appreciation of true art and had found like many others that it paid to be a snob. All the rich men in Rome patronized him and the best authors met and gossiped in his shop, while the little fellows almost went on their knees and tried to bribe him to carry their books.

Polos smiled cynically. ‘We have always been friendly and he has even asked me to his house,’ he said. ‘I came to his shop often with your father, and oftener alone when he sent me word he had a new edition of one of the classics, or perhaps some long-lost rolls from Athens. He has even taken an interest in my Empedocles and promised to handle it—but he is easier in his mind since I told him I am soon to become a freedman! He can’t help being a snob, poor man. I forgive him, though, for he is a real connoisseur and his conversation excellent. He wants me to go into partnership with him, and I may, if, after I visit Athens, I prefer to live in Rome, which is possible.’

I told him I would ask Maecenas to go before the courts at once and arrange for his freedom, but he shook his head and said that until I was in a position to free him myself, in other words married, he would not leave me. Poor Polos, I hope he’ll find some nice girl to marry him, although he’d forget about her most of the time and she wouldn’t like that.

Oh, it is terrible to be in love! It had once been rather pleasant to feel sad and wistful when I thought about it and my parents were alive and my mind crammed full by Polos, who was very strict and exacting and didn’t give me much time for romantic fancies, and I didn’t know anything about life except what I had overheard or my married friends told me; but now that all seemed ages and ages ago and as if I had lived ten years in ten days and had to use my wits like a woman not a girl, and had fallen in love with Mallius all over again and a thousand times more, and was nearly frantic when I thought of the danger he might be in with conspirators and spies everywhere, and surely he must have been captured and shut up somewhere or killed or he would have sent me word.

‘Have a little patience, Pomponia,’ said Polos when we had returned from that fruitless quest and were alone again. ‘After all it is not above thirty-six hours since you last saw Mallius, and he has much to do and many things to think of——’

‘It seems like a month!’ I cried. ‘And he should think of me first.’

But Polos has never been in love and he answered in his most didactic manner and a voice as dry as if his tongue had withered like an old autumn leaf. ‘My dear Pomponia, the men who “think of women first” accomplish nothing in the world of action, and Mallius is a man of action and ambitious for a career as well. Moreover, he has a great duty to perform at present and should think of nothing else. Do you suppose that Julius Caesar, who loved many women, ever put one of them before duty or ambition? But women are ever unreasonable——’

‘Stop lecturing me!’ I said furiously. ‘I’m not unreasonable. I’d never stand in the way of Mallius’ duty or ambition but I’m terribly frightened that something has happened to him.’

‘I know of no one better able to take care of himself than Mallius. The trouble with you, Pomponia, is that nothing exciting has happened for at least twenty-four hours, not since your trial of wits with Caelius, and so much drama has been crowded into the last ten days that you think life should be a swiftly-moving play with you as heroine of each scene. There may be long intervals in which——’

‘Oh, shut up!’ I said rudely. ‘At least you might do something for me. Will you go to the barracks and ask Calvus for news of Mallius? He may not tell you what he is doing but there is no reason why I should not be reassured of his safety.’

‘Yes, I will go at once.’ And I forgave him, for I suppose he has been my tutor too many years to keep out of the rôle very long, and even if he were already a freedman no doubt it would be the same.

I sought Diomedes and asked him if anyone had attempted to communicate with Caelius and he said No, but that Lydia had been very angry that we had left the house without her and had gone out herself but was being followed. So I remembered my duty as hostess (and mind-digger) and went to call on my uncle-in-law.

He was sitting in a chair by the window reading the news-sheet, and his head was still bound up but he was less pale and wore a very fancy dressing-gown; and when he saw that I noticed it said that Lydia had made it for him out of some Egyptian stuff Julia had given her and he loved luxurious and beautiful things even if he was now a pauper with no senatorial rights and dependent upon the bounty of others.

‘Well, you are more comfortable here at least,’ I said crossly, for I was tired of his and Lydia’s constant complaints, and cross anyhow. ‘And you will be comfortable at the villa, for Diomedes will send everything you need, if you care to go there—although of course, you are welcome to stay here——’ I was going to say ‘for as long as you like,’ but added hastily, ‘for the present.’

‘I will go tomorrow if it is convenient,’ he said stiffly. ‘My face is less painful, and no one who has never been forced to spend summers in Rome can know how I long for country air. I hope I may remain there for a month in peace and quiet and get quite well again before we start for Egypt.’

‘You have made up your mind to go then?’ I asked blandly, and wondering if he had thought up some other plan to dispose of me within a month. ‘What a delightful time we shall all have!’

He gave me a suspicious look, but although my hair was dressed, for Erinna wouldn’t let me go for a walk in the Forum with hanging braids, and it looked like a crown, and I forgot to say that many had stared at me and muttered ‘How beautiful!’ as I passed, and that a group of Egyptians, particularly a tall one, had stared at me so hard I blushed angrily, and I knew I looked stately, still I managed to exclaim with girlish eagerness that above all things on earth I longed to see Egypt. And wouldn’t he tell me something about it, for I knew no one else who had been there? And what kind of a city was or had been Alexandria, and was it as beautiful as Rome?

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Rome! Alexandria was more magnificent and beautiful than Rome ever was or ever will be. Gorgeous is a more fitting word. And symmetrical, with its broad avenues and streets wide and straight instead of narrow and winding. Even the quarter of the—ah—the less respectable women——’

‘Courtesans,’ I interrupted. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ve two married friends and overheard gossip ever since I can remember.’

‘Oh!’ And he really did look shocked. ‘Of course I have no children of my own as I have never been able to afford them, but I have always liked to think of girls—patrician girls—as innocent, knowing nothing of the wickedness of the world.’

‘They know a lot,’ I said, ‘but do go on.’

‘Well——a vision rose in my mind of the great Park of Aphrodite, laid out by one of the old Ptolemies, with such a Temple to the goddess as you never dreamed of and surrounded by fourteen thousand houses occupied by as many courtesans, some of whom were born there and none of whom ever left that sacred precinct after they had dedicated themselves to Aphrodite—our Venus, as you may know, for Egypt is Hellenized in many respects if not in all. Beautiful and luxurious houses! And there were other Temples and shrines and lovely gardens and woods and a view of the sea. And all the proudest men not only of Egypt but of all the world who visited her were entertained there in splendor and revelry. As many as a thousand other courtesans lived without, some in even greater splendor, and philosophers and poets sat at their tables and talked and—and took part in the orgies. Oh, Egypt! Egypt!’ His eye had kindled and was full of red sparks. ‘Her streets, her palms, her palaces, her obelisks, her Temples! Ah, those wondrous Temples! Not poor little monotonous white marble imitations of the Greeks like ours, but colossal in size and gorgeous in color and carved on every inch of them, for they were built long before the Greeks were ever heard of. And the pyramids built at least two thousand years ago; and the grand inscrutable sphinx in the desert, and the street of little sphinxes leading to Karnak, and the great harbor crowded with ships from all parts of the world, and galleys of rich men and pleasure barges for hire. And the Glorious Nile——’

He was sitting forward now, staring into the past, that one eye nearly popping out of his head and it was quite apparent he had forgotten me. ‘And the priests of Isis and Osiris, Thoth, Horus,—how splendid their raiment and festivals, making not only the great Temples but the very streets a moving panorama of color. And as for the orgies of Anthony and the Queen with their hundreds of guests and such food as Lucullus and Maecenas never heard of, and more jewels than stars in the heavens, and dancing girls that seemed to swim in the air like fishes in the sea, and captives or disobedient slaves thrown to crocodiles when we were sated with all else! Rome! In that great palace of the Ptolemies you could have put the Forum in one room and the ‘palace’ of Augustus in another and never run across them. And those vast rooms were so crowded with carved furniture of gold and silver and gilded woods, and hangings that looked like beaten gold concealing the walls, and rugs a foot in depth, that they looked less enormous and were heavy with intoxicating perfumes, and even the thousands of slaves were exquisitely garbed. And if Anthony had not been old before his time, softened by debauchery and luxury, and had fought out the Battle of Actium—for he was a greater general than Agrippa, in his prime—Alexandria would still be the greatest city in the world and Rome her vassal. And I—I——’

He fell back exhausted, and although from what I had heard he had exaggerated a good deal, as was perhaps natural, I for the first time felt a little sorry for him, who had once lived in that exciting splendor and expected to have a palace of his own and now lived in a Roman island and counting every sesterce. But that was all over years ago and one can get used to anything in time—everyone but Caelius, for I realized in a flash that he, who had been brought up in the old simple style of a conservative patrician family, had been so debauched by the voluptuous life of the East that he had brooded upon it ever since, and it finally had driven him to commit the terrible crime that if successful would have given him the wealth he so long had craved, and enabled him to live the life of an Eastern potentate in Rome. I had always known he craved wealth but never before understood how deadly was the poison that had corrupted him. No doubt he was as diseased in mind as Virgil in body, the more as he had such a grand opinion of himself, and was a mere nobody who might have been Governor of Rome, now an Egyptian province, if all had gone well with Cleopatra and Anthony; and how he would have gloried in patronizing my father and Maecenas, while as for Augustus, he probably wouldn’t even be Octavian but a body roaming round in the realm of shades looking for its head. . . .

These flippant thoughts were jolted right out of my own head as my eyes, moving idly from the window, caught sight of Caelius’ face and I saw he was staring at the lower part of my body with a very peculiar expression. I could have shrieked with vexation as I saw that I hadn’t carefully adjusted my stola before sitting down and a part of it was caught under me and that dagger I wore in a belt above my knee was as sharply outlined as if it had been exposed.

I had often seen boys in the street turning somersaults and that is what my mind did in ten seconds.

‘Oh!’ I gave a silly little laugh, then reached under my stola and pulled out the dagger and tossed it in the air and caught it, smiling into that eye once more as narrow as a snake’s and darting suspicion. ‘Can you guess what I carry this for?’ I asked gaily.

‘No,’ he said in a voice as sharp as that dagger’s point. ‘I cannot!’

‘But isn’t it natural? Was I not nearly murdered a few days ago? Until those terrible Gauls are captured I shall never feel quite safe however well guarded. One might slip in somehow and I must be prepared to defend myself. Why, why, Caelius, do you suppose they rose against us when Father had always been so kind to them? You are so clever, you must have thought of some reason.’

His eye didn’t open any wider, but he gave a shrug as he answered: ‘Gauls are barbarians and will never be anything else. Probably the bailiff drove them too hard and they determined to escape. They would hate all of you on general principles, for, more than any others, they resent being enslaved. Besides, no doubt they believed your father had chests of silver in the villa, and the very thought of money excites even a Gallic freedman.’

‘Horrible wretches! I am glad I killed one at least. Where do you suppose they obtained all those knives and daggers? Slaves have no money to buy such things. Of course they were given holidays in Rome—two or three at a time—but no Roman shopkeeper has served notice of a theft—so Maecenas says.’

‘Some Gallic freedman and sympathizer provided them no doubt,’ and his voice was devoid of expression. ‘But as they escaped on a ship, so it was stated in a news-sheet, I cannot see what cause you have for fear. It isn’t likely that even one of them would remain in Italy. Their one idea would be to reach their native land.’

‘I suppose so,’ I said brightly. ‘But how clever of you! Maecenas and others thought they would make for the nearer shores of Africa or one of the Spains. But Gaul! Of course! But surely they will be caught in time? Agrippa will see to that.’

Clever and wary as he was he couldn’t keep a glint of triumph out of that watching eye, but he lay back in his chair and managed to speak with complete indifference. ‘Not likely. They could hide in those forests for ever and there must be many villages in that vast wilderness the Romans have never discovered.’ And then he bethought himself and exclaimed in a loud ringing tone: ‘It is abominable they never can be caught and crucified, those dastardly murderers! I don’t wonder you hate them, Pomponia, and would kill more if you could. But make up your mind it is impossible and try to forget it. You will have no cause to use that dagger, and it is not becoming for a girl to carry one on her person. I doubt even if you would know how to use it.’

‘Didn’t I stick one into a Gaul and then rip his throat open?’ I jabbed at the air once, twice, thrice, but very careful to give no hint of the suppleness of my wrist. ‘If anyone attacked me I’d drive it straight through his heart,’ and I made a playful lunge at his own.

He turned so white I thought he was going to faint and cowered back in his chair. And then he gasped: ‘How can you! How can you! And I so weak and ill. I am a brave man,’ and he sat up very straight, ‘but when one is nervous and weak——’

‘Oh, I am so sorry, dear Caelius!’ And I was a little, for after all he was weak and ill. ‘Please forgive me—but I didn’t think anything could frighten you.’

‘You are but a child,’ he said with a sigh. ‘And a dagger is not a toy. Better give it to me, for I have enemies of my own.’ And he held out his hand.

‘I tossed it to him with a laugh he didn’t hear: there were plenty more in a certain cupboard; and I saw his eye give it a sharp look from point to handle, but if he expected to find traces of blood he was disappointed for Erinna had scoured it thoroughly.

‘You are welcome to it,’ I said as I rose to go, ‘for if you think all those Gauls got away there is no longer any danger, and I must say it wasn’t very comfortable. I’ve worn you out. Try to take a nap, and I’ll tell Diomedes to send slaves to prepare the villa.’

He had always prided himself on his fascinating smile, and he tried to give me one now but it was rather lopsided and I said hypocritically: ‘I do hope, Caelius, that your good looks are not marred for life and that your wound will heal without much of a scar. You have always been the handsomest member of the family.’

And then he forgot himself once more and scowled ferociously and burst out: ‘If ever I discover—Oh, my head is throbbing so I don’t know what I am talking about—but when I think of that waggoner—and those Gauls! I hate them as much as you do. If Quintus and Cornelia hadn’t been killed and I hadn’t gone to the tomb——Oh, I wish I could kill one of them myself——’

But I ran out of the room for I could stand no more of his lies.

I met Lydia in the atrium and instead of the reproaches I expected she was in quite a good humor, for Volumnia Marcia had given her the present she had bought in the Sacred Way and I had forgotten about. It was a very fancy gold necklace and earrings, imitation Egyptian, and she thanked me prettily, for she has very nice manners when in a good temper, and I was afraid she was going to kiss me and bent down as if to tie my sandal. When the danger was over I said: ‘Caelius wants to go to the villa tomorrow. Won’t it be rather lonely for you? Why don’t you invite one of your friends? There is plenty of room—and—and, well, of course, Diomedes will send a steward to see to the food and all that, and a good cook.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Lydia. ‘Oh, yes! I should like to have a friend of my own sex. I think I’ll ask Tullia. She hates Rome in summer as much as I do, and, if you don’t mind, she could bring the children, and her husband could visit us once a week. He and Caelius always find plenty to talk about. Poor Tullia! She rarely gets a week a year in the country, and it would be good for the children.’

I thought that a splendid idea as I knew it would please Volumnia Marcia, and then I wondered if I had misjudged Lydia, who would seem to be really kind of heart for I had often heard her say she hated brats, and knew that Tullia had four.

When I had said ‘Of course’ and to be sure to return in time to buy lovely clothes for Egypt, she said: ‘Volumnia Marcia tells me you would like to see Julia’s house, and if you will send a messenger to Ostia with a note from Tullia I know Julia will give her permission, for she is the most amiable creature in the world, and we could go this afternoon.’

I told her I would tell Diomedes to attend to it at once and after I had seen him I went in search of Polos and forgot Lydia and everything else for I wanted nothing but news of Mallius.

But Polos had not returned although it was nearly lunch time and I was too distracted to sit down and went out into the garden, where two Pretorians were looking very bored, and leaned over the wall and gazed down into the Forum and listened to its familiar roar, my eyes searching for a red-head but finding none. And then I heard a sound from the Cicero garden that excited me and made me forget Mallius for the moment. I ran across and looked over the dividing wall and what did I see but Metella and Phoebe, who never set foot in Rome during the summer but spent it in one of the villas inherited from their famous grandfather. They shrieked with delight as I jumped over the wall and kissed and hugged me and said they had thought it a shame I should be alone in Rome, and as their father had business with his agent they had made him bring them along, and just that moment they had left their house to come to mine. How glad I was to see them! Besides Mallius, and Atia for an hour or so, I hadn’t had any one of my own age to talk to for two months and was tired of solemn grown people and conspiracies. We went into an arbor and talked all at once and giggled, and although those Pretorians had followed me they were kind enough to stand quite far off, and the girls were immensely impressed that I was guarded like a princess. Of course they thought I was staying in Rome to identify those Gauls and that my life was still in danger from them because I had killed one, but of all else they knew nothing.

Metella is the handsome one, with black hair and blue eyes and neat little features, and almost as tall as I am, but Phoebe is small and rather plump and never eats sweets although she loves them. Her face is round and not very pretty but she has such a kind expression it doesn’t matter, and both are very bright, as how could they not be with the great Cicero’s blood in their veins, although I have always thought that a silly expression and not to be taken literally. Of course they are also the grandchildren of Cicero’s first wife, Terentia, whom he tired of when she was old and divorced, and then married a young wife whom he didn’t like much better. It would seem that even great men are none too perfect, and you find that out when you know the family.

I took them home to lunch, and although Polos had not returned I couldn’t still help feeling young and gay for it seemed years since I had felt young before; and when he did come in late and gave me a little nod my spirits soared so high that I caught Lydia looking at me with surprise and rather puzzled.

Before luncheon was over a message came from Tullia that we were to go to Julia’s house late in the afternoon, and I asked Lydia if I could take Metella and Phoebe and she said yes, and then they went home to take their nap, but I darted a look at Polos and went into the library for I was in no mood for sleep.

‘Well? Well? Well?’ I exclaimed as he entered. ‘Tell me quickly. How is he? Where is he? Why hasn’t he tried to see me nor written me one single word?’

‘Do sit down,’ said Polos none too amiably, ‘for I’d like to sit down myself. I’m tired and hot and you didn’t give me time to finish my lunch.’ Mother had given him many presents of fine linen handkerchiefs and he took one out now and passed it over his face, which was rather red, and he was more accustomed to the cool of the house than to the hot streets of Rome, poor man. ‘No, I haven’t seen Mallius,’ he went on as I told him to sit down but that I preferred walking about. ‘And it was some time before I saw Calvus, for he was out. At first he was very stiff and haughty, but I reminded him that you were in the confidence of Maecenas and Mallius and they were indebted to you for much knowledge. So he finally consented to talk. Also, he was impressed with your discretion, as you had said nothing to Atia. He told me that Mallius had come directly to him for orders, and was staying in the barracks, and when he went out was followed by two police. Of course he doesn’t like that, but realizes he must submit, for if recognized he would no doubt be set upon. Calvus says he now has evidence that stories have been circulated among the plebs who are on the dole—and there are 150,000 of them!—also, there is undoubtedly much unrest beneath the surface. But his spies have not heard mentioned the names of Scribonius nor Caelius, nor any hint of an organized uprising. What he fears most is that if 150,000 plebs talk themselves into a frenzy they might grow tired of waiting for orders—and remember Scribonius is laid up—and set fire to Rome. Someone has supplied them with money, no doubt of that, and of course they spend it in the wine-shops and inflame their passions further. Calvus thinks it would be wise for you to leave Rome at once. You could stay with Atia or return to Maecenas——’

‘Well, I won’t! And I should think that seven thousand police and three Pretorian cohorts within the walls and more without who could rush in any minute, could take care of unarmed plebs, and of course Belerius is on the watch for fires. The corn is given out on the Ides and the Kalends and the last is only two days from now. Surely if the plebs receive their corn as usual that may restore their faith in Augustus.’

‘Yes, Calvus is hopeful of that, but no doubt there will be a new whisper started that the dole will be given out until the army returns. The greater number of the unemployed plebs have been kept peaceful and contented, as you know, with plenty to eat and constant amusements, but there are always rebellious spirits who would seem to have been born with the lust to destroy. Two nights ago, very late, several thousand plebs stole out of their islands and went up to Pompey’s Theatre and held a meeting there, but although a few shouted and ranted the greater number merely whined and sputtered and vowed vengeance if any attempt was made to drive them out of Rome, but they seemed to have no leader even among the firebrands. From words let fall here and there, it seemed to the police disguised as plebs, who were scattered among them, that they were awaiting orders from someone who would assume command of Rome itself, and out of the Public Treasury give each the same bonus that soldiers expect at the end of a campaign. One of the spies slipped away and took word to Belerius, but he thought it best not to agitate them further by descending upon them with police to disperse them with clubs, but to let them believe themselves unsuspected; better to dog their footsteps, hoping to intercept some communication from whoever is behind all this——’

‘And Mallius?’ I interrupted. ‘What is he doing? What can he do that Calvus and Belerius cannot accomplish themselves?’

‘He hasn’t had much time, but he has accomplished something, and the meaner wine-shops on the Aventine were the first places he visited. He posed as a discontented Gaul, and when he had spent money freely on the coarse wine they drink and won the confidence of a sour-looking group, he grew loquacious and hoped the time would come when Gaul would sack Rome once more, and then the men would kill their generals and sit in the seats of the mighty themselves, loll in all these grand houses, and spend the gold in the Treasury as they listed. The plebs didn’t fancy that idea at all, but his recklessness loosened their tongues and they told him of their own discontent. But he knew that already, and asked them why they didn’t rise and take possession of Rome with all its wealth, and free the slaves, enslaving the rich in their turn. They muttered they were afraid, for they had no arms, and there were the Imperial cohorts both in Rome and without the walls, to say nothing of the police, although if the money they had been promised were forthcoming they hoped to bribe them either to come over to their side or refrain from attack. Then one man, very drunk, shouted he would like to stand on the roof of the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus and watch Rome flame on every one of its seven hills, every house and every Temple spouting fire; and the rich men would run in from their villas, where they lived in luxury, and wring their hands over the ruins and be cast into the flames or stabbed to death. Mallius asked him what he would gain if all the wealth were destroyed and the warehouses full of corn as well. Another, who seemed to have more common sense, said he would have no part in such a foolish indulgence of hatred. What he wanted, and he spoke for many, was some determined and ambitious leader among the nobles or equites who would give them a share of the wealth if Augustus were overthrown and the Republic restored. But if he knew of any such leader he pretended he did not, and the only satisfactory assurance Mallius could take to Calvus was that those plebs would make certain of being driven out of Rome and sent to the provinces where they would have to work, before they committed any overt act. Nevertheless, he got the impression that some of them were awaiting orders and had no intention of confiding all to a stranger. Now, Mallius has changed his disguise to that of a poor pleb and is making a round of those shops patronized by the lower class, and asking for work. It is quite possible that some of the shopkeepers who are not doing too well may have been bribed to join the uprising. The world is full of fools who can be made to believe that any change will be to their advantage.’

I was ready to cry with vexation and disappointment. ‘But didn’t you tell Calvus that I must must must see Mallius?’ I exclaimed.

‘Oh, yes, if not so emphatically. I told him that a woman in love was always a danger and it would be wise to let you and Mallius meet occasionally.’

I laughed at that. ‘What diplomacy! Maecenas couldn’t have done better! Couldn’t we go now down into those streets—I have a splendid idea! We could tell Mallius if we found him that one of our slaves is ill and we need a strong man for some hard work or other?’

‘Certainly not!’ And Polos looked as if he would like to slap me. ‘What girl of your class is on the streets at this hour? Or ever yet went in search of a servant?’ He sprang to his feet. ‘I shall be obliged to go with you later to the house of Julia, so I go now to take my nap for I am worn out. It is for Mallius to seek you, not for you to run round the streets looking for him—and expose him like as not if there were spies about.’

He stalked out of the room, and I felt rather silly, for I knew he was right, so I went to my own room and was sound asleep in five minutes.

We were quite a procession as we left the house late in the afternoon: Volumnia Marcia, Lydia, Polos, Metella, Phoebe and myself, and this time we were escorted by four Pretorians, two in front and two behind, for Polos feared a trap as he had no faith in Lydia. He had suddenly been elevated to a position of great responsibility for the first time in his life, poor man, and took himself more seriously than Maecenas or Uncle Horace.

The house of Agrippa is on the Quirinal Hill, and when I looked back I could see all the Temples on the other hills dyed red by the setting sun, and the vast Campagna and the long street of tombs on the Appian Way and the great aqueduct built by Agrippa to bring fresh water to Rome. It was Metella who called my attention to this beautiful view for she writes poetry and it is all about sunsets and sunrises and flowers and sweetly moving streams and all mixed up with love. We could also see the gardens of Maecenas on the Esquiline and some of the flowers were redder than the falling sun, and the many statues and fountains made me sad for I thought of the wonderful hours I had spent with Mallius in the gardens at Ostia.

Agrippa is what we call a novus homo, but when Augustus and the spoils of war made him rich he built a very plain house, quite unlike those of other men of sudden wealth, and delighted the cabinet-makers of Rome by permitting them to furnish it in the plain but substantial style that befitted a soldier. I don’t know how his first wife liked that, but Julia no sooner married him than she built a wing that was nothing less than another house with a communicating door, and Lydia had told me it was furnished entirely in the Oriental manner but I was not prepared for what I saw.

Tullia met us at the door, and as she hadn’t been to call on her mother it was the first time I had seen her. She has a gaunt face with restless dissatisfied eyes but a good figure. Only the wealthy (and Lydia) wear silk, but her linen stola was fresh and well-made and her hair arranged in the latest style over those wires, and a nice shade of brown. But although tall and with a large nose like her mother’s she somehow lacks dignity.

She received us quite graciously, and no doubt it made her feel important for once to be doing the honors of Julia’s house, poor thing, for she has only three Cappadocian slaves and one of them has to be with the boys all day at school, and she has to weave and spin all the clothes for the family and slaves; but as Augustus makes Livia weave his and won’t wear a tunic or toga made outside of the palace, that should console her somewhat. Only she looks as if she would always find something to complain of and no wonder Volumnia Marcia looked as if she had been born again after even those few days in my house and having such a grand time at Ostia. I saw Tullia glance at her mother’s silk palla and sniff and then scowl, and she said sarcastically she was delighted to see her looking so well and fine, and didn’t kiss her but turned her back and led us through the vestibule into the atrium.

And then I nearly lost my breath. Save for the depression in the middle to catch the rain from the roof in winter it was unlike any atrium I had ever seen. The walls were covered with cloth of gold woven into patterns of hieroglyphics, and the rugs were so thick I could hardly lift my feet and were green and crimson and black and yellow. And there were immense divans at least three yards deep and one mass of pillows of bright gold and green silk, and chairs carved like birds and lions, and no busts of ancestors anywhere but naked statues painted to look like life. There were other pieces of magnificent furniture that Tullia told us had belonged to King Attalus and carried off from Pergamus and sold at auction in Rome. Gold candelabra set with painted candles swung from the high ceiling and in the bays were more piles of cushions and curtains before them which I thought rather queer. In the little reception room was a large object that looked like a throne but something like a couch also and was covered with purple cloth fringed with gold and legs like sphinxes, and one could guess it came from Egypt like most of the things, and Tullia said that Julia sometimes reclined on it and amused herself by pretending she was a queen, and all the company thought it great fun and prostrated themselves and kissed the tip of her slipper, and then Julia would laugh and jump down and run into the peristyle and dance for them on the black marble floor, and no Syrian in the theatres could sway and glide and writhe more beautifully, and then they would all try to imitate her and hold high revel, particularly if it was after dinner and they had drunk much Istrian and Lesbian wine; but I got the impression there was a good deal more she didn’t tell us. The walls of the colonnades were painted with Egyptian figures and I must say I never saw anything uglier, except the columns that were carved with hieroglyphics like those of the Temple of Isis at Ostia. The Egyptians may be very gorgeous but they have nothing of the Greek and Roman sense of beauty. At least that is my opinion, and Metella said the same thing, and I forgot to say that everywhere was the smell of stale incense and I didn’t like that at all and hoped I’d brought enough fresh air inside of me to last.

I only had a glimpse of Julia’s bedroom, for Polos gave an exclamation of horror and pulled me out, but even in that glance I did see that the walls and ceiling were entirely of mirrors and that there were some very queer pictures and statues indeed, and although I had heard of certain frescoes in Pompeii I hadn’t believed that such things really existed. The faces of Metella and Phoebe were very red as that door slammed and I suppose mine was too, and I must say I thought less of Julia for all her kind heart, for it is one thing to hear of evil and another to see it.

We three girls went back to the ‘throne room’ and didn’t say a word about what we had seen, although I heard Volumnia Marcia scolding Tullia. Metella jumped up on the throne and extended herself and said in a languorous voice: ‘Now, I am Cleopatra and have eaten too many peacocks’ tongues and drunk too much wine—and—and—all the rest of it and I want a little excitement. Charmion, see that my last lover—I really forget his name—is thrown to the crocodiles . . .’ And she went on with a lot of other nonsense, but I suddenly sat down on the step as if the bones had fallen out of my legs and for a moment I thought I should faint. What what what was this awful thought swirling in my head as the door of that locked brain-cell flew open and the thing imprisoned there shouted so loud I thought the girls must hear and so deafened my ears that I really couldn’t think at all. . . .

It seemed ages but I suppose it was only a few minutes before I composed my features and was about to say it was time to go when something unexpected happened. There was a gay laugh in the vestibule and who should come running in but Julia, followed by Julius Anthony, Ovid, and Sempronius Gracchus, brother of Rufilla, and whether these three were her lovers or only hoped to be no one knew, but as they were all so dissolute it was said they wouldn’t have cared much one way or another and what was Rome coming to anyhow?

Julia looked lovely with her golden-brown eyes and golden-brown hair and features almost Greek, and round supple body that could be seen well enough through a yellow silk stola that clung to every curve. Oh, yes, she is more beautiful than Cleopatra ever was and born to grace a throne!

Of course we three rose and went forward for we had been taught never to forget our manners even when taken by surprise, and although she was very sweet to Metella and Phoebe when I mentioned their names and said something nice about Cicero being as famous for his wonderful prose as for his statesmanship, for she is highly cultivated and loves literature almost as much as she loves pleasure, it was to me she was most gracious and held my hand and said how often she had thought of me since that day we met at her father’s palace, and had suddenly made up her mind to come to Rome and greet me in her own house. And I thought: Oh, gods, how fascinating she is and can anyone resist her and could she get even Mallius if he happened to take her fancy? And I noticed that the poise of her head was the haughtiest I had ever seen, not even excepting Livia, and despite that lovely sweet innocent face. She made me feel as if I were talking to another girl with her eager gay voice but I noticed too the imperious curve of her upper lip, although the mouth itself was full and red and rather pouting. And I could have cried, for I didn’t like to feel so old and wise, who had been a happy carefree young girl less than two weeks ago, and now felt as if the Empire were sitting on my shoulders, I who wasn’t even married with a baby like Atia.

But I knew I must control all those thoughts racing through my distracted head, and I said the nice things Mother used to say to ladies whether she liked them or not. I kept my eyes lowered as much as I could and tried to look very young and rather awkward as befitted my age in the presence of the daughter of Augustus.

I knew Sempronius, a young man with bold eyes and an effeminate manner which is the fashion of the day, and I didn’t like him because he had once chased me round the peristyle in his father’s house trying to catch and kiss me, only Rufilla caught him first and slapped his face. When Julia presented him he had the impudence to say: ‘Hello, Pomponia, you’ve grown since I saw you last,’ and I wanted to stick out my tongue at him but merely gave him a distant nod and turned my back.

Julius Anthony is very handsome, tall and thin with black intelligent eyes and a nose not too long, but Ovid’s is and he is a pasty looking thing and more effeminate in his dress than Sempronius. He was born in the Equestrian Order but has been so taken up by Julia and the rest of fashionable Rome that he now carries himself as if he were of the gens Antonii or Julii. Atia told me that all Rome buys his poems and says that never did any poet manage to write so obscenely and so exquisitely at the same time, but I had never seen one of his books for Father wouldn’t have them in the house.

Julia took my hand and led me over to a divan and gave me a playful push that made me sink so far back and down I wondered how I was ever to get up and out. My legs stuck straight out and I was sure I’d get a crick in my neck, but Julia put one cushion on top of another and curled up gracefully, no doubt from long practice. That elevated her a little so that she looked down on me and I felt like nothing at all . . . or . . . as if just outside the iridescent web of a spider with large luminous eyes, and subtlety and enticement in the very legs waving at one poor little fly.

All the others were now in the atrium but Julia merely gave them a wave of her hand and they didn’t come forward. Anyhow, in one way I wasn’t afraid of her, for I knew she’d never stick a dagger into anyone; but I was in another, for if I was right she might be gay and sincere and sweet on top but as deep as Ocean’s blackest depths. And then I thought: Oh, if I could only fathom her, what a triumph! I suddenly felt terribly young and ignorant, and what was I to probe the mind of one who had been married twice and was as intelligent as she was corrupt and perhaps ambitious, and bad enough to be made the heroine of a play by some great poet who would understand the elements out of which the gods had fashioned her, as I certainly did not. But such wits as the gods had given me—and hadn’t Maecenas and Uncle Horace praised them?—I felt I must summon to action, and my mind was suddenly on fire with the prospect of dancing about on an invisible battlefield and thrusting and warding and perhaps drawing blood now and then, but smiling all the time instead of scowling horribly like warriors engaged in a fight to the death. Polos had said sarcastically I was pining for another adventure and here was one and I welcomed it for I knew she was after something.

So I lay back on that divan, more uncomfortable than I had ever been in my life, and gazed up at her with the adoring eyes of youth for one so famous and brilliant who condescended to notice one so insignificant. I hadn’t listened attentively to her chatter, for my thoughts had been racing but I had caught enough to know she had been talking about Ostia and finally heard her say how cool and delightful it was there and had I enjoyed myself at the villa of Maecenas?

‘Oh, yes,’ I mumbled. ‘It was like the Elysian Fields. If it hadn’t been for my terrible affliction I’d never have enjoyed myself half so much in my life. You see, I’ve known Terentia and Maecenas always and they were so kind, and dear darling Uncle Horace was there too—and—and—something wonderful happened—but that is a secret.’

‘Oh, tell me!’ she whispered excitedly, just like another girl. ‘Was there a charming young man there—but haven’t I heard you are engaged to—to——’

‘To Mallius Cornelius Floras,’ I said proudly; and I thought: I tried this on Caelius and I’ll try it on her and see what happens. Has she had word from Scribonius? I managed to roll over and pushed a cushion under my elbow and brought my face closer to hers and whispered confidentially, as one girl to another: ‘Don’t ever breathe it and I’ve told no one but my uncle Livius Caelius Piso, not even Volumnia Marcia nor Polos, my tutor, but Mallius was sent to Rome by Agrippa on a secret mission and he was at the villa for two days! And I saw him for hours at a time! He was disguised as a slave and Uncle Horace told him to follow me about, for I am still in danger from those Gauls, and that made it all the more romantic!’

And then I was sure she had not heard from Scribonius for she looked truly amazed and at the same time a queer look flitted through her eyes, but she giggled delightedly. ‘I never heard of anything so interesting! Oh, that I could be a young girl again—and the most beautiful girl in Rome, my lovely Pomponia—and knew nothing of this wicked world and have a lover come to me in disguise! Do tell me what the mission was. It is like listening to a play in the theatre.’

‘Oh, something or other about the Spains and rumours of an uprising and gold mines,’ I answered indifferently. ‘We didn’t talk much about that!’ And I giggled and rolled up my eyes.

‘I should imagine not! Do you love him very much, dear Pomponia?’

‘To distraction—and when can we marry, with trouble on the German frontier, and perhaps in the Spains, and the gods know where else?’

‘How I should like to meet your Mallius. (And I thought You never will if I can help it.) Are you going back to Ostia? My villa is next to that of Maecenas. Couldn’t you wander into my gardens some day with him in attendance?’

‘Alas! Alas, he has gone!’ I can always manage to squeeze out a tear and a nice big one rolled down my cheek. ‘Maecenas will send a messenger of his own to Agrippa if he discovers anything, for Mallius must go with his Legion to the north.’

‘Gone! How sad for you, dear child!’ She looked so sweet and sympathetic that I believed in her that far, and then she sighed deeply. ‘War. War. Always war. The great ones may be over, but there is so often trouble in the provinces and many brave young men fall. How many other girls there must be in Rome sighing for their lovers far away with my father or husband!’

‘Oh, yes. Only two of my intimate friends are married, one luckily to Calvus and the other to Belerius. But the others are only engaged and have to wait, wait, wait! Did you know that we had quite a sensation the other night at Maecenas’ villa? The great Scribonius——Oh, he is your uncle, isn’t he? So of course you know.’

‘Naturally I heard of that midnight adventure, for all Ostia was in an uproar, but I haven’t seen him, as Terentia and I are not good friends, and besides he had left for Tusculum before the news reached my villa. I can’t say I’m very fond of him, even if he is my uncle, but of course I must go to Tusculum and do my duty. I suppose I should have gone before, but as he could travel I assumed his wound was not very serious. Do you know if the doctor said there would be any danger of fever and that he must remain in bed for any length of time? Poor man, he is very active.’

Her voice sounded as if she were trying to say the right thing but was rather bored, and I had an idea that sweet silvery voice always expressed exactly what she willed. Her face was equally indifferent, but I watched her hands, for I had heard Daddy say that men when accused of crime and guilty, were protesting their innocence they always hid their hands in the folds of their toga. Julia’s were almost stiff, and once or twice the pretty fingers with their painted nails curved sharply inward. I answered that I had heard nothing of fever and had seen Scribonius walk to his carriage without assistance, and then I saw her hands relax and she said gaily:

‘Now I’ll make a confidence in return for yours. I detest Sabina, with her poses and affectations, and thinking because she is older that gives her the right to criticise me. Well, I have my revenge in criticising her poems which are the worst in the world. The trouble with Sabina is that no man but Caius ever looked at her, except my father when she was much younger, and she bored him soon enough—— Oh, how stupid I am! I didn’t bring you away from the others just to gossip, but you have been so interesting I forgot. I wanted to ask you if you couldn’t pay me a little visit at my villa near Ostia. It would give me so much pleasure and I have longed to know you ever since we met in my father’s palace and Livia was so detestable and you were so brave. Oh, do come for a few days!’

‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, very shocked. ‘I couldn’t go anywhere so soon after losing my father and mother. I only went to Maecenas’ villa because I knew Mallius would be there, but I felt disrespectful to the memory of my parents among all those gay fashionable people and was glad to get away. But how kind of you! I think you must be the sweetest woman in the world.’

Her lovely sensuous mouth looked stubborn for a moment and she shrugged. ‘It seems to me that when one has been sorely afflicted that is the time to let others distract the mind. And I should like to know that you were thinking of other things, dear Pomponia.’ By this time she was smiling and looking quite affectionate. ‘I shall drive from here to Tusculum to condole with my uncle—— Oh! Couldn’t you come with me? Oh, do, Pomponia! It will be a lovely drive in the cool of evening. We could spend the night there and drive to Ostia in the early morning before the sun grows hot. I’ll tell these young men to return to Ostia by themselves, so Sabina can’t refuse us the hospitality of her house and there will certainly be no distractions there to keep us up late! Do, do, Pomponia! I promise you there shall be no revels at my villa, but we will try to amuse you in a quiet way.’

And I thought: Oho, lovely spider, but I am still on the outside of that web coming closer and closer, and outside I’ll stay. But I smiled adoringly and replied: ‘Maecenas, as you may know, is my guardian and I can go nowhere without his permission. It is all I can do to coax him to let me stay here in my own house, and I am forbidden to leave it without my duenna Volumnia Marcia and my tutor Polos, and four Pretorian guards. He would never permit me to visit anywhere, for not only is he very strict in his ideas, but he would think I couldn’t be properly guarded anywhere but in his house or mine. You certainly wouldn’t want Pretorians stalking about your gardens and one stationed before my window at night and another before my door.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Julia lightly. ‘I have slaves enough to protect you—and, Oh, what fun it would be to defy Maecenas! Terentia can’t endure me, and I’d love to send her word you were my guest and invite her to lunch!’ And she gave that silvery sweet girlish laugh.

I drew a deep sigh. ‘Maecenas would come over and march me out by the ear and I should feel terribly humiliated. He and Uncle Horace can do as they please with me until I am married. And if I ran away and hid there and you didn’t invite Terentia, Maecenas would turn Rome upside down and soon find out where I was—in fact those Pretorians if I managed to slip out tonight would follow us on horses, after sending word to Calvus, who would immediately send word to Maecenas—— Oh, no! It cannot be! But how I’d love to go!’

There was a curiously worried look in her eyes but it was gone in a moment and she too heaved a sigh. ‘I did so want to know you better! But I now see it is hopeless. And of course Maecenas is right. I have so little respect for conventional laws myself that I forget——Of course you are right too, dear Pomponia, for after all you are a young girl and have been brought up to be obedient and observe those social laws too often disdained in these days. I should have thought of that, but I am so used to having my own way!’ And then she pouted like a little girl and wrinkled her perfect nose that was almost Greek. ‘Well, I am coming to see you in your own house, and Maecenas can have nothing to say to that, for after all I am the daughter of his Emperor. Perhaps tomorrow on my way back from Tusculum. And now I’d better be off.’

She sprang off that divan as lightly as a bird hopping from limb to limb, but all I could do was to roll over on my stomach and scramble off backward and I felt like a fool.

All the time I had been talking to her I had been rather embarrassed at not knowing how to address her, for although Augustus puts on such democratic airs and will permit no one to use the terms applied to other great rulers, whatever they may be, still I had felt constrained to say ‘O Livia’ when talking to the Empress, and it didn’t seem to me quite fitting that a young girl should address the daughter of an Emperor merely as ‘Julia,’ so I had avoided calling her anything at all. But she must have a mind’s eye, for she said as she took my hand: ‘You will call me Julia, for I am not so very much older, although, alas! I have seen so much of life. But let us forget that and the few years between us, and after all the Pomponidii are an even older gens than the Julii.’

And then she kissed me and I almost loved her, for she is the most fascinating creature on earth, although when I thought it over and remembered that bedroom I didn’t like the idea of having been kissed by her a bit. But of one thing I made up my mind and that was she would never be cruel, and had had nothing to do with the murder of my parents. All the same I doubted if she would stop at anything else if she really had made up her mind to be Empress of the World.

I couldn’t get a word alone with Polos for hours, for Metella and Phoebe stayed to dinner and after that dragged me out into the garden where we could be by ourselves and wanted to know what Julia had been talking about all that time. I told them some of it and they were properly shocked that she had asked me to visit her, and not because it was so soon after my bereavement, for they wanted me to return with them to Tusculum, but they thought Julia could have no sense of decency to ask any nice girl to visit in any house of hers; and they told me stories of the orgies that went on in them all the time, which were probably exaggerated like everything else in Rome. And Metella raved over Ovid, who was the only poet she had ever seen that looked like one, and had said several nice things to her, but Phoebe preferred the dark and martial Julius Anthony, and I was seething with impatience, and glad, fond as I was of them, when their father sent a slave over with orders to come home and go to bed.

Lydia had gone to her Caelius, and I forgot to say that she and Julia had conversed apart for some moments, which no one else thought anything of but I did, and no doubt she had something new to talk over with that husband of hers. I told Volumnia Marcia not to sit up any longer as I knew she must be tired, and then went to the library.

Polos had not dined with us and he sat gloomily nibbling the end of his stilus, as if Empedocles had run away and he couldn’t coax him back. He rose as I entered and gave me a chair and I looked at him remorsefully.

‘Polos,’ I said, ‘I’ve taken a great deal of your time lately after promising it should be all your own. But there is no one else I can trust and I have a great duty to perform and I wish I hadn’t for it makes me feel as old as the goddess Minerva without any of her wisdom. But I hope it won’t be for long now—and remember, Polos, that if all these terrible things we apprehend came to pass I might never be able to give you your freedom, for they might kill Maecenas, and if they didn’t kill me I should then be under the legal tutela of Caelius and that would suit him almost as well for he would obtain administration of my property, and of course he would see that Mallius was killed too and then try to marry me to some tool of his own—and a fine time he would have doing it, but he’s too conceited to think he could fail; but probably he’d conclude he’d save himself a lot of trouble by killing me as soon as possible.’

When I paused for breath Polos asked: ‘And what is all this leading up to? You want me to do something else, I suppose?’

‘Yes, I do, Polos. I must see Mallius this very night. I am sure I have discovered something and I must talk it over with him, and if he believes I am right he can act upon it without delay.’

Polos frowned. ‘Why not Maecenas? I could drive you to the villa——’

‘No! I don’t want an argument that would last until morning. Moreover, he might think it a wild idea and ask for something more than “imaginative flights.” But I am sure sure sure! And I know that Mallius will be too.’

‘You mean you have too good an excuse to see Mallius——’ But I interrupted him.

‘Yes, if you like, but the other is true all the same. And we must meet outside somewhere, for although Lydia knows that one of those Pretorians stands before my door all night, I don’t doubt she prowls about trying to find out something. She would be sure to if I haven’t made Caelius believe Mallius has gone back to Gaul—— I have an idea! We could meet in the tomb of my ancestors! The Appian Way must be deserted at this hour.’

Polos gave a sardonic laugh that was like a bark. ‘A fine romantic idea, but unfortunately we should have to leave by the Capena Gate and be challenged by the guard. And even with a fold of your palla half over your face you would probably be recognized, for all Rome saw you on the day of the funeral, and soldiers gossip like anyone else. We were but a moment changing from the carriage to the litter that morning we came from the Sabine farm and it was not difficult to conceal your entire face, but walking is a different matter. No. If you must meet him it should be somewhere in the city, although I don’t like the idea of taking you out in the streets at night even with those Pretorians behind us. Are you sure that what you have learned—from Julia, I suppose—is important?

‘How clever of you! Yes, yes, yes it is important! And I can’t wait until tomorrow night, for how could I meet Mallius in the daytime?’

‘You could send the message by me, only you will not, of course. Very well, I’ll do as you ask, but if I cannot find him that will be no fault of mine. He may not be at the barracks but off on some scent of his own.’

As he was leaving I told him to take one of the Pretorians with him, for I didn’t believe that any member of my household would be free from assault. He was gone for an hour and it seemed like ten, but finally I heard him arguing with the guard before my bedroom door, and when I came out he told me he had a permit from Calvus to take me abroad. I wore my dark mantle and hood, and we told that Pretorian to remain before the door lest Lydia should be sneaking about, and when we left the house I found I was to be escorted not only by the other three but by six police and they surrounded me on all sides.

On the day of the funeral we had taken the longer way to the Forum that as many as possible might do honor to the last rites of my parents, but tonight we walked down the ramp near my house and a few moments later had entered the Forum and all those white Temples looked like the marble ghosts of Rome’s history in the bright moonlight and I could have lingered there to revel in its beauty if I hadn’t been so impatient to see Mallius. I had forgotten all else but that in a few moments he would fling his arms about me and kiss me and it seemed a year since he had done that before and it was not until we entered the Campus Martius that I asked Polos where we were going, and he replied with that sarcastic laugh of his: ‘So that you might feel properly romantic I suggested a tomb to Calvus—I didn’t see Mallius—and we go to that which one day will hold the ashes of Augustus. Calvus made sure there was no concourse of the plebs in Pompey’s Theatres so I doubt if we meet anyone.’

Polos had often taken me to the Campus Martius, which I love almost as much as the Forum, with its splendid shops and porticoes, and public baths and Temples and crowded with all the fashion of Rome in winter, and the great theatre built by Pompey and the curia beside it where Caesar was assassinated in full senate and fell at the foot of Pompey’s statue, which many said was divine justice. But save for a few policemen it might have been some deserted city left in the wake of war and I hardly gave it a glance now for I thought only of those first moments with Mallius.

We went on up the Flaminian Way and as we approached the great mausoleum built by Agrippa for the ashes of Caesar Augustus standing high on its base I forgot Mallius for a second and nearly cried out with delight although it left me speechless. It looked like a vast floating bubble in the moonlight and the equestrian statue on its summit as if about to ride off into space. Even Polos drew in his breath sharply and I knew he was impressed even if he was always saying there could be no sight in the world to compare with the Acropolis at Athens.

But the Pretorians and police didn’t seem much impressed and two of them ran round the tomb to make sure no one was hiding and another opened the door in the base with an immense key and we entered and went up some steps and others lit torches and stuck them in brackets and I saw a large round vaulted chamber and shivered a little for it seemed to belong to the dead although there was none in it. It was cold and damp too and I was glad I had worn a woolen stola under my mantle. It didn’t seem so romantic after all and when I said that to Polos he shrugged and replied that was Life and the less I expected from Life the better I’d get along in it. I felt like shaking him, but I really didn’t care what he said for I knew I’d forget that and everything else the moment Mallius came. The guards had gone out and as there was no other door Polos had promised that as soon as Mallius arrived he would leave us alone.

But when Mallius did come I had another disappointment, only that is a miserable word for it, for instead of flinging his arms about me and telling me how he had missed me and longed to see me again, and kissing me, he stood before me looking like thunder and exclaimed:

‘This is madness, Pomponia. There are spies lurking everywhere. You could have sent your information by Polos. Calvus consented to this meeting only because I convinced him that you must have discovered something important, or even you, reckless as you are, wouldn’t have asked to go abroad at this hour.’

I could have cried with mortification and heart-grief, only my anger was greater still, and I summoned all my dignity and drew myself up and spoke in as cold and curt a voice as if I were being reproved by Calvus himself and ordered by him to tell what I knew.

‘You may perhaps remember,’ I said, ‘that I told Maecenas and Uncle Horace—and you—that I felt something knocking at a sealed door in my brain, and Maecenas begged me to remember as it might be the key to the whole thing. Well, it was and it is. I was stupid not to have suspected it—and you too—when we saw Julia worshipping in the Temple of Isis—and then later Volumnia Marcia told me that Julia has a lake on her estate near Pompeii where she floats naked on a barge like Cleopatra and that she is mad about everything Egyptian and also distracted at the threat of new laws that would put an end to her extravagances and orgies and perhaps exiled for adultery if Augustus found out she had lovers. And this morning Caelius forgot himself and went off into an ecstasy over the lost glories of Alexandria, but even then it didn’t come to me and it wasn’t until I was in Julia’s house this afternoon and Metella Cicero stretched herself out on an Egyptian throne where Tullia—Volumnia Marcia’s daughter who was showing us the house—said Julia often played at being Queen and Metella began talking a lot of nonsense about being Cleopatra that there was a flash like lightning in my head and I knew Julia was behind this conspiracy and longs to change the capital of the world from Rome to Alexandria once more and live in the great palaces of the Ptolemies and reign like Cleopatra and live that sumptuous voluptuous life with unlimited power as Queen or Empress and I know know know that I am right.’

‘Gods!’ exclaimed Mallius. ‘And that may well be true, for it explains many things. But give me more details and don’t talk so fast.’

I hoped I looked haughtier still and this time I did speak quite slowly as I told him everything I could think of and then of my conversation with Julia. Mallius strode up and down, muttering occasionally and striking his hands together. ‘I don’t think there is any doubt you are right,’ he said when I had finished. ‘But there are inconsistencies difficult to reconcile. Scribonius has his own ambitions. He wishes to be head of the Republic if it can be restored, no doubt of that, and exercise power as the guardian of Julia and her children. Do you imagine he would consent to leave Rome for Alexandria—or to place Julia on a throne? He is a good Roman if nothing else, and would never consent to reducing Rome to a mere province. The only explanation is that each is making use of the other and Scribonius at least has no suspicion of Julia’s intentions. And how can she succeed without him?’

‘I feel sure there are many Egyptians in the plot, and no doubt all those priests of Isis are their agents and give Julia much advice. I have heard it said at my father’s table that Egypt is the greatest corn-producing country on the Inland Sea, that it has a great and busy seaport, that it is still full of wealthy merchants and great lords despite the heavy tribute they pay to Augustus, that there are great emerald mines that still supply the world, that our Roman merchants do much and lucrative business with those of Alexandria, and great streams of wealth flow thence into the coffers of Augustus, Maecenas, Agrippa and others. Half the army is in the East. Couldn’t it be that somehow it could be persuaded to come over to Julia, and wouldn’t Egypt welcome her if she gave back to Alexandria the great position she once had in the world? Julia appeals to the imagination. If she made a bold stroke all the Eastern part of the Empire might flock to her eagles and rejoice they were no longer dominated by the West. As for Scribonius, no doubt he has tools in the legions now in Gaul who would accomplish the murder of Agrippa and Drusus, and so play into the hands of Julia——’

‘And do you believe for a moment,’ interrupted Mallius, who was staring straight through me, ‘that Julia would consent to the murder of her father?’

‘No, I don’t. She would imprison him—and Tiberius—in some palace in Egypt, no doubt assuring herself that her father was worn out and weary of life anyhow and would be glad to rest. Possibly she would also send for Livia to keep him company! And if all three should be murdered later that would be no fault of hers. I believe there are many Romans in the plot, who would like to live the luxurious life of the East, and I know that Caelius is one of them and is using Scribonius for his own purposes. I know from Volumnia Marcia there is great dissatisfaction and apprehension in Rome among the extravagant who fear the proposed sumptuary laws of Augustus. As for Agrippa—well, no doubt Julia would tell her uncle to shut him up somewhere, and if she heard of his assassination would feel only relief for no doubt she hates him.’

‘Yes—yes—it well may be.’ Mallius was striding up and down again and not once had he really looked at me. ‘It is said the plebs worship her and believe nothing to her discredit. What would they care if she wanted to be Empress of the World so long as their dole was doubled and they were given plenty of money to spend in the wine-shops? And the amusements increased! They grumble at Augustus because before he went to the East they asked for a dole of wine as well as corn and he told them to be content with the cold spring water Agrippa had brought to Rome through his aqueduct. And he is far away and they know he is delicate and may not live long. And they dislike Tiberius who might succeed him. It is the right moment! No doubt it is she who has had money distributed among the poorer plebs, and they know it. It is quite possible that hints have been circulated among all the plebs that one day they may have little farms, when the great estates are broken up as many were by the Triumvirs. If Augustus and Agrippa were out of the way the army could be suborned by promises of heavy bonuses. And Julia on the throne of Egypt would be a glamorous figure and would send money in rivers to Rome. A fine prospect for those patricians and equites who are too good Romans to have aught but scorn for the soft life of the East! And no one can control a revolution, after the first phase. Julia may be soft of heart, but she would rule through ambitious and greedy men and more heads would roll about the streets of Rome than during the Triumvirate. A fine prospect! A fine prospect!’ And he beat his hands together again. ‘Even now Augustus, Tiberius, Agrippa and Drusus may have been poisoned, for they are unsuspicious, and what avails a bodyguard against some minion gloating over the idea of sudden wealth? I must go at once and tell Calvus to dispatch messengers to the Emperor and Agrippa with warnings—if it isn’t too late! Oh, gods! I myself will go to Ostia tonight and warn Maecenas, for his life too is in danger.’ He started for the door and then hesitated. ‘What object do you suppose Julia had in trying to fascinate you? To get you into her clutches?’

By this time I hated him and I answered with superb indifference: ‘A whim, no doubt. Or perhaps she wanted to keep me where I should be safe in case Maecenas were murdered—possibly more concerned for my welfare than others I could mention. And of course you would be murdered too,’ I added with relish. ‘And then she would marry me to one of her lovers and so get hold of my fortune, for Caelius wouldn’t dare oppose her although that is all he thinks of now and I am sure he is only waiting for his chance to get rid of me, and perhaps Julia guesses that for she is cleverer than all of you men put together.’

Mallius turned and really looked at me for the first time and his face that had been grimmer than any statue of Mars softened a trifle. ‘My poor little Pomponia!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a poor lover tonight, but when an Empire is at stake——’

‘I didn’t come to a damp tomb to be made love to,’ I said with all the ice of winter Tiber in my voice. ‘I knew I could convince you only if I talked to you myself. Do run along now and save the Empire. No doubt Augustus will make you a consul next year and heap other favors on his brilliant young officer. Polos says you are ambitious for a career and you are quite welcome to forget I have given you several opportunities toward that end. And now, as you have nothing more to learn from me, I’d like to go home for I am cold and sleepy.’

‘My darling Pomponia! Don’t be angry with me! You are so young—you don’t understand there is another side to a man’s life—don’t be unreasonable, my Pomponia. I don’t understand how you can be when you are the cleverest girl in Rome and can outwit not only Caelius but Julia herself. It will, let us hope, be only a few days now, or at most weeks——’

‘When you will have time to think of me again. I don’t care if I never see you again and you can devote yourself for the rest of your life to your old Empire and then find someone else to marry——’

He made a rush at me then but I dodged him and ran out of that tomb and walked rapidly away with Polos and my retinue. Unreasonable! What do men know about women anyway? I didn’t wonder that women had lovers who at least pretended to think about them always, although I’d never stoop to that myself, and as for Mallius I’d never speak to him again as long as I lived.

I cried the whole night long, or what was left of it, and it was only the second time in my life that I hadn’t been able to sleep no matter what happened. I hadn’t felt so woeful even after the death of my parents for then I had Mallius and now I had no one. Oh, how I hated him! Oh, if only I had someone to talk to and console me! Not the girls. Never would I confess that I had been alone for half an hour with my lover and he hadn’t even kissed me, and besides how could I tell them why I had gone out late at night or that he was in Rome at all? Polos would only shrug and say that men were men and the sooner women understood they had other things to think about and didn’t always feel like making love, the better, and probably would give me Antigone to translate. And Volumnia Marcia would no doubt think my trouble insignificant beside all she had endured and has forgotten what it was like to be young anyway. The only one I could have poured out my woe to was Uncle Horace, who understands everything, probably because he is a poet, and had always sympathized with me anyhow, and if he’d been at his farm I’d have made Polos drive me there. Well, I could send for him and I would and I knew he would come, and I couldn’t remember anything in his poems about women making the best of men, but many sarcastic laments about the inconstancy and heartlessness of woman, and I knew he would be angry with Mallius for he always took my part. He wouldn’t say I was unreasonable. Unreasonable! How I hated that word, and if anyone ever called me that again I’d spit in his face. But I was glad I’d been so dignified and haughty with Mallius for if I had spat in his face he would only have laughed—and Oh, how I hated him!

When Erinna came in and drew back the curtain she ran to the bed with a loud exclamation. ‘Dear Mistress! What ails you? Your face is white and drawn and you have dark spots under your eyes—and they are red and swollen. Have you been ill in the night? Why didn’t you send for your Erinna?’

‘There’s nothing the matter with me,’ I said crossly. ‘I had a headache and couldn’t sleep.’

‘But you never have headaches, nor anything else——’

‘Well, one has to begin sometime, I suppose, and I’ve never spent a summer in Rome before. Bring me my breakfast for I’m starved and then send a carriage for Uncle Horace, for I wish to talk to him at once.’

‘Your breakfast in bed——’

‘Yes, and run quickly and get it and don’t look at me as if I’d turned into someone else.’

She returned in a few moments and I was surprised to find that heart-break had so little effect on the appetite for I ate six pieces of bread and three plates of honey and four plums and two pears. Erinna said suddenly:

‘All the slaves are wondering if they shouldn’t call you Domina now that you are the mistress of the house, just as much as if you were married. You are so grand and dignified and so unlike other young girls who are generally silly, and they would like to address you as they did the beloved Mistress who is gone.’

And then I burst into tears again although I’d thought I hadn’t any left and choked on a piece of bread that went down the wrong way. Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! She would have understood, for she was not only so sweet so sweet but had lived with father for seventeen years so must have known men inside out and he wasn’t always too attentive or amiable, but she knew how to manage him, only I hated the idea of managing my husband and I’d never have one now and I hated flattering anyone, and Oh, how I envied girls who had mothers to go to with their troubles, and what was an old bachelor even a poet to a mother?

Erinna was terribly frightened for she thought I was choking to death and beat me on the back so hard I cried all the more, and fortunately she laid it all to the bread, which had shot out at the first blow, and I had the presence of mind to thank her and went on with my breakfast. And in a moment I asked her: ‘Erinna, are you in love with any man? I suppose you will want to marry one day like other foolish girls.’

‘No, Mistress. I have liked two or three but none in the house, and I couldn’t marry out of it unless you would buy him from his master and that might not be possible. There is our Tiro——’ And she shrugged. ‘He has asked me many times, and perhaps one day——’ She shrugged again.

‘Well, if you are wise you’ll never marry at all,’ I said, feeling like Minerva. ‘All men are hateful selfish creatures and the gods didn’t create them for the happiness of women, whom they look upon as good for nothing but having children and spinning and weaving and keeping the house slaves in order, or to play with when they have nothing else to think of.’

‘But Mistress!’ Her eyes were almost twice their size with astonishment. ‘You love Mallius——’

‘Not at all. I became engaged to him as my parents bade me and as all girls do. What has love to do with marriage? I liked him well enough, but if I can get my way I’ll never marry anybody, and I haven’t found it difficult so far to get round my guardians. And the household may call me Domina, for I shall hope to be here with them always.’

She gave me a very queer look but said nothing, and no doubt she suspected I had had a row with Mallius, but where she couldn’t imagine (I’d put my mantle away this time), and I didn’t care, for I knew she’d keep her own counsel and it was a relief to have said something to somebody.

When I was dressed I went out into the peristyle, and there were the two girls and Volumnia Marcia, and Lydia, and even Caelius, now looking almost well although half of his face was still covered. And I thought: How can I see Uncle Horace alone? And I wished they were all in their family tombs on the Appian Way. My eyes were no longer swollen for Erinna had bathed them in cold water mixed with astringent herbs, and after my bath I looked and felt better although those dark spots were still under my eyes. Of course the girls and Volumnia Marcia spoke of them at once, they were so surprised, and very concerned when I told them my head had ached in the night, for they feared the fever and thought I should leave Rome at once. I caught Lydia looking at me sharply and wondered if she had seen me go out after all, although we had left by the garden and taken pains to avoid the atrium.

And Oh what a bore and a dilemma it is to have to be polite and pleasant when you would like to tell people you hate the sight of them and want to be alone! And how how was I to talk to Uncle Horace when he came as I knew he would, but that problem was solved in a way I didn’t expect. Polos sent for me to come to the library and there he told me that Maecenas was at his house on the Esquiline and Uncle Horace with him and he wished to see me at once. They hadn’t come to me on account of Caelius and Lydia, and I might have known Uncle Horace would have thought of that by himself but how can one think of everything?

So I went back to the peristyle and told them that Terentia was in town and had sent for me, and would they excuse me as she had been so kind I could refuse her nothing, and that she had hurt her foot, and a few more lies I had to think up. I saw Caelius and Lydia exchange a look and knew they were boiling with curiosity, the more as they were quite helpless and could find out nothing. V. M. offered to go with me, but I told her I wouldn’t take her out into the sun again and Polos would escort me and I would take Erinna along. So I asked the girls to stay for lunch, as I hoped to return before then, and they asked me if there were any of Ovid’s poems in the library, and I said No, but from what I had heard Aristophanes was almost as bad although Polos had only given me bits here and there to translate.

So I went forth with Polos and my Pretorians and although Erinna held the parasol over my head I covered my face partly with a fold of my palla, as befitted a young girl abroad without her duenna. I hoped Mallius wouldn’t be there and I hoped he would so that he could see how I scorned him, and I thought of little else as we walked down the Palatine and over to the Suburba, and Polos never opened his mouth and no doubt was thinking he had had more time to himself when he was a tutor with no prospect of being a freedman.

The house of Maecenas is a true palace, fit for the King of Persia, and it is said there is none to compare with it in size or splendor in all Italy. It makes all the other houses on the Esquiline look insignificant and its famous gardens run down on one side almost to the base of the hill. And one could never believe that hill had once been a necropolis where the poor had been interred in such shallow graves the wolves dug them up and left the bones all scattered about; but now there are no wolves in Rome and the poor are decently buried without the walls, for Augustus thinks of everything.

I had been once before, with Mother, to the palace of Maecenas, and Terentia, who is so kind and unlike Livia, had taken me all over it and I was awed by its magnificence. But it is Roman not Oriental magnificence, and although the immense atrium is more like an art gallery, even all those beautiful things brought from Alexandria are Hellenic, for Maecenas cares little for the native Egyptian art, and he had employed Greeks in Rome to paint the white panels with lovely scenes from the mythology of their land. And there is a lively little statue of Pan with his pipes in the basin, and an enchanting one of Diana, or Ariadne as the Greeks call her, so lightly poised she looks as if about to dart from her pedestal and run far far until she found a wood to hide in. And there are statues by Pheidias and Praxiteles that are priceless and Maecenas has left them in his will to Augustus with all his other treasures, for rich men, both patrician and equestrian, make no secret of their wills and what they have left to the Emperor, for then his own favors are more lavish, and he is furious when some man dies and leaves him nothing and would take it out on the family only he prides himself on being just. He expects large legacies of money too, and it must be admitted that he doesn’t spend them on himself but on the adornment of Rome. Of course he knew that Daddy had left him a lot and I suppose that was one reason he was so fond of him, and Maecenas had told me that no doubt it would mean another Temple for Rome or go toward the new Forum Augustus intended to build later on.

All round the top of the atrium is a marble frieze carved with scenes of the Olympic games as described by Pindar, and the furniture is exquisitely carved and the silks on them of delicate colors and the sofas of a decent depth that one could sit on and get out of with dignity. There are countless other rooms, some panelled with dark wood and all full of works of art, one devoted entirely to the pottery of Greece in the day of Pericles, lovely vases of red and black with pictures on them that, Terentia said, told much of the life of ancient Greece Herodotus and Xenophon hadn’t thought to describe, much less Thucydides, and I must come some day with my tutor and study them but I never had. She has ten rooms of her own hung with silks from China which is so far off that it seems in another world although I believe there is no ocean between, but merchants travel there and back and bring lovely vases too and she has some of them, as well as a long jade necklace and earrings.

The peristyles are much like others except that the statues and paintings are more superb, and there is an upper story for the slaves, and as the ceilings are so high the palace of Maecenas looks simply enormous and you can see it from every part of the city and strangers come to stare at it as they do at the Temples and the Basilicas and all the other glories of Rome; and all the patricians envy Maecenas for after all he is only the head of the Equestrian Order even if he is descended from Etruscan Kings. No one knows when some ancestor came back to Rome after his own ancestors had been driven out, but Daddy said he must have brought money with him and made more and that finally landed Maecenas in the Equestrian Order, and even if it were in the power of Augustus to elevate him to the patrician rank he wouldn’t accept, for being of royal blood and so rich and powerful he could afford to be a pleb if he chose, and always proudly displays the ring of his Order. And as he outshines every patrician with his magnificence and looks like a king and is the greatest patron of letters in the Empire and the greatest statesman after Augustus, why shouldn’t he hold mere rank in light esteem? There is only one Maecenas and never will there be another say many, and he is as ostentatious as a novus homo say others and they prefer the simplicity of Agrippa, and little Maecenas cares.

But although all this, which I had so often heard discussed when my parents were alive, ran through my head as we climbed the hill, I forgot it as we entered the house and were led by a slave to the library which is much like my own only twice as large and with more portrait busts and books and chairs. Of course I left Erinna without, to flirt with that slave no doubt, and Polos said it was not his place to enter uninvited and he would ask someone to show him over the palace, so I went in alone. And there stood Maecenas and Uncle Horace but no Mallius, and I wondered if he had gone himself to Samos or Lugdunum but nothing would have induced me to ask.

Both looked terribly worried and even Maecenas kissed me, which he had never done before, and then we sat down and I had to tell them all I had seen and heard and suspected, and like Mallius they were convinced I was right.

‘You should have been a man, my Pomponia,’ said Maecenas, and I suppose he thought that was the highest compliment he could pay me. ‘But it took a woman to fathom Julia who has seemed but a trivial wanton to all men of dignity. And you have certainly used your wits with Caelius, although he probably never would have betrayed himself if he had not been weak from pain and loss of blood. I hoped for that when I asked you to keep him in your house for a day or two. Do you believe that Tullia also is in this plot?’

‘Yes, I do, for she hates poverty and no doubt has been promised wealth and a position at Julia’s court, but you must protect Volumnia Marcia who knows nothing about it.’

‘Be sure of that. The Emperor is always just. But—alas!——’ He sighed deeply. ‘We are convinced now of the conspiracy and that Julia is at the head of it, and clever enough to make a tool of Scribonius, but how are we to prove it? And until we have proof how can we halt it—although Calvus has sent a messenger to Agrippa who will travel by swift relays of horses, and another to Brundisium who will charter a galley with two banks of rowers, to warn Augustus, and we can only pray for a driving wind to fill the sails. Mallius fears that Augustus, Agrippa, Tiberius and Drusus may have already been poisoned, and officers, suborned by Julia, in command of both armies. Never has this great Empire been in such danger, for other conspiracies have been quickly discovered and suppressed—you know, of course, that Terentia’s brother, Murena, took part in one and lost his head. Julia must be a fool if she thinks she could hold the Empire together, for only Augustus can do that. Scribonius might have succeeded for a time if the conspiracy were his alone, for he would have had the Emperor deified and his grandson proclaimed heir. But Julia! The Parthians, who have come at last to terms with Augustus, the Gauls, the Hispanians—every province and client-state would revolt—and how long before Egypt herself would fall a prey to the Parthians or Persians? Julia may be a clever conspirator but she has no foresight—how, how shall we obtain proof?’

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, for I was tired of talk. ‘Why don’t you assemble the Senate and tell them what you know and have Julia and Scribonius arrested? For that matter, you are Caesar himself when he is away.’

But Maecenas shook his head. ‘This conspiracy must be suppressed and none the wiser. Never must Rome know of Julia’s guilt. The scandal would be frightful, and Augustus would never forgive me, for he relies upon my diplomacy above all else. The whole Empire would roar with laughter that Julia—a woman!—came near to overthrowing a mighty Emperor, the ruler of a hundred million people, who had been given divine honors in Egypt and Asia, and whose statue is to be seen everywhere save in Rome in the company of the gods, despite his wishes! Laughter would be more fatal than poison, which his weak stomach might reject. No! We must suppress this conspiracy before it has gone any further, and I for one do not believe that Augustus and Agrippa are in bodily danger as yet. From what Scribonius said to Caelius under that tree they were moving cautiously, and Scribonius has had no opportunity since to send messengers to his creatures in the armies. Or at least he has not done so, for no suspicious person has entered his villa. Calvus and Belerius have also set spies to dog the footsteps of every Egyptian in Rome. Calvus has ascertained that several wealthy Egyptians, who have been in Rome for some time but attracted no attention, as so many of all nations come to gaze upon the splendors of our city, have been entertained of late at Julia’s villa. Oh, if one could but overhear the secret conferences that must take place in that house! But although Calvus has succeeded in bribing one of Scribonius’ slaves we are helpless where Julia is concerned. Her slaves worship her and no money could buy them. Caelius alone may betray himself, for although clever and cunning, he has exercised patience for so many years that it must have been a fearful blow to him when you escaped the massacre, and upset his balance. I believe he will be the one to urge quick action.’

Maecenas was walking up and down the long room, restless as ever, although, oddly enough, he never loses that air of indolence and elegance. I suppose his body long ago received orders from his imperious mind and never rebels. I went over and sat beside Uncle Horace on his sofa and took his hand, and he whispered:

‘Something else is wrong with you, Pomponia. What is it?’

‘I want to talk to you and I can’t. Please go back to the farm and take me with you.’

‘Would that I could! I am of no consequence here or in Ostia except to listen to Maecenas while he thinks aloud, for he doesn’t trust Terentia, who is inclined to gossip. I’ll go to your house after Caelius and Lydia have left——’

But Maecenas was beside us again. ‘What are you two whispering about?’ he demanded, none too amiably, and no wonder for he was worried enough, poor man.

‘I want Uncle Horace to go back to the farm and take me with him,’ I said defiantly. ‘I am sick of conspiracies and have done all I can——’

‘And how do you know that? You have been of great service and we need your wits until this terrible menace to the Empire has passed. You should think of nothing else——’

‘But Caelius and Lydia go to the villa today and may be left to Calvus, and although Julia said she was coming to see me she will never betray herself. If I had known nothing when I talked with her yesterday I should have suspected nothing. And—and—I don’t feel very well. Rome doesn’t agree with me in summer.’

‘Poor child! You do look pale and wan. I’ll send the great physician Antonius Musa to see you——’

‘I won’t take his nasty herbs. I’ve never taken any medicine in my life and I hate cold baths. I only want to get away.’

‘But Mallius is in Rome, and I will arrange with Calvus, after the departure of Caelius and Lydia, that he go to your house on one pretext or another.’

I gave such a sniff that Uncle Horace asked me anxiously if I had a cold, but I paid no attention and replied to Maecenas indifferently: ‘Mallius is too occupied to have any time to waste on girls, and this is no time for love anyway. Why didn’t he go himself to Samos or Lugdunum?’

‘He is too valuable here, for his wits are as sharp as yours,’ said Maecenas, who no doubt thought I’d be enchanted with his praise of that man. ‘It was his own suggestion that he cultivate Publius Valerius Antias, Tullia’s husband, posing as a wealthy young Italian from the north on his first visit to Rome. He will meet him accidentally in one of the more aristocratic wine-shops, and when they have grown mellow over a bottle or two of good Falernian confide that his father was a friend of Mark Anthony, and that he himself has never ceased to regret that Anthony was not in his prime at the Battle of Actium, and now sole head of the Empire. He will also confide his disappointment in Rome and intention to visit Alexandria. Valerius Antias has every reason to hate Augustus, and although he has little initiative has no doubt been a ready tool and dazzled with promises of wealth. It is more than possible that Mallius will surprise something out of him. You should be very proud of your future husband for he will rise to great eminence in the state.’

‘Of course he is clever,’ I said calmly although I had felt a throb of pride, which I repressed at once for what was Mallius to me? ‘But he should have nothing to distract him, so please let me go with Uncle Horace to the farm.’

That astute poet gave me a penetrating look and I realized I had been pressing his hand convulsively, but he said nothing. And Maecenas was repeating that I must remain in Rome when a slave came in and said that Calvus wished to speak with him at once and he went out. Then I could control myself no longer and flung myself into Uncle Horace’s arms and sobbed that Mallius didn’t love me and that I was the unhappiest girl that ever had lived in this horrible world.

Uncle Horace was so startled that he nearly fell off the sofa, and I suppose I am no light weight to hurl at any poor old gentleman and I think my knee hit him in the stomach.

‘But darling! Darling!’ he gasped. ‘What are you saying? Mallius loves you devotedly; he both worships and admires you and never will he look at another woman. What in the name of all the gods has he done to displease you?’

I told him. Every word of it. ‘And if you say I am unreasonable I’ll hate you too,’ I wound up. (I would never spit on Uncle Horace.)

‘No, you are not unreasonable, poor child,’ he said in his nice soothing tones. ‘But the best of men are fools at times where women are concerned. Women are so much—finer, and—er—more labyrinthine than we are that it is impossible to understand them.’ And he patted my back. ‘The trouble with Mallius is that he is not only deeply concerned over this threat to the Empire, but feeling very important just now, as any young man would who was in daily consultation with men of eminence and authority in the state; and trusted by them; and led to believe that he may play a great part in exposing this abominable conspiracy. But of course he should have thought of you first, thought of nothing else for a few moments after so long a separation from his beautiful Pomponia! No doubt he is now repentant enough, to say nothing of regrets for a wasted opportunity, and longs for the moment when he may see you alone——’

‘I won’t see him! I hate him!’

‘No, no, my Pomponia, you do not hate him. If you no longer loved him you would be indifferent not angry. Whenever I see two tiny new-born kids I always think of love and hate, for it is impossible to tell them apart. Think it all over calmly when you are alone; remember that he is excited and nervous and burdened with a sense of responsibility, and you will cease to be——’

‘Don’t you dare say unreasonable!’

‘Never! You are the most reasonable girl in the world as the cleverest. But remember that the vocabulary of a young soldier is limited, even if he has studied at Apollonia—but what do philosophy or the sciences or rhetoric teach a man about women? Only the years will do that, and you will be his best teacher. Promise me you will do nothing desperate.’

‘If you think I’d burn myself up on a pyre like Dido, you needn’t worry,’ I said scornfully. ‘No man is worth it.’

‘True! True! But do give Mallius a chance to be worthy of you. Where among the young men of Rome will you find such another—despite his faults?’

‘He hasn’t so many faults,’ I said, for I was feeling much better and didn’t want anyone to criticise Mallius but myself. ‘Only I shall punish him.’

‘Do!’ exclaimed Uncle Horace heartily. ‘It will do you both good——’

And just then Maecenas reëntered the room. He looked very perturbed, but nothing escapes his eyes and he asked me sharply what I had been crying about.

‘Uncle Horace won’t take me to the farm,’ I said dolefully, and wondering if the time would ever come when I could stop lying. ‘I told you before that I don’t feel well in Rome.’

‘I need Horace more than you do,’ said Maecenas, selfish egoist that he is. ‘But we have something else to think of. Calvus has just learned that somewhere between midnight and dawn one of Scribonius’ slaves slipped out of the villa at Tusculum and rode off toward the north and has not returned. There is little doubt that he has gone with orders to some traitor in Agrippa’s army. The slave bribed by Calvus was unable to get word to him until an hour ago. Whether the man went after or before the messenger dispatched by Calvus we do not know, but there is no doubt this is a result of a conference between Julia and Scribonius. Calvus has sent three soldiers to overtake him if possible and bring him back, when, if he carries no written message, and refuses to confess, he will be put to the torture. What we both apprehend is that Lydia may have told Julia something that makes them fear our suspicions have been aroused—and that slave may have orders to engage in conversation any fleet rider he may overtake and kill him if he suspects he also is on his way to Lugdunum. Gods! And it will be another day or more before we can hear anything!’

I stood up and shook out my palla and smoothed my hair. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I can do nothing about that, so I think I’ll go home as Metella and Phoebe Cicero are there and I have asked them for lunch. By the way, I am supposed to have been sent for by Terentia who has hurt her foot, so please warn her, although she is not likely to meet any of those women. Still, your gardens adjoin Julia’s, so if she happens to walk near the boundary stones she might limp occasionally.’

Maecenas laughed. ‘Another evidence of your quick wit, my Pomponia. And yet you would desert us when we may need you again and again!’

He turned abruptly and walked up and down the room and then came to pause before me as I was kissing Uncle Horace good-bye.

‘I—I——’ he began. ‘There is something I hardly dare ask you, Pomponia—and yet it may well be the last resource—our one hope——’

I sighed, for I was tired and sleepy and sick of the whole thing and thought he might have let me alone for a while. ‘What is it?’ I asked, none too sweetly.

‘Julia asked you to visit her—and that might be——’

‘No! No!’ exclaimed Uncle Horace. ‘I’ll never consent to that! The gods only know what they might do to her if their suspicions were aroused. She is but a child, clever as she is. What match would she be for Julia or any of her accomplices?’

And I felt my eyes flaming as I stood up to Maecenas. ‘I won’t play the spy, for that is what you mean!’ I shouted at him. ‘Listen at doors, sneak about trying to overhear private conversations, or pretending to be won over and act the conspirator myself! Never! Never! I’m not afraid of the dagger’s quick thrust nor of being strangled and thrown into the sea, but of hating myself for the rest of my life. A spy! You have asked one thing too much, great Maecenas, and you weren’t very diplomatic about it either. If Julia comes to see me today and lets anything fall, or Caelius or Lydia, I’ll report it, of course, but sneak and slink about a house in which I am a guest and act a false part—that I won’t!’

And out of that house I rushed, with Polos and Erinna at my heels, for fortunately they didn’t have to be sent for but were waiting in the atrium.

How I got through that lunch I’ll never remember except that I was still furious although so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open, and that Lydia’s had never seemed so sharp. When it was over Metella and Phoebe said good-bye as they were to return to Tusculum immediately after siesta and they were sad because I would not go with them. Then I ran to my room and told Erinna not to come near me for five hours and I slept every minute of that time.

When I awakened I felt as if I had dropped all my troubles into the unfathomable depths of sleep, and what did I care for the Empire, or Maecenas, or any man, not even Mallius, although I might forgive him in time but not yet. Erinna told me that Caelius and Lydia had left instead of waiting for the cool of the evening as they were impatient to get away from Rome and knew I wouldn’t mind and had told Diomedes not to disturb me as I had looked so tired and almost ill. I was delighted to be rid of them, although as a proper hostess I should have seen them off. Nor had Julia called, nor Maecenas sent any word, and I felt as free as a bird winging to the Sabine Hills where I did wish I could go too.

When I was dressed Polos sent me word he had something of importance to speak to me about, and as I entered the library I saw a shield and spear on the table and a Pretorian standing before the window and thought it odd he took no notice of my entrance. Then Polos, whose face was rather red, asked me to excuse him for a moment and went out of the door and shut it behind him, and in a flash I knew who that ‘Pretorian’ was, for no man can disguise the expression of his back, especially about the neck, even if he daubs his face to look like a black African. So I had heard Daddy say and now I had proof of it. And I was quick to seize my advantage before Mallius could speak first.

‘Another disguise!’ I exclaimed with a light laugh, and he turned quickly and pulled off his helmet and came forward astonished but eager and his eyes full of love-fire that seemed to flash all through me, but I sat down on a narrow chair and was thankful that my hair was arranged in a crown and that I must look very proud and stately, and he stopped and stood still. ‘I should think you would have forgotten your own name by this time. First a Gaul, and how you must have looked in trousers and a red wig and beard! Then a poor pleb asking for work, then a young noble from Ravenna or some place, and now a Pretorian with helmet shield and spear! What a pity that no man of your rank may go on the stage for you might have become a famous actor.’ And I smiled politely as I had seen Mother smile when complimenting some young poet for whom she cared nothing.

During this long speech his expression had changed several times and once he had frowned, but now he looked humble and unhappy.

‘Dear dear Pomponia!’ he cried. ‘Surely you will forgive me! Surely you will understand. This is so unlike you.’

‘To be unreasonable, I suppose,’ I said sweetly, and his answer was so quick I knew he had seen Uncle Horace and been given a good scolding.

‘No, no, darling, not unreasonable. You were quite right to be angry. We are both very young and should think of love before aught else. But I had had a stormy scene with Calvus, who was opposed to our meeting, and I was full of fears myself—not only for the Empire, but for you, my Pomponia. I feel sure that Scribonius is anxiously awaiting the moment when he can get rid of you as he did of our beloved Pomponidus and Cornelia, and it might well be that your footsteps were dogged by a band of his assassins who would attack your escort; and while they were defending themselves one could plunge a dagger into your lovely throat. Never again must you go forth at night. I won’t have it! No wonder I could think of nothing else. And, let me tell you, a mausoleum is no place to quicken the blood. We could have met in the Senate House or one of the Temples.’

I was impressed, but never would I admit it, so I shrugged and said indifferently: ‘It was Polos who chose it, perhaps because he is a cynical old thing, or because it really was the safest place, isolated as it is. And I don’t believe for a moment that if we had met elsewhere—but what is the use of talking about it? I have already forgiven you, for why should you think of love at such a time? I have dismissed all thought of it myself. Won’t you sit down?’

‘I don’t care to sit down. And you haven’t forgiven me. I never dreamed that you—the cleverest and sweetest girl in all the world—could be so hard and cruel.’

‘I am not hard and cruel,’ I said loftily, although I felt rather flattered, for what girl wants to be thought sweet all the time? ‘I have merely grown up. I am years and years older, what with being mixed up in this hateful conspiracy, and all the lying I’ve had to do, and having such men as Maecenas and Uncle Horace relying upon me to help them, and a woman like Julia paying court to me and men wanting to murder me for my fortune and being told I ought to have been a man and that I must keep on using my wits and help save the Empire—oh, I fed terribly old!’ And then to my dismay I began to cry and that was the end of it. Another second and I was crying on Mallius’ shoulder and he was kissing me and I felt so wonderful I had to kiss him back, and then he sat down in a big chair and took me on his knee, and it was the first time I had sat on anyone’s knee for nearly four years I had grown so fast, and I no longer felt old but even younger than when I had run out of Uncle Horace’s villa to meet him and almost as happy.

But of course after a time we had to talk of that loathsome conspiracy, and he told me he was confident that Tullia’s husband, a discontented second-rate person, knew all about it and that he would get something out of him before long.

‘And have you seen Maecenas?’ I asked innocently. ‘He is in town and much concerned because Calvus told him that one of Scribonius’ slaves was seen leaving Tusculum last night riding toward the north and no doubt with orders to poison Agrippa.’

‘Yes, he sent for me shortly after you left, but Calvus already had told me, and I was able to tell Maecenas that within the past hour it had suddenly occurred to Calvus to send a messenger by sea to Massalia, which is on the southern coast of Gaul; there is a wind from the south, and as there is a straight road from there to Lugdunum he no doubt will reach there first, for it will take longer to cross the Alps. We are confident of warning Agrippa in time and of capturing the man—unless he resists and is killed.’

I snuggled down into his arms and was very comfortable, but I looked straight into his eyes as I asked: ‘Did you have any conversation with Uncle Horace?’

‘A few words,’ and he looked at the bust of Cicero. ‘But Maecenas told me something that made me very angry and we had high words.’

‘He told you, I suppose, that he wanted me to visit Julia and play the spy, and that I had dared to tell him what I thought of him—and left him with a very red face. It must have astonished the great Maecenas to be defied by a mere girl, and I am glad that you too gave him a piece of your mind.’

‘I did—but afterward—well, we had a long talk.’ His own face was rather red and he never took his eyes off Cicero.

‘Don’t tell me,’ I gasped, ‘that he made you agree with him in the end—that hateful old diplomat who can talk the leaves off a tree. Do you want me to hate you again?’ I pushed my hand hard against his shoulder and tried to spring from his lap, but I might as well have tried to overturn the Temple of Jupiter as to bend an arm that was harder than any marble god’s. ‘Let me go!’ I tried to look imperious but as I couldn’t sit up straight it was rather difficult so I thought I’d better cry. ‘Oh, Mallius! Mallius!’ I sobbed. ‘You would never ask me to do anything so horrible! You, the most honorable and truthful—you who have never told a lie in your life!’

‘I have told about ten thousand lies in the last few days,’ he said bitterly. ‘Listen, Pomponia. The most honorable of men must stoop at times to lying and deceit, for, alas, those accomplishments are a part of the science of politics and diplomacy——’

‘That sounds like Polos,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s a hateful code.’

‘Yes, it is, but inevitable, the world being what it is. A man, who is also a good citizen, lives by two codes: his own and one enforced, when conditions demand, by his duty to the state. And the state, when in danger, my Pomponia, must come first. Mere self-interest would counsel that, for remember that if a revolution is successful the patriot loses his head. Did this conspiracy succeed there would be no happy married years for us, for although your life might be spared my head would roll in the dust with that of Maecenas, Calvus and other honorable men who would never betray Augustus. Even Horace might be sacrificed, for he certainly would write no Odes glorifying Julia; his independence is well known. No doubt, like Cicero, he would stretch out his neck to the sword of the military executioner and scorn to plead for mercy. There is the barest possibility, Pomponia, that you may save us all.’

‘And you are not afraid that someone in that villa might kill me if he thought I wasn’t as innocent as I looked? Oh gods! I no longer feel young again but as if I had lived a hundred years in this awful world!’

‘Never would I have consented if I had believed you would be in any danger. But even Horace was convinced at last that Julia, whose kindness of heart no one doubts whatever else she may be, would not so much as pull out one of your beautiful golden hairs. And as for Ovid, Julius Anthony, Sempronius Gracchus, they may be dissolute and frivolous and find a new excitement in scheming, but they will leave any killing that must be done to Scribonius. Nor would they ever kill a young girl—and one of their own order above all. As for Scribonius and Caelius they will not dare go to that villa either openly or by night, for they are uneasy and suspicious and must be apprehensive of spies.’

I reminded him of my conversation with Julia and asked him what reason I could give her for changing my mind. ‘Surely,’ I said, ‘if I told her that Maecenas had given his permission she would suspect at once, for well she must know what he thinks of her.’

‘You must pretend to defy Maecenas, to deceive him. Horace will return to the Sabine farm, and Julia will be given to understand that you have told Maecenas you will go with him, while as for Horace, he is supposed to believe you are here in your own house. Volumnia Marcia you will tell that you go to visit him. Then you will slip out at night to Julia’s carriage and be girlishly delighted with the adventure. Polos, we will take into our confidence, and the Pretorian guards will have orders to see nothing.’

‘It is quite evident you have planned it all out, you three,’ I said bitterly. ‘I have to do as I am told, I suppose. But let me tell you one thing: by the time we are married lying will have become such a habit with me that I shall have forgotten how to tell the truth, so if I lie to you because I can’t help myself you will have nothing to say.’

‘My darling Pomponia! When this conspiracy is stamped out my first duty will be to make you forget it. And never shall you be mixed up in another—not if I have to lock you up in a lonely villa I have in the Apennines.’

‘I wish I were there now! But surely I don’t have to go to Julia’s until the three soldiers Calvus sent after that slave of Scribonius have returned—and if they capture him I won’t have to go at all.’

But Mallius shook his head. ‘We think no time should be lost. That man may well outride his pursuers if he had a good start. Besides—just before you came in Diomedes told Polos that Julia sent word she would dine with you this evening on her way back to Ostia. This is your chance to be “persuaded” by her. It would rouse her suspicions if you sent her word you had changed your mind.’

I sighed, but my mind was made up. I would go. And I would wear my hair in hanging braids and look a guileless young girl on the outside while my poor mind felt at least thirty years old and had dismissed all thoughts of love and harbored none apart from the Empire—and saving the lives of Mallius, Uncle Horace, Maecenas, Augustus and the rest of them. I hadn’t the faintest idea what I could accomplish in that villa; I could only be alert and watchful, keep my eyes and ears open; and whether I learned anything or not I knew I could play my part. And the prospect of another adventure was rather exciting, although I’d hate it too, and would rather, oh, far rather have stayed in Rome, where Mallius, disguised as a Pretorian, could come to see me every day. And he couldn’t even go to Maecenas’ villa and somehow manage to meet me occasionally, for he must remain in Rome and turn himself back into a discontented young noble from the north and induce that husband of Tullia to confide in him. Alas, that life is so full of twists and turns that you never know what will happen next, and to be told you must be a Roman before all else is rather hard on a girl of sixteen, and I envied Atia, whose husband’s life I might be the means of saving, and Drusilla’s too, and all the other girls who were thinking of nothing but having a good time and looking forward to being married and young matrons in Rome. They are all clever and might have done as well as I—and then I felt proud that I alone had been picked up by Fate and tossed into the middle of this mess to play a part in history—secret, alas! so no poet will ever put me in a play. But succeed I would even if I had to sneak and spy like Lydia, although that made me feel sick . . . but Mallius had said he would make me forget all that and nothing lasts for ever. . . .

All these thoughts took only a few seconds to scamper through my mind and then I forgot them when Mallius, who had been patting my cheek, spoke again.

‘There is something else I have to tell you. I left it for the last. It was Horace’s idea and Maecenas agreed. When this conspiracy is suppressed and all is well again Maecenas will write to Agrippa that we should be rewarded for the good work we have done and ask that I be transferred to one of the Imperial Cohorts so that we may be married at once. I have served my two years in the army and I doubt if the trouble with Germany is serious. No doubt Agrippa himself will be in Rome before long. He will refuse Maecenas nothing, he has a fondness for me, no doubt because my father was one of his intimate friends. He is generous and kind, great and stern a soldier as he is. So, my Pomponia, do all that you can to hasten that blissful day.’

I was so speechless with rapture that I could only gaze at him as if he were a god who had swooped down from Olympus and was about to seize me in his arms and swoop up again, and Mallius was gazing at me as if I were a goddess and I knew he’d kiss me in another second when I heard Polos’ voice outside the door and had to scramble off his lap and try to look dignified.

‘Julia will be here before long,’ said my former tutor looking at my rumpled stola. ‘Volumnia Marcia suggests that you wear silk in honor of the daughter of Augustus, who pays you the honor of inviting herself to dinner. I should advise you to hurry.’

I turned my back on him. ‘At least you may remain in my house until I go,’ I said to Mallius. ‘In that guise you will excite no suspicion.’ And when he merely nodded and looked at me and then glared at Polos as if he would like to pick up his spear and run him through, I whispered: ‘Nothing nothing shall prevent that blissful day. Not even if I have to plunge my dagger into Julia herself. And I would in a minute if there were no other way.’

Then I went to my room to array myself in my best stola and have Erinna arrange my hair in hanging braids, although she grumbled and protested, and all the time thinking up more lies and trying to imagine myself as great a diplomatist as Maecenas.

And here I was at the villa of Julia, sitting on the terrace in the moonlight and listening to Ovid recite his poems—the most decent of them, for I had heard Julia give him orders to respect the innocence of a young girl.

All had gone well at dinner. Julia had been gay and charming and lied so convincingly about her love for her dear father and how she longed to see him again and how she did wish he would spend more time in Rome, and how bored she had been at her uncle’s, but only remained so long because she hadn’t seen her mother for ages, her sweet patient ill-treated mother (who was a regular old Xantippe from what I had heard), who even loved Sabina—detestable creature—that I said to myself: Pomponia, you’ll never have a better teacher in the art of lying. Listen to every word and watch every expression of her face.

After dinner she had put her arm round my waist as girls do and we went out into the garden (the Pretorians had disappeared) and she renewed her entreaties to visit her; and although she tried to make her voice merely affectionate I noted a curiously anxious note in it which made me wonder—and I had pretended to hesitate and finally consented with a delighted giggle and we planned it all out how we would deceive Maecenas and Uncle Horace and V. M. All but Polos, whom I would bribe, for he would have to help Erinna carry my chest down the ramp to the carriage and of course I must take my best clothes and Julia merely nodded when I said I could not get along without my maid. So after a few minutes alone with Mallius which I will make no attempt to describe, and after seeing V. M. safely into her room, for Julia left early of course, I found myself in the Forum where Julia’s carriage was waiting with Ovid and Julius Anthony, and another one for my chest and maid.

Erinna was very mystified and rather shocked that I should deceive my guardians and visit such a person as Julia, but asked no questions, although I don’t think she was surprised when I told her after we reached the villa that I wished her to sleep in my room. She knew that something was up for she is no fool, but if she had any suspicion of the truth she kept it to herself, and I had given her two amber necklaces by this time and six ivory hairpins with horses’ heads on them, and a silver girdle, and she was devoted to me anyhow.

The sea was calm and flat and the moon made it look like silver and I wished I were in a galley with Mallius and the rowers singing instead of Ovid reciting, and going far I didn’t care where, and Ovid’s poems might have been his worst for I didn’t listen to him and was thinking of those last moments with Mallius. And then Julius Anthony came over and sat beside me and murmured sweet flattery and I pretended to flirt with him, but wasn’t much good at that so I thought I’d better just giggle and look silly.

I told him how handsome Phoebe had thought him, and although he looked pleased and conceited I liked him better than the other men. Finally I led him on to talk about his ‘great father,’ and he sighed and said Mark Anthony might be Emperor of the World today—only I mustn’t tell Julia he had said that!—if it hadn’t been for that wicked Circe who had enthralled him. And I clasped my hands and asked him if he didn’t think that was the greatest romance in history, and wasn’t it wonderful that Cleopatra had poisoned herself with an asp because she couldn’t live without her Anthony, and he frowned and replied that she had never loved Mark Anthony and had killed herself rather than enter Rome in shackles behind the triumphal car of Octavian.

I sighed and said I had read a good deal of history and it seemed to me too many men had been ruined by Circes and I looked at him innocently, but he was staring at Julia and no doubt wondering what his own fate would be. A crocodile perhaps, but no, Julia is not cruel in that way, although she throws men aside like an old fan when her butterfly heart wants to light on something new.

And then I thought the fates had been unkind to give her a soft heart in other respects, to betray perhaps that brilliant mind and unscrupulous character. Surely she must know—and it was Maecenas who thought of this, of course—that if she insisted her father should go unharmed and merely imprisoned, so long as he lived he would be a menace and a danger, for if Rome loved her it loved him too and his friends might pretend allegiance to her and plot plot plot. But she was what she was, and as one of those old Greeks said, I forget which, character is fate. And anyhow she’d never get that far for I had another dagger in a belt above my knee.

And these were the nice pleasant thoughts in my mind as I looked out over that silver sea and listened to the nightingales singing and the owls hooting and lovely scents all about me and Ovid’s beautiful voice going on and on, and I rolled up my eyes like a Vestal Virgin when Julius Anthony began again and told me how beautiful I was and how all men envied Mallius, and I hated life with all its falseness and guile and conspiracies and wished I could go to bed.

After a while I could stand it no longer and went over and told Julia I was sleepy, as it was long past my bedtime and would she mind—And she and all the others laughed and said it made them feel young and innocent again to have a little girl among them, for although I might be sixteen I looked at least three years younger, and no wonder with such a lovely mother as Cornelia who would shelter her daughter from all knowledge of this wicked world so that I would go to my husband as innocent as any Vestal Virgin. And I felt like laughing in their faces but was very polite and thanked them for being so sweet to me, and then I almost ran to my room.

Although I believed that Julia would never harm me, and it might be true that those young men were far from bloodthirsty and above all would never stick a dagger into a girl of their own order, and I had fooled them all anyhow, for even Julius Anthony had got bored trying to flirt with a girl in hanging braids who could only giggle, there was one of the guests, a cousin of Julia’s named Marius something that I didn’t like the looks of at all. He had a fine swaggering figure and a handsome face, but his mouth was greedy and his eyes too small and set too close together. I had caught him watching me now and then with an expression that made me uneasy and I remembered that Daddy had once said there was never a Marius without a black spot in him.

So, as there was no key, I and Erinna lifted my clothes chest and set it before the door, and then I thought it would be better to confide in her, whom I could trust as I did Polos, and I told her the whole thing and she was terrified and begged me to make some excuse to leave in the morning.

But I said that never would I fail those men who trusted me, to say nothing of incurring their contempt and wrath, and I wasn’t afraid anyhow, but didn’t know how I was to find out anything as I slept from the moment I got into bed until cockcrow unless terribly wrought up about something as when I thought Mallius’ life was in danger—and—well, something had happened to give me a headache the night before.

She replied that she wasn’t much of a sleeper and would do some prowling about and didn’t mind listening at doors, and would awaken me if she thought it necessary. I told her that Polos was at the Villa Maecenas and would spend a good deal of his time near the boundary stones, which fortunately were a long distance from this villa, and she could take counsel with him, and if any one saw her she could say he was a slave of Maecenas and her lover.

But I told her to do no prowling that night, and the next morning she said all the guests seemed to be chasing one another as they went to their rooms, the women laughing and giving little shrieks, like the trollops they were—and a nice house it was for me to be in—but soon all was quiet and she heard no further sound although she had awakened several times in the night and listened.

The peristyle was deserted when I went out to eat my breakfast for although Romans are early risers it was quite evident this crowd was not and for good reasons. But before I finished Julia came out of her room and joined me. She looked fresh and lovely and doesn’t paint and whitewash as her friends do, young as they are, and I wondered how she managed to keep all signs of her dissolute life out of her face and supposed it was one more kindly gift of nature or perhaps the stories about her were greatly exaggerated after the habit of Rome, for the moment having forgotten that bedroom on the Quirinal.

She patted my ‘blooming cheek’ and told me how happy she was to have me in her house and began to eat her breakfast with a fine appetite. And then I determined on a bold stroke.

‘Julia,’ I said, ‘why do you want me here? I am a silly ignorant girl who can’t even flirt although I tried hard last night, and surely I am out of place among all these brilliant men and women of the gay world and they will find me in their way and think me a bore because they have to be nice to me, and wishing I were where I belonged, at home with my tutor translating Plato.’

Julia looked at me fondly. ‘You dear little thing!’ She didn’t go on for a moment, her mouth being full of bread and honey. Then she said: ‘Why—I’ve longed to have you here from the moment I met you. You are the loveliest thing I ever saw with your gold hair and black eyes, and so brave and dignified since your terrible experience. Most girls would have wept all the time—and no one would have blamed them. But you!’ And then she wrinkled her nose and gave a naughty little laugh. ‘I do hate Maecenas and Terentia, and it is such fun to get the best of them.’

‘But you don’t hate Uncle Horace, do you?’ I asked but kept anxiety out of my voice. ‘He wouldn’t like it either, for he didn’t even like me to be at Maecenas’ villa with all those fashionable people, and thinks a young girl should see nothing of the world until she marries.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t hate that great poet,’ she exclaimed warmly. ‘And I do wish he would write a beautiful Ode to me. Couldn’t you persuade him to, Pomponia? Do you know that my father had to reproach him before he wrote one word in praise of his Emperor? He isn’t very politic, your Horace. Even Livia complains that she might be a nobody for all the notice he—or his Muse—takes of her, and she puts herself out to be gracious to him when he dines at the palace. But there he shows his good taste, for she is even more detestable than Sabina or Terentia—to whom he did write an Ode when Maecenas married her.’

‘I think he doesn’t like the idea of currying favor with the great,’ I replied, not knowing what else to say, and quite sure he’d never write an Ode to Julia or if he did it would be for private circulation only. ‘And poets—well, I don’t know much about it, but have an idea that they just sit nibbling the end of their stilus and wait for their Muse to wake up and sing about whatever it happens to think of at the moment. But—but—are you sure you want me to stay here, Julia? It is lovely to be with you, but I can’t find anything to say to the others—remember, as they said last night, my mother was very old-fashioned in her ideas, and I’ve spent most of my life in the country anyhow doing little else but study with my tutor, and not even seeing much of my girl friends.’ I drew a deep sigh. ‘I know a fearful lot about history and those old Greek poets and things like that, but I don’t fancy even Ovid would find it amusing to discuss Sophocles with me.’

Julia gave her merry laugh. ‘No, Ovid looks upon even Catullus and his neoterics as old-fashioned and won’t admit that Virgil and Horace are modern. He thinks he is the poet of the future and founding a new school; and perhaps he is,’ she added indifferently. Then she said eagerly. ‘I do hope you will be happy here, Pomponia, and surely now that your Mallius has returned to Gaul, you need a little diversion, and my friends are far younger than Terentia’s—nor have they forgotten what it is to be sixteen. And how the men admire you! They raved over you last night after you left us and made the other women jealous. They will try to amuse you—Oh, you may be sure of that! And what else are men for? Amuse yourself with them, for, from all I hear, your Mallius is a stern young man, and you won’t have much chance to play after you are married.’

And then I turned cold all over and prickled up and down my spine as the horrible thought shot into my mind that what she intended was my corruption. Believing me to be really simple she was sure one of those men could seduce me and then pass me on to another, and another, and I would be a tool in their hands for some object I couldn’t fathom. And I wanted to cry, I felt so lonesome, but I managed to look at her adoringly and to get a little excitement into my voice as I replied:

‘Oh, how I should love to live with you instead of having to see so much of old people who are always talking politics and war and philosophy and wondering what the Gauls and the Germans and the Hispanians and the Parthians will do next, and what do I care about all that? I can think of nothing but when Mallius will return with the army and we can be married.’ Then I hemmed and hesitated and finally whispered: ‘But I can’t stay with you more than two or three days, Julia. It is a secret and you mustn’t breathe it, but Maecenas is sending me to Alexandria.’

‘To Alexandria!’ And for once Julia was thrown off her guard and all the sweetness went out of her face and her eyes looked more like blazing suns than stars, as she exclaimed: ‘Why—why should he send you to Alexandria?’

‘Well—you see—he thinks I should go away for a time and try to forget—but I can’t talk about that. And he thinks I am in danger here from whoever instigated those Gauls, and will be safer far away for a time. The ship will sail with sealed orders, and Volumnia Marcia and my tutor will slip aboard with me at night—and Lydia and Caelius if he is well enough——’

‘Caelius and Lydia!’ She looked almost stupefied. ‘But—but—perhaps I shouldn’t say this, and I have no proof, but I suspect Caelius of bribing those Gauls, for if you too had been killed he and Lydia would have claimed your fortune—and—and—well, I know he is eager for wealth and the high position that is his by birth. Oh, those two are not your friends, Pomponia. You must not, must not trust yourself with them.’

For a moment I almost faltered in my rôle, for in this at least it was impossible to doubt her sincerity, and whatever designs she might have on me—and what was virtue to Julia?—at least she would save my life if she could. But I gave myself a stern mind-shake as I remembered what might depend upon me, and delude Julia I must however I might hate it. So I opened my eyes wide with horror and gasped:

‘Oh, no, no! Lydia never liked me, nor Caelius either, but they wouldn’t—Oh, no! And I am sure they really loved my father and mother who were so kind to them and never would have done a horrible thing like that. Besides, where would Caelius have got the money to bribe those Gauls and furnish them with weapons?’

‘There are plenty of money-lenders who would have provided what he needed if promised a hundred thousand sesterces. I cannot understand Maecenas. He is supposed to be the cleverest man in Rome. He must suspect Caelius. Even if he can find no proof he should remove you as far from that man’s power as possible.’

‘He may have a low opinion of Caelius for all I know, but I think it likely he wouldn’t give him credit for such a bold deed—for Caelius may be greedy and ambitious but he would know that if those Gauls were captured and confessed he would lose his head—if he were guilty. My tutor in teaching me history pointed out that great men often made the mistake of underrating little ones—but no, I cannot believe it of Caelius. As for Maecenas, he thinks I should be accompanied by some one besides my duenna and tutor, and Caelius and Lydia are my only near relatives. Besides, Caelius knows Egypt so well he would make my visit there all the more interesting.’

‘Maecenas is asleep for once, and you are too young to understand a man like Caelius. I feel disposed to go myself to Maecenas and tell him what I suspect and that he is a poor guardian if he puts you in that man’s power again.’

I could see that she was both puzzled and dismayed, and if she was using Caelius for her own ends, she had no intention of letting him play any little games of his own; and I made no doubt that a messenger would leave the villa within an hour for my own villa in the Albans. She nibbled at a plum, and after a moment, during which she seemed plunged in thought, she asked:

‘Why Alexandria? A city that has lost all its glory and glamor and is so far away? Why not Athens, if he must send you somewhere? It is still a beautiful city, the most beautiful in the world, perhaps, and as you have had such an intellectual education——’ She paused and shrugged.

‘I am tired of being educated,’ I said petulantly. ‘And I have had enough of everything Greek. I long to see Egypt with its marvellous Temples, that Caelius says make ours look like hovels, and sphinxes and pyramids, and the Nile and the Great Desert. I’d like to stay there for years—but not with Caelius and Lydia! What I hope is that Maecenas will use his influence with the Emperor and get Mallius appointed as Governor—when he is a little older, of course.’

‘The Governors of Egypt are always of the Equestrian Order.’ Julia spoke absently, and she was looking as if something were running round in her mind, or wanted me to think it was, and that she didn’t know whether to let it out or not. But she did and cried with girlish impulsiveness: ‘I too should love to see Alexandria, and when my father returns I’ll beg him to let me pay it a visit. Wait and go with me. He may come back any day now.’

I shook my head. ‘Maecenas doesn’t think so—those Parthians are giving trouble over Armenia or some place,’ I said vaguely. ‘And as soon as the armies return I shall be married and Mallius must prepare himself to take his place in the Senate—I believe he has to be a questor or something first—and then I think he’d like to be a consul, for he’s very ambitious—but I did hope he could be Governor of Egypt—No, unless I go now while he is away I’ll never see Egypt at all—Oh! Oh! I have a grand idea! Why don’t you come too? It would be another joke on Maecenas! Surely you don’t have to ask permission of anyone to go where you will. Oh, do come! I want to climb to the top of a pyramid and Polos isn’t strong, and Caelius is too old, and so are Volumnia Marcia and Lydia——Oh! Oh! How wonderful it would be!’ And by this time I was beginning to worry that perhaps I’d turn into as great a fool as I pretended to be.

Julia sighed and shook her head. ‘Would that I could! But—I have reasons——well—for not running the risk of displeasing my father, who thinks women should do as they are told—by men, of course. You say he is in Armenia? I heard he was in Samos.’

‘No,’ I said carelessly. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t listen very attentively to that kind of talk, but someone said something like that while I was at the villa over there. Perhaps it was your uncle, Scribonius—but then he would have told you.’

‘He never mentioned the subject. In fact he was in such pain I barely talked with him at all—Oh, this is the end of our little talk for the present!’ she exclaimed as slaves began to carry in tables and set them before the different doors. ‘But swear to me, Pomponia, that you will not put yourself in the power of Caelius and trust no one but me.’

‘Dear Julia!’ And I looked at her affectionately and that wasn’t so hard for I knew she was thinking only of my safety for the moment and really worried. ‘I’ll ask Maecenas to let me go without them, for it’s no lie that I hate the sight of them—although I’d never believe they were guilty of murdering my parents.’

And then one by one the guests came from their rooms and sat down at their tables and Julia went from one to the other to say good-morning, and I slipped into my own room and sat down on the edge of my bed and felt as if my brains had dissolved and were racing round in a whirlpool like that between Scylla and Charybdis as I tried to fathom her motive for bringing me here, and if it were only to protect me from Caelius; or, if she was determined to corrupt me, for what end? Was it only a wanton fancy, or because she really was fond of me and wanted me to be more like herself? She must believe by this time she had got out of me all I knew, so it couldn’t be for that. But if she had some other object that I couldn’t even guess, and had ordered those lovers of hers to seduce me—well, just let them try it, and I pressed my hand so hard on the dagger above my knee that it nearly scratched me.

After a time I heard voices in the garden and knew I must go out and behave like a proper guest and not shut myself up in my room, my mind darting this way and that and leading nowhere.

There was a big fountain and they were all standing around it and throwing crumbs to the fish, which certainly was innocent enough. There were only five women besides Julia, all little over twenty, and they looked better by day because they had left the paint off their faces, although none as fresh as she did.

I joined them, and Flavia, wife of L. Lucinius Crispo, who is one of the Emperor’s Generals, took me by the arm after a bit and led me off among the flower-beds. She is very handsome and stately but has what Atia calls a lascivious eye, and I didn’t like her at all and wondered what she was up to. We sat down on a marble bench under an ilex tree as she said she had forgotten her parasol and freckled easily, and then she tried to make me think she was a chatterer, which didn’t go with her looks at all, and rattled from one subject to another, and finally said what a bore it was to be married and what a relief it was when one’s husband went off to the wars, and war had been woman’s best friend, for it was the constant wars in which Rome had been engaged for so many years that had given women their freedom: the men had been away for so long at a time, often for years, that women had got used to freedom and having things their own way, and the men, now that the world was almost peaceful, had given up trying to rule their wives as they used to in the old days when women had been little better than household slaves, and now snapped their fingers in the faces of husbands who would like to be king in the family, only they were a nuisance anyway and she wished there were more wars.

I was getting frightfully bored for she was telling me nothing I hadn’t heard before, when she said: ‘At least when one’s husband is away with the Emperor or Agrippa one can have lovers in peace——’ then stopped abruptly and tried to look ashamed and stammered ‘But of course I shouldn’t say such things to a young girl, only I run on so—and after all you will be married soon and have lovers of your own.’

‘Must one?’ I asked anxiously. ‘I’m very fond of Mallius, who has been like a brother to me ever since he came to live with us, and my mother never had any, and I don’t think my two married friends have any either.’

‘Oh, they’ll come to it in time,’ she said lightly. ‘There are not many women left like your mother, and we younger ones know how to amuse ourselves, for what else is there in life? Only the stupid ones settle down and have babies and think of nothing else but weaving and spinning and looking out for their husbands’ comfort—for which they get no thanks. Gods, what a life! There would be no excitement at all without lovers, and they are more easily got rid of than husbands. Why, those women you met at Maecenas’ villa, who are years older than we are, have had lovers enough, to say nothing of divorces. Even Terentia——’

‘Terentia!’ I cried out in horror. ‘Why—why—she is devoted to Maecenas and he to her. They are as happy as my mother and father were.’

She gave a hateful little laugh. ‘Oh, she has been quite an exemplary wife so far, but rumor has it that Augustus before he left was casting his eye upon her, and if he hadn’t been obliged to go far away just then—well, he will return, and no woman resists an Emperor.’

‘I’ll never believe it!’ I exclaimed in wrath and longing to kick her. ‘Terentia is kind and lovely and virtuous.’

‘Julia is kind and lovely—and not virtuous. But what a baby you are! What would you do if the Emperor made love to you?’

‘I’d slap his face, and so I would any man who tried to make love to me.’ By this time I was so angry I had forgotten my intention to lead her on. ‘I’d kick him and spit on him and scratch him, for I love no one but Mallius.’

She laughed again, but looked at me thoughtfully, and I knew I had made a mistake so I took hold of myself and said anxiously: ‘You don’t think any of these men will make love to me, do you? It isn’t so much Mallius—but I should be so frightened—I don’t suppose I’d really do what I said but merely run away. And surely—I never heard of men making love to girls, and they must prefer brilliant women of society like you and Julia.’

‘Thanks, Pomponia, but if men don’t make love to girls it is because they so seldom have the opportunity—with girls of our class, I mean, of course.’

‘But they have here? Is that what you mean? Oh, please tell them not to. I shouldn’t like to scratch the face of one of Julia’s guests, for then she’d probably send me home—and I don’t know—I might. Please tell them to behave themselves!’

‘Oh, I don’t think they mean you any harm, nor need you fear they will break into your room at night! They disdain violence with women, probably because they are used to being met half-way——’ She trailed off and looked a little uneasy as if she feared she had gone too far, and I must say she wasn’t much of a diplomat and Julia might have picked out a wilier ambassador. ‘But one of them might really fall in love with you, you are so beautiful,’ she went on in a moment. ‘And—you know, he might be so fascinating you couldn’t resist him—and—and—of course he would ask Julia to use her influence to break off your engagement to Mallius and marry you.’

‘Well, that would be rather interesting,’ I said with a conceited little smirk. And then I looked roguish and knowing. ‘You have just been trying to amuse me. I don’t believe any of them will waste his time on a girl. And I don’t believe that Julia has lovers—nor you either, nor any of these others who look so innocent and happy. But I suppose you haven’t had much to do with girls and thought you could have some fun with me. Have you any sisters?’

‘No younger ones.’ And she tried to look sweet and amiable and patted my hand. ‘What a clever little girl you are to have seen through me like that! Of course I was only joking, for it is too easy to get divorces to risk having lovers. Even Julia wouldn’t dare, and if she is wild and gay, and reckless about her reputation, it is because she is so much younger than Agrippa who is a grim old soldier and cares nothing for pleasure. So Julia surrounds herself with friends of her own age and amuses herself while she may, and it is cruel the way people defame her. It is your own innocence that has recognized hers.’

And I thought to myself: You are as great a fool as I look.

We spent the rest of the morning on the shore, and one of those men after another came and sat beside me and told me how beautiful I was and how wonderful it was to be able to talk to a girl—such a new experience—girls were so secluded—and how grateful they were to Julia, who was so beautiful and fascinating herself she would never be jealous, not even of the most beautiful girl in Rome. And although I had been even more secluded than most girls they had heard of me and even caught a glimpse of me occasionally (they were decent enough not to say it had been at the funeral) and they all envied Mallius and the gods know what else, and it was plain to be seen that each thought himself the most fascinating man on earth.

I simpered and said I felt greatly flattered but had supposed they were all in love with Julia, and they said, Oh, no, they were only her devoted friends and playmates, and when I asked Ovid if those poems he had written to ‘Corinna’ were not addressed to Julia, as I had heard someone say, he too said, Oh, no. Corinna was but a figment of his imagination, an ideal woman, and I was more like her than anyone he had ever met, but he looked relieved when I told him I hadn’t read them. And this went on and on until I could have yawned in their faces, I was so bored, but when we went back to the villa for lunch I had a shock that drove them all out of my head, for there was Lydia getting out of a carriage, and as it wasn’t mine I knew it must be one of Julia’s.

‘Dear darling Julia!’ she cried as she ran forward and kissed first Julia’s hand and then her cheek. ‘How kind of you to send for me to come to lunch. I was so lonesome, for Caelius is better and went to spend the day with Scribonius, and Tullia does not come until tomorrow—why Pomponia! What a pleasant surprise! How did you manage it?’ And she opened her eyes so wide that her astonishment looked almost natural.

‘A little plot,’ said Julia gaily. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later.’

We had lunch in a small dining-room as it was cooler than out of doors, and when it was over Julia took Lydia by the arm and said: ‘Come to my room and have your nap, and afterward I have much to say to you.’ And she gave me a meaning look as if to say: ‘One way or another, Pomponia, I’ll see that she finds an excuse not to accompany you to Alexandria and warns Caelius to be careful or I’ll tell Maecenas what I suspect.’

But my mind had been running round in circles during that brief meal, while they were all laughing and talking and joking and forgot about me, as I couldn’t understand their rhymed jokes—and some of them seemed to me very peculiar, although expressed with so much elegance, for they all prided themselves upon being intellectual and literary, dissolute as they were, and preferred fine words to coarse ones.

Of course they all went to their own rooms for a nap and I went to mine and Erinna was there and I told her to listen at Julia’s window if she could, for I hoped something would be said by those two that would give me one glimpse into this conspiracy. Why had she sent for Lydia instead of a mere note to Caelius—unless she had more than a warning or a scolding in mind and dared not trust a messenger if she feared they were being spied upon. And why had Caelius gone to Scribonius the same day unless she had bidden him because it was time for those two to talk things over—and Oh, I gave it up, I didn’t know what to think.

But I slept soundly, for it would take more than that to keep me awake, and an hour later I opened my eyes to see Erinna standing beside me and looking rather crestfallen.

‘Well?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Didn’t you hear anything?’

‘Not very much, Mistress. There were gardeners about and I didn’t dare loiter before the window. I could only ramble up and down and twice I bent as if to fasten my sandal. They were talking all the time but very low and twice as I passed I heard your name, but I caught only one sentence and can make no sense of that.’

‘Perhaps I can,’ I said grimly. ‘What was it?’

‘Only this. The daughter of Augustus said: “He is as rich as Maecenas and will not want her fortune, so I will see that you get it.” That is all, Mistress.’

I sat up straight and an earthquake couldn’t have startled me more. What now? What now? For I knew that all these young men although wealthy enough were paupers beside Maecenas, and would have been glad enough to marry a fortune.

I was so bewildered that I fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling in despair. I knew I had not begun to fathom that part of the plot that involved me—and the entire conspiracy for all I could guess. What what could it be? For the first time my courage failed me and I had half a mind to run over to Maecenas and tell him he had asked too much of me. Terentia I knew would uphold me, and I knew too she would be furious with those men for sending me into a nest of vipers. And she would guess what never occurred to them—so like men!—that while my life might be safe I’d never be allowed to come forth from this villa a maiden if these plotters could manage it.

But my panic lasted only a few moments. Curiosity began to dart round in my mind and I was excited at the thought there might be a real adventure coming; so far this visit had been disturbing but not very exciting, and certainly without profit. And although I heard nothing trying to knock its way out of another little brain-cell, that made it all the more mysterious and who doesn’t love mystery? I wished that my wits were visible little daggers so that I could polish up and sharpen them and I did wish I were a few years older and more experienced although in that case I probably wouldn’t be here. It was my ‘innocence’—what they really meant was Inexperience—that had appealed to Julia, both to her good side and bad.

Well, there was nothing I could do at present but pretend to be as ‘innocent’ as when I looked like a sausage in my cradle, and soft, and amenable, and so completely fascinated by Julia that perhaps she would take me into her confidence about the conspiracy—and I hadn’t a scruple left; I had come here for one purpose and accomplish it I would and deal with them as they would deal with me, for there wasn’t a scruple among them.

So I went forth and when Lydia took me aside and told me the doctor had forbidden Caelius to travel for a month at least, for seasickness might reopen his wound, I replied very politely that I was sorry and hoped Maecenas would let me wait that long but was afraid he wouldn’t as he seemed to have set his mind upon getting me out of Italy—and if he found this out he might pack me off all the sooner, only I did hope he wouldn’t for a while anyhow, and I’d take care not to go near the boundary stones, and I was thankful both estates were so large that you couldn’t see one villa from another, and I was enjoying myself and it was so interesting to meet young men without a duenna, and I’d never really talked to a young man before except Mallius, and not much to him—and I would almost have forgotten him if he hadn’t returned for those two days and that had seemed so romantic but not so much now, but more like a dream.

I have to stop for breath now and then and when Lydia could get a word in she said, looking at me very sharply: ‘But I have always thought you were very much in love with Mallius—so do your young friends, I believe. And dear Cornelia told me once that she was happy it was not to be merely a Roman marriage but one of true affection on both sides.’

‘Yes,’ I said indifferently. ‘I am very fond of Mallius, but since I have been here I have wondered if that true affection isn’t more like that of brother and sister. These men are not so much older than he—except Julius Anthony—but they are so gay and worldly they seem far more so and I find that quite fascinating. They have so much more to talk about, and they say such charming things to me—I know I’ll have my head turned.’ And I gave my silliest giggle.

‘Which do you like best?’ asked my aunt, who was regarding me with a good deal of curiosity, and I said ‘Marius,’ for as I liked him least I thought one more lie wouldn’t be out of place, and moreover I suspected he was not one of Julia’s lovers, only wanted to be. ‘And I’ve heard he is very rich too,’ I added, trying to look mercenary, ‘and I’d like to be the greatest lady in Rome—after Livia and Julia, of course.’

‘But you are rich enough yourself,’ snapped Lydia. ‘Rich enough! So is Mallius. Really, you have changed! And I happen to know that Marius is not rich, merely well-off, and if that terrible old grandfather of his hadn’t married into the Julian gens his descendants wouldn’t even be members of the Patrician Order. He’s no match for you. If you really want a rich husband—richer than Mallius—no doubt Julia will find one for you. She seems to be crazy about you.’ Lydia couldn’t keep the venom out of her voice but into her eyes came a queer expression, both puzzled and relieved, or possibly one chased out the other for I don’t suppose eyes can hold two expressions at once.

At all events she left me in a moment and joined Julia and they walked off together, and when she went away not long after I heartily wished I might never see her again, and one thing I couldn’t do was to kiss her good-bye, so I hid in my room and sat down and tried to count on my fingers all the lies I’d told since that morning I had gone to the island to call on Caelius but soon gave it up.

Three days passed and not a thing happened, not a word did anyone let fall that I could read any meaning into. Adventure! I was so bored I nearly burst into tears several times, and I was sure the others were bored too for they had to be on their good behavior. Ovid spent hours in his room writing poetry, and the others would wander away from me and talk in groups and all had an air of waiting for something, and whatever it was I wished it would happen and be over with, although once or twice I might have concluded I was mistaken about the whole thing if I hadn’t seen Julia look anxious and worried and almost desperate when she thought herself unobserved.

All the men except Marius had given up trying to charm me, but either he had been chosen by lot, or thought himself irresistible, for he followed me about and when we were alone for a moment in the garden protested that he was madly in love with me and wouldn’t I marry him? He didn’t try to kiss me, no doubt having been warned by Flavia and with no desire to have his face scratched, and I pretended to like him better than the others, thinking if he was really in love with me he might let something fall, and told him to go over and talk to Maecenas as that was the proper thing to do, but he said he’d postpone that until later.

And meanwhile I knew well enough he was trying to enthrall me so that before I knew what had happened to me he would be the lover of a seduced maiden; and especially one evening when he had manoeuvred me into a summer house far away from the others, and I was afraid if he went any farther I’d burst out and tell him I hated him, so there was nothing to do but pretend I was about to lose my dinner and run out and lean over a fountain, and as that was not very romantic his ardor was quenched for the time being and he went off in disgust.

And all that time I hadn’t heard a word from Mallius, although Erinna had talked twice with Polos at the boundary stones, and he had told her that Mallius had turned Valerius Antias inside out, but the man knew little that we had not known before. He had no idea who else was in the conspiracy, above all when the first step was to be taken or what was going on under the surface. All Julia had told Tullia was that her father and husband as well as the two sons of Livia were to be captured and imprisoned at some favorable moment by certain officers who had sworn allegiance to her and hoped for her favors later. And they were making other converts in the army as quickly as they dared. His part was to distribute money among the plebs and whisper that it came from Julia who thought they should have wine as well as corn, but they must never betray her and they never would. He and Tullia were to be rewarded by positions at court in Alexandria and for that end he would do anything—the man was very bitter—for he was a patrician by birth and had been humiliated long enough.

Polos also told Erinna that Uncle Horace had returned from the farm as he was uneasy about me, for, with a flash of poet’s intuition, which I suppose is much like a woman’s, he feared that Julia, for reasons of her own, might try to corrupt me. But Maecenas had laughed and said he pitied any man who would try to obey an order of that sort from Julia and refused to go over and rescue me as Uncle Horace had begged him to do.

Polos said he had told them both—and Mallius, when he made a hasty visit to report—that in his opinion the best thing to do was to get Julia, Scribonius, and Caelius together and for Maecenas to tell them the conspiracy had been betrayed, that he knew all its details, but if they would consent to withdraw at once he would promise that Augustus should never be informed of their treachery, but otherwise he’d shut them all up in the prison and that would be the end of the conspiracy anyhow.

But Maecenas said No, he wanted to get to the very kernel of this affair and there was plenty of time. Augustus and Agrippa would be warned before long although Calvus had been careful not to mention the name of Julia in his dispatches. And Uncle Horace and Mallius had agreed with Polos but overborne by Maecenas, as who was not? As for that messenger sent by Scribonius he had not been overtaken, but the one sent by sea would reach Lugdunum first. Uncle Horace was very discontented and worried and after he threatened to go over and get me himself and take me back to the farm, Maecenas finally promised that if nothing had happened by the fifth day he would conclude I could be of no further use and would send for me. And before the fifth day something did happen.

It was on the day after Erinna had her second interview with Polos that I was wandering round the garden alone, for Marius had gone to Rome for the day and the others were down on the shore. I was feeling very unhappy, for Mallius hadn’t even sent me his love, and although I knew he had been only an hour at the villa and had no doubt made up his mind to keep me out of that mind so full of other things, and I was determined not to be unreasonable again, still I felt very sad as what girl wouldn’t?

If only I were accomplishing something I could have consoled myself, for then I should feel proud not only of helping to expose this old conspiracy but that I was hastening the day of my marriage when life would be too glorious to think about now. I tried to divert my mind by wondering what would happen to me if I had to kill Julia, and if even Maecenas could protect me from the wrath of Augustus by convincing him there had been no other way to save the Empire. . . . That is if Augustus were still alive—why, Oh why, did it have to take so long to get news from anywhere? I didn’t know how many days or perhaps weeks it took for a ship to go to Samos and return, but I knew the Ægean was a great sea and that Samos was far beyond Greece, which was many days from Brundisium, and although the sea was calm at this time of year still there might be a storm that would sink the ship or galley or whatever which had taken the second dispatch from Calvus to Augustus only five days ago.

And how I could manage to kill Julia I was sure I didn’t know, for I doubted if she ever were alone at night, and I’d hate to kill anyone, although I was glad I’d slit the throat of that Gaul. And I knew that if I did kill Julia it wouldn’t be only for the sake of the Empire but because nothing and nobody, not the Emperor himself nor all the gods should keep me apart from Mallius. I once heard someone quote that old Roman playwright Plautus who said love was a disease, and perhaps it is, but it is more wonderful than all else in the world so who cares? Even if it does make one willing to murder who otherwise would not hurt a prowling cat? As Uncle Horace says, human nature is a queer mess, concocted by the gods for their own entertainment, and I supposed it had amused them to sprinkle a little poison in mortal love, as well as to divert its course this way and that so one could not be happy all the time. And I hated the gods and was conceited enough to think they were laughing at me that very moment and putting ideas of murder into the head of a girl who just sixteen days ago had never had an evil thought in it. But I hadn’t been silly even then, and I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t rather plunge a dagger into someone—Marius by preference—than go on playing the part of a silly young girl, who was regarded with good-humored contempt by all this worthless crowd, but Julia. And just then I saw Julia coming toward me.

She looked tired and even older than when I had come to the villa, but she gave me her usual radiant smile and linked her arm in mine.

‘What is the matter, Julia?’ I asked. ‘You look almost ill. Why don’t you send for Antonius Musa?’

‘One of my slaves is a good doctor,’ she said. ‘But neither he nor Antonius Musa can cure a soul when it is ill—an affliction that visits us all at times,’ she added hastily.

‘That must be an uncomfortable sort of illness,’ and I looked as stupid as I knew how. ‘Mother used to say one’s troubles were lightened by talking them over with a sympathetic friend,’ I added vaguely.

‘Are you a friend of mine, Pomponia?’ And for once those lovely star-like eyes were piercing.

‘Why—of course—dear Julia——’

‘I believe you are (and I wished I hadn’t just been thinking how I could stick a dagger into her), and I am going to ask you a question and you must answer it truly. Do you really love Mallius?’

What was coming? I stammered: ‘Why, of course. Haven’t I known him always, and isn’t he to be my husband?’

‘That sounds very lukewarm. You told me once that you loved him to distraction.’

‘Well—you see—that was before I came here. (And I thought; you’ve already heard this from Lydia but I’m not supposed to know that.) But now he seems—well—so young, and only a soldier—and these men here are so cultivated, so brilliant, and say such charming things—I feel that I have had a glimpse of what they call the “world” for the first time—for those older men over at Maecenas’ took no notice of me, nor the women either.’

The piercing look left her eyes pushed out by one of immense relief. ‘And how about Marius?’ she asked.

‘He is the cleverest of them all and I am flattered that he admires me so much, but I don’t think I want to marry him.’

‘No, he is unworthy of you. You are very inexperienced now, but your mind and character are remarkable and you should marry someone who would give you a great position in the world.’

And I thought: Now it is coming. But I answered carelessly and kept my voice from trembling: ‘Well, perhaps Maecenas thinks so too, and as it is time I married and Mallius may be in Gaul for another year, it is quite possible he will find someone else, although I’m sure I haven’t an idea who it will be. Not one of those dandies with rings up to their knuckles, I hope. I am so glad your friends are not like that.’

‘Oh, Maecenas! Put your future in my hands, Pomponia. A woman understands what man will make a girl happy far better than any old diplomat.’

‘But Maecenas is my guardian—with Uncle Horace. I must do as they bid me.’

She drew herself up and looked very haughty and imperious, ‘I am the Emperor’s daughter—and—well—I could persuade my father when he returns to accept my judgment. And who is Maecenas compared with Caesar Augustus?’

She sat down under the same tree chosen by Flavia, and well I knew this subtle schemer would not be so easily disposed of, and suddenly I took a desperate hold on my courage and made up my mind to take a hint from Polos and startle her with a sudden change of front.

‘Julia,’ I said, ‘what are you up to? I am not such a child as you think me, and I know that some plot is afoot. You brought me here for some deep purpose—not only because you like me—and I believe you do—but to make me a pawn in some game of yours. It is true that I have seen nothing of the world until now, but I have been too well-educated and heard too many wise men talk at my father’s table to be a simple child. I don’t know what you want of me, but if you would tell me honestly what it is I’d do anything for you I could, and if you don’t I’ll go back to Rome today, for I don’t like this atmosphere of intrigue and mystery I am more aware of every moment.’

She had stared at me with tightened face and eyes wide open and almost frightened, but as I finished she burst into tears and flung herself into my arms.

‘Oh, Pomponia!’ she sobbed. ‘I am in terrible trouble and you alone can save me! Oh, darling, be my friend, for I feel as if I hadn’t another in the world.’

I too can spout tears and sob wildly enough to turn the flintiest heart into running water, so I wasn’t much impressed, but I patted her back and said ‘Dear Julia’ several times. But when she raised her scalded face the expression on it was so desperate I knew she was not acting and a sharp uneasiness assailed me, for if she were in earnest and believed I could help her and were really as desperate as she looked I should have the full relentless will of the Julii to combat. But I was determined no longer to play a part and drew myself up and wished my hair was dressed in a crown on top of my head, but at least I could order off my face that silly young look, and I replied in a cold deliberate voice: ‘Speak, Julia. You wish me to take some part in a plot. What is it?’

‘No, no, not a plot—not quite that. But I will tell you.’ She was still breathing in spasms but quite able to make herself understood. ‘But first—there are several very wealthy and important Egyptians in Rome; I wonder if you have seen them?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, and I felt for a second as if I were going to faint, for it all came to me in a flash. ‘They are in the house opposite mine, rented to them, I suppose, by C. Selus Balbus who has lost all his money. They were just entering as I passed with Terentia after leaving the palace and she drew my attention to them, and thought it strange they should come to Rome at this season. I never thought of them again until I saw them standing in the arcade of the Basilica Julia the other day when I was walking in the Forum with Polos and Volumnia Marcia, and one of them stared at me so hard I would have thrown my veil over my face if I had had it with me—but I forgot that too. Do you know them?’

‘Yes, I know them. I have entertained them here. They came to Italy at this season to visit many friends for they like our country life, and use that house in your street as headquarters. There is one—very tall—very handsome——’

‘Yes? They are all rather too dark for my taste, and the tall one who stared at me is forty if he is a day.’

‘He—he has fallen madly in love with you, Pomponia, and—and—he threatens me with dire consequences if I do not give him to you——’

‘Give me to him—that old thing—to set me up as a courtesan in Alexandria I suppose, or perhaps shut me up in the Park of Aphrodite that I have heard no woman ever leaves after she has entered it.’

‘No! No! I should make him marry you, here in Rome, and give me his word you should take a high position at court—the Governor’s court. He is so infatuated he will do anything I demand, and he knows that if he does not keep his word the Governor will report to me, and my father will punish him.’

I was so cold I wondered if I had turned into marble like the bench I sat on, but I managed to look at her and say: ‘I don’t deny that might be a more interesting life than living in Rome, and if he is so wealthy and isn’t in the army he might take me to Persia and other places where there are older civilizations than either Rome or Athens, and I’d rather like that. But—please tell me why it concerns you so deeply. There is no way in which he could injure you, for wealthy and important as he may be, he is only a vassal of your father, who would have his head sliced off if he dared even threaten a daughter of the Caesars.’

‘Oh—you don’t know! You don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘How can I tell you? Oh, why did the gods give you that wondrous hair that looked like a golden waterfall down your back on the day of the funeral? And upset—Oh!——’ And she began to weep again.

‘My grandmother was the daughter of a Patriot Chief in Hither Spain,’ I replied practically, ‘and she and my grandfather fell in love when he was Governor there, and the Chief consented to the marriage as he couldn’t very well help himself, and as she was very young her mother-in-law made her over into a fine Roman matron. She was born somewhere in the centre of that country where many have light hair and even white skins, I am sure I don’t know why.’

‘Yes, yes, everyone knows about your beautiful Spanish grandmother. But would that your father had married a true Roman!’

‘The Emperor has light hair, and so have other Romans, if not many.’

‘But not like yours. Your inheritance is a fatal one for me.’

‘Well,’ I said impatiently, although I was still cold to the marrow in my bones. ‘If this almost black Egyptian has fallen in love with my hair and wants to marry it, what has that to do with you?’

‘Everything!’ Her voice sank almost to a whisper as she went on although there was not even a gardener in sight. ‘Pomponia, I must confide in you, and I know you love me more than you do those old men, or even Terentia, who loves no one but herself. (I thanked the gods she didn’t try to wring a promise from me, for that was one lie I doubt if I could have told.) He—he—his name is Necho and he is descended from one of the old dynasties that had a king of that name——I have known him for some years and he has visited at my father’s palace, and he really came this time for no purpose but to visit friends—but—but—he saw you on that fatal day—Oh, curses upon whoever it was that bribed those Gauls. Lydia vows that Caelius is innocent and wept all night when he heard of that awful crime, but I don’t believe her and if I can find proof of what I am certain in my own mind he shall be horribly punished. (A crocodile for Caelius, I thought, and rather liked the idea.) If that crime had not been committed Necho would never have seen you.’

‘Well, he has!’ I exclaimed, and I was as impatient as I was frightened. ‘And I am not afraid of him. But you are, and please tell me why. You said you would confide in me.’

‘It is this. Alas! He vows that if I do not give you to him—in marriage, of course—he will have my father murdered—my beloved father! Oh woe! Oh woe!’ And then I knew I was not going to hear the whole truth, but if there was a tiny bit of it in what she was trying to tell me I—or Maecenas—might interpret it rightly.

So I asked in a very surprised voice: ‘How can he kill the great Augustus—who is far from Egypt and well-protected?’

‘I have information that he is at Samos, and there are Egyptians in his army as there are Gauls, and soldiers from other parts of the Empire. One of these men, and he is a favorite of my father and a member of his bodyguard, is a cousin of Necho, and his creature, for he has no emerald mines and other sources of wealth as the head of his house has, and would do anything to become wealthy himself. If he receives a message from Necho that riches await him if he kills the great Caesar and will be murdered himself if he fails, he will accomplish his object.’

‘But,’ I said, and now I was thinking so fast I fancied my brain was on fire and could hear it crackle, ‘you can get word to your father as quickly as this Egyptian can to his cousin. For that matter you could tell Calvus or Belerius to have him thrown into prison.’

‘Oh, no!’ She turned so white I thought she was going to faint. ‘Oh—I dare not make a scandal—I mean my father would be very angry if I did anything that might endanger his power in Egypt—this man is a great lord and has many friends and there might be a revolution and the Governor killed.’

‘You might have him assassinated,’ I said hopefully. ‘I have heard there are bad characters in Rome who will kill for hire. It would be accepted by Belerius as one of those murders that even now are committed by thieves. These Egyptians are so rich! No doubt Caelius, if he is as bad as you think, would attend to it, for he would do anything for a few thousand sesterces. He must know of many bad characters for he is fond of consorting with plebs in low wine-shops.’

But Julia looked sulky. It was evident she hadn’t expected so many helpful suggestions and had relied upon her impassioned appeal to my emotions. I felt as if I didn’t have an emotion in me and as if the whole Roman Empire were sitting on top of my head.

I said: ‘So that is the reason you asked me here?’

‘Not only that, dear Pomponia. I really wanted you for my own sake and should have asked you if that Egyptian had never seen you. I tried to put him off, and at first he was not threatening, merely appealing and cajoling. But the very day you went to my house in Rome he came here and said that I must get you away from your guardians and prepare your mind to marry him. He would give me a fortnight but no longer.’

And I wondered if I had been wrong in believing she had ordered her lovers to corrupt me—but no: that would have turned all my thoughts from Mallius if they had succeeded—so she would reason—and I would be the more easily dazzled and the more willing to go to Egypt with this Necho; and when that part of the plot had failed and she saw those men might as well have tried their wiles on one of the Vestal Virgins, she had been driven to throw herself on my mercy with another pack of lies. But I had to fight for time.

‘You place me, a girl of sixteen, in a position of great responsibility, although——’ and I made my eyes kindle ‘it would be wonderful to save the life of Caesar Augustus—and perhaps of the Empire!’

‘Yes! Yes!’ cried Julia, desperately eager. ‘And you alone can do that. Think of it, Pomponia! What a destiny! And Necho! There is no man of such rank and wealth in Rome, not even Maecenas.’

‘But he’s forty.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Why, that’s only six years younger than Daddy and Uncle Horace. Twenty-four years older than I am. I should feel like calling him Uncle.’

‘He wouldn’t care what you called him. And what is forty? It may seem old to you now, but not in a few years. And his years have but made him the more intellectual and interesting. Oh, Pomponia! Say that you will!’

‘No doubt it would be very wonderful, particularly saving the Empire—but I think I’d rather have him assassinated. Couldn’t you manage that, Julia?’ I asked pleadingly.

But she shook her head. ‘I hate bloodshed. And a friend of mine, as this fine Egyptian has been for years! Oh, no! I—I—had hoped for more time, Pomponia, but I have received word that he is returning to Alexandria sooner than he intended—and I sent Marius to put him off if possible, but I fear he may come here today—perhaps it is as well, for I may persuade him myself that I need more time. A girl should not be expected to make up her mind in a day to change the whole course of her life. What I hope is that when you meet and talk with him, even if you do not at once reciprocate his ardor, you won’t feel you are sacrificing yourself to me or the Empire.’

‘He comes today?’ I had rapidly been forming a plan to slip out that night with Erinna and run over to the villa of Maecenas, who would soon dispose of that Egyptian, to whom, I was now convinced, the whole Eastern part of the conspiracy was entrusted. Perhaps he had even suggested it. A man of immense wealth and royal blood and no power. Resentful, restless, no doubt insanely ambitious. And why in the name of all the gods hadn’t he fallen in love with Julia, who turned the heads of all men? Then all would have gone smoothly, or at least I would not have been dragged in. I had noted the word ‘upset’ that shot out before she had time to bite it off. Yes I had upset all their fine plans, no doubt of that. No Pomponia no Egypt—for Julia. Plautus knew what he was talking about, for this man was evidently mad with love for me—or that was what he called it. The gods had poured a lot of poison into him! My hair of which I had been so vain might ruin or save an Empire. Suddenly I gave a shout.

‘Julia! I have a wonderful idea! I’ll cut my hair off before he comes for I’m sure——’

But Julia had cast herself upon me and was gripping my shoulders so fiercely that her fingernails scratched me. ‘No! No!’ she cried hysterically. ‘He would kill me, do you hear? Kill me! You don’t know what a man like that is when he wants a woman.’

‘But,’ I said wonderingly and gently dislodging those fingernails, ‘how can he kill you? Your friends here would protect you, and for that matter you could send for the police from Ostia.’ And well I knew that she feared for her life not at all, and I was thankful I was not ambitious for imperial power, for Julia, whom Nature had made kind and sweet, if wanton, was now as ruthless as Julius Caesar himself and would have sacrificed more than a mere girl to mount a throne and rule an Empire.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘promise me one thing, Julia. If he comes here—and I should hate to cut off my hair and I couldn’t do it myself and probably Erinna would refuse even if she knew what was at stake and that I couldn’t tell her—promise that you won’t leave me alone with him, for he might try to kiss me, or worse, and I once vowed no man should touch me until I married.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Julia hurriedly. ‘He is a great gentleman and you have nothing to fear from him.’

‘I suppose I shall have to talk Greek to him,’ I mumbled, not knowing what else to say and wishing desperately to be alone in my room with Erinna. ‘I read it of course but——’

‘He talks Latin as well. He even, as you may have noticed, wears the toga—has not someone said: “When in Rome do as the Romans do?” ’ She tried to smile and speak lightly but her face was still drawn with anxiety. ‘You haven’t promised me, Pomponia,’ she said softly.

‘I don’t know—it has been so sudden—I might hate him and tell him so. I haven’t the least bit of self-control when I am angry. Couldn’t you keep him away for a few days—and—and—let me think about it?’

‘I know he will come today. I know it!’ And then I knew she had sent for him, for she feared Maecenas would find out where I was and ship me off to Alexandria with a bodyguard, and there I would be under the protection of the Governor. Nor dared she risk the impatience of this lustful Egyptian, who would probably insist upon marrying me at once and carrying me off in his galley—which, I recalled, Mallius had pointed out to me in the harbor, it was so elaborately carved and gilded. Well! I’d have to make other plans, rely upon my wits when the time came, so I summoned an ecstatic look into my eyes as I murmured dreamily: ‘To save the life of an Emperor and an Empire—and yours, dear Julia! What a destiny for an insignificant girl! How can I resist? I’ll do my best to like him, if only for your sake—darling Julia.’

And then she kissed me and I wanted to scratch out her lovely false eyes and we returned to the villa with our arms round each other’s waists like two nice little girls who had never told a lie in their lives.

When I told Erinna of this new and most terrible threat of all she fell right down on the floor and rocked herself to and fro and tore her hair and I was afraid she would scream and have hysterics, so I threw water over her and then pulled her to her feet and sat her down in a chair none too gently.

‘It is your duty to be calm and help me,’ I said severely, ‘for I have no one else to rely upon.’ And then she kissed my hands and begged me to forgive her and vowed she would never give way again, but it was so horrible so horrible, and I was in such terrible danger for she knew that if I didn’t consent he would abduct me—and when would he ever have a better chance, with that galley of his in the harbor?

I hadn’t thought of that, and I wondered—yes, I was sure! That was what he and Julia intended, for Julia would not risk the delay and opposition of Maecenas for the sake of a Roman marriage. But I still felt as cold and hard as Mallius had once called me, and there seemed no place in me for fear.

‘Do you think you could slip over to Maecenas’ villa while we are at dinner?’ I asked. ‘You could tell him all and he would come over here with the Praefectus of Ostia and many police and rescue me and arrest those Egyptians.’

‘I will try, Mistress, but I fear—since I met Polos yesterday I think I have been watched. There is a slave who follows me about pretending he admires me, but the expression in his eyes is more crafty and watchful than loving. Let us remain far from the window and speak very low.’

‘Well, wait for me here, then, and one way or another we shall get away from this house tonight. There will be a banquet for those Egyptians and no doubt all will eat and drink so much they will sleep heavily, and as for that slave, if he follows us we will lead him on until we can hide behind a bush and then spring out and throw something over his head and tie him to a tree, for we are two strong girls. I won’t kill him if I can help it, for a slave must obey orders. Do you know if slaves keep watch at night as they do at the villa of Maecenas?’

‘I don’t think so. I have twice wandered about the villa at night and seen no one. But I didn’t go outside.’

‘Even if there are it isn’t likely they have orders to prevent me from going forth, and if they hastened to report that I had gone down to the shore to look at the moon on the sea, we would have had time to run into the gardens of Maecenas before they could return and I could call to the slaves who watch there. . . . I think I have deluded Julia and I shall pretend to be fascinated by this Necho. She will hardly expect me to run away. Oh, for my Pretorian guards! I have accomplished what I was sent here for and I am proud of it, for with this Egyptian out of the way I feel sure the conspiracy will fall to pieces, but I’ll never forgive Maecenas for not protecting me. He has no imagination, nor Mallius either—although it was natural for him to defer to the great Maecenas and what has he seen of life outside of the army? Only Uncle Horace has guessed something of what might happen, and he should have guessed it earlier. I’ll forgive him but I’ll give him a terrible scolding.’

‘Yes, Mistress, but there is no place in these gardens where those Pretorians could hide, not even police from Ostia. And if the daughter of Augustus had seen them about she would have sent you home and you would have learned nothing. And I wish you had not! There are men to expose conspiracies—have they not done so in the past? I should think they would be too proud to ask the help of a girl.’

‘There are many clever women in Rome who, for aught we know, helped to uncover the conspiracies of the past. . . . Oh, I wish my hair were black,’ I said gloomily, but I didn’t, and just then a slave knocked at the door and told Erinna that Domina Julia asked of me as a favor that I would let my hair hang unbraided tonight, and what could I do but consent, although I had intended to have it dressed in a Greek knot and then covered as much as possible with a band of embroidered silk.

I haven’t described Julia’s villa yet, I’ve had so many other things to write about, but although small it is the most beautiful I have ever seen. It is Egyptian, as might be expected, but not smothered with the horrid reds and greens and blacks of her house in Rome; every room, that I had seen at least, is furnished with that wondrous translucent blue of the Egyptian potteries one sees in the finest shops in the Forum and the Campus Martius. The glazed walls, the silken furniture and hangings, all of that bright soft blue which made me think of the grotto at Capreae I had heard of but never seen. And Julia and her guests always wore blue or white and the slaves a pale shade of brown that looked like rich cream. Oh, how happy I could have been here, for I love beauty, if my mind had been at peace! And there was no incense burned, and the fresh salt wind blew through the house all day and all night, for Julia would not be Julia if she did not love variety.

Over my short sleeveless under tunic Erinna draped a white silk stola fastened on the shoulders with jewelled clasps, and it fell to the feet, and a fold made a girdle under the breasts, and it had a flounce embroidered with gold, and my shoes were of white leather studded with pearls. Never had I been so fine before, but Erinna when packing had insisted upon putting in some of my marriage garments which had been left in Rome when we went to the Villa Cornelia for the summer; and fortunate had it been for me that my woolen things had been woven by the slaves there or I should have had no place to hide in from those Gauls. I had told Erinna it was not fitting I should wear such a garment while unmarried, but she had said that when a girl visited the daughter of an Emperor that made a difference, and I had paid no further attention for I was thinking of too many other things. I made no protest tonight, for although the other women had dressed simply heretofore in cool linen I knew they would make themselves very fine for a banquet and I would look silly in a plain silk stola. Erinna shook out my hair and it has a big wave in it and oh, alas, it did look like a golden cascade and probably if I had even worn linen nothing else would have been noticed.

Erinna ground her teeth when we heard horses gallopping down from the road and we looked out of the window and saw two carriages with not three Egyptians as Julia had told me but six. ‘And that settles it,’ she muttered. ‘They have chests with them and intend to go from this villa to their galley.’

‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘they will go from here to the prison in Rome.’ But I began to feel uneasy, as who would not? Suppose those Egyptians ate little and drank less, and planned to carry me off tonight? Well! Not for a moment would I cease to be alert, and I could snatch my dagger out of its belt in a second. I didn’t think Julia would permit violence if she could help it; they would probably play a deeper game—Oh, well, I could only wait until my moment came, and not confuse my mind with imaginings.

There is no large dining-room in the villa, for the life there is very informal; none but Julia’s intimates were ever invited, and we took our meals in the small dining-room or in the peristyle, but tonight a three-sided table was laid in the atrium, which is the largest room in the house, and even the dishes were blue and luminous and threaded with gold like the many vases on shelves and pedestals.

I entered as late as I dared and stood for a few moments behind Flavia who is even taller than I am. All the women wore silk, blue or white, and many necklaces and bracelets of amethyst, carnelian, scarabs, blue feldspar, all from Egypt no doubt, and Julia was startlingly beautiful and superb in a stola of heavy blue silk with gold fringe that swept the floor, and her arms were covered from wrist to shoulder with flexible golden snakes with jewelled eyes and another twisted about her hair, the head of the serpent standing up straight in front and she looked like the Queen of the Nile tonight if she never would again.

There were only three Egyptians so the others must have been slaves. They fairly blazed with diamonds and emeralds, and Necho, the tallest and most imposing, although he was getting too round in the middle, looked like an idol in a Temple of Isis, but I must confess he was a magnificent creature and if it hadn’t been for Mallius I might have been dazzled, although Romans are quite dark enough for my taste with their clear olive skins, and this man was the color of bronze. It may be, as I had heard, that the Macedonians introduced a fairer complexion into Egypt, but I had heard also that some of the older and prouder families looked down upon the Ptolemy dynasty, as well as all Greeks, and had kept their ancient blood pure. And by a bitter irony of fate one of them after all these centuries was balancing a head of golden hair against the fate of an Empire—and so my mind was running on when Flavia moved and he saw me.

His red-black eyes flamed and I thought they would burn two holes straight through me and I hated him even more than I hated Caelius and Lydia, but fortunately I remembered that it became a young girl to drop her eyelids in the presence of older persons, especially men, although it wasn’t often I had remembered it before, and all he could see was my lashes. And Julia was kind and led him at once to the head of the table where he reclined with Julia and Flavia sitting on either side of him. I sat farther down between Julius Anthony and Ovid and as each had an Egyptian on his couch I hoped I should not be obliged to talk, and as for that Marius he sat opposite and tried to look at me longingly but there was a laugh in those horrid little eyes.

I think Julius Anthony was sorry for me, for he was older and more serious than the others and would have saved me if he could, but he was infatuated with Julia and his own fortunes were at stake. No doubt he had dreams of being another Mark Anthony in Egypt with Julia his Cleopatra and Augustus imprisoned or ashes in an urn. Many believed that he secretly hated the Emperor not only for forcing his father to divorce Fulvia and marry Octavia, but because after Actium all the Antonii had been forbidden to use the name Mark which had been their distinguishing praenomen for centuries. He would be Mark Anthony in Egypt, and that name was still held in reverence there for his father had not only been King but given a place among the gods after the fashion of the East. Oh, no, I could hope for no aid from him, nor from Ovid who was Julia’s slave and had barely noticed me after the first day, nor Sempronius Gracchus, who had never liked me, and was no doubt longing for the voluptuous life of Alexandria with its Park of Aphrodite, and I knew Marius hated me more and remembered that ‘black spot’; and the other two, who were rich and ambitious equites, took no more interest in me than if I had been the simple little girl I had pretended to be. And what was I anyhow beside Julia and the gorgeous Egypt and the palaces of the Ptolemies? As for those other women they were pretty butterflies although bright enough, except Flavia who was no butterfly, and all would follow Julia wherever she led, so long as she made life one constant round of pleasure and splendor and orgies; and not an orgy had there been in this villa since I came and they would be only too delighted to see that Egyptian carry me off.

The Egyptian was rather silent for a time and did nothing but eat and stare at me, and the others chattered and laughed and Ovid recited and even Julius Anthony was persuaded to quote something from his epic of which he had written several volumes that nobody cared much about but they sounded very well for he had a nice voice. Then slaves came in with the wine and garlands for the men but Ovid’s was a wreath of laurel which became him greatly, and I didn’t think Julia very tactful for Julius Anthony flushed and looked hurt.

I ate little and only pretended to sip my wine, for that Egyptian might have brought some vile herb from Egypt that would have put me to sleep and then where would I be? As I thought of waking up on that galley bound for Egypt with never a sight of Mallius again, and all I had learned gone for naught, for no doubt they would take Erinna too or throw her overboard, and horrible horrible horrible things happening to me—for a moment the room went round and round and a wave of fear engulfed me, but I stamped my foot so hard in anger at myself that Ovid asked me what was the matter and I told him my foot had gone to sleep, and then I heard that Egyptian talking at last and about corn, of all things.

The crops, he said, had been magnificent this year and no doubt Rome would rejoice, and then he and Julia laughed as he said Rome had never done a wiser thing than to conquer Egypt, for where else would she get those great quantities of corn to prevent famine and perhaps revolution by hungry plebs? And all the others laughed and clapped their hands, and I had one more enlightenment and knew why Julia depended upon this man to further her schemes. Only by sitting on the throne of Egypt could she outwit Scribonius, who would be torn to pieces by the populace if she threatened to starve Rome and he refused to submit to her terms. And I wished I hadn’t listened to so many clever men always arguing and speculating about this and that for I had heard too much for my own peace of mind: although where would I have been without that knowledge? And this Maecenas knew, and I was his trusted envoy and must not fail him, although I felt that if my poor brain were visited with any more sudden illuminations it would begin to run out of my ears.

Oh, gods, how that man stared at me, those long black eyes so brilliant they looked as if diamonds and garnets had been melted together and blackened with lust, and I felt so dishonored that I’d have liked to snatch my dagger from its belt and dash to the head of the table before anyone could stop me and plunge it first into one of those eyes and then into the other, but I caught Julia looking at me pleadingly and I gave him a vague modest little smile, that would probably, alas, inflame him further, and dropped my eyelashes as became a maiden fluttered but still modest. And I grew more furious every moment and wondered how long my Roman self-control would hold out.

And why, Oh why, couldn’t it be like those romantic little plays we girls used to write and act and have so much fun with, and Mallius stalk in at that minute looking like Mars and announce in a loud voice: ‘All is known. I have come to rescue Pomponia and there is a Pretorian Cohort without. As for you, Egyptian vassals, if you are not in your galley in ten minutes you will be on your way to the prison in Rome.’ And then he would swoop me up in his arms and carry me forth and Julia and the other women would shriek and faint and the Roman men shiver and fall from their couches and those Egyptians would pick up their togas and run for the shore and that would be the end of the conspiracy and my danger as well.

But nothing of that kind happened, for Life has its own way of playing the dramatist and how the gods must laugh at those poets who make nice little plots to be mouthed by actors while the spectators howl with delight. And I preferred the poets, no matter how melodramatic, for they solved problems and made grand climaxes to suit themselves, and here was I at the cold mercy of Life with nothing but my wits to help me and what good would they do if these Egyptians overpowered me and threw something over my head so that I couldn’t even scream, and six Romans merely looked on while a girl of their own order was carried off to misery and defilement—the price of wealth and luxury and splendor of court life such as Rome would never know under Augustus, who didn’t even live in a real palace and give grand entertainments, and threatened upon his return to put an end to what gaiety and extravagance they now enjoyed and make them live little better than plebs. Erinna had stood without the open door of the bedroom of one of these women while her slave was heating an iron to frizz her hair and heard her lamenting that soon no doubt Augustus would order all the great ladies of Rome to wear their hair straight and bound in close braids about their heads like Livia and possibly demand all their jewels to pay for a new Temple. It must seem like a gift from the gods that the mere sacrifice of a girl could save them from such a wretched fate and they would merely laugh and clap their hands as I was carried off, and while Julia might feel sorry for me she would not relent.

And then one ray of hope flashed into my mind. I remembered Maecenas had said that police were watching every move of those Egyptians—all men of that breed now in Rome—and if they were in the gardens and confronted these men as they carried me out—that is if I hadn’t managed to escape with Erinna—I would be set free and the police told it was all a joke, for of course it was never to have been known what had become of me, and a fight with police would end the conspiracy then and there. And it would anyhow for they knew I would tell Maecenas what I had discovered. . . . But no, Julia had no idea that I had any knowledge of the conspiracy and they would all laugh at my ‘wild imaginings’ even if confronted by Maecenas, and, indeed, what proof had I? But, yes, the conspiracy would be quenched, for Maecenas would tell them they would all be too closely watched hereafter for them to accomplish their designs, and order the Egyptians to leave the country that night, and Necho would be so infuriated that he had lost me he would have nothing more to do with Julia and her ambitions—and Oh, by this time I thought the top of my head would fly off and I could hear my hair crackle at the roots, when Julia rose, and all the others too, and as they began to move about I slipped away to my room to tell Erinna to go forth and find those police if they were there and send one of them for Maecenas.

But Erinna was not in my room and I looked out into the peristyle and saw a slave and told him to send her to me at once, but he returned in a few minutes and said he couldn’t find her, and I thought she had decided to lose no more time and to go at once to Maecenas—or—and this thought made my legs weak and I dropped on a chair—she had been locked up somewhere in the villa; for although these slaves might know nothing of the conspiracy they would do as they were told. And that did mean I was to be carried off tonight.

Then my courage returned and I was about to spring up and push the chest before the door and scream at the top of my voice through the window, but alas it was too late for at that moment Julia entered the room.

‘Why have you run away, darling?’ she asked with her sweetest smile. ‘Necho would speak with you and is growing impatient.’

‘I want to go to bed,’ I said sulkily. ‘I am not used to sitting up so late, and I feel too sleepy to talk to anyone. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’

But she put her arm round me and although it was the most beautiful arm in Rome and poets had written Odes to it, it felt like pure bone with no lovely soft white flesh on it as it pressed hard against my waist. ‘No, no,’ she said playfully. ‘We are going down to the shore, where the fresh salt air will wake you up—and remember your promise, Pomponia. That man is more mad about you than ever and will be full of wrath if I return without you. I have told him you are a girl of the old Roman breed and unlike all these other women he has met on his visits, who, alas, have forgotten the old Roman ideals. He said that no one could look at you and believe otherwise and he should be proud to call you his wife even if he did not love you to distraction. So fear nothing, Pomponia, and let him hear your voice, and you have a lovely voice, like deep sweet music. He will say nothing about love tonight, for I have warned him, but merely try to interest you, and he is more brilliant and intellectual than any man you have known.’

I must get her out of that room, so I said: ‘Very well, but please tell a slave to find Erinna and send her to me. She is probably out in the gardens flirting with the handsomest of your slaves, but I want her to rub my head for the wine made it ache.’

But that poor excuse availed me nothing for Julia merely laughed and said: ‘The salt air will do your head more good than a slave’s fingers. And one of my slaves tells me he looked for yours a few minutes ago and thinks she must have wandered off with Zozimus, who is very much taken with her, and will probably hide if called.’ And then I knew she had been locked up.

My first impulse was to take Julia, who is small and light, by the shoulders and whirl her out of the room, slam the door and push the chest before it; but I saw two slaves standing just without and knew they would be too quick for me, for the chest was heavy, and it was a silly idea anyhow.

So I said: ‘Julia, give me your word, the word of the daughter of Caesar Augustus, that man shall not carry me off to his galley tonight.’

She managed to open her eyes wide with astonishment but her voice shook: ‘Carry you off tonight? What put such an idea into your head? What a child you are, after all! Have I not said you shall be married in my house? Necho is not a bandit but a great Egyptian gentleman.’

‘I don’t trust him,’ I said, trying to look very young indeed, and played with my hair, twisting it into a rope and wishing I could choke her with it. ‘He looks as if he wouldn’t wait a minute to get what he wanted, and there are six of them, and they would kill our Romans if they tried to protect me, as of course they would.’

‘But—but—you forget I have many slaves.’ She could not hide the perplexity and uneasiness in her voice. ‘Never would he dare—for a galley would follow him—that is if he managed to get away—and he would be put to death by the Roman Governor.’

‘And meanwhile I should have become his creature—and—and then no one would marry me.’

Julia had recovered herself and her eyes looked hard and merciless as she almost stamped her foot. ‘I tell you,’ she exclaimed, ‘that he will do nothing of the kind. This is the modern world. Great nobles do not abduct girls of your rank. He will be careful and considerate, that I know. And remember, Pomponia, you have promised to marry him, for you alone can save the life of Caesar Augustus. It cannot be that you have forgotten!’

‘Oh, no, I have not forgotten—but’—and I pretended to smother a yawn and apologized, ‘do please give me a little time. I’ll try to talk to him and like him tomorrow, and no doubt I shall, for I never saw anyone so splendid, but my head aches and I want to do nothing now but go to bed.’

‘No,’ said Julia implacably, ‘you may lie down for half an hour if you must, and I will see if Erinna can be found. Then I shall come for you, for I have pledged my word to that man.’

My whirling mind shot out an idea. ‘I think I should tell you—you see, Erinna has a lover who is one of Maecenas’ slaves, and she has been meeting him and although she has sworn him to secrecy she has learned from him that Uncle Horace has come back to the villa, so both my guardians know by this time I have deceived them—for Uncle Horace went first to my house in Rome. You will remember I told Polos to tell Volumnia Marcia and Maecenas I had gone to the Sabine farm, and Uncle Horace that I was remaining in Rome—but his return has spoilt everything, and although Erinna’s friend will say nothing, I am sure they are very angry and are searching for me everywhere and perhaps have the police out, and someone may have seen me in your carriage that night we left Rome—Maecenas may learn or guess the truth any minute and come over here to find out—and wouldn’t it be better to act first? Wouldn’t it be wise for you and Necho and me to go over to that villa now and demand that my engagement to Mallius be broken and the Pontifex Maximus be sent for tomorrow and I marry in the house of my guardian, which would be more fitting——Or, better still, dear Julia, you could take Maecenas aside and confide in him and he would have that Egyptian arrested quietly—or assassinated if he thought best, although like you he hates bloodshed—but anyhow he could have him and the others imprisoned until the return of the Emperor, so he could do you no harm, and as the Emperor is so kind he would spare their lives no doubt and send them home and merely confiscate their wealth. I do think that is the best plan, Julia, for I don’t like the idea of being married to anyone and that is the truth.’

She had turned as white as my stola and her starry eyes looked as if they had a thousand little knives in them and her full sensuous mouth was two hard lines pressed together. Never had she been baulked before, this daughter of the Caesars, surrounded always by flatterers and worshippers and snobs and toadies, and that a mere girl should dare dictate to her and threaten to upset all her carefully laid plans must have made her want to commit murder for once.

‘I!’ she cried. ‘I! You ask me to go to the house of the two persons I hate most in the world—and you ask me, the daughter of Caesar Augustus, to ask favors of a novus homo? And—and no one saw us the night we left Rome, I am sure of that. Could that tutor of yours have betrayed you?’ And for the first time a look of fright distended her eyes. ‘Did you not bribe him as you promised?’

‘Oh, yes, but you never can trust a Greek (dear Polos forgive me) and he might have thought Maecenas would give him twice as much. But if you won’t go to Maecenas I think you had better send me over before he comes for me—and he may this very night.’

‘And then you would betray me—and Necho, I suppose?’

‘No, I promise you solemnly, Julia, that if you let me go I’ll never tell Maecenas nor anyone that Necho threatened to murder the Emperor.’ And that promise I could keep for it was the truth I should tell Maecenas not lies. ‘Let me go, Julia. You not only have six Romans to protect you but many slaves, as you said. You can send a swift galley to warn your father, and tell Necho I love Mallius and cannot be persuaded to marry anyone else, and all he can do is to go back to Egypt and sulk, and no doubt soon forget me for I am told there are more beautiful women in Alexandria than anywhere in the world. Let me go, Julia! Send me over with two stout slaves for I should be afraid to go alone so far at night. You are so lovely and sweet, Julia——’ And I managed to squeeze out a tear although I had been afraid I couldn’t for that fire in my brain was enough to have dried up the whole fountain. ‘You would never force a girl you pretend to love to marry a man she hated when all danger to your father may be so easily averted!’

It was plain to be seen that Julia’s own mind was whirling, for, with no suspicion that I knew aught of the conspiracy, she was obliged to confess that all I said was logical enough, and so far I had the best of the argument. She must have been distracted, not knowing what step to take next. She could not drag me out for I was far stronger than she, and she dared not command those two slaves to help her for I might scream and for all she knew Maecenas have sent over someone to spy. It must have been a terrible moment for Julia, who felt her world rocking, and the gods know she must have hated me.

But she suddenly controlled herself and dried my tears with her fine Egyptian handkerchief and said as sweetly as she could manage: ‘Do not cry, poor little girl. Lie down for a time and I will see what can be done. If I can curb Necho’s impatience I will, but don’t go to bed for I may be forced to come for you later. If Maecenas should dare to come here uninvited—well of course you will return with him. I cannot prevent that. But I happen to know he is having a banquet tonight and it is not likely he will desert his guests.’

And then, not trusting herself to say more, she went out hurriedly and closed the door behind her.

I gave up the idea of screaming out of the window, for no police might be there and my voice would not carry as far as the next villa and I had no hope there were spies in the garden for Maecenas is never in a hurry and had said he would wait five days, and by that time I would be on my way to Egypt unless I took care of myself.

I stripped off my grand stola and put on a shorter one and wished I had my dark mantle but had forgotten it. I opened the door and looked out but closed it quickly for there stood two slaves like statues and of course they had been given orders to watch me and report to Julia if I left the house. And that window was too narrow for even my slender body!

But cowardice never yet served anyone and I felt sure those slaves would not dare lay their hands on me, so I opened the door again and walked out. ‘Have all gone down to the shore?’ I asked, and when they answered as I expected, I said: ‘I will join them there, as I promised Domina Julia.’

They looked at each other uneasily as I marched past them and out of the house but made no attempt to stop me, merely followed as I pretended to walk toward the shore whence came the sound of singing and laughter. But when I turned suddenly and began to walk more rapidly toward the boundary wall they ran up and one stammered: ‘Where do you go, daughter of Pomponidus?’ ‘For a little walk first,’ I said sweetly. ‘I shall try to find Erinna, for I return to Rome tomorrow and wish her to pack my chest.’ For a moment longer they both followed me and then I heard one turn and run toward the shore, and I too ran, the other slave who was rather fat, panting behind me.

Then I stopped suddenly and pretended I had stubbed my toe, and as I stooped I quickly twisted my hair into a rope and as he caught up with me I made a leap and flung it round his neck and then again and jerked him this way and that until his eyes bulged and his tongue hung out and his face began to turn black, and as I had no desire to kill a slave who was merely doing his duty I unwound my hair and flung him aside and then ran with all my might as I heard a shout from the shore.

Those boundary stones seemed miles away and before long I heard the sound of many running feet. My breath was too short to scream and how I longed for a tree in which I could have hidden until I got it back but there were few trees on Julia’s estate and not one between me and the wall. I ran faster and faster and was afraid I would trip but I didn’t and heard those feet coming nearer and nearer and the moon was full and I knew my white figure was plain to be seen and how I wished I hadn’t forgotten my dark mantle. I reached down and whipped out my dagger, but as I looked over my shoulder I saw them coming closer and closer and knew it was no use to run further, for even if I could reach the boundary stones and leap over they would follow me and the villa of Maecenas was not even in sight. So I ran to the top of a little mound and stood still and faced about and waited for them, for I had one last resource and must be able to speak without panting.

In a moment they were almost upon me, three Egyptians and six Romans, but I held my dagger up and they halted, not because they were intimidated by one girl with a dagger, but they too were out of breath, even more than I who had not eaten and drunk heavily, and no doubt they would try words before overpowering me. But I was able to speak first.

‘Listen to me,’ I said, and there was no ‘deep sweet music’ in my voice which I made as harsh and imperious as I knew how. ‘When you have heard what I have to tell you you may kill me if you like but you will lose your heads if you do. Your conspiracy is known to Maecenas, Calvus, and Belerius. Messengers have gone to Agrippa to warn him that some traitor in his army has orders from Scribonius to kill him and Drusus either with poison or the knife. Two swift galleys have gone to Augustus at Samos, the last five days ago after they were persuaded of Julia’s part in the conspiracy. Maecenas not only knows I am here but sent me to find out what I could, and it is this I have discovered, O Necho——’ And I looked into those eyes now filled with more hatred than lust. ‘It is your cousin who would seize and imprison Augustus that Julia may sit on the throne of Egypt and rule the Empire. When you threatened to desert her and ruin the conspiracy if she was unable to throw me into your arms, she concocted the nice little fable that you had vowed to murder her father unless I could be persuaded to marry you. I pretended to believe her and to accept my horrid fate for the sake of the Empire, for it was the right of Maecenas to reveal our knowledge when he thought best. But that conspiracy is dead—dead, do you hear? As dead as Vesuvius, for both Augustus and Agrippa have been warned.’

I paused for a moment and looked at those nine men who were all staring at me as if I were one of the ancient Fates risen from the Underworld or wherever they keep themselves, and I couldn’t help feeling, terribly serious as all this was, that I must be an impressive figure as I stood there above them all in white in that crystal moonlight my hair like a gold mantle lifted slightly by the breeze and my dagger upraised. But that moment was fleeting for this was no time for thoughts of vanity or drama only of convincing those men and saving myself from that Necho, who was panting more than the others for he had too much fat in the wrong place. Those bronze Egyptians couldn’t turn pale but they looked green and the Romans were pallid and their eyes distended and their mouths wide open.

‘Now listen to me further,’ I went on. ‘You have only one hope. If you let me cross that boundary wall and go to my guardians, my body saved from defilement by that Egyptian, you will have nothing to fear. The conspiracy will never be revealed to the public, for Maecenas wishes above all things to avoid a scandal, as that is what Caesar Augustus would wish. And Julia’s name has not been mentioned in the dispatches, nor the names of any but Scribonius and Caelius. But if I disappear tonight every one of you will lose his head. So take your choice.’

That heavy silence was broken by Sempronius Gracchus. ‘I don’t believe a word of this rigmarole,’ he almost shouted. ‘She belongs to the cleverest group of girls in Rome and they admit her wits outrun them all and that she can think as fast as any man. How could she——’ And then I saw Julius Anthony give him a quick nudge and he too spoke.

‘You have a great imagination, Pomponia,’ he said in his nice agreeable voice that shook a little all the same. ‘You should write plays for our theatres, and that would be a beneficence, for our dramatists grow worse and worse. Of course you know there has been no conspiracy, and if you will come back with me to Julia——’

‘No conspiracy!’ I cried triumphantly. ‘And who do you suppose slashed the faces of Scribonius and Caelius when they stood under that tree discussing it? It was I, hidden in a branch above them, and I heard enough to have had them arrested that night, only Maecenas thought it best to wait, for he guessed there was more behind. And Caelius had even brought a viper to put in my bed, for it was he, with money provided by Scribonius, who had bribed those Gauls to murder, for they wanted my fortune. And they would have killed Mallius that night, but I made them forget about that!’

Once more they were staring at me in confusion and doubt and I went on.

‘One of Calvus’ men got Valerius Antias drunk and he told what he knew, and also that Julia had given him thousands of sesterces to distribute among the plebs for wine, so that when they heard the Emperor was dead, or imprisoned far away, they would rally about her and do as she and Scribonius bade them—although, of course, Scribonius has no idea of her ultimate designs, and thinks he is using her for his own purpose. And he and Caelius had spread the report that the Emperor intended to stop the corn dole and send all the poorer plebs—150,000—off to the provinces where they must work or starve, but with Scribonius at the head of the state they should have a double allowance of corn and wine and even more fierce and bloody encounters between gladiators and wild beasts in the theatres. Now, do you believe me?’

For a moment no one answered, only stared at me in consternation, and then the Egyptian gave a roar like one of the lions I had heard from afar in Pompey’s theatre, and made a leap at me screaming: ‘Whatever happens you go with me tonight!’ But I had never ceased to watch him and when he was almost upon me my dagger nearly severed his hand from the wrist and the blood spouted like a fountain, and the other Egyptians, shouting and cursing, caught him as he staggered and hastily bound his arm above the elbow with one of their fine linen handkerchiefs.

‘Well,’ said Julius Anthony grimly. ‘You have disposed of him! But you must come back with us to Julia. Some of your story may be true—but not that Maecenas sent you here. That is incredible! If he believed us to be conspirators he would never have sent you, an unprotected girl, into our midst, for conspirators are merciless if danger threatens their plans—and their lives.’

‘He said you would never harm a girl of your own order, nor would it ever occur to you that I knew or even guessed anything so unthinkable was afoot. He knew I could fool you—and I did!’ I made no attempt to keep the triumph out of my voice as I remembered how bored they had been with a raw young girl in their midst, and was rewarded by six black scowls, while Marius audibly gnashed his teeth. I laughed in his face, but forgot him as Julius Anthony spoke.

‘It may be,’ he said, ‘but if all you have imagined of us were true, the risk would have been great. But it was not and you were safe enough. What Scribonius has been up to I do not know, but although you may suspect Julia you have not an atom of proof.’

‘I ask for none,’ I said. ‘And neither will Maecenas if you behave yourselves in the future—for make up your mind to one thing—you will be spied upon until the return of the Emperor.’

He gave a deep sigh and I felt a little sorry for him for I knew that all hope and ambition had gone out of him, and a beaten spirit is not a pleasant thing to see, so I turned away as he said to the two Egyptians: ‘Carry him to the galley and sail at once. I—I will tell Julia you have changed your minds and make your excuses.’ And as those two staggered off with their burden, for the great Egyptian gentleman was no light weight, he added: ‘Go by the shore and if you are seen make any excuse you like.’ He had the grace to blush as he turned to me and said: ‘I suppose the slaves they brought with them are on the galley, for he intended to sail tonight. Now, will you return with us to Julia? We must talk this over with her before you see your guardians and you must know that you have nothing to fear.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘I know that! All hope has gone with that Egyptian, but I prefer to go to Maecenas. I have had enough of Julia and her lies.’ And then I gave a shout and threw my dagger into the air and caught it for what did I see coming down the driveway from the road but Maecenas, Uncle Horace, and many police behind them. My grand act was to have a dramatic climax after all, only I didn’t see Mallius among them and that rather spoilt it.

‘Go, if you like,’ I said to those men. ‘It is not necessary for you to see Maecenas tonight. If he wants you he will send for you tomorrow. My slave girl must have escaped after all and warned him.’ And then I looked at Ovid, who hadn’t opened his mouth only stared at me as if I were some strange species of female he was trying to fathom. ‘I think you will care less than the others,’ I said, ‘for a poet can write anywhere. But I suppose you will never write an Ode to me.’

‘No,’ he said venomously. ‘I never shall.’ And he turned his back and walked off with great dignity, although his laurel wreath was a little on one side.

‘Maecenas will know where to find me,’ said Julius Anthony. ‘You will tell him what you choose tonight.’

‘We wouldn’t get in a word edgewise,’ said Sempronius with an unpleasant laugh, and they all walked away, quite slowly, and with as much dignity as they could summon, poor things, but after all they were Romans and held their heads high.

I suddenly felt so tired I could have dropped, for never had I been obliged to think so fast and say just the right things and get them in the right place and I was cold and shaking from the danger I had escaped, and I wanted to fling myself into Uncle Horace’s arms and cry, but concluded to postpone that until later. And anyhow I’d rather cry on Mallius.

They were walking very quickly now and I went forward to meet them and Maecenas began to pour out questions but I shut him up.

‘All danger is over,’ I said, ‘and I nearly cut the hand off that Egyptian, and his galley will take him away from Italy tonight and the others know the plot is discovered and have given up hope. Let us go back to the villa. I want a glass of wine for I am nearly spent. Then I’ll tell you all. Where is Mallius and why didn’t you come for me sooner? If I hadn’t let blood out of that Egyptian I’d be in that galley now.’

Maecenas spoke apologetically and looked very embarrassed as he replied: ‘It was some time before Erinna could persuade a slave to summon me for I was entertaining guests at a banquet. Then I had to send for the Praefectus of Ostia for it would have been foolish for Horace and me to have come alone and I didn’t care to take the guests into my confidence. Of course I could have brought many stout slaves but I thought it best to overawe the conspirators with police. Mallius has been sent for.’

I took Uncle Horace’s arm and he gave me nice little pats and whispered that he had made up his mind to come over tonight even before Erinna had told them of the immediate danger I was in. ‘And I thought Maecenas would never start,’ he said. ‘But he is always so deliberate and cautious, and no doubt he was right; and anyhow he gave immediate orders to the police to watch that Egyptian galley. You were in no danger, my beautiful golden peacock, from the moment that distracted girl gasped out her story.’ Blessed Erinna! She should have her freedom but what could I do without her? Then I told myself she would never leave me and she should have a good wage.

That walk up to the road and then down through the gardens to the villa seemed endless, I was so tired, and I thought Maecenas might have had sense enough to bring a carriage, but of course he wouldn’t have thought of that, or perhaps he feared to give warning of his approach. But at last we were in his study and after a glass of his best Istrian wine I felt strong again, but when he returned after apologizing to his guests I told him I wouldn’t say a word until Mallius came, and a few moments later we heard the sound of gallopping horses and then Mallius followed by Calvus rushed into the room looking distraught, for he had been summoned without explanation and feared that something dire had happened to me although he knew naught of those Egyptians. He seized me in his arms before them all and I sat down shamelessly on his knee and caught him tight about the neck for I wanted to hold on to something and to Mallius more than anything. And Uncle Horace sighed for I no longer needed him.

Then excited by the wine and everything else I poured out the whole story and I talked so fast that Maecenas kept interrupting, begging me to put in a few commas and periods. And when I told about that Egyptian I thought the swelling veins on Mallius’ forehead would burst and his body grew as rigid as iron and when I had finished he shouted that the man must be taken to prison at once and his head struck off, but Maecenas and the others said No, for then the whole thing would be made public; a man of that rank could not disappear without comment, and his companions would be so wroth they would stand up in the Forum and shout the names of all the conspirators—or their slaves would if they too were beheaded, and Maecenas said he disliked bloodshed and what-not. As long as Necho had failed in his foul purpose and never even spoken with me, and the conspiracy was shattered, what matter whether he lived or died? The sooner and the farther he got away from Rome the better.

But I was glad Mallius wanted to kill him, for if he hadn’t, after all I had been through, he would have been a pretty poor sort of lover, only never would he have been that. But I knew, of course, that Maecenas was right, and so did Mallius after a time, for although impetuous and passionate he has that faculty for clear cold reasoning that few Romans lack. (Daddy.)

They talked and talked until I nearly fell asleep and Maecenas said he would send for Julius Anthony on the morrow and confirm all I had told him and the others, but that they had nothing to fear if they abstained from conspiracies in the future. They had learned that others were as wise as they were foolish. As for Scribonius and Caelius they would be advised to spend a few years in Africa.

Then as I hadn’t given Maecenas one kind look, and he no doubt felt a little guilty, although pleased enough that he had sent me to take my chances in that nest of vipers and with the result, he said in his most conciliatory diplomatic voice:

‘You have done well, my Pomponia. No man could have done better—nor possibly as well,’ he added hastily as he saw my eyes flash and I almost stuck my tongue out at him. ‘And you shall have your reward. You and Mallius shall be married at once. I will send for Lepidus tomorrow, or next day, as you prefer. I despise him and haven’t spoken to him for years, but he is Pontifex Maximus, and must be present at the marriage of a girl of your rank. Or would you prefer to be married in your own house? That perhaps would be more fitting, for the husband should carry away his bride from the house of her father.’

‘Yes,’ I said, although I could hardly speak with delight and forgave him everything. ‘In my own house. And I want my friends there, Atia, Drusilla, Rufilla, Metella and Phoebe. No one else but you and Uncle Horace and Terentia and Calvus and Belerius, for I cannot have a grand wedding so soon after the death of my parents. And let it be the day after tomorrow, for there is much to do.’

‘It shall be as you wish,’ said my guardian. ‘Our golden peacock shall have her way in all things now. But I think Livia will also wish to attend your wedding and act as priestess, so fond she was of your mother. . . . But what excuse I am to give her for this sudden wedding when she knows nothing of the conspiracy—and so soon after your parents’ death—well——’

‘Tell her,’ said Uncle Horace, ‘that Agrippa has sent Mallius to Rome to attend to some personal affair and that he is to remain here, and is the one to protect Pomponia—also that it is high time Pomponia was married, and would have been married a year ago had it not been that Pomponidus sought every excuse to keep her as long as possible—for reasons you are never at a loss, Gaius!’

And then he looked at me. ‘Mallius’ house has been closed so long it is in no condition to receive a bride and it will take several weeks to put it in order. Would you like to spend those weeks at my farm, Pomponia?’

And then I ran over and kissed him for I could think of nothing that would so add to my happiness as to be alone with Mallius in that beautiful valley where I had first fallen really in love with him, and I knew what a sacrifice Uncle Horace was making in exiling himself for my sake and told him he must stay in my house where he could write in peace, and I intended to live there anyhow. Of course Maecenas began to argue about that but I told him I had made up my mind and that was the end of it, and I think by this time Maecenas was a little afraid of me. I had outwitted so many clever people I might outwit him some day and he wouldn’t like that, so he said no more.

Then they all went out and I intended to have a good cry on Mallius’ shoulder but fell asleep instead and had to be carried to my room and put to bed by Erinna and never woke up until the next day at noon.

And I could hardly believe it—how could I? How could I it was so wonderful—here I was in my own room being dressed by Erinna for my wedding! Atia, Drusilla, Metella, Phoebe, Rufilla, each in a silk stola of crimson, green, pink, blue, white embroidered with flowers, were perched on the bed, the chests, the chairs, all chattering with excitement and making suggestions to Erinna who wanted none.

My hair had been parted with a little spear—a survival of long ago when a bride was a captive of war—and then braided in six plaits and wound round the top of my head, and on top of that the bridal wreath made from flowers I had plucked myself that morning in the garden of Maecenas, and on the back of my head Erinna pinned a long veil of fine wool, the color of flame. Around my waist was a woolen girdle fastened with the knot of Hercules—and a fine time we had getting it right and all the girls helped—and on my feet low yellow shoes. Erinna cried, but my own tears were dried up I felt so happy and I hoped I’d never shed another. It didn’t seem possible—two days ago I had been in mortal danger and now all danger was past and only happiness awaited me. I would I could have worn my hair unbraided and hanging, for I was more vain of it than ever now that it had saved an Empire. And that would have been funny if it hadn’t been so horribly true, and no Roman would ever have been so silly, only an Egyptian the color of bronze. I almost danced round the room, my lovely old room all white and painted with garlands, and Erinna told me crossly to be still or the veil would be crooked.

‘If you were two years younger,’ she said, ‘you would have had to dedicate your dolls to the Lar of the family,’ and when we all laughed at that she said reproachfully: ‘You didn’t even give orders about the sacrifices, and Diomedes had to attend to that and send for the soothsayer to see if the auspices were favorable.’

‘Who cares for such things nowadays?’ I said. ‘Those old superstitions are only believed in by the country people.’ And Erinna replied with dignity: ‘Custom is custom, Mistress, and sacrifices are made and auspices taken when a maiden weds whether the great believe in them or not.’ So I told her to thank Diomedes for me and tell him his forethought would surely bring me good luck.

‘Atia and I were less fortunate than you,’ said Drusilla, ‘for we had to see the nasty little beasts and they were split wide open and looked horrid and didn’t smell nice at all.’

And Rufilla who is very intellectual and writes the best plays sniffed and said: ‘Such nonsense! As if the auspices weren’t always favorable. The soothsayer knows his business. When we are all matrons we’ll show even Julia’s crowd what it is to be modern, and without making trollops of ourselves either.’ Rufilla’s light hair is short for she had the fever last year and it fell out and grew in curly and she keeps it that way, and has gray eyes like the Emperor, some say for good reason although Mummy would never believe it, and she can put on quite a royal air as she did now. But I made up my mind then and there that if she thought she was going to be the leader of our set when we were all married she would find herself mistaken, but when Metella began to chant from the wedding-song of Catullus those lines we had always liked best I forgot all that.

All the other girls took up the refrain O Hymen Hymenaee, O Hymenaee Hymen, and I was standing with my hands against my breast swaying, swaying, and thinking of other verses Metella left out when Terentia entered to lead me forth and the girls ran out first and I kissed Erinna who was crying again and told her to follow me into the atrium and stand where she could have a good view of everything.

Terentia looked rather glum for it should have been her privilege to act as priestess and I agreed with her, but she must bow to Livia, and I knew from something she let fall she hated that woman.

And then we went through the peristyle and over the reception room and down into the atrium and the curtain was not drawn and it was full of the bright sun of afternoon. The five girls stood together, in their bright stolas looking like a bed of flowers, and they wafted me kisses but I merely smiled in return for I was looking as stately and dignified as I knew how and thinking only of Mallius. O Hymen Hymenaee! He wore a garland and stood with Maecenas and Uncle Horace beside a table where they were to affix their seals to the wedding documents. Near by stood Lepidus looking like a mournful old crow and no doubt getting what satisfaction he could out of this fleeting importance, for although Pontifex Maximus with a grand office in the Forum he is of less than no importance in the state he had once hoped to rule and would have lost his head but for the clemency of Caesar Augustus. Beside him stood another old man, the Flamen Dialis, tall and very imposing in his priestly robes. Volumnia Marcia looked fine and stately in a new stola of dark blue silk, and I had made Polos put on one of Daddy’s togas, for he was to be a freedman before many days so why not? The slaves in new tunics stood against the wall, looking excited and happy, Diomedes very important and no doubt convinced that but for him Jove would have sent a bolt of lightning through the roof.

The only other men present were Calvus and Belerius and I was glad Atia and Drusilla had such good-looking husbands although they were not to be compared with Mallius. Livia stood apart, very grand and Empress-like in her robe of Laconian purple and a diadem on her head and under her breasts a broad band of gold sewn with many jewels. I was not supposed to raise my eyes but I took it all in as I stood beside Terentia while those men signed the marriage documents and affixed their seals with great ceremony.

Then Atia came forward and led me to Mallius—whose proud head I thought looked better in a helmet than a garland—and he took my right hand in his right hand and we walked over to Livia and she placed her two hands on our clasped ones and we murmured the words hastily told us at the last moment and I forgot most of mine but it didn’t matter, for when Livia removed her hands and kissed me the ceremony was over and we were married!

Then the girls all came forward and kissed me and wished me good fortune and then I ran over to Uncle Horace and kissed him, who was looking rather sad although I thought he should have been delighted to be rid of me. Then I kissed Maecenas for I had forgiven him and everyone else I was so happy, and then Terentia and V. M. and even Polos, who looked rather embarrassed, and kissed my hand to my good slaves who bowed low, all but the fat cook, Erinna’s mother, who was already waddling out.

When all the kissing was over we went into the great dining-room and I was glad the Empress had gone home so that I could give Terentia the place of honor among the women and we sat down to the grand dinner Erinna’s mother had cooked and to which Maecenas had sent many delicacies from his own larder but I can’t remember what they were.

Maecenas reclined with Mallius at the head of the table and Uncle Horace on the other side with Calvus and Belerius and I was glad those two old priests had left, as wedding-feasts were beneath their dignity and there were about a thousand things the Flamen couldn’t eat anyhow nor even look at. But the rest all ate and drank a lot and didn’t hurry themselves for we were not to leave the house before dusk so that the carriages could come to the door. Otherwise I should have had to be carried in a litter to the Esquiline Gate, Mallius walking beside me with that garland on his head, and word would have flown about and all Rome have followed us.

But at last at last at last it was over and I went to my room and Erinna took off the veil and wrapped me in a warm white palla and I returned to the atrium and was kissed and kissed and kissed and they all went with us into the street and the slaves too, even the cook, whom everyone remembered to compliment, and Erinna went off in the first carriage with my chests and a personal slave Mallius had bought that morning and I hoped she would amuse herself with him, but that like many others was a fleeting thought for after we were in our own carriage and the horses had galloped down the Suburba and out the Esquiline Gate Mallius caught me in his arms and never let me go except when we changed horses at Tibur.

And Oh, that wild valley where every tree looked like silver in the moon-flood and as beautiful as the Odes they had inspired Uncle Horace to write, and the nightingales sang and so did the river and all the little waterfalls and the silver leaves rustled in a little wind and the stars in the broad girdle of sky we could see above was studded with stars like the girdle of Venus. And dear Uncle Horace’s villa was all alight and the slaves stood before the door to welcome us and Mallius carried me across the threshold and the slaves went away and we were alone at last and there’s nothing more I’ll ever tell anyone—nothing—nothing—nothing—but

THE END

NOTES

Pomponia does not mention the consuls of the year, but, putting this and that together, we may assume that the events of this brief chronicle took place in either b.c. 20 or 19. Not later, for Virgil died in September 19.

Scholars may complain they never read of one or two of the nomens mentioned, nor of several of the combinations, but no doubt many families of that time and branches of others are lost to history. Otherwise I have checked the narrative with such authorities as Cyril Bailey, Guglielmo Ferrero, W. Ward Fowler, Tenny Frank, T. G. Tucker, Pierre Louÿs, Jacques Roergas de Serviez, Suetonius, Payson Sibley Wild (for his admirable description of the Sabine Valley), Volume 10 of the Cambridge Ancient History (largely devoted to Augustus), and Horace himself.

Grateful acknowledgments also to Professor George M. Calhoun, Mr. Samuel T. Farquhar, Professor Arthur E. Gordon, and Professor Leon J. Richardson, all of the University of California.

I concluded to follow Professor Fowler’s example and use the original word equites, as, it seemed to me, ‘knights’ is so intimately associated with England that it would confuse the non-classical reader.

Scholars, no doubt, will throw up their hands in horror at the idea that the three divisions of Roman society: Patrician, Equestrian and Plebeian, to say nothing of the Senate, emanated from the brain of Romulus; but it should be remembered that Pomponia was merely accepting the legends of her time, here as elsewhere, not indulging in research two thousand years later.

The brief translations from Horace are those of H. Rushton Fairclough and C. E. Bennet. As for the lines of Catullus’ nuptial hymn culled here and there by the girls and put together to suit themselves, I doubt if they will meet with the approval of either F. W. Cornish or Horace Gregory.

It is a question whether Pomponia’s headlong style was the result of her admiration for Thucydides or merely the natural expression of an impetuous mind that thought faster than the hand could follow. Still, that gallopping mind did settle down to a trot occasionally, even to a walk now and then.

The Roman use of the word ‘corn’ is rather confusing, but no doubt meant any kind of grain, more particularly wheat, from which bread could be made.

The Flaminian Way is the present Corso Umberto Primo and Lugdunum has become Lyons.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

A cover which is placed in the public domain was created for this ebook.

[The end of Golden Peacock, by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton]