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From A Roman Reporter, by Arthur Aikin Brodribb, London: The Society for The Promotion of Christian Knowledge, New York: E. & J. B. Young & Co.; [c. 1893], pp. 88-100.
A ROMAN REPORTER
by A. A. Brodribb
HE crowd had dispersed, and late in the afternoon two young men, Florus and Lycas, were refreshing themselves, after the excitement of the day, in Lycas’s lodgings. “The simplest thing in the world,” said Lycas. “Very, very neat indeed,” returned Florus, “and I must say that, though you were not exactly sober at the time, the idea does you credit.”
“You had no difficulty, then, about the birds?”
“None at all. I knew there would be nobody there, and went straight to the cage. There they were, all six of them, longing to be let out and fly away, so I just took them one by one and stowed them away in my cloak, leaving the cage door and the window of the room wide open. 89 Gaudentius will see that they have managed to make their escape.”
“Do you think he will suspect you of stealing them?”
“My dear Lycas, you do use such disagreeable words! It is not theft, but only a practical joke. And now for the message, before it gets too late.”
Lycas produced a scrap of parchment, and Florus, imitating Cassianus’s handwriting very cleverly, wrote, “Let Priscilla come hither to-morrow in the mule cart, — Cassianus.” It was fortunate, as he observed, that circumstances did not admit of his writing a longer letter, or the forgery would have been discovered; as it was, he hoped that the necessarily cramped writing would pass for that of Priscilla’s father. The little note was tied securely under the wing of one of the birds, and Florus, going to the back of the house, released the pigeon, and saw that after a few circles in the air it took the direction of Imola.
“And the other birds?” asked Lycas.
“Wring their necks. Suppose we sent one 90 with a note and the other five arrived at the same time? That would look suspicious, and the whole scheme would miscarry. Wring their necks.”
“I hope it will not miscarry,” said Lycas, thoughtfully.
“How can it? It is all as clear as daylight. Look here. The pigeon will arrive at the farm this evening. I dare say it is half way there by this time — the young lady starts to-morrow morning, in the mule cart, which will not hold a very numerous escort, and just where the road is most lonely, and a little society most desirable, two well-mounted men ride up, and — and I do not know what will happen, but somehow the carriage takes the wrong road, and the young lady finds herself not by any means at Ravenna, but in place where she will be much more likely to listen to reason. It will be splendid!”
“I hope so, I am sure,” replied Lycas, without enthusiasm, “but it seems rather dangerous.”
“My good fellow,” said Florus, “you forget that if it succeeds you will have paid your debt to me. I count on you to help me.”
Lycas fingered his wine cup. “What is that 91 old line,” said he, “about Naevia and Justina? You drink one in six cups, I think, and the other in seven. Now Priscilla on that principle wants nine, or call her Priscilla Imolensis, and you get nine more. Eighteen glasses of wine, please, to Priscilla Imolensis.”
“Not this evening, my friend,” said Florus, with decision; “we have rather too much to do to-morrow. To-night you must go to bed sober, or you will be trembling like an aspen just when you want a little nerve and courage.”
“Pooh! It will only be a trumpery scuffle with an old muleteer.”
“Well, let us hope you will be equally heroic to-morrow.”
Then they discussed the trial, with little sympathy for either Marcellinus or Cassianus, and speculated on the old reporter’s punishment. Florus’s notion was that he would be heavily fined, and they both agreed that he was certain to lose his appointment.
While these disasters were impending, Gaudentius and Cassianus’s deputy, Bassus, walked homewards in a most dejected mood, but not 92 before Bassus had picked up the tablets which the passionate old man had thrown at the Judge. These, being of boxwood and hinged so as to protect the inner surface of wax, were uninjured, but were quite illegible to anyone but Cassianus himself. Even Gaudentius could only make out a work or two here and there; the rest had been written too rapidly, and contained too many peculiar abbreviations, to be intelligible, except to the writer. Bassus was enjoined to deliver them up to the gaoler, for transcription by Cassianus; and thus the question of the report, the burning question that agitated Bassus’s professional mind, was set at rest. Slowly and sadly the two men entered Bassus’s house, and wondered what was to be done now. Whatever happened, Cassianus was ruined; and Priscilla — but with her lover condemned to death, and her father in prison, it was torture to Gaudentius to think of Priscilla. He looked vacantly about the room in the endeavour to collect his thoughts, and stared hard at the corner in which the cage of pigeons was hung. The cage — why, where were the pigeons? They had all gone, and the door of the cage was 3 open, though he had been particularly careful to keep it shut. Who had released them? Not his hostess, Bassus’s wife, as he soon learned, when he questioned her, for she, too, had taken all care that they should not escape. But the cage door was open, and the birds could not have opened it themselves. If so, they must have been stolen; but the woman declared her belief that no one had entered the house in her husband’s absence. Gaudentius knew not what to think, but he instantly suspected some sort of treachery, and connected his suspicions very definitely with Florus. But why should Florus wish to prevent communication with the farm? That was a question which he could not answer; but whatever Florus had done, or had not done, the mystery was enough to make him very uneasy, and he would be up and doing. It would be a miserable errand, but he would go to Imola and the farm, and break the news to poor Priscilla, and at least assure her safety from any new misfortune.
It was late, too late to reach the farm that night, and he judged it best not to terrify the 94 family by arriving at daybreak with his melancholy news; but very early, while it was still moonlight, he was on horseback, riding towards Imola. How ghostly the plains and the straight white road looked in that pale light! He had a stout heart, however, and, besides his riding whip, a short and heavy stick, so that he was not afraid of any stranger he might encounter. But all was quiet as the grave, and he arrived at the wayside inn, at the point where the road to Imola diverges from the highway, without meeting anyone. Here he alighted, and rousing the sleepy innkeeper, ordered a servant to water the horse, while he himself had a hasty breakfast. A very hasty meal it was, for he was agitated by all manner of fears and suspicions, and was anxious to discharge his unhappy errand as quickly as possible in order to return to Ravenna. The little inn afforded him no better fare than a rusty ham, a stale loaf, and some sour grapes, but these were welcome enough, and he had scarcely finished them when the clatter of hoofs was heard, and the uncouth and only half-awake servant ran into the room.
95“Master, master, the horse!” was all the lad could say, and he ran back into the road.
Gaudentius followed him, and it being now daylight, saw to his dismay that his horse, refreshed by a bucket of water, had turned tail, and was now well on his way home again. He ran after the animal till he was out of breath, but the steady swinging trot of the creature soon distanced him, and obliged him to give up the pursuit. No other horse was procurable, so that he was reduced to the necessity of walking. Happily, it was still early, and he was only ten miles from Imola, where he could hire another horse, and make up for lost time.
Now he was within a very few miles from Imola, and would soon be at the farm; but what was this that he saw approaching? Surely he knew that covered cart, and the mules, and old Sannio, the driver? And who was inside? As he met the mule cart Sannio stopped, and a voice, Priscilla’s voice, greeted him. “I am on my way early, you see, Gaudentius. You bring good news, I hope? The pigeon came yesterday with the little note.”
96“Priscilla,” said Gaudentius earnestly, and not heeding old Sannio, who was very deaf, “pray for strength to bear my news. Things have gone ill. I — I —” he was too much distressed to say what the news really was.
“Oh, I knew it already,” said Priscilla, with wonderful self-control; “I know — I can guess it all. Something told me of it in my dreams. And he — how does he bear it?”
“Nobly; he has borne himself nobly, and never flinched for a moment.”
“Thank God for that. But it is well that I should come as my father directed.”
Gaudentius was puzzled, knowing that Cassianus had not sent for his daughter. “Priscilla,” he said, “your father sent no message, and no pigeon. They had all flown away yesterday afternoon.”
“One of them came with a message bidding me come to-day. Your sister read me the very words.”
“From your father? Impossible!”
“Nay. It was really from my father.”
This was strange, and, as Gaudentius at once 97 perceived, impossible, seeing that Cassianus had despatched no bird before the trial, and could not have done so after it began. It was clearly a false message, and some scheme, some enemy was at work — Florus presumably; but in this, again, what could his motive be? He would know that the girl, even if he had designs on her, would be perfectly safe at Ravenna with Bassus and his wife. What then was the plot, and what was the right move? One thing seemed evident, that it was better for Priscilla, now that she had started, to go to Ravenna than to return to the farm. Truly, she would be miserable enough wherever she was, but if she knew that her father was in prison she would certainly wish to go to him, and she could not be kept much longer in ignorance of the fact. And Gaudentius even had a wild idea that the girl might intercede with the Judge for the life of her condemned lover. A woman’s tears might succeed where other advocacy failed. Yes; all things considered, the journey must be continued. But the mule cart would hold only two persons, and it was absolutely necessary for him to return to 98 Ravenna. With Priscilla’s permission he discharged old Sannio, and himself assumed the reins.
It was well that he did so. A few miles further on, where the road was very lonely and so bad that fast travelling was impossible, two men suddenly sprang from a thick bush and threw themselves at the carriage. One of them stopped the mules, who were only too willing to stand still, and then ran to the assistance of his comrade, who was furiously struggling with the driver of the cart. In their blind haste they had not noticed that Priscilla’s escort consisted not of feeble old Sannio, whom they had expected to find, but of Gaudentius, a very different protector. Priscilla screamed for help, but no help was near, and she saw with horror that her champion was almost overpowered. In the dust of the road a mighty struggle was going on between Gaudentius and his assailants, and now one seemed to prevail, and now the others. Brave Gaudentius! That was a good blow of his, she thought, but the other villain still held him. Lycas knelt on him, and, oh! they were 99 trying to bind his hands. Quick as thought, and with no fear for herself, she seized the whip, and curling it round Lycas’s throat, pulled him back with all her force. Half strangled, the coward let go his hold, and Gaudentius, thus relieved of one assailant, was able to grapple with the other. The stout farmer’s son was in no mood for mercy, now that his blood was up, for the heat of the fight had given him the heart and passion of a gladiator. Florus was exhausted, and his dastardly companion, seeing what the result would be, had plunged into the fields and had disappeared. The issue, in fact, was no longer doubtful, for Florus, faintly whining for mercy, was completely in Gaudentius’s power. Gaudentius listened to none of these piteous entreaties, but, by way of securing that his enemy should receive immediate and adequate punishment, grimly and silently continued to pound and lash the prostrate villain.
“You will kill him!” shrieked Priscilla.
“What matter?” returned Gaudentius, sullenly, and with his blood still boiling.
He did not kill him, however, but took him 100 up and bound him on the back of one of the mules; and when Florus came to himself again he found himself at the rough wayside inn, utterly unable to move, and with every feature of his face torn and unrecognisable. As Gaudentius observed, he would probably not appeal to his uncle the Judge.
It was late when the two travellers, after this miserable and exciting journey, reached Ravenna. Gaudentius himself needed plaister, poultices, and the like, but the condition of poor Priscilla was truly pitiable. Hitherto she had borne the grief and turmoil and fatigue of the day with wonderful fortitude; but when she arrived at Bassus’s house, and necessarily learned the full story of her father’s misfortunes as well as her lover’s, she gave way completely. Worn-out and exhausted by excitement and mental agony, she lay for several days unconscious and delirious on the very threshold of death. Bassus’s kind and homely wife tended her like a mother, and old Nanna came from Imola to nurse her young mistress.
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