




                                  NEAERA

                          A TALE OF ANCIENT ROME



 _This Edition is intended for circulation only in India and the British
                                Colonies._





                      Macmillan's Colonial Library

                                  NEAERA

                          A TALE OF ANCIENT ROME



                                   BY
                              JOHN W. GRAHAM


London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1887
No. 33

[All rights reserved.]





                                 CONTENTS


PART I
   CHAPTER I.
   CHAPTER II.
   CHAPTER III.
   CHAPTER IV.
   CHAPTER V.
   CHAPTER VI.
   CHAPTER VII.
   CHAPTER VIII.
   CHAPTER IX.
   CHAPTER X.
   CHAPTER XI.
PART II
   CHAPTER I.
   CHAPTER II.
   CHAPTER III.
   CHAPTER IV.
   CHAPTER V.
   CHAPTER VI.
   CHAPTER VII.
   CHAPTER VIII.
   CHAPTER IX.
   CHAPTER X.
   CHAPTER XI.
   CHAPTER XII.
   CHAPTER XIII.
   CHAPTER XIV.
   CHAPTER XV.
   CHAPTER XVI.
   CHAPTER XVII.
   CHAPTER XVIII.
   CHAPTER XIX.
   CHAPTER XX.
   CHAPTER XXI.
   CHAPTER XXII.
   CHAPTER XXIII.
   CHAPTER XXIV.
   CHAPTER XXV.
PART III.
   CHAPTER I.
   CHAPTER II.
   CHAPTER III.
   CHAPTER IV.
SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
Macmillan's Colonial Library.
Footnotes
Transcriber's Note






                                  PART I


                                  NEAERA




                                CHAPTER I.


Anno Domini Twenty-six, Tiberius Caesar, the ruler of the world, left
Rome, with a small retinue, never to return. In the following year he
arrived at the island of Capreae, and there took up his permanent abode.
It was a spot which already possessed substantial proofs of imperial
favour, in the shape of villas, baths, and aqueducts built by the orders
of the Emperor Augustus. It well merited the partiality displayed, for
there are few places to be found more favoured by nature, in point of
situation, than this small, lofty, iron-bound mountain-island of Capreae.

Opposite, at a distance of three miles, approaches the tip of a sharp
promontory of the mainland, which divides two bays curving away on either
hand. That on the north, from the earliest times, has had the reputation
of being the loveliest in the world. That on the south, although not
comparable, has yet considerable beauty. Capreae, therefore, stands aloof
amid the blue waters, at the apex of these two semicircles, surveying both
from its lofty mountain and sheer cliffs.

Why the Emperor Tiberius left Rome and secluded himself, for the remainder
of his life, in this small island, away from the seat of his empire, has
never, with certainty, been explained. Whether it was for political
reasons, or for the purpose of giving full indulgence to those vicious
habits which rumour so freely ascribed to him, is not within the scope of
these pages to be determined. He hastened to continue to his new home
those same marks of favour which his deified predecessor had begun. Armies
of workmen assailed the summits of the cone-like hills and wave-washed
cliffs. New villa-palaces arose on every hand, so that the narrow limits
of the island hermitage might afford to Caesar the utmost variety
possible. Of the twelve projected villas, each named after a deity, some
three or four had been completed and occupied at the time of our story,
whilst the building of the remainder was actively proceeding. In the
autumn of the year thirty, the date of our story, Tiberius had hidden
himself away from his people for about three years, and, already, dark
rumours were flitting abroad of strange enormities and dread cruelties
shrouded in that outline of mountain amid the sea. The seclusion of the
imperial hermit was strictly preserved, and unauthorised feet were
jealously warned from his rocky retreat. Curiosity became more inflamed
and imagination more rampant. To turn the invisible Caesar into something
akin to an ogre or monster was an easy and natural outcome of the insular
mystery.

One thing, however, is certain, that, although lost, as the Emperor may be
said to have been, to the eyes of the world, the world and its affairs, in
turn, were never hidden from him. Caesar remained Caesar--sleepless, prompt
and vigorous amid his mysterious rocks. Day after day, couriers came and
went with tidings from every corner of the known world. The vast empire,
like a sprawling giant, had Capreae for its heart, which impelled the
life-blood ceaselessly to every extremity of its veins and arteries.

                              * * * * * * *

On an October morning, one of the long, swift boats, used in the imperial
despatch service, left the landing-place in the little Marina, on the
north side of Capreae, and shot away toward the barren promontory of
Minerva opposite.

The vessel was one of a number used for the busy service of communication
with the mainland, and was built on fine, sharp lines to attain high
speed. Plenty of power was lent by the brawny arms of a dozen stout
slaves, whose oars swept the craft along, with the gently rippling sea
foaming under its sharp bows. The morning was bright, and a delicious
autumn serenity softened mountain and sea with a mellow haze; so that in
default of a breeze to fill the large sail stowed neatly away under the
bulwarks, the rowers bent their backs with a will to their work.

There was one passenger on board--a young man with a soldierly air. He
seemed not more than two or three-and-twenty years of age, with large,
handsome, boldly-cut features, of the true Roman cast, and keen, dark
eyes. The expression of his face, something stern and proud in repose,
was, perhaps, heightened by a naturally dark complexion, still swarthier
with sun and wind. He lay wrapped in a large military cloak, beside the
steersman, whose chatter he acknowledged, now and again, by a nod, or
occasionally a brief word, or smile which softened all severity of visage
with a gleam as bright as the sunny sky above.

After leaving the chill shadow of the terrific, perpendicular cliffs of
the island, the passage across the straits to the mainland was rapidly
made. As the vessel glided finally to its destination alongside a small
landing parapet of stone, on the shore of the promontory, the young man
arose, flung back his cloak, and sprang lightly ashore. He showed a manly
stature of at least six feet, and a spare, sinewy frame of the best
athletic build, deep in the chest and thin in the flank. No other garb,
than that which clothed him, could more admirably display these fine
proportions.

There was the richly-chased, polished cuirass, moulded closely to the
lines of the body from throat to abdomen, and imitating them as accurately
as a plaster cast. From this hung the short drapery of a kilt, or
philibeg, nearly to the knee, leaving the leg, downward, bare to the high
boots, which were laced up to the swell of the calf. The muscular arms of
the young officer were likewise uncovered, save for a short way beneath
the shoulder. The large cloak, before noticed, which hung gracefully from
his left shoulder, greatly enhanced the effect of this military panoply,
particularly suiting the tall stature of the wearer. It was fastened at
the neck by a gold buckle, and could be shifted to either shoulder, or to
the back, or wrapped around the body altogether. On military service, a
polished, crested helmet would have completed the costume; but, at
present, after the usual Roman fashion, the young man's head bore no
covering but its own dark, close-curling hair. For arms, he wore the
short, straight, Roman sword, and a poniard.

Just as it may be remarked at the present day, of a certain exclusive
portion of our own military service, so the unusual richness of the young
officer's appointments, as contrasted with those of the legionaries,
denoted him to be one of the Pretorian Guard, the household troops, lately
gathered into a permanent camp at Rome, and brought fairly into a position
for entering on their future famous career in the affairs of the city and
empire.

As he left the boat its crew saluted him. Returning the courtesy, he flung
the perspiring slaves some pieces of money, and walked rapidly up the
shore towards a group of buildings, comprising the posting establishment,
which had newly sprung into existence, as a necessary adjunct to the
Emperor's abode. A signal had been waved from the despatch-boat before
reaching the shore, and when he arrived at the door of the stables he
found the ostlers awaiting him with a horse ready caparisoned for the
road.

'Back to Rome, Centurion?' said one, saluting him.

'Back to Rome,' replied he, girding his cloak close around him.

'A good journey!' chorused the stablemen.

Two or three coins rattled on the gravel for answer, and the Pretorian
vaulted on to the horse's back, and galloped away.

Riding as rapidly as the path would permit, and without drawing rein, it
was not long before the lovely plain of Surrentum broke on his view,
embosomed in the circling vine and olive-clad mountains, edged by the blue
waters of the sea, clothed with luxuriant fruit-groves, and studded with
the villas of the noble and wealthy, who had retired hither to revel in
the soft, salubrious air of this most lovely spot of a lovely land.

But our horseman paid little attention to the exquisite scene. His
thoughts were otherwise absorbed. He passed the girdling hills, and closed
with the town of Surrentum itself. At the posting station, in the midst,
he changed horses and went on, scarcely giving time for an idle crowd to
gather round. He did not, however, go very many hundred yards on his
second stage, before he suddenly drew rein on the very outskirts of the
town, where the last houses straggled out amid garden-plots and fields. It
was at a point where a by-road debouched upon his own, almost at right
angles. It seemed to lead back to the town by a roundabout course, and was
lined on either side, in a straggling, intermittent way, by gardens and
cottage-houses, in the manner of a country village street. The dwelling
nearest to where he stood, at the end of the lane, was about a hundred
yards distant. It was a small, humble house, like the majority of its
neighbours, and was the outpost habitation of the town in that direction.
It was detached and flanked on the town side by a small olive-grove. In
the rear of the premises was an outbuilding; a workshop, to judge by its
black, smoking chimney. The house itself was open-fronted as a shop.

The Centurion turned down this lane, and, when within a few yards of the
house, dismounted and led his horse through a gap in a ruinous wall to the
inside of the enclosure, where he tethered him amid some trees. Thence he
walked up to the house, and looked inside the open shop, pausing with a
fixed gaze.

The interior was fitted with shelves, on which was displayed a stock of
pottery of a kind for which Surrentum was noted. It was not upon these,
however, that the rapt eyes of the soldier rested, but upon the tall,
lithe figure of a girl, who was busily engaged in taking the articles down
and dusting them. Her back being toward him, he entered the shop with a
stealthy step and stood behind her without her knowledge. Pausing, for a
moment, to gaze upon the figure and the glossy coils of the luxuriant
brown hair of the unconscious girl, he bent down and whispered in her ear
the name 'Neaera!'

She started violently, and the bowl, which she was wiping, fell from her
fingers and shivered with a crash on the floor.

'Oh, sir, is it you?' she murmured.

Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes fell.

'Yes, Neaera, it is I--but only for a few niggard moments. I am on my way
back to Rome. 'Tis six weeks since I saw you, Neaera--you look pale! have
you fared well?'

'Quite well,' was the brief, constrained reply.

'And your father and mother?'

'Both are well--they are within if you will be pleased to see them.' She
moved as if to go to the interior of the house, but he laid his hand
gently on her arm and detained her.

'In a moment, Neaera--do you wish to be rid of me?'

She gave a hasty, timid glance into the street, and he led her aside into
a recess which was less overlooked.

'You neither look at me nor speak, Neaera--are you displeased to see me?
Would you rather have had the weary six weeks prolonged into twelve?' She
raised her head and looked at him with an appealing expression in her
beautiful gray eyes, but, in a brief moment, her gaze fell once more.
'Still you do not say whether I am welcome or not, Neaera?' he persisted.

'Spare me from an answer, I pray you,' she replied, in an almost inaudible
tone.

His swarthy cheeks flushed with a yet deeper colour, and he drew himself
up. 'As you will,' he returned; 'but if your answer would be "Nay," say it
without hesitation or fear; for I would have the truth from your heart,
even at the expense of a little courtesy.' Her agitation increased, and
her fingers worked nervously with the dusting cloth she held. Those
fingers, though stained and roughened with toil, were slenderly and
delicately formed. He took them in his own, and, in spite of her attempt
to withdraw them, kept them in his grasp.

'What has happened, Neaera?' said he, looking into her downcast face. 'Has
anything that I have done angered you, or rather, that I have left undone,
since I have been chained to duty in yonder island for six weeks? It is
long indeed, but we must reflect that had the Prefect no business with
Caesar then our meetings would be far seldomer. To Caesar and Prefect I
owe the happy chance of seeing you, and on them for a while still depend
future opportunities. But what is troubling you, Neaera? You are pale and
worn--what has happened?'

'Nothing but reflection--ah, sir, have pity on me--it was better not to have
returned at all.'

'Ah, is it so?--that is easily mended!' he replied, in bitter astonishment.

'Don't blame--don't kill me with scornful tones!' she said, with more
courage, even though the courage of despair; 'think, as I have been
thinking through these bitter weeks--oh, so bitter! It is right--it is just
that you see me no more. What is there in common between us? I am a poor
potter's girl--am rude in speech and manner; you are nobly born and rich----'
Her voice trembled with extreme agitation, and she stopped abruptly as if
she could trust it no longer. A smile of infinite tenderness and pity
illumined his fine features.

'Had I needed but one thing more to clench my love, you have given it me,'
he said, catching her hands again and drawing her towards him.

'No--it were better to love one of your own station,' she panted, trying to
repulse him.

'It is too late to tell me that. Come, look at me, child!'

'No, I have been foolish and am to blame. I ought to have seen that your
way of life cannot be mine. My father has also said it, and he is wise.'

'Ay, he has said it, but you?'

'I say it is truth and must be followed.'

'Foolish! You only bind me the faster to you. Your joint wisdom is vain
against my conviction. What! are we to part because a weak, foolish fancy
seizes you, that your speech and bearing are not like the artificial,
superfine graces of the proud dames who loll away their lives in palaces?
Gods forbid! Why, there are those of your sex in Rome--ay, even in
Surrentum, who would deem me as the dust beneath their feet.'

'And there are others, also, whom you would look upon in the same
fashion,' replied the girl.

'True! and many of them of family and wealth far beyond mine.'

'Yet what you have of both is far above me, and therefore, between us, all
remains the same.'

'Surrentum cannot better you in a lawyer's wit, Neaera,' he said, with a
smile, 'but you spend it in so poor a cause. There remains something far
beyond rank and wealth.'

'Whatever it is, it is not for us in common,' she said, striving to appear
calm; 'it is over now. I have been weak and foolish, and oh, how I have
suffered for it! Forgive me, Centurion, if you can forgive me--go from me
and forget me--all our folly.' As she looked him full in the face there was
a depth of anguish in her eyes which filled him alike with pity and joy.
At the same time she held out her hand, but he folded his arms across his
breast. 'Centurion!' he repeated, in a tone of reproof; 'Neaera, have you
forgotten my name?'

His bearing and speech throughout had never shown a sign of hesitation
which might have encouraged her in her determination. He stood before her
vast, immovable, and calmly resolute. Her glance drooped, and her
outstretched hand and arm gradually fell to her side. Then she buried her
face in her hands.

He bent closer till his breath played on her hair. 'Neaera,' he said, 'you
have been kinder and called me Lucius ere now. Enough of this madness--this
folly of saws and maxims! Misdoubting girl, I love you for what you are,
and above all on this earth. To thrust me away were to wreck me wholly;
and you would