“It seems that there is foul play somewhere,” said Lateranus. “But come, we seem to be of no use here.”
The three started at full speed for the scene of the new disaster, Fannius leading the way. One of the fires, which had broken out in the quarters of the gladiators, had been extinguished by the united exertions of the corps. The other was spreading in an alarming way, all the more alarming because it threatened that quarter of the building in which the wild beasts were kept. The keeper of the Circus, who had, within the building, an authority independ- [62] ent of the Prefect of the Watch, exerted himself to the utmost in checking the progress of the flames, and was zealously seconded by his subordinates; but the buildings to be saved were unluckily of wood. The chambers and storehouses underneath the tiers of seats were of this material, and were besides, in many cases, filled with combustible substances. In a few minutes it became evident that the quarters of the beasts could not be saved. The creatures seemed themselves to have become conscious of the danger that threatened them, and the general confusion and alarm were heightened by the uproar which they made. The shrill trumpeting of the elephants and the deep roaring of the tigers and lions, with the various cries of the mixed multitude of smaller creatures, every sound being accentuated by an unmistakable note of fear, combined to make a din that was absolutely appalling. The situation, it will be readily understood, was perplexing in the extreme. The collection was of immense value, and how could it be removed? For a few of the animals that had recently arrived the movable cages in which they had been brought to the Circus were still available, for, as it happened, they had not yet been taken away. Others had of necessity to be killed; this seemed better than leaving them to perish in the flames, for they could not be removed, and it was out of the question to let them loose. This was done, to the immense grief of their keepers, for each beast [63] had its own special attendant, a man who had been with it from its capture, and who was commonly able to control its movements. The poor fellows loudly protested that they would be responsible for the good behaviour of their charges, if they could be permitted to take them from their cages; but the Circus authorities could not venture to run the risk. An exception was made in the case of the elephants. These were released, for they could be trusted with their keepers. A part of the stock was saved�saved at least from the fire�by a happy thought that struck one of the officials of the Circus. A part of the arena had been made available for an exhibition of a kind that was always highly popular at Rome�a naval battle. This portion was on a lower level than the rest, and could be flooded at pleasure by turning on the water from a branch of one of the great aqueducts. This was now done, and a good many of the creatures were turned into the place to take their chance. They would at least suffer less from being drowned than from being burnt alive.
Throughout the night Subrius and Lateranus exerted themselves to the utmost, and their efforts were ably seconded by the gladiator. The day was beginning to break when, utterly worn out by their labours, they returned to the house. Fannius was permitted by his master to accompany them. The man had contrived to collect his slave gladiators, with the exception of two who had perished in a drunken [64] sleep. These he had removed to a house which he possessed in the suburbs, and which was commonly used as a sanatorium for the sick and wounded. Fannius, who, as a freeman, bound by his own voluntary act, and serving for purposes of his own, was not likely to run away, he allowed to accompany Lateranus to his home.
They were not permitted to enjoy for long their well-earned repose. It was barely the second hour (Footnote: The “second hour” would, at this time of year (July), have been about 6 A.M.) when a loud knocking at the outer gate roused the porter, who, having himself watched late on the preceding night, was fast asleep. Looking through the little opening which permitted him to take a preliminary survey of all applicants for admission, he saw an elderly slave, who, to judge from his breathless and dishevelled condition, had been engaged in a personal struggle.
The slave was really an old acquaintance, but the porter was still stupid with sleep, and the newcomer was greatly changed in appearance from the neat and well-dressed figure with which the guardian of the door was familiar.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” he asked in a surly tone. “The master can see no callers this morning; he was up late and is fast asleep,�though, indeed,” he added in an undertone, “you do not look much like a caller.”
[65] “Waste no time,” cried the man; “I must see him, whether he be awake or asleep. It is a matter of life and death.”
“Good Heavens!” cried the porter, recognizing the voice; “is it you, Dromio? What in the world brings you here in such a plight?”
“The furies seize you!” cried Dromio, shaking the gate in a fury of impatience; “why don’t you open?”
Thus adjured the porter undid the bar, calling at the same time to a slave in the inner part of the house, who was to take the visitor to Lateranus’ apartment.
“You must see the master, you say?” said the porter. “I don’t like to wake him without necessity. He did not come back last night till past the middle of the fourth watch.”
“Must see him? Yes, indeed,” cried Dromio. “The gods grant that I may not be too late.”
The other slave appeared at this moment. “Lead me to your master,” said Dromio; “quick, quick!”
Lateranus, roused from the deep sleep into which he had fallen, was at first almost as much perplexed as the porter had been.
“Who is this?” he cried to the slave; “did you not understand that I would have no�”
“Pardon me, my lord,” cried Dromio, as he took one of Lateranus’ hands and kissed it. “I come from the Lady Pomponia.”
“There is nothing wrong, I hope?”
[66] “Dreadfully wrong, I fear. The gods grant that she may be still alive!”
“What has happened?”
“Her house is attacked, and she begs your help. I will tell you the story afterwards, but I implore you, by all the gods, do not lose a moment!”
Lateranus touched three times a hand-bell that stood by his side, at the same time springing from his couch on to the floor and beginning to dress. The summons of the bell, signifying as it did that the presence of the steward was required, soon brought that official to the chamber.
“Arm the cohort (Footnote: The term is loosely used for a number of individuals united by a common relation to one person. So the retinue of a Provincial Governor was known as his “cohort.”) at once,” said Lateranus, “and send a runner to tell the Tribune Subrius that he is wanted.”
The “cohort” was not of course the regular military division known by that name, but a retinue of young freedmen and slaves who were regularly drilled in arms.
“It shall be done, my lord,” said the steward, saluting.
“And now,” said Lateranus, “while I am dressing tell me what it is all about.”
Dromio then told his story.
“Rather more than an hour ago a man knocked at the door, and said that he wished to see the Lady [67] Pomponia. You know my mistress’ ways�what a number of strange pensioners she has. In her house it is impossible to be surprised at any visitor. Still there was something about this man that made the porter suspicious. One thing was that the fellow spoke with a strong Jewish accent, and many of the Jews have a very great hatred against the mistress. Anyhow the porter kept the door shut, and said that he must have the stranger’s name and business. ‘Lucian is my name,’ said the man, ‘and I bring a message from Clemens the Elder.’ That, you know, is one of the priests whom my lady makes so much of. That seemed satisfactory, and the porter opened the gate. Then what does this fellow do but put his foot on the threshold so that the door should not be shut again, and whistles a signal to his companions, who, it seems, were in waiting round the next corner. Anyhow some five and twenty as ill-looking ruffians as you ever set eyes on came running up. By good luck the porter had his youngest son Geta sitting in the lodge, ‘Help!’ he cries, and Geta who is a regular Hercules, comes running out, seizes the first fellow by the throat and throws him out, deals just in the same fashion with a second, who was half over the threshold, and bangs to the gate. At that a regular howl of rage came from the party outside. ‘Open, or we will burn the house down,’ shouted their leader. Pomponia, by this time, had been roused by the uproar. She understood what [68] was to be done in a moment; she always does; we sometimes say that she must have learned something of this art from the old General. (Footnote: Pomponia was now the widow of Aulus Plautus, who in A.D. 43 was sent to conquer Britain, which had been left to itself since the second expedition of Julius C?sar. As he must have been born not later than B.C. 15 (he was Consul, and therefore, presumably, at least forty-four years of age in A.D. 29). I suppose him to have been dead at this time.) ‘Haste, Dromio,’ she said to me, ‘by the back way, before they surround the house, and tell Lateranus that I want his help.’”