John Graham - Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

Anno Domini Twenty-six, Tiberius Caesar, the ruler of the world, left Rome, with a small retinue, never to return. In the following year he arrived at the island of Capreae, and there took up his permanent abode. It was a spot which already possessed substantial proofs of imperial favour, in the shape of villas, baths, and aqueducts built by the orders of the Emperor Augustus. It well merited the partiality displayed, for there are few places to be found more favoured by nature, in point of situation, than this small, lofty, iron-bound mountain-island of Capreae.

Opposite, at a distance of three miles, approaches the tip of a sharp promontory of the mainland, which divides two bays curving away on either hand. That on the north, from the earliest times, has had the reputation of being the loveliest in the world. That on the south, although not comparable, has yet considerable beauty. Capreae, therefore, stands aloof amid the blue waters, at the apex of these two semicircles, surveying both from its lofty mountain and sheer cliffs.

Why the Emperor Tiberius left Rome and secluded himself, for the remainder of his life, in this small island, away from the seat of his empire, has never, with certainty, been explained. Whether it was for political reasons, or for the purpose of giving full indulgence to those vicious habits which rumour so freely ascribed to him, is not within the scope of these pages to be determined. He hastened to continue to his new home those same marks of favour which his deified predecessor had begun. Armies of workmen assailed the summits of the cone-like hills and wave-washed cliffs. New villa-palaces arose on every hand, so that the narrow limits of the island hermitage might afford to Caesar the utmost variety possible. Of the twelve projected villas, each named after a deity, some three or four had been completed and occupied at the time of our story, whilst the building of the remainder was actively proceeding. In the autumn of the year thirty, the date of our story, Tiberius had hidden himself away from his people for about three years, and, already, dark rumours were flitting abroad of strange enormities and dread cruelties shrouded in that outline of mountain amid the sea. The seclusion of the imperial hermit was strictly preserved, and unauthorised feet were jealously warned from his rocky retreat. Curiosity became more inflamed and imagination more rampant. To turn the invisible Caesar into something akin to an ogre or monster was an easy and natural outcome of the insular mystery.

One thing, however, is certain, that, although lost, as the Emperor may be said to have been, to the eyes of the world, the world and its affairs, in turn, were never hidden from him. Caesar remained Caesar – sleepless, prompt and vigorous amid his mysterious rocks. Day after day, couriers came and went with tidings from every corner of the known world. The vast empire, like a sprawling giant, had Capreae for its heart, which impelled the life-blood ceaselessly to every extremity of its veins and arteries.

On an October morning, one of the long, swift boats, used in the imperial despatch service, left the landing-place in the little Marina, on the north side of Capreae, and shot away toward the barren promontory of Minerva opposite.

The vessel was one of a number used for the busy service of communication with the mainland, and was built on fine, sharp lines to attain high speed. Plenty of power was lent by the brawny arms of a dozen stout slaves, whose oars swept the craft along, with the gently rippling sea foaming under its sharp bows. The morning was bright, and a delicious autumn serenity softened mountain and sea with a mellow haze; so that in default of a breeze to fill the large sail stowed neatly away under the bulwarks, the rowers bent their backs with a will to their work.

There was one passenger on board – a young man with a soldierly air. He seemed not more than two or three-and-twenty years of age, with large, handsome, boldly-cut features, of the true Roman cast, and keen, dark eyes. The expression of his face, something stern and proud in repose, was, perhaps, heightened by a naturally dark complexion, still swarthier with sun and wind. He lay wrapped in a large military cloak, beside the steersman, whose chatter he acknowledged, now and again, by a nod, or occasionally a brief word, or smile which softened all severity of visage with a gleam as bright as the sunny sky above.

After leaving the chill shadow of the terrific, perpendicular cliffs of the island, the passage across the straits to the mainland was rapidly made. As the vessel glided finally to its destination alongside a small landing parapet of stone, on the shore of the promontory, the young man arose, flung back his cloak, and sprang lightly ashore. He showed a manly stature of at least six feet, and a spare, sinewy frame of the best athletic build, deep in the chest and thin in the flank. No other garb, than that which clothed him, could more admirably display these fine proportions.

There was the richly-chased, polished cuirass, moulded closely to the lines of the body from throat to abdomen, and imitating them as accurately as a plaster cast. From this hung the short drapery of a kilt, or philibeg, nearly to the knee, leaving the leg, downward, bare to the high boots, which were laced up to the swell of the calf. The muscular arms of the young officer were likewise uncovered, save for a short way beneath the shoulder. The large cloak, before noticed, which hung gracefully from his left shoulder, greatly enhanced the effect of this military panoply, particularly suiting the tall stature of the wearer. It was fastened at the neck by a gold buckle, and could be shifted to either shoulder, or to the back, or wrapped around the body altogether. On military service, a polished, crested helmet would have completed the costume; but, at present, after the usual Roman fashion, the young man’s head bore no covering but its own dark, close-curling hair. For arms, he wore the short, straight, Roman sword, and a poniard.

Just as it may be remarked at the present day, of a certain exclusive portion of our own military service, so the unusual richness of the young officer’s appointments, as contrasted with those of the legionaries, denoted him to be one of the Pretorian Guard, the household troops, lately gathered into a permanent camp at Rome, and brought fairly into a position for entering on their future famous career in the affairs of the city and empire.

As he left the boat its crew saluted him. Returning the courtesy, he flung the perspiring slaves some pieces of money, and walked rapidly up the shore towards a group of buildings, comprising the posting establishment, which had newly sprung into existence, as a necessary adjunct to the Emperor’s abode. A signal had been waved from the despatch-boat before reaching the shore, and when he arrived at the door of the stables he found the ostlers awaiting him with a horse ready caparisoned for the road.

‘Back to Rome, Centurion?’ said one, saluting him.

‘Back to Rome,’ replied he, girding his cloak close around him.

‘A good journey!’ chorused the stablemen.

Two or three coins rattled on the gravel for answer, and the Pretorian vaulted on to the horse’s back, and galloped away.

Riding as rapidly as the path would permit, and without drawing rein, it was not long before the lovely plain of Surrentum broke on his view, embosomed in the circling vine and olive-clad mountains, edged by the blue waters of the sea, clothed with luxuriant fruit-groves, and studded with the villas of the noble and wealthy, who had retired hither to revel in the soft, salubrious air of this most lovely spot of a lovely land.