"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"—ISAIAH XIV. 12.
He had a score or so of his guard with him and they remained at some little distance, in a compact group, with their short, bronze-hilted swords naked in their hands.
Caligula was livid. He had donned a dark woollen robe and his head was uncovered. His knees, arms and hands were shaking and his mouth opened and closed as if he were gasping for breath. His eyes were bloodshot and staring out of his head like those of a man who is being strangled.
"Gracious Cæsar!" exclaimed Dea Flavia as soon as she was before him, and with the instinct born of long usage, she bent the knee before him.
"They have trapped me," he murmured inarticulately whilst weird choking sounds escaped his throat. "They have trapped me, hast heard?"
"Alas!"
"The miscreants! the sacrilegious miscreants! the hideous monsters! the villainous reptiles! Aye! punishment will overtake them; they shall rue this day! All Rome shall rue this day: her streets shall flow with blood and I'll invent such tortures for every man as will turn the firmament red with horror ... I'll...."
His mouth was twitching convulsively and his hands clutched spasmodically at his throat. Dea Flavia had risen to her feet, she stood before this raging madman erect and calm, with eyes downcast, for the sight of him filled her with loathing.
Suddenly he ceased in his ravings; a loud crash as of crumbling walls had rent the air, followed by shrieks and loud hissing sounds and that perpetual cry, awesome in its weird monotony:
"Death to the Cæsar! Death!"
Caligula's face was contorted with terror, his cheeks were grey like those of the dead. He made a quick movement forward and suddenly clutched Dea's wrist.
"Dost hear them?" he said in a hoarse whisper.
And she nodded in response.
"They want to kill me ... they have set fire to my house ... I escaped through the crypta.... But they were hard on my heels...."
And as if to confirm his words, the cries of "Death!" again rose in the air; the tramping of feet, the angry murmurs became more loud and appeared to be filling the street close by and tending toward the very door of Dea Flavia's house.
"Ah, monsters! miserable monsters!" shouted the Cæsar, crazy with fear, "to-morrow will come the awful reprisals ... to-morrow ..."
"To-day," broke in Dea Flavia coldly, "the Cæsar is in danger of his life."
"They'll kill me," he cried, whilst once more trembling—akin to palsy—seized his limbs. "They'll kill me, Augusta ... hide me, hide me ere they come."
And he fell on his knees, grovelling on the floor like a fawning beast, with quivering hands clutching the young girl's robe, his forehead beating the ground at her feet.
"Hide me, Augusta," he murmured through his groans, "hide me!... Do not let them kill me."
She drew back in horror and disgust, closing her eyes lest she should see this degradation of the Cæsarship, this breaking down of her highest ideals.
But two days ago this same abject creature had stood beside her, demanding from her obedience and loyalty which she was fully prepared to accord to him. He had called on her fealty in the very name of that Cæsarship which she worshipped and which he was now degrading and lowering to the dust.
Then as now Jove's thunders from afar had proclaimed the wrath of the gods. Then as now Jove thundered his warnings to that man not to defile the majesty of the Cæsars. But two days ago she had still believed in and acknowledged that majesty, she had bent her will, curbed her inclinations, smothered her every girlish inspiration, her every womanly instinct to the dictates of that power which came straight from the hands of the gods; now she felt actual physical nausea at the sight of this pitiable coward, who—wallowing in his own cruelty—had not even the unreasoning pluck of a brute defending its life.
Involuntarily her thoughts flew back to the man who was lying helpless in her house. She saw him in her mind as she had seen him yesterday, bounding into the arena to save another's life: strong and determined—measuring and accepting every risk, looking neither to right nor left whilst he carried his self-imposed burden to safety, and then falling without a groan, felled to the ground by the claws of the panther.
And outside the cries had become quite distinct.
"Death to the Cæsar! Hail Taurus Antinor! Hail!"
The people, in their fury and their exultation, had condemned one man and exalted another. Truly the gods themselves had guided them in their choice. And now it seemed as if the final choice rested with her: as if in some distant shrine, mysterious oracles had spoken and told her that the future of Rome lay in her hands.
And involuntarily she looked down on her hands and saw that they were tiny and weak, and yet one of them would within the next few seconds point the way to Destiny, show her whither she should go, carrying on her giant shoulders the whole empire of the world.
At her feet a cowardly and inhuman creature grovelled, abjectly praying for a life which by its continuance could only bring more sorrow, more horrors and more misery to thousands upon thousands of human beings dependent on this half-crazy monster.
Behind her, beyond two walls there lay a man amongst men, for whom the people clamoured, whose very presence betokened strength and whose every glance diffused peace. A man born to rule a people and to guide the destinies of an empire, and whose life of simple integrity had yesterday been crowned by an act of sublime sacrifice.
And the choice rested with her.
Her ears were buzzing with the hoarse cries from without: the cry of "Death!" mingling with that of "Hail!"—the name of Cæsar blended with that of the praefect of Rome; and through it all, drowning them by their hideous sound, the groans and shrieks of a bloodthirsty tyrant, brought down to the dust by his own cruelties, and even now thirsting for more.
The choice did rest with her.
She had but to run a few steps to the vestibule and there to call loudly to the populace that even now was invading the slope of the hill toward her house. She had but to rush to her door and to shout boldly:
"The Cæsar is here, and the praefect of Rome is nigh!"
And the twenty men who were waiting with naked swords would be as naught before the onslaught of the people.
She looked round her helpless and dazed whilst the fawning creature on the ground embraced her ankles and kissed her feet, and repeated with frantic persistence:
"Save me, Augusta ... save me ... do not let them kill me.... I have been good to thee.... I am thy guardian—thy Cæsar ... save me...."
"Save thee?" she repeated mechanically, "how can I?"
"Hide me somewhere—where they cannot find me"—he murmured, half raising himself from the ground. "Thou wouldst not give up thy Cæsar to the fury of the populace ... thou wouldst not soil thy hands with the blood of thy kinsman..."
Now he was embracing her knees and his hideous, distorted face was looking up appealingly at her.
"Thou wouldst not soil thy hands with the blood of thy kinsman...."
Even as these words escaped his flaccid lips a roll of thunder louder than any previous one came echoing from behind the Aventine Hill. Dea Flavia shuddered. Was it Jove's warning, or already Jove's curse, the curse of the gods on her for the treachery of her thoughts?
"Thou wouldst not soil thy hands with the blood of thy kinsman...." he repeated pitiably.
"No! no!" she said hurriedly. "Not that.... I'll help thee!... What can I do?"
"Let me hide in thy house...."
"Where?"
He pointed to the studio.
"There!" he said.
"No! no!" she exclaimed, and instinctively her arms were held out, as if she would protect a sacred shrine.
"Thy workroom is private," he urged in tones of abject entreaty; "no one would venture there ... only thy women slaves ever cross its threshold.... I should be quite safe in the inner room ... thy women would not betray me ... thou hast some that are mute ... they could attend on me there, and no one would know of my presence until this outrage hath subsided.... In a few hours mayhap the praetorian guard will succeed in forcing a passage through the raging mob ... my legions too are on their way from Germany ... they will be here soon ... they were only four days' march behind me and my convoy ... they are but a couple of days' march now from the city gates ... I could stay in there ... in thy private room ... with a few men to protect me ... and thy women to attend on me ... no one else would know...."
He talked volubly, at times incoherently, with hoarse voice and quaking lips. She tried with all her might to free herself from his convulsive clutch—but he clung to her like a dying man would cling to the last breath of life—like a drowning man would cling to the raft on which he might find safety.
"In there——" he entreated.
"No—no——"
"I should be safe and nobody would know."
And now he raised himself to his feet, and swaying like a drunken man he turned toward the studio, calling to his guard to follow him. But she was still between him and that door, between this raving, bloodthirsty maniac and a helpless man who was lying wounded and in a drugged sleep on a bed of sickness.
The oracle had not yet finished speaking. The last word still hung in the air. Her choice had not yet been made: but at this moment when Caligula and his guard turned toward the studio door, she knew that it would not be long in the making. Never should that demented tyrant cross the threshold of her studio and wreak his hatred and revenge upon the fallen hero. Rather than that should happen she would call to the people, and hand over the Cæsar—her kinsman—to an infuriated mob. Better that than to deliver a wounded man into the claws of a raging brute.
Then mayhap the blood of her kinsman would stain her hands for ever; then, too, no doubt would come horror, remorse and the malediction of the gods. Then so be it. That would she take upon herself. What must be suffered, that she would suffer: the torments of remorse would be infinitesimal compared with the awful sacrilege which the Cæsar's hand would perpetrate, were he allowed access to the praefect of Rome.
And even as the resolve became firmly implanted in her heart, she found herself murmuring softly words which she had heard in the Forum a very few days ago.
"I have but one soul and that is in the hand of God!"
Something of the serenity which had then shone from the man's face now entered into her heart. Horror and excitement fell away from her like a useless mantle. She felt herself absolutely calm and unswerving in her determination.
Therefore she did not make a rush for the studio door, she did not with dramatic gesture interpose her body between it and the Cæsar: she merely put her hand out and let it rest upon his arm.
"I should be safe in there—and nobody would know...." he murmured.
"My slaves would know," she said coldly, "and would betray thee."
"I only fear the men and they need not know," he said eagerly, even though at her words he had paused and turned back towards her.
"Many of them have seen and heard thee."
"Tell them I have escaped to the Palace of Augustus, through the crypta."
"They would not believe it—they would know it was not true."
"Canst thou not trust thy slaves?" he snarled.
"Couldst thou trust thine?" she retorted.
"I can change robes with one of my guard," he urged, "and he could then pretend to be the Cæsar escaping through the crypta to the House of Augustus."
"'Twere safest not to make pretence," she rejoined coolly; "rather let the Cæsar do what he suggests."
"What is that?"
"The Palace of Augustus would be the safest stronghold for the Cæsar until the arrival of the legions. It would be safer than the house of his servant, for prying eyes may have seen him enter it, and ears—sharpened by hate—may have heard his cries."
"Then am I lost!" he exclaimed.
"Not if my gracious lord will take counsel of his servant. The underground way is clear and safe. The Palace of Augustus would afford ample shelter. Twenty men well armed will watch over the Cæsar and the house of Dea Flavia will furnish the necessary food."
Caligula hesitated a moment, his shifty eyes wandered restlessly over the face of the young girl.
"Thou'lt not betray me?" he murmured.
"I could betray thee now an I would," she said simply. "The mob is at my gate. One call from me and the Cæsar is in the hands of those who desire his death."
"Hush! hush!" he said, once more clutching her wrist and gazing fearfully around him, "speak not of this, Dea! The very words might call down the decree of the gods.... I'll trust thee," he added, bringing his livid face close to her own and speaking with a fever of maddened fury, "but if thou shouldst fail me...."
"No need of threats, great Cæsar," she said, calmly disengaging her wrist from his grasp and stepping back from him, "if I failed thee to-day neither I nor thou would be alive on the morrow."
The truth of what she said must have struck his dulled mind, for the look of savage ferocity quickly died from his face, leaving it once more pale with abject fear. He must have realised that his own unreasoning cowardice had placed him entirely in this girl's hands, and that having feared to meet his people a few hours ago, he had cut off from beneath his own feet the bulwark of dignity and of unapproachable sanctity on which he should have stood.
"I'll to the House of Augustus," he said more quietly, "while the rabble vent their rage upon my palace and search for their Cæsar that they might murder him, I'll remain there in peace. Do thou send thy most trusted slave into the streets, and let him endeavour to reach the praetorian guard who are holding their ground behind the crowd of rebels. They might effect a flank movement, which, if unexpected, might put the miscreants to rout sooner than we anticipate. Hast a slave whom thou canst trust thus far?"
"I have two freedmen," she replied, "free since yesternight, who would give their life for me."
"Let them do it then," he retorted cynically. "And do thou lead the way to the triclinium. I am anhungered, and a halt at thy table will throw dust in the eyes of thy slaves. I can reach the crypta from there without being seen again."
"As the Cæsar commands," she said calmly, "but there is little time to be lost."