with you, you would soon doubt my honesty; did I differ from you, I should incur your displeasure.”
Nero looked up at the frank countenance of the young Briton.
“Enough,” he said smiling, “you shall be my watchdog and nothing more.”
As time went on Nero's confidence in his British guard steadily increased. He had his spies, and knew how entirely Beric kept himself aloof from intimate acquaintanceship with any save the family of Norbanus, and learned, too, that he had refused many large bribes from suitors. For a time, although he knew it not, Beric was constantly watched. His footsteps were followed when he went abroad, his conversations with others in the baths, which formed the great centres of meeting, and stood to the Romans in the place of modern clubs, were listened to and noted. It was observed that he seldom went to convivial gatherings, and that at any place when the conversation turned on public affairs he speedily withdrew; that he avoided all display of wealth, dressed as quietly as it was possible for one in the court circle to do, and bore himself as simply as when he had been training in the ludus of Scopus. There he still went very frequently, practising constantly in arms with his former companions, preferring this to the more formal exercises of the gymnasium. Thus, after a time, Nero became confirmed in his opinion of Beric's straightforward honesty, and felt that there was no fear of his being tampered with by his enemies.
One result of this increased confidence was that Beric's hours of leisure became much restricted, for Nero came to require his attendance whenever he appeared in public. With Beric and Boduoc among the group of courtiers that followed him, the emperor felt assured there was no occasion to fear the knife of the assassin; and it was only when he was at the baths, where only his most chosen friends were admitted, or during the long carousals that followed the suppers, that Beric was at liberty, and in the latter case Boduoc was always near at hand in case of need.
Nero's precautions were redoubled after the detection of the conspiracy of Piso. That this plot was a real one, and not a mere invention of Nero to justify his designs upon those he hated and feared, is undoubted. The hour for the attempt at assassination had been fixed, the chief actor was prepared and the knife sharpened. But the executions that followed embraced many who had no knowledge whatever of the plot. Seneca was among the victims against whom there was no shadow of proof.
After the discovery of this plot Beric found his position more and more irksome in spite of the favour Nero showed him. Do what he would he could not close his ears to what was public talk in Rome. The fabulous extravagances of Nero, the public and unbounded profligacy of himself and his court, the open defiance of decency, the stupendous waste of public money on the new and most sumptuous palace into which he had now removed, were matters that scandalized even the population of Rome. Senators, patricians, grave councillors, noble matrons were alike willingly or unwillingly obliged to join in the saturnalia that prevailed. The provinces were ruined to minister to the luxury of Rome. The wealth of the noblest families was sequestrated to the state. All law, order, and decency were set at defiance.
To the Britons, simple in their tastes and habits, this profusion of luxury, this universal profligacy seemed absolutely monstrous. When they met together and talked of their former life in their rude huts, it seemed that the vengeance of the gods must surely fall upon a people who seemed to have lost all sense of virtue, all respect for things human and divine. To Beric the only bearable portions of his existence were the mornings he spent in reading, and in the study of Greek with Chiton, and in the house of Norbanus. Of Lesbia he saw little. She spent her life in a whirl of dissipation and gaiety, accompanying members of her family to all the fetes in defiance of the wishes of Norbanus, whose authority in this matter she absolutely set at naught.
“The emperor's invitations override the authority of one who makes himself absurd by his presumption of philosophy. I live as do other Roman ladies of good family. Divorce me if you like; I have the fortune I brought you, and should prefer vastly to go my own way.”
This step Norbanus would have taken but for the sake of Aemilia. By his orders the latter never went abroad with her mother or attended any of the public entertainments, but lived in the quiet society of the personal friends of Norbanus. Lesbia had yielded the point, for she did not care to be accompanied by a daughter of marriageable age, as by dint of cosmetics and paint she posed as still a young woman. Aemilia had long since recovered her spirits, and was again the merry girl Beric had known at Massilia.
One day when Beric called he saw that Norbanus, who was seldom put out by any passing circumstance, was disturbed in mind.
“I am troubled indeed,” he said, in answer to Beric's inquiry. “Lesbia has been proposing to me the marriage of Rufinus Sulla, a connection of hers, and, as you know, one of Nero's intimates, with Aemilia.”
Beric uttered an exclamation of anger.
“He is one of the worst of profligates,” he exclaimed. “I would slay him with my own hand rather than that Aemilia should be sacrificed to him.”
“And I would slay her first,” Norbanus said calmly; “but, as Lesbia threatened when I indignantly refused the proposal, Rufinus has but to ask Nero's approval, and before his orders my authority as a father goes for nothing. I see but one way. It has seemed to me for a long time, Beric, that you yourself felt more warmly towards Aemilia than a mere friend. Putting aside our obligations to you for having risked your life in defence of Ennia, there is no one to whom I would more willingly give her. Have I been mistaken in your thoughts of her?”
“By no means,” Beric said. “I love your daughter Aemilia, but I have never spoken of it to you for two reasons. In the first place I shall not be for some years of the age at which we Britons marry, and in the second I am but a captive. At present I stand high in the favour of Nero, but that favour may fail me at any day, and my life at the palace is becoming unbearable; but besides, it is impossible that this orgy of crime and debauchery can continue. The vengeance of heaven cannot be much longer delayed. The legions in the provinces are utterly discontented and well nigh mutinous, and even if Rome continues to support Nero the time cannot be far off when the legions proclaim either Galba, or Vespasian, or some other general, as emperor, and then the downfall of Nero must come. How then could I ask you for the hand of Aemilia, a maiden of noble family, when the future is all so dark and troubled and my own lot so uncertain?
“I cannot raise my sword against Caesar, for, however foul his crimes, he has treated me well. Had it not been for that I would have made for Praeneste, when the gladiators rose there the other day, and for the same reason I can do nothing to prepare the way for a rising here. I know the ludus of Scopus would join to a man. There is great discontent among the other schools, for the people have become so accustomed to bloodshed that they seem steeled to all pity, and invariably give the signal for the despatch of the conquered. As to your offer, Norbanus, I thank you with all my heart; but were it not for this danger that threatens from Rufinus, I would say that at the present time I dare not link her lot to mine. The danger is too great, the future too dark. It seems to me that the city and all in it are seized with madness, and above all, at the present time, I would not for worlds take her to the palace of Nero. But if Aemilia will consent to a betrothal to me, putting off the period of marriage until the times are changed, I will, with delight, accept the offer of her hand, if she too is willing, for in Briton, as in Gaul, our maidens have a voice in their own disposal.”
Norbanus smiled. “Methinks, Beric, you need not fear on that score. Since the day when you fought the lion in the arena you have been her hero and the lord of her heart. Even I, although but short sighted as to matters unconnected with my work, could mark that, and I believe it is because her mother sees and fears it that she has determined to marry her to Rufinus. I will call her down to find out whether she is ready to obey my wishes.”
In a minute or two Aemilia came down from the women's apartments above.
“My child,” Norbanus said, “I have offered you in marriage to Beric. He has accepted, saving only that you must come to him not in obedience to my orders but of your own free will, since it is the custom of his country that both parties should be equally free of choice. What do you say, my child?”
Aemilia had flushed with a sudden glow of colour as her father began, and stood with downcast eyes until he had finished.
“One moment before you decide, Aemilia,” Beric said. “You know how I am situated, and that at any moment I may be involved in peril or death; that life with me can scarcely be one of ease or luxury, and that even at the best you may be an exile for ever from Rome.”
She looked up now. “I love you, Beric,” she said. “I would rather live in a cottage with you for my lord and master than in a palace with any other. I would die with you were there need. Your wishes shall always be my law.”
“That is not the way in Britain,” Beric said, as he drew her to him and kissed her. “The husband is not the lord of his wife, they are friends and equals, and such will we be. There is honour and respect on both sides.”
“It will be but your betrothal at present,” Norbanus said. “Neither Beric nor I would like to see you in the