Rufus, anxious, it would seem, not to give his subordinate a chance of any further speech, beckoned to the Centurion who was in command of the escort, and kept him in conversation till they reached the palace gates.
The two Pr?torians were ushered into the chamber where Nero had just taken his seat, and was preparing to examine some of the prisoners who had been named by the informers. The Emperor was evidently in a state of great agitation and alarm, and Subrius observed that the detachment of the bodyguard in attendance was exclusively composed of Germans. He hardly knew whether the circumstance was encouraging or not. For the present, indeed, it would make any attempt very difficult, if not impossible, but it was an ominous thing for Nero if he had begun to find that only barbarians could be trusted.
The Emperor signed to Rufus to take a seat immediately on his left hand, the chair on the right being occupied by Tigellinus. Subrius himself sat imme- [261] diately below his superior officer, and within a few feet of the Emperor.
The prisoner under examination at the moment was the poet Lucan. The Emperor and Tigellinus had been questioning him for some time, but hitherto with little or no result. He had denied all knowledge of the conspiracy. Still the keen eyes of his judges had not failed to perceive signs of waning courage. Nero whispered to Tigellinus, and the Minister beckoned to an attendant. The man drew aside a curtain and revealed the rack.
“Marcus Annacus Lucanus,” said Tigellinus, using almost the same words that he had addressed to Sc?vinus, “when the life of the Emperor is at stake, the law permits and even enjoins all means of discovering the truth.”
The wretched man turned pale. Still he made an effort to brave it out. “You are more likely to wring out falsehood than truth by such means,” he said in a faint voice.
“Of that you must leave us to judge,” answered Tigellinus with a sneer.
The executioner advanced and laid his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder. He started at the touch, and grew ghastly pale.
“C?sar,” he cried, appealing as a last chance to the feelings of the Emperor, “C?sar, we were once friends, and worshipped the Muses together. Will you suffer this?”
[262] Nero only smiled. He had long ago steeled his heart against pity. Lucan he hated with that especially bitter hatred which wounded vanity sometimes inspires. He aspired to be a poet, as he aspired to be an actor, a singer, a charioteer, and he could not conceal from himself that the author of the Pharsalia far surpassed him.
Then the unhappy man’s courage broke down. “Stop!” he cried, “I will confess. I am guilty of conspiring against the Emperor.”
“That we know,” said Tigellinus. “What we want to hear from you is the names of your confederates.”
“Must I speak, C?sar?” moaned the wretched man. “Is it not enough that I have confessed the crime myself?”
“You have confessed nothing,” said Nero. “Your guilt I knew already. And you I could afford to despise, for you can only strike with your pen, but doubtless you know others who know how to use their swords.”
Lucan then gave two or three names, all of them, as it happened, already known.
“Still we have learnt nothing new from you,” said Tigellinus. “If you wish to merit the Emperor’s clemency, you must tell us something that we have not heard before.”
In a voice half stifled with shame the accused said: “My mother knew of the affair almost as soon as I did.”
[263] A thrill of disgust went through the audience as these humiliating words were uttered. Even to these men, hardened as they were, the son who could betray his own mother seemed a monster.
“That is enough,” cried the Emperor, making a sign to a Centurion; “remove him!”
A shameful scene of baseness and cowardice followed. One after another the accused were brought before the tribunal; one after another they failed in the hour of trial. Men of noble birth, men who had served their country in high offices, and who had distinguished themselves in the field, could not summon up courage enough to endure this ordeal. Some volunteered confession, and neither force, nor even the threat of force, was needed to make them betray their comrades. Others stood firm at first, but failed when they were confronted with the engines of torture. Subrius sat filled with a disgust and a shame which hardly left him time to think of his own danger, as friend after friend, men of courage and honour as he had always believed them to be, proved themselves to be traitors and cowards.
As for the behaviour of Rufus, he watched it with ever increasing astonishment. The Prefect took an active part in the examination. Not even Tigellinus was more truculent, more savage, more brutal. He cross-examined the prisoners, he plied them with threats, and still by a strange agreement in silence, his name was not mentioned by one of them.
[264] “What is his plan?” thought Subrius to himself. “Can he hope that he will escape altogether, that no one out of these scores of accomplices will name him, or is he biding his time?”
“Tigellinus,” said Nero to his Minister, after some six or seven confessions had been taken, “do you remember that Greek freedwoman whom Proculus accused? Let her be brought before us again. Perhaps she may have a different story to tell. Meanwhile, while she is being fetched, we will adjourn for a brief space. A cup of Falernian will not be ungrateful after this morning’s work.”
He rose from his seat, and left the Court, leaning on the arm of Tigellinus. The Prefect of the Pr?torians followed immediately behind, and the Tribune, again, was close to his commanding officer. Behind these again were some dozen German bodyguards.
“Is this the chance that he has been waiting for?” said Subrius to himself.
“Shall I strike?” he whispered to the Prefect, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Rufus hesitated for a moment. That there was an opportunity such as never might occur again, he saw; the chances were ten to one that if Subrius were to strike, he would not strike in vain. But then, could he hope to escape himself if the deed was done? The German bodyguards were devoted to their master, and would infallibly avenge his death on his assassin, and, it could hardly be doubted, on himself.
[265] “Hush!” he whispered to his subordinate. “It is not the time; we shall have a better opportunity than this.”
Subrius muttered a curse under his breath, but the habit of obedience was strong in him, and he held his hand.
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A LAST CHANCE
[266] SUBRIUS was on duty that afternoon in the camp, and his place in the Court, where the Prefect was still in attendance, was filled by another Tribune. No one who saw him going, with an imperturbable calm, through the numberless little details which had to be looked after by the Tribune on duty, would have imagined how much he had at stake. The fact was that he had hardened his heart to any fortune, while he was both by temper of mind and by deliberate conviction a Stoic and a fatalist. Still he could not help feeling what may be described rather as a vivid curiosity than an anxiety as to what the day might bring forth. The Greek freedwoman who was being examined that afternoon, whatever she knew of the conspiracy, whether it was little or much, anyhow knew his name. Would she keep the secret? It was scarcely likely. He had seen men, who had every motive of honour and affection to keep them silent, quailing under the threats of pain, and sacrificing everything in their desperate clinging to life; would this weak woman, who had no honourable traditions of birth and training to which she would be [267] bound, show herself braver and more faithful than soldiers and nobles? Who could imagine it? And yet when he thought of that strong, resolute face he thought it not impossible.
And he was right. He was making his way to his quarters when he encountered the officer who had been occupying his place in the Court during the afternoon.
“Subrius,” said his friend, “you have missed the strangest sight that ever man saw. Ah! and I wish that I had missed it too, for it was almost past bearing. A Greek freedwoman was brought before the Court�Epicharis was her name. It seems that she had been accused of conspiring against the Emperor some time ago, but that nothing could be proved against her then; now that all this has come out, she was to be examined again. One of the Secretaries read over the confessions of the prisoners who had been before the Court in the morning, and then Tigellinus said: ‘You hear this. What have you to say?’ ‘Nothing,’ she answered. Well, he went on asking questions. ‘Had she ever heard anything about the affair? How could she account for all these confessions? She had declared that Proculus had invented his story; was it likely that all these witnesses, knights, Senators, and soldiers, had also invented theirs?’ She went on answering, ‘I know nothing about it,’ or was silent. Before long, Tigellinus broke out, ‘You have lost your memory, [268] woman, it seems; well, we have charms for bringing it back.’ At the same time he made a sign to a slave that stood by and the man uncovered the instruments of torture. I assure you that the girl�she was only a girl�did not so much as flinch or start. Well, they put her on the rack, and the executioner gave it a turn. I assure you it makes me almost sick when I think of it. At the second turn the woman said, ‘I have something to say.’ ‘Ah, madam!’ cried Tigellinus, ‘I thought we should find your tongue for you. Loose her!’ The men took her off the rack, and set her in a chair; she was quite unable to stand. ‘C?sar,’ she said, ‘since you are resolved to force the truth from me, you shall have it. I have conspired against your life, and had I been a man, and had had the opportunities which others have had, I had done more; I would not only have plotted, but would have struck. Would you know why? Because you are a murderer. You slew your wife Octavia because she was ten thousand times too good for you. It is she whom I would have avenged. The gods have willed it otherwise; they have assigned the task to other hands. You may kill me as you will. I do not care to live. But do not flatter yourself that the Furies of your mother, your brother, your wife, will suffer you to rest. They will find some sword to reach your heart, though this has been broken.’ By Mars! Subrius, the woman looked like a Fury herself as she said this. She had started [269] up from her chair, though how she could stand I cannot imagine, and poured out her words as if she were inspired. The Emperor seemed struck dumb, but Tigellinus cried, ‘Gag her; cut out her tongue!’ Before they could touch her, she said again, ‘Would you know my associates?’ Tigellinus made a sign that they were to leave her alone. She was so frantic, he thought, that she might let out something almost without knowing it. ‘I will tell you; my associates are all brave soldiers, all good citizens, all who love their country. To-morrow, C?sar, if not to-day, these will be on my side, and they will be too strong for you, for all your legions. Mark my words: before five years are past, you will desire and yet be afraid to die, and will hardly find a friend to press home the last blow!’”