In the house of Cornelius Cinna a slave had just announced that it was two hours after sunrise. Cinna, though he had slept but badly, had long been out of bed, he would not, however, receive any of the numerous visitors, who were enquiring for him in the atrium, but was pacing the peristyle to and fro with his head sunk on his breast. Cornelia, who was taking breakfast in the dining-room with Chloe and one or two slave-girls, sent repeatedly to call her uncle.
“Directly--in a minute,” was all the answer, and Cinna began to walk up and down the colonnade.
His mind was principally occupied with an incident, which certainly seemed significant. Shortly before midnight his slave Charicles had brought him a mysterious note, which had been left with the door-keeper by a man concealed in a cloak. The paper, which was doubly tied round for safety, contained but a few words: “You are surrounded by spies; be on your guard.”
There was no signature, nor did the large thick writing--a feigned hand no doubt--afford any clew. “Surrounded by spies!” This idea, stated with such uncompromising plainness, haunted his excited fancy with urgent persistency. He had long known, that under Domitian’s rule espionage and underhand reporting everywhere spread their treacherous snares. And yet it came upon him now, as something impossible and shocking. In vain he racked his brain to guess who could be the sender of this mysterious warning, and at last he came to the conclusion, that the whole thing was perhaps the spiteful jest of some enemy--or a trap laid by Caesar himself.
While her uncle thus paced the arcade in gloomy displeasure, Cornelia eat her breakfast in the best of humors. The early day shone so gaily and invitingly into the room, the air, purified by the night’s rain, was so sweet! Besides, had not Cornelia, as she thought, the most particular reasons for seeing the whole world rose-colored to-day? The soft light in her eyes showed that she had recovered a peace of mind, a happy confidence, which for some time she had lost entirely.
“Chloe,” she said at last, when the girls had left the room: “Did you not notice anything yesterday? I mean when I came back into the sitting-room, after offering sacrifice?”
“Chloe raised her round head on her fat, short neck, and grinned like a simpleton. Cornelia, who was usually excessively annoyed by this behavior, seemed on the present occasion to be superior to all petty vexation. She went on pleasantly enough:
“The faith in the universal Mother has its mysteries. At our third visit you yourself saw how Barbillus can work by means of his divine mission. You fell to earth in awe-stricken terror, but the goddess smiled on you as she did on me, the first time I knelt before her in the holy of holies. So I venture to tell you, that my heart is full of unutterable peace and joy. Did you not see yesterday, that I was quite uplifted with happiness?”
Chloe grinned wider than ever.
“No,” she said with incredible stupidity.
“Then you must be stricken blind. I was almost beside myself; for Isis, the all-merciful, has bestowed on me the most precious of her gifts. She promises me protection against every danger, and in proof of her grace will send her divine brother Osiris to me with a message. He will lay his hands on my head, and so inspire into me a spark of his eternal light. Do you comprehend the immensity, the infinitude, of this celestial mercy? The divine miracle is to be accomplished at the next new moon, and then no farther penance or sacrifice will be needed. I shall henceforth be the sealed and adopted daughter of the goddess for ever.”
Chloe stared blankly in her face. “Yes,” she said, after a few minutes silence. “Barbillus is a great man! At first there were many things I thought impossible; but now that I have seen them with my own eyes, I believe in everything.--Everything, everything! If he were to tell me he could cut the moon in halves, or bring Berenice’s hair down from heaven--I should not doubt, I should bow before the magician.”
“Oh! I am so happy!” said Cornelia, while the bright color mounted to her cheeks. “Only yesterday how sad I was; my heart was darker than the midnight sky, and the wailing of the storm found an echo in my soul. Now, to-day, all nature hardly smiles so brightly and happily as my refreshed and joyful spirit. This excursion to Ostia comes exactly at the right moment, as if I had planned it myself--it is as if Quintus had read my inmost soul. I want to be out in the open country by the everlasting sea, away, far away from this crush of houses.... Ah! and with him!”
“It is lucky then, that our stern master, your uncle, makes no difficulties. He is usually averse to all expeditions, which may extend till nightfall. I almost think he was inclined to say: ‘No.’ It was not till he heard that Caius Aurelius was to be of the party....”
“It is true,” said Cornelia. “And I myself was surprised to find how he was silent at once at the name of the Batavian.” She blushed scarlet. “It almost looks, as if he thought I needed some one to watch my behavior.”
“It is only that he is anxious,” said Chloe. “And he has a high opinion of Aurelius.”
“Oh! I know--he has told me often enough. It would be a heaven-sent boon to him, if I would throw over Quintus and condescend to marry Aurelius.”
“That would be a bad exchange!” cried Chloe. “The senatorial purple for the ring of a provincial knight.”
A slave now announced, that Quintus Claudius was waiting in the atrium, that he sent his greetings, and wished to know whether Cornelia was ready to start, or whether Claudia and Lucilia should quit their litters and come into the house. Cornelia started up from her couch and flew to meet her lover.
“My uncle is in a very bad humor,” she said. “It will be best not to disturb him. Let us start without any leave-taking.”
“And Chloe?”
“We will leave her at home.”
Quintus smiled; as they stood there in the narrow passage, lighted only by one small window, he threw his arm round the tall, fine figure and, unseen by the ostiarius, pressed a burning kiss on her lips--but Chloe appeared with travelling-cloaks and Tyrian rugs, and the little caravan set forth at once.
There were four litters, one for each person, followed by a small escort of slaves. The Numidian guard of the Claudian household, and the Batavian’s Sicambrians, who were to accompany them into the country, were awaiting them, mounted on good horses, by the pyramid of Cestius, where the carriages also were standing.
They first stopped at the house of Aurelius, but here there was no delay. Hardly had they knocked at the door, when Aurelius came out to meet his friends, ready to start. He was followed by a litter, in which lay a fair-haired, weather-beaten, somewhat haggard-looking man.
“This is a seaman, who has brought me news from my native land,” said Aurelius to the ladies. “In all the wind and rain last night, he came up from Ostia, and as his ship sails to-day for Parthenope and Greece, he wants to return to the port as quickly as possible.”
“A fellow-countryman!” exclaimed Quintus. “You Batavians are not too numerous in Rome, and I can imagine that the meeting must have given you keen pleasure.”
“Great pleasure!” said Aurelius, as he got into another litter, “though the worthy Chamavus has found but ill-luck under my roof. Only think, as he came into the court-yard he slipped on the wet marble flags and injured his ankle. I begged him to remain and rest, but he assures me his voyage to Hellas admits of no delay....”
“Poor fellow!” said Lucilia glancing back at the litter. “He does certainly look very suffering.”
The flaxen-haired German bowed silently to the ladies, and then turned to Aurelius with a resigned shrug, as though to say, what could not be cured must be borne.
Meanwhile a crowd of idlers had, as usual, collected round the litters, and Aurelius felt his anxiety rising at every instant; he spoke almost angrily to one of the bearers, who could not settle the fastenings of his scarlet tunic to his satisfaction.
However, they were now fairly off. Past the temple of the Bona Dea they turned into the Delphian Way, as it was called, and on the farther side of the Aventine reached the huge monument--then already a century and a half old--which has survived the storms of so many historical cataclysms to the present day. At that time the pyramid of Cestius, cased from top to bottom in white marble, did not present the dismal aspect it now wears--a pile of weather-stained basalt--standing in silent dignity on the cemetery-like desert of the Campagna. A busy population stirred at its foot, and the morning sun shone brightly on the gilt inscription, which recorded that the deceased had been Praetor, Tribune, and member of the body of High Priests.
On the eastern side was a second inscription, less monumental and imposing than that on the north, but to Quintus and Aurelius of the most pressing interest. There was there an “album,” as it was called, one of the large square stones on which public announcements or notices were written, and here, in tall, red letters, the following advertisement might be read:
“Stephanus, the Empress’ steward, advertises for his escaped slave, Eurymachus. Whoever brings back the fugitive, dead or alive, will receive a reward of five hundred thousand sesterces. Eurymachus is tall and slight, lean and pale, with dark eyes and black hair. His back bears the scars of many floggings. In escaping, he is reported to have injured his foot.”
The statement of the reward stood out bright and fresh, while the rest was somewhat washed out; the sum was increased every day, and had been doubled since the previous evening. Magus and Blepyrus made every conceivable effort to clear a way through the mass of people that crowded round this notice, and almost blocked the whole width of the road, shouting and gesticulating. In vain; the mob were so possessed by the one idea, that they had neither eyes nor ears for anything else.
“Five hundred thousand sesterces!”
“More than a knight’s portion!”
“And how long ago did it happen?”
“Four days.”
“Impossible!”
“He must be above ground.”
“Bah--he has some patron who hides him.”
Pros and cons were discussed in loud confusion; the cries of the two slaves were lost in the storm of voices, and the procession came to a stand-still in the midst of the chaos.
“Use your elbows,” said Aurelius in Gothic. Magus faced about with a shrug, as much as to say there was indeed nothing else to be done. Then, with a contemptuous glance at the mob, above which he towered, with slow but irresistible force he elbowed his way.
“He works like a flail!” cried one, and “Oh! my ribs!” wailed another.
“They are the daughters of Titus Claudius.”
“What do I care? the road is for every one.”
“Certainly--for all alike. Let those who want to go on, get out and walk if the crowd is too great; it is only a hundred steps to the chariots.”
“Aye, get out!” cried a chorus. “We have as good a right to be here as our betters. Get out! Get out!”
The mob closed upon them threateningly from both sides; Quintus Claudius turned pale. If he could not succeed in scaring off the people, and if this irresponsible populace insisted on having their own way, all must be lost. The lame foot of the pretended seaman must inevitably attract the attention and rouse the suspicion of a rabble, whose heads were full of the notice and description before them--discovery was inevitable.
With a leap Quintus Claudius was standing on his feet, and went forward with calm dignity to face the tumult.
“What do you want?” he asked sternly. “Why do you dare to stop the public way?”
His cool self-possession worked wonders--their noisy audacity was quelled.
“Make way,” continued Claudius, while a faint flush rose to his brow. “I, Quintus Claudius, the friend of Caesar, command you.”
“Not Caesar himself would let our ribs be battered,” shrieked a croaking voice.
But the excuse came too late. Whether it was Caesar’s name, or the imposing and attractive presence of the young patrician, who stood unapproachable as an avenging Apollo, looking calmly on the tumult of his antagonists--the crowd parted with a dull murmur, and the road was free. Quintus and Aurelius had some difficulty in dissembling their joy.
“Stupid creatures!” said Lucilia. “What queer fancies men take.”
Cornelia smiled with an expression of supreme contempt. Nothing should have induced her to walk, she said, and she would have liked to see any one try to make her.
They safely reached the spot on the road to Ostia, where the chariots awaited them. Here again they found an excited crowd. Driving inside the city walls was prohibited by day, and they here found not only the carriages of the wealthier citizens, but vehicles for hire in numbers, from the lightest chariots to the heaviest conveyances for travelling or pleasure parties. The drivers noisily and vehemently offered their services to the passers-by, while sellers of eatables and cooling drinks carried their baskets round with monotonous cries, and eating and drinking went on in the arbors by the roadside. Laughter and song, scolding and cursing were audible in a variety of tones.
The party of excursionists got into a large four-wheeled chariot belonging to Caius Aurelius. The fugitive was helped by Blepyrus and Magus into a two-wheeled vehicle, known as a cisium, which stood somewhat apart loaded with provisions, but which had room on its back-seat not only for Eurymachus, but for his two faithful assistants.
“He insisted on it,” said the Batavian to Lucilia; “the worthy man was anxious not to intrude on our party.”
“That was very wise of him,” replied Lucilia. “He is better off in a provision wagon with Magus and Blepyrus, than in the most splendid chariot--and really, here with us there is scarcely room for him.--Besides, it would seem he brought no slaves with him from Ostia?”
“All the crew were indispensable on board,” replied Aurelius coloring slightly.
Quintus felt that Aurelius could not carry on the deception any farther, without involving himself in inextricable discrepancies. He tried to divert the conversation into a less dangerous channel, and soon succeeded in so completely engaging the gay Lucilia’s talent for repartee, that the second vehicle and the traveller in it seemed entirely forgotten.
With eight Numidians as outriders, the little party made their way smoothly and unhindered along the fine high-road. The Sicambrians followed as a rear-guard. That valiant equestrian, Herodianus, who had been quite upset by his deeds of prowess the night before, remained at home against his usual custom.
Now again Quintus glanced back at Eurymachus, who had maintained a quite marvellous composure during the scene at the pyramid of Cestius. His disguise was, in fact, most successful. None but the most practised eye, or the scrutiny of the most suspicious, could have detected the pale, enfeebled fugitive under the fair, curling hair and tanned, weather-beaten face of the mariner.
The Cappadocian horses made a good pace. In an hour and a quarter they had reached the little town of Ficana, and as soon as they had passed it they saw the marshes, which here border the coast of Latium and the distant houses of the seaport.
During their rapid drive they had overtaken several carriages and horsemen, and now the Numidian vanguard galloped past a man, whose light travelling-cloak hung carelessly over his shoulders, while a broad Thessalian hat shaded his face from the sun, and who sat his horse comfortably rather than rigidly. Two slaves trotted by his side on mules. As the carriage gained upon him he turned his head, and Lucilia exclaimed:
“See, Quintus! there is Cneius Afranius!”
Quintus was unpleasantly startled, for he knew how keen the eye of the lawyer was, and how great his skill in solving the riddle of the most involved mystery. But a glance at Caius Aurelius reassured him.
“You know,” said Aurelius, “that his mother lives at Ostia. Besides,” he added in a whisper, “even if he were to notice ... I pledge my word, that Afranius will not betray us.”
The carriage had now overtaken the rider. Afranius, surprised and delighted, waved a well-shaped, though rather large hand, and set spurs in his horse in order to keep up with the carriage. His horse jibbed and resisted a little, but then fell into a steady canter.
“What an unexpected meeting!” cried Afranius. “Are you going to Ostia?”
“As you see,” replied Quintus.
“My trireme sails to-night,” said the Batavian gaily. “I am staying longer in Rome than I had intended, so I am sending it back--home to Trajectum. Our friends here have come with me for the sake of the delightful expedition. What a splendid day it is!”
Afranius nodded the Thessalian hat.
“Quite delightful!” said Lucilia.
“And you, my worthy friend Cneius,” continued the Batavian, “what brings you here to Ostia? Do you suffer from your old longing to embrace your mother? Are you--escaping the noise of the city? Or have you business to attend to.”
“Something of all three. I am riding out as much from duty as for pleasure. You know of my proceedings against Stephanus, Domitia’s steward. All I have hitherto been able to do has been in vain; but now, at last, a person whose name I will for the present keep to myself, has revealed to me certain facts which very probably--well, I will say no more. But at any rate I propose this very day to hear what certain citizens of Ostia have to say. If only I could get at all the witnesses equally easily, then indeed--or at any rate one, the most important of all. Unfortunately I see no hope for it.”
“Why!” asked Quintus.
“Because he has vanished and left no trace.”
“Then have him hunted up,” said Lucilia.
“Others are doing that already. Perhaps there were never before so many persons in search of one escaped slave, as there are after this wretched Eurymachus.”
Quintus turned pale, and even Aurelius felt a certain embarrassment at the sound of that name.
“But how is it,” asked Quintus, “that Eurymachus did not long since deliver his testimony? What can have induced him to spare his prosecutor?”
“Eurymachus did not learn the facts he now knows, till within a few days of his flight, and it was his highly inconvenient knowledge which gave cause for his sentence of death.”
“But he might have spoken some days before his escape.”
“Nay, but he could not; he lay in chains with a gag in his mouth, that might have smothered the voice of Stentor.”
“And are you certain,” persisted Aurelius, “that your informant did not deceive you?”
“Perfectly certain. So certain, that I would pay down five hundred thousand sesterces on the spot in hard cash--only unfortunately I do not own so much--if only I could have that daring rascal under my hand for five minutes. It is humiliating! Bah! Why need I lose my temper for nothing? He is safe on shore, by this time, at Utica or Nicopolis and I am heartily glad to think so. I only hope, that at the critical moment Stephanus may not follow his example. I am afraid, that model of all the civic virtues knows his way too, to foreign shores!”
And he set spurs into his horse, as if suddenly pressed by some urgent business. His thoughts had involuntarily reverted to that greater Stephanus, whose misdeeds had filled an empire with horror. He reflected on the boldly-planned conspiracy, of which the failure would clear the way for Domitia’s minion, since it must inevitably lead to the death, or at least the banishment, of his accuser. All the more prompt and resolute then must their immediate action be against the steward. Perhaps some combination might be devised which, come what might, would be fatal to that criminal, whatever the issue might be as regarded Domitian, and such a plot and attack on Stephanus would have this additional advantage: that his foes would appear politically guiltless. Every one must confess, that a man who could fight so vigorously for distinction in the forum, could not at the same time be forging plots, which might risk his whole career.
The lawyer’s last words had greatly disturbed and agitated Aurelius, and he appeared to be on the point of whispering something to Quintus. He thought better of it, however, and asked Cneius Afranius how it happened that Fabulla, his respected mother, still remained in Ostia in spite of the advanced season.
“It is strange, is it not?” answered Afranius. “With the metropolis of the world so near, to be so indifferent to it! Quite like Diogenes!”
“Has she never been to Rome?”
“Never once. She is accustomed to the quiet of Rodumna, and devoted to a country life, and she holds the City of the Seven Hills in invincible aversion. Ostia appeared to offer a suitable suburban residence; a cousin of hers, who has been staying in Egypt since March, has a small estate there, which she is taking care of in his absence, and is as happy doing it as Diana on the hill-tops; all the more so, as she fancies she would be a hindrance to my advancement, if she lived with me in Rome. However, when I am fairly launched and settled, I shall insist on her coming.”
“I understand,” said Aurelius; and he thought to himself: “You are waiting till our plot succeeds--or fails.”
Quintus, who was still very anxious lest Afranius might ride too near to the disguised slave, and ask him unpleasant questions--though there was nothing to fear from the advocate--did his best to engage his friend’s attention. He alluded to the last speech he had delivered before the centumvirate, paying him many polite compliments, which the other laughingly disclaimed; then the cause itself was discussed, and their debate became eager and almost business-like.
Cornelia had been unusually talkative; not long before Afranius had joined them she had, with considerable humor, given an account of an excursion to Pandataria, that she had made not long since from Sinuessa, with her uncle and the Senator Sextus Furius. Claudia and Lucilia too had chatted and laughed; only the two young men had been silent. Now the parts had suddenly changed, and Lucilia was almost cross, particularly as the lawyer, on his bony grey steed, would persist in talking to Quintus and Aurelius, instead of addressing Cornelia and Claudia as politeness required--not to mention herself; though even she, as it seemed to her, did not look so very badly to-day; for Baucis had coiled her hair with unprecedented skill and precision, and her new gold pin, with a handsome ruby head, suited her dark hair to admiration. To be sure, it was a pity that the careful folds in which she had arranged her stola to fall over her ankles could not be appreciated, while she sat in the carriage half covered by Cornelia’s fuller draperies...!
“Listen, Quintus,” she began, as her brother was again on the point of addressing Afranius: “You are frightfully uninteresting to-day. For the whole way you have hardly spoken a hundred words, and now, when Afranius has at last roused you from your drowsy dulness, you can talk of nothing but lawsuits.”
“You cannot imagine,” said Claudia with a sly glance at Lucilia, “what a sworn foe she is to all that concerns lawsuits. The mere name of the Centumvirate cuts her to the heart, and if she hears of a speech being made which lasts more than two, or at the outside three hours by the water-clock, she faints outright.”
Lucilia had colored scarlet.
“You are quite mistaken,” she cried eagerly. “But everything at the proper time! On the contrary, I am devoted to the pursuit of law and justice, but not under this glorious sun and within sight of the sea. The sins and strife of men belong to the Forum, to the Basilica, to the Senate-house. Here, where all is bright and beautiful, I expect gay conversation and happy laughter.”
“She is right,” said Cornelia.
Afranius drew himself up to a rigid and military bearing.
“I crave your forgiveness, stern judge!” he said with mock gravity. “I am greatly grieved to have offended against so wise a clause in your code of social morals. I have justly merited your lecture, and could do no less than take myself off, if I were not humbly resolved to earn your forgiveness by proving my sincere penitence--how sincere you will see by my entertaining and amiable behavior for the future. I only crave that you will grant me the opportunity of showing my repentance.... Do me the favor then of allowing me to invite you, one and all, to pay a visit to my mother’s little country-house. I can promise you, that you will be charmed, enchanted, inspired! It is a tiny villa, but in the loveliest garden--quiet, rural, idyllic. The muraena and Lucrine oyster are unknown there, to be sure, but as for salads--lettuces as big as....” and with a flourish of his hand he described a vast circle in the air--“true Cappadocians, though grown at Ostia; and fresh eggs, pears as yellow as wax, and mighty loaves of country bread. A few pigeons or chickens are soon cooked.... You spoilt town’s-folk will positively revel in this rural simplicity! Then there are the alleys, where vines hang in wreaths from the trellis...!”
“It is heavenly!” cried Claudia, again glancing knowingly at Lucilia. “Quintus, we must really accept so tempting an invitation.”
“With pleasure; but first....”
“I understand,” interrupted Afranius. “I too must first attend to business here. But listen to what I propose. I will first conduct these ladies to my mother’s house, and then I will fly on the wings of the wind to speak to the good citizens of Ostia. You meanwhile....”
“Nay, that will not do,” interrupted Aurelius. “Before my trireme weighs anchor, I have a communication to make to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes, to you. A communication of the greatest importance, in connection with your action against Stephanus. Allow me, therefore, to amend your proposal. Write a few words of explanation to your mother on your wax tablets, and give it to your slave to deliver; he may then conduct the ladies. The men on horseback can escort them to her house, and then put up at the nearest tavern. You, meanwhile, accompany us to the ship. And,” he added after a pause for reflection as to what fiction he might put forward to the three girls, “we will, at the same time, see my fellow-countryman, the seaman from Trajectum, on board his own vessel, which is to sail to-day for the East.”
“Which seaman?” asked the lawyer looking round.
“That I will explain presently.”
“Well, whatever is agreeable to the ladies, is agreeable to me....”
“Oh! we are in the country here,” said Cornelia, “and may dispense with ceremony. Only your mother will be startled....”
“Delighted, you mean. She can wish for no more agreeable surprise.”
“So be it then!” cried Aurelius; “and when all is settled, we will join the festivities.”
The first houses of Ostia were now visible on either hand, and the bustle and stir in the road grew busier. Seamen of every nation, fishermen with red worsted caps, porters, and barrowmen, pushed and crowded each other. In five minutes they had reached the quay; at the farther end of the mole lay the trireme, gaily dressed with flags, and towering majestically above the fishing vessels and barges. The young men got out, and the carriage rolled away, escorted by the Sicambrians and Numidians, as far as the embowered villa, which it reached in a few minutes.
FOOTNOTES:
A SLAVE HAD JUST ANNOUNCED, THAT IT WAS TWO HOURS AFTER SUNRISE. In aristocratic families the hours of the day were announced by a slave, kept specially for this purpose.
BERENICE’S HAIR. A constellation, so called from the glittering hair of Berenice, daughter of Magas of Cyrene. See Cat. 66.
THE SENATORIAL PURPLE. From ancient times the privilege of wearing a broad purple stripe upon the edge of the toga was one of the distinctions of the Roman senators. The second class (equites) among other prerogatives, possessed the right to wear a gold ring on the finger. But at a very early period abuse of this privilege crept in, until members of the third class, nay, even freedmen, presumed to assume this badge of honor. The severest punishments, such as confiscation of property, etc., could not prevent the misdemeanor. At the time of my story, the gold ring was actually as common as the use of the “von” in addressing simple citizens in Austria at the present day. See Mart. Ep. XI, 37, where the freedman Zoilus ventures to don a huge gold ring. The ring worn by Caius Aurelius--though legitimately his--must therefore have seemed all the more contemptible, in comparison with the senatorial purple. By the way, it may be said, that in the time of Tiberius the use of the purple was also abused. See Dio Cass. LVII, 13.
THE BONA DEA. A somewhat mystical divinity, allied with the Ops, the Fauna, and the Hellenic Demeter. Her temple stood on the northeastern slope of the Aventine Hill.
THE DELPHIAN WAY, (Clivus Delphini), led from the Circus
Maximus to the Porta Raudusculana.
CLEAR A WAY THROUGH THE MASS OF PEOPLE. When people of distinction went out, this making a way through the crowd was often done with much ostentation, but it was always the duty of a few slaves to walk before their masters, and thus smooth the way for them.
KNIGHT’S PORTION. 400,000 sesterces.
A LARGE FOUR-WHEELED CHARIOT. Allusion is here made to the rheda (the travelling-coach) or the carruca (a comfortable, nay, magnificent equipage).
CISIUM. Such two-wheeled cabriolets were principally used when the greatest speed was desired. (See Cic., Rosc.: cisiis pervolavit)
LOADED WITH PROVISIONS. Aristocratic Romans, even on short journeys, carried a large quantity of baggage, principally table furniture and provisions, for the taverns so often mentioned were intended exclusively for the lower classes.
FICANA..A small town half-way between Ostia and Rome.
THESSALIAN HAT. This was worn principally in travelling. Thessalia was the name given to the eastern part of northern Greece.
UTICA. A city on the coast of the province of Africa, north of Tunis.
NICOPOLIS. A city of Epirus, at the entrance of the Ambracian Gulf, opposite Actium.
PANDATARIA. An island in the Tyrrhenian sea, opposite to the Gulf of Gaeta.
SINUESSA. A city on the Gulf of Gaeta.
THE WATER-CLOCK (clepsydra) served as a measure of time, especially in affairs connected with the administration of justice. A water-clock usually ran about twenty minutes.
