John Graham - Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

‘No, never – if he outlived Saturn!’ retorted the Suburan, with rising voice, as well as choler, ‘nor fifty dotards from fifty Janiculums. Let me do the job in my own way, without the useless tomfoolery of a whining tale and a moonlight walk, and a cohort of asses lurking on one’s steps – leave it to me alone and you shall see.’

‘Yes, I should see you with thy neck in a noose and myself proclaimed,’ sneered Afer. ‘Leave it to you, indeed! If you cannot do better than this, with four stout fellows to back you, what would you do alone? Fool!’

‘I am no fool!’ returned Cestus fiercely; for the cutting contempt and epithets of his patron were more than he could bear.

‘A double fool – a swaggering, bragging, drunken fool, thick of sense and slow of hand – faugh!’

‘I tell thee, Afer, I am no fool!’ bawled Cestus; ‘it is thyself!’

‘I was, to trust your workmanship. Fabricius eats his postponed supper, and you are off to your foxholes, like a cur, with its tail between its legs. Begone and trouble me no more!’ thundered Afer, in uncontrollable passion.

‘You shall know that – clever as you think yourself, you are under my thumb. One word from me – ’

‘Silence, you dog, when I bid you!’ hissed the knight, striding up to him and clutching his collar.

‘Not I, by Hercules!’ cried Cestus, thoroughly roused and reckless as he shook off the grasp. ‘You, a chicken-hearted, double-faced pauper, to be my master – ’

‘ Accipe – ! Let that silence thee for ever!’

The knight threw up his arm as he spoke, and the Suburan, giving a sharp cry, fell heavily, stabbed in the breast.

Afer hastily wiped his poniard and replaced it in the folds of his cloak.

‘There is no bungling in this,’ he muttered; ‘dead men tell no tales.’

Only delaying to drag the fallen man by the heels more into the shadow of a wall, he hurried swiftly on; and, before morning dawned, he entered the yet sleeping town of Tibur, disappointed in mind, and yet not altogether without a feeling of satisfaction and relief at the course circumstances had taken.

Not far from the shadow of the Capitoline, and nigh the Forum of Caesar, Plautia dwelt in a small, but handsome mansion. Her wealth, although not as great as that squandered by her spendthrift brother, was yet ample, and in her hands better controlled. Her entertainments were not very frequent, but, nevertheless, were famous amongst a certain set for their enjoyableness, which was due, not alone to the exquisite fare provided, but more to the tact of the hostess in selecting her guests. We have already attempted to describe the attractions of her brilliant, though voluptuous, style of beauty. Of lovers she had no lack. Her manners with all of them were perfectly free and familiar. So misleading, that more than one, ere now, encouraged and inflamed thereby to presumption, became sorrowfully aware of the claws which lay sheathed in velvet.

She was a mystery, therefore, and a tantalising one. Whispers and rumours were perennial; but yet absolute proof was wanting to substantiate the fame which people awarded her. She, herself, was indifferent, and could return as haughty and unembarrassed a stare as any which the proudest patrician matron bent upon her. Even those individuals, proverbial for the possession of the most secret information – namely, her handmaids and domestics – were at fault; so secret, variable, and contrary were her actions and humours.

One morning, two or three days later in our story, she was going forth to take the air, and she came to the porch of her house, where her litter, borne by four powerful slaves, stood awaiting her. This litter was roofed in, and of sufficient size to admit of the occupant lying at full length if necessary. It was also furnished with curtains, which could be drawn so as to secure perfect immunity from observation. This contrivance for conveyance, so common in ancient Rome, was standing on the ground, and Plautia stepped therein, before the admiring gaze of the pedestrians who thronged the causeway. Lydia, a young female, who was half lady’s-maid, half companion, was about to follow, but her mistress waved her hand and said she wished to be alone that day. With that she drew the curtains partially to hide her face and yet not to interrupt her view. The maid withdrew into the house abashed; it was the third consecutive morning she had been so treated; such behaviour was unwonted, and being filled with fears and doubts of all kinds, she forthwith began to weep heartily.

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The ‘Clavus’ was a very distinctive token in the later Roman days. The ‘Latus Clavus’ was a broad purple band running down the centre of the tunic; it was worn only by senators. The ‘Clavus Angustus,’ as described above, was a sign of equestrian rank. A senator retiring from office changed the former for the latter.

About £500,000, or half a million of money

Nearly £90,000.