There were some, the Tribune Subrius among them, who chafed angrily at this delay. He never could rid himself of the idea that he had already missed a great chance, when he abandoned his plan [221] of striking down Nero in his private theatre, and he strongly protested against losing more time. Conspiracies that are long in hatching were, he knew, infallibly betrayed either by treachery or by chance. “There are too many of us,” he said to one of his military confederates; “we are too powerful; had we been only a few desperate fellows with nothing to lose, it would have been settled, and probably settled in the right way, long ago.
In this impatient mood Epichris found him a few days after that on which Fannius had breathed his last. In the morning he had been present at a meeting of the conspirators, and had again urged on them the necessity of speedy action. Pudens, who had been formally enrolled among the associates, as heartily supported him. He agreed with him in theory, and he found additional reason in the imminent danger of Claudia, of which he had by this time become aware. Their arguments were in vain; the majority overbore them.
The two friends, as they discussed the question in Subrius’ quarters, became more and more convinced that in one way or another a crisis must be precipitated.
“These men,” said Subrius to his companion, “are thinking of something else besides the one thing needful, which is to get rid of the tyrant. Laternus, for instance, is thinking about his own life; Piso is thinking about his own chances of the Empire. Now [222] a man ought to care for nothing but how he may drive home his blow.”
“Right!” cried Pudens. “Why should we not act for ourselves? Let us give them another seven days, and then cast lots who shall strike, you or I.”
“Agreed!” said Subrius, stretching out his hand.
Just as he spoke, a soldier servant knocked at the door of the room, and, bidden to enter, announced that a young man wished to speak with the Tribune.
“Show him in,” said the Pr?torian, and the visitor was ushered into the room.
The newcomer wore the heavy hood which the Romans commonly used for purposes of disguise. Its depths hid the features of the face more effectually, as the wearer carefully took a place where the light fell from behind.
“Do I speak to Subrius the Pr?torian?” said the visitor.
“That is my name,” replied the soldier.
“And this?” the speaker went on, indicating Pudens with a slight wave of the hand.
“My friend, Marcus Annius Pudens, from whom I have no secrets.”
“Then I may speak freely?”
“Certainly.”
Throwing back the hood, the visitor revealed the features of Epicharis.
Pudens had never seen her before, but Subrius immediately remembered the features of the girl whom [223] he had seen speaking to Fannius in the school of Thraso.
The name of the ex-gladiator, whom, indeed, he had missed for some days, without knowing anything of his fate, naturally rose to his lips.
“And Fannius?” he said. “How does he fare?”
“I have now another besides Octavia to avenge,” answered the girl in a low voice.
“What?” cried the Pr?torian. “Hath any evil overtaken him?”
Epicharis told him the story that we know. When she had finished she went on: “Fannius told me�it was when we were newly betrothed,”�the girl’s voice broke for a moment as she uttered the word, but was firm again the next moment,�“that there were some who were minded not to suffer the wrongs which Rome has suffered to go unpunished any longer. He gave me no names; I asked him for none, though I think I can keep a secret. But ever since I first knew him he used to speak of you; and to you, accordingly, I have come. Let me speak plainly. If you have in your mind the purpose that I suppose you to have, let me help you. I have now only one thing to live for, to punish the monster who first killed my mistress, and then did to death my lover. If you have no such thoughts, if you think me a criminal for cherishing them, then give me up to Nero. I shall be content, for I have no more desire to live.”
[224] The situation in which Subrius found himself was perplexing in the extreme. That the woman was in earnest he did not doubt for a moment. He had heard, we know, her story from Fannius, and had been greatly impressed by it. And now her look, her words, carried with them an irresistible conviction of her earnestness; but he hesitated. The lives and fortunes of others besides himself were at stake. To confide in a woman was certainly a novel experiment, and at first sight at least dangerous. If failure was the result, how overpowering the shame and the disgrace of having made it. After a hurried review of the circumstances he resolved to temporize. Probably he was wrong. Everything did go wrong in this unlucky undertaking. But almost every one, viewing the circumstances as he viewed them, would have said that he was right.
“Lady,” he began, “I will be as frank with you as you have been with me. If you have put your life in my hands, so will I put mine in yours. I do not deny that I and my friends have had the purposes of which you speak, yes, and have them still. But these things are not done in a hurry; we must watch our time, our opportunity; when that comes we shall not be wanting, nor shall we fail, if we need your help, to ask for it. Till then we must be patient and silent.”
Epicharis was bitterly disappointed at this procrastinating answer. She was not in a mood to wait and be patient. Action, immediate action, was an im- [225] perative necessity. She rose to go, wrapping the hood again round her face.
“I am only a woman,” she said, “and know less and can do less than you; yet I think that you are wrong. You say that these things cannot be done in a hurry; it seems to me that they must be so done, if they are to be done at all.”
The next moment she was gone.
“By all the gods in heaven, she is right!” cried Subrius to Pudens when they found themselves alone. “I wish that I could have trusted her. But it was impossible. If any mishap were to come of it, what would not the others have said�‘wheedled out of his senses by a woman,’ and all the rest of it. It would be intolerable. And yet, I have a feeling that it would have been better.”
Better it would certainly have been.
Epicharis, as has been said, was not content to wait. If Subrius would not help her, where, she asked herself, could she find some one who would? In a moment, for she was in that condition of exaltation and excitement when ideas have a rapid birth, a daring scheme presented itself to her mind. Nowhere was Nero more easily approached than when he was at one of his favourite seaside haunts. There he was accustomed to dispense with the etiquette and ceremony which surrounded him at Rome. His bodyguard, whom he always regarded more as a part of Imperial state than as a necessary protection, [226] was often dismissed. He would spend many hours with not more than one or two companions, either wandering on the shore, or rowing in a boat, or fishing from the rocks. What could be easier, she thought, if only she could find an accomplice, to surprise him in one of those unguarded moments?
Resolving to seek such an accomplice herself, the first necessity that she perceived was of an effectual disguise. The man’s dress which she had assumed in order to find her way to the quarters of Subrius had served its purpose well enough on that occasion. But it would not now suffice, and she accordingly resolved to assume the character of a singing-girl. This she could do with great ease; she had a particularly sweet voice, and could sing and play with more than usual skill. A further disguise was secured by wearing Syrian dress and ornaments, and by adding a deeper brown to her complexion. Another device, which she felt might be useful in carrying out her scheme, was to pretend ignorance of any language but Greek, except so far as the use of a few words of broken Latin might go.
EPICHARIS
Thus apparelled and equipped, she made her way down to Misenum, where a squadron of the fleet was stationed. She began by singing outside the wine shops to which the sailors were accustomed to resort, and speedily achieved a great success. Her reputation as an accomplished performer spread among the higher circles, and it was not long before she was en- [227] gaged to perform at a banquet given by one of the captains to his colleagues. Other similar invitations followed. As the guests spoke freely before her, presuming on her supposed ignorance of Latin, while she always kept her ears open, and listened with an eager attention which suffered nothing to escape her, she soon learnt much about the characters and tempers of the officers in command.