Quintus Claudius: A Romance of Imperial Rome (Complete)
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Ernst Eckstein | ISBN: | 9781465606570 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Ernst Eckstein |
| ISBN: | 9781465606570 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
It was the morning of the 12th of September in the Year of Our Lord 95; the first cold gleam of dawn was shining on the steel-grey surface of the Tyrrhenian sea. To the east, over the gently undulating coast of Campania, the sky was tinged with that tender dewy-green which follows on the paling of the stars; to the west the waters still lay in impenetrable darkness. Their almost unruffled face was swiftly parted by a large trireme, just now making its way from the south and opposite to Salernum, between the Posidium promontory and the Island of Capreae. The oars of the crew, who sat in rows on three ranks of benches, rose and fell in rhythm to a melancholy chant; the steersman yawned as he looked into the distance, hoping for the moment of release. A small hatchway—fitted with silver ornaments—now opened on to the deck from the cabin between decks; a fat round head with short hair showed itself in the opening, and a pair of blinking eyes looked curiously round in every direction. Presently the head was followed by a body, of which the squat rotundity matched the odd head. “Well, Chrysostomus, is Puteoli in sight yet?” asked the stout man, stepping on to the deck and looking across to the blue-black rocks of Capreae. “Ask again in three hours time,” replied the steersman. “Unless you can succeed in looking round the corner, like the magician of Tyana, you must need wait till we have the island yonder behind us.” “What!” exclaimed the other, drawing a little ivory map from his tunic. “Are those rocks only Capreae?” “Thou sayest, O Herodianus! Out there on the heights to the right, hardly visible yet, stands the palace of the glorified Caesar Tiberius. Do you see that steep cliff, straight down to the sea? That was where such useless fellows as you were dropped over into the water by Caesar’s slaves.” “Chrysostomus, do not be impudent! How dare you, a common ship’s-mate, make so bold as to scoff at me, the companion and confidential friend of the illustrious Caius Aurelius? By the gods! but it is beneath me to hold conversation with you, an ignorant seaman—a man who carries no wax-tablets about him, who only knows how to handle the tiller and not the stylus—a common Gaul who is ignorant of all history of the gods—such a man ought not even to exist, so far as the friend of Aurelius is concerned.”
It was the morning of the 12th of September in the Year of Our Lord 95; the first cold gleam of dawn was shining on the steel-grey surface of the Tyrrhenian sea. To the east, over the gently undulating coast of Campania, the sky was tinged with that tender dewy-green which follows on the paling of the stars; to the west the waters still lay in impenetrable darkness. Their almost unruffled face was swiftly parted by a large trireme, just now making its way from the south and opposite to Salernum, between the Posidium promontory and the Island of Capreae. The oars of the crew, who sat in rows on three ranks of benches, rose and fell in rhythm to a melancholy chant; the steersman yawned as he looked into the distance, hoping for the moment of release. A small hatchway—fitted with silver ornaments—now opened on to the deck from the cabin between decks; a fat round head with short hair showed itself in the opening, and a pair of blinking eyes looked curiously round in every direction. Presently the head was followed by a body, of which the squat rotundity matched the odd head. “Well, Chrysostomus, is Puteoli in sight yet?” asked the stout man, stepping on to the deck and looking across to the blue-black rocks of Capreae. “Ask again in three hours time,” replied the steersman. “Unless you can succeed in looking round the corner, like the magician of Tyana, you must need wait till we have the island yonder behind us.” “What!” exclaimed the other, drawing a little ivory map from his tunic. “Are those rocks only Capreae?” “Thou sayest, O Herodianus! Out there on the heights to the right, hardly visible yet, stands the palace of the glorified Caesar Tiberius. Do you see that steep cliff, straight down to the sea? That was where such useless fellows as you were dropped over into the water by Caesar’s slaves.” “Chrysostomus, do not be impudent! How dare you, a common ship’s-mate, make so bold as to scoff at me, the companion and confidential friend of the illustrious Caius Aurelius? By the gods! but it is beneath me to hold conversation with you, an ignorant seaman—a man who carries no wax-tablets about him, who only knows how to handle the tiller and not the stylus—a common Gaul who is ignorant of all history of the gods—such a man ought not even to exist, so far as the friend of Aurelius is concerned.”
