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Chapter Nine.
The Captured Rescued
Coecus, finding that his companion had fallen asleep, set himself to consider his plans with regard to the hapless Coelia. He held to the opinions put forth by some of the leading heathen philosophers of that age, that the end justifies the means, and no feeling of compunction as to the cruel fate he designed for the young vestal entered his heart. He was of the material of which arch-inquisitors were in after years to be made. There would be no difficulty in that corrupt city to obtain evidence to condemn his victim, as well as to prove that the partner of her supposed guilt had escaped. After resting for some time, he went forth again to make the arrangements he had determined on.
When, late in the day, Gaius awoke, he sent for his nephew, and, after some inquiries, discovered that Jovinian and Eros had been absent since the previous forenoon. At first he could not bring himself to believe that they had really escaped; but his inquiries at length convinced him of the fact, and, moreover, that Eros had been known to accompany Jovinian to some of the Christian places of worship. “Then the wretched slave has himself been led to embrace this new doctrine,” he exclaimed. “It may be suited to such as he; but, notwithstanding, if I can capture him, he shall be made to pay the full penalty of his crime.”
The pontiff was, in truth, as much annoyed as it was in his nature to be; but he was disposed to vent his anger on the head of Eros rather than on that of his nephew.
Several days passed by, and no information could he obtain as to where the fugitives were concealed. From a few words let drop by Coecus, he at length began to hope that he might recover Jovinian. The chief pontiff had heard that the man he hated above all others on earth – the presbyter Severus – was again in the neighbourhood of Rome; and from the friendship which had existed between his sister and Eugenia, he suspected that Jovinian, if he knew of her abode, would have gone there. What Coecus intended to do he did not say, but the muttered threats of vengeance in which he indulged showed the evil feelings rankling in his bosom. Assassins were to be found, even in those days, to perform any deed of blood required of them; vice was rampant; and crimes of all soils were committed with comparative impunity. But Rome even thus was purer than it became in after ages; the people had been taught to respect the laws, criminals did not always escape the arm of justice, and no inconsiderable Christian community, leading pure and faultless lives, leavened the mass, and contributed to keep the heathen in check.
Coecus had to proceed with more caution than suited his bold and impulsive character. He succeeded, however, in persuading the chief civil authorities that there were some persons with designs dangerous to the state concealed in the underground galleries in the neighbourhood of the city, and in obtaining a guard of soldiers to search for them. He, with some difficulty, obtained a guide who professed to be acquainted with all the intricate turnings of the galleries, and, moreover, to know Severus and Eugenia by sight. Coecus, who was well aware that considerable danger might attend the expedition, had no intention of accompanying it, but remained in Rome, indulging himself in the hope that he should at length destroy his old rival, or get him into his power, while he at the same time exulted in the idea that, from the measures he was taking, he should prolong the existence of idolatry as the religion of the state. One of his plans was to organise another procession in honour of one of the gods, similar to that which has been described; for such spectacles, he knew, were at all times attractive to the populace, and it mattered little to them whether Bacchus, Apollo, Venus, or any other divinity had the most prominent position in the exhibition.
He had given directions to the vestals to prepare for the ceremony, in which, as usual, they would be expected to take a leading part; and he guessed that, should any besides Coelia be tainted with the new doctrines, they would endeavour to escape appearing on the occasion. Coelia herself remained under the strict charge of the Vestalis Maxima, whose office was in later days to be represented by that of the mother superior of a nunnery. The Vestalis Fausta being long past her prime, and having spent her life within the walls of the temple, had no interests beyond them. Her temper had become soured, her better feelings seared; and being thus a willing instrument in the hands of the pontiffs, she was ready to execute any act of tyranny and cruelty they might direct. Her mind, narrowed by the dull routine of duties she had so long performed, she was a devout worshipper of the goddess she served; and she heard with the utmost horror and dismay that one of those under her charge had embraced the hated doctrines of those whom she called the atheist Nazarenes. Poor Coelia had no hope of mercy from such a person. Marcia, finding that she herself was not suspected, kept her own counsel, determined at all costs to rescue her friend. It was a sore trial to her, for she felt herself guilty of dishonouring Christ while continuing to serve in the temple of a false deity.
The pontiffs, meantime, were busily engaged in arranging the details of the procession. Gaius troubled himself less than the other pontiffs about the matter. He especially disliked the exertion of the long march through the city, and he doubted whether the result would be as satisfactory as Coecus anticipated. He was seated in the college, when it was announced that a female slave desired to see him. He directed that she should be admitted, when Rufina entered. Taking a bag of coin from under her cloak, she, without hesitation advanced to where he sat.
“I have come to bring the price of one who was your slave, but desires manumission,” she said calmly, offering the bag of money to the pontiff. “It contains thirty solidi, the full value you can claim for Eros, he of whom I speak,” she continued, seeing that Gaius did not put forth his hand to receive the bag. “Me might have escaped beyond pursuit, and allowed you to lose his value, but, as a Christian, he knows that such would be wrong, and therefore I have been sent to pay it into your hands.”
“The Numidian Eros a Christian! such an idea is folly!” exclaimed Gaius, starting up with more animation in his tone and manner than he had hitherto shown. “If he is a Christian, he thus only adds to his crime. The money he must have stolen – probably from me; I refuse, however, to receive it. Let him return to the bondage from which he has escaped, or if I discover him he will rue the consequences. And for yourself, girl, as you have ventured in here, unless you inform me where he is hidden, and will promise to assist in his recovery, I will detain you and punish you as you deserve with the scourge.”
“I came to do the bidding of my master; and should any harm befall me, there is one to whom he will appeal for justice – the emperor,” answered Rufina, without betraying the slightest fear. “You dare not detain me. Again I offer the value of your once slave, and, though you refuse, I have fulfilled my duty, and must be gone.”
Gaius was almost speechless at what he considered the unexampled audacity of the slave girl; and as he still refused to take the bag, Rufina, while he was considering what to do, turned, and left the hall. Before her figure had disappeared among the marble columns he started up, and summoning one of his attendants, often employed in secret matters, he directed him to follow Rufina, but to keep himself concealed, to obtain what assistance he might require and not to return without bringing back Eros and Jovinian as his captives. The slave, instantly comprehending what was required of him, started off to execute his master’s orders.
The pontiff sank down again upon his couch. “Though I have lost the solidi, I shall have the satisfaction of wreaking my vengeance on the head of the Numidian, – and, what is of more consequence, shall recover my graceless nephew,” he said to himself, stretching out his arms and giving a yawn. “Ungrateful as he has been, I will still afford him another chance.”
On the appearance of Coecus, Gaius told him of the hopes he entertained of recovering Jovinian and his runaway slave.
“The vile wretch of whom you speak must receive the full penalty of his crime, or we shall have all the slaves in Rome turning Christians and claiming their freedom,” observed Coecus. “As to your nephew, the bed of the Tiber will be the safest place to which you can consign him. The young atheist, with the early training he has received, will never become a trustworthy supporter of the ancient gods.”
“I will try him, notwithstanding,” answered Gaius; “but I have not caught him yet.”
Several more days passed by; but neither Jovinian nor Eros had been captured, and Gaius began to fear that he had lost his money and his revenge.
The pontiffs had been seated in conclave, and were on the point of separating, when a message was brought to Gaius. A gleam of satisfaction passed over his countenance.
“Stay, fathers, for a few moments,” he said. “A rascally slave who, forsooth, has taken it into his head to turn Christian, and to decamp, moreover, with my nephew, of whom he had charge, has been captured, I would question the vile wretch as to what has become of the youth; and failing to draw forth the information, as I think likely, we will make some sport of the slave before he is sent off to receive the punishment he merits.”
The countenance of Coecus exhibited a look of disgust, as if he had no desire to be troubled in the matter; but three or four of the other pontiffs acquiescing, Gaius directed that the Numidian should be brought in. Eros soon appeared, heavily manacled, with a guard of four armed men, who watched narrowly every movement he made, and kept their weapons ready for use, as if they feared that even now he would endeavour to escape.
The prisoner advanced with an undaunted countenance, and head erect, as if perfectly fearless of the stern judges before whom he stood. In vain Gaius inquired what had become of Jovinian. Eros replied that he had parted from him outside the gates, that he had gone with a friend, and that more about him he knew not. He acknowledged without hesitation that he had sinned against his master in allowing the youth committed to his charge to depart, and that he was ready to pay the penalty of his fault. “Wretched being! you have heaped crime upon crime,” exclaimed Gaius: “you have endeavoured to escape from slavery, you have disobeyed my commands, and, as I understand, deny the existence of the immortal gods, and, following the example of the impious Nazarenes, refuse to worship them.”
“I worship One who is willing and able to save me, who died that I might be set free, and who has forgiven me all my sins,” answered the Numidian.
“What blasphemy is this we hear!” exclaimed several of the pontiffs in chorus. “He does not deny his crime, and yet talks of his sins being forgiven. Away with him. Let the cross be his doom!”
Gains, who had no wish to lose the services of a valuable slave, pleaded that a less severe doom than death would be sufficient, and suggested that instead he should be subjected to the ordinary punishment inflicted on runaway slaves – that of being hung up by the hands with weights attached to his feet, exposed to the noonday sun till he should faint from exhaustion. The other pontiffs, however, were inexorable. The slave had been brought before them for trial, and his death alone would satisfy their cruelty. Perhaps they took a secret pleasure in annoying their brother pontiff.
Coecus decided the matter, though he had apparently taken no interest in the discussion. “Let the wretch die the vilest of deaths. He has dishonoured the immortal gods!” he muttered. “It may advance our cause, as it will serve to bring into contempt the name of their founder, when the Christians see a base slave suffering the death he was said to have endured.”
Short time was allowed to the Numidian to prepare for his doom. He was to suffer not as a martyr, but as a runaway slave. Strictly guarded all night, he passed it in prayer and in singing hymns to the Saviour he had so lately learnt to love and trust. Early in the morning he was led forth to be conducted outside the city, bearing on his shoulders a heavy beam with a crosspiece attached, on which his arms were to be extended till death should put an end to his sufferings.
As Eros, staggering under the heavy weight of the cross, proceeded through the streets of Rome, many there were who looked on with horror and dismay at the spectacle. Coecus, more thoughtful than Gaius, had provided a guard, for he well knew that the Christians were already sufficiently numerous and powerful to have effected a rescue should they have discovered that he was really suffering for holding to the faith of the Gospel. A crowd had collected, and was following, composed chiefly of such idlers as are invariably attracted by any spectacle, though it may even be to see a fellow-creature put to death. Gaius and some of the other pontiffs walked at some distance behind, the motives which induced them to come being in no way superior to that of the vulgar mass. The condemned slave and his guards had proceeded some distance, when a litter, preceded by a lictor, was seen approaching. It stopped, for the crowd was too dense to allow it to pass; Eros cast up his eyes, and met those of the vestal Marcia, horror-struck at what she saw. The love of life, the dread of the torture prepared for him, prompted the condemned slave. Throwing down his burden, before his guards could stop him, he sprang towards the litter, and, clasping the vestal’s feet, claimed her protection.
“It is given,” she answered. “Citizens of Rome, the right is mine, as you all know, to set this criminal free. Let no man lay hands on him.”
“He is free! he is free!” shouted several persons from among the crowd. “The ancient laws of Rome must be supported.”
The guards and some others seemed unwilling to be disappointed of their prey, but the lictors kept them off; and some, evidently recognising Eros as a Christian, gathering round, bore him off out of sight just as Gaius and his companions arrived on the spot. They dared not disallow the claim made by Marcia, for it had been the privilege of the vestals from time immemorial, should they meet a criminal going to execution, to demand his release, provided the encounter was accidental, and that such was the case in this instance there appeared to be no doubt.
Marcia proceeded on her way, and Gaius, who was not altogether displeased at the occurrence, as he hoped to recover his slave, returned to the college.
Chapter Ten.
The Trial of the Vestal
The vestal Coelia was summoned to undergo her trial before the college of pontiffs seated in council.
She stood looking pale but undaunted in their presence. The pontiff Coecus was her judge, and at the same time one of her accusers. With the others she was not allowed to be confronted.
She acknowledged without hesitation that the sacred fire had gone out while under her charge, and she condescended so far to defend herself as to remind Coecus that it was in consequence of his holding her for so long a time in conversation. She confessed also that she had been reading a book held in respect by the Nazarenes, and she claimed the right of a free-born Roman to peruse the work, which was one well known to be approved of by the emperor.
“You may have a right to read that or any other work, but not to imbibe the principles of that accursed sect which it advocates,” answered Coecus; “and that you do hold them you have acknowledged to me.”
“And I pray for grace that I may hold them to the end,” replied Coelia, looking the pontiff calmly in the face as she held her hands clasped hanging down before her.
“She admits that the sacred fire was extinguished in consequence of her carelessness,” exclaimed Coecus, turning to the other pontiffs; “nor does she express the slightest regret at her horrible sin. One guilty of so terrible a crime is capable of committing any other wickedness, however odious; and that she has done so, and that she has broken her vows, has been proved by the witnesses we have examined. That she is no longer worthy of being numbered among the vestals of Rome, I have already placed sufficient evidence before you.”
Coecus read over the false accusation which had been brought against the vestal. The guilty participator of her crime had escaped, he observed, but would undoubtedly be captured. Still, from the oaths of the several witnesses – which he named – her guilt was evident.
A flush mantled on the brow of the young vestal as she heard herself accused of a crime so foreign to her nature; yet she did not quail before that of her stern judge and accuser.
“You know, and these my other judges know, that I am innocent,” she said, in a voice which trembled but slightly. “If I am to be put to death, I am ready to die, if you have a right to destroy me, as a Roman maiden, with fame unsullied; I am guilty only of no longer believing in the goddess to whom in my childhood and ignorance my vows were made. I confess myself a Christian, and confess also that I desire to escape from longer serving the false goddess in whom you pretend to believe. But I indignantly deny the terrible accusation brought against me, which you yourself know to be utterly false.”
“Away with the girl: terror has made her mad!” cried the enraged pontiff, forgetting the dignity of his position, and shaking his fists fiercely at the accused maiden.
Coelia did not reply, but raising her hands to heaven – the only time she had altered the position which she had from the first maintained – she implored that protection which He in whom she believed was able and willing to afford.
She did not deign to plead to her cruel judges. She saw clearly that, for some object of their own, they had pre-determined on her destruction. She calmly waited to hear what more they had to say.
Coecus, standing up, pronounced her doom – that which from time immemorial had been inflicted on vestals who had been guilty of breaking their vows.
Her garments – worn by the vestals – and badges of office were to be taken from her, and she was to be habited as a corpse, placed in a litter, and borne through the Forum, attended by her relatives and friends, with all the ceremony of a real funeral. Then she was to be carried to the Campus Sceleratus, situated close to the Colline Gate, just within the city walls. In this spot a small vault underground, as in other cases, would have been prepared. It would contain a couch, a lamp, and a table, with a jar of water and a small amount of food.
Had the Pontifex Maximus been in Rome, it would have been his duty to take a chief part in the ceremony. Having lifted up his hands, he would have opened the litter, led forth the culprit, and placed her on the steps of the ladder by which she would be compelled to descend to the subterranean cell, and he would there have delivered her over to the common executioner and his assistants. They would lead her down into her living tomb, draw up the ladder, and then fill in the passage to the vault with earth so as to make the surface level with the surrounding ground.
Here the hapless vestal, deprived of all marks of respect ordinarily paid to the spirits of the departed, would be left to perish miserably by starvation, should terror not have previously deprived her of life.
Such was the doom pronounced on Coelia.
She heard it unmoved, and walked with unfaltering steps between two of the officers of the pontiff, to be delivered back to Fausta, the Vestalis Maxima, who was in waiting to receive her. Not an expression of pity escaped the lips of the old vestal, although she knew as well as Coecus that Coelia was innocent of the graver crime of which she was charged. But her heart had become hardened and scathed; not a grain of sympathy for her fellow-creatures remained in her bosom.
She believed she was acting in a way pleasing to the goddess she served; and she would have been ready to sacrifice her nearest relatives, if by so doing she would have advanced the cause of idolatry. She was aware that she no longer retained the affection of any of the vestals under her charge. Marsh and irritable, she ruled them with a rod of iron; and believed that the service of the temple was never so faithfully performed as it had been since she became its principal priestess. Fausta has since had countless imitators, most of whom have been as completely deceived as she was.
Coelia was conducted back to the cell in which she had before been confined, beneath the floor of the temple, where only the coarsest viands were allowed her to sustain nature. She was guarded night and day by two vestals, who were directed to summon assistance should they require it. Coecus was satisfied that the death of the vestal would prove to the multitude that the ancient religion of Rome was still paramount, notwithstanding the predilections of the emperor in favour of Christianity, and the privileges he was inclined to grant to the Nazarenes. He therefore hardened his heart against all feeling of pity at the terrible fate about to be inflicted on the innocent maiden, and now prepared, with all the energy of his nature, to make arrangements for the grand procession about to take place, and which he had resolved should precede the cruel ceremony he had determined to carry out. He was well aware that the Emperor Constantine would forbid so barbarous an act; but as he was engaged in the East in building his new city, it was impossible for him to hear of it for a long time to come, and although, when he became cognisant of what had occurred, he would undoubtedly blame the pontiffs, Coecus believed that he and the other members of the college had yet sufficient influence in Rome to set even Augustus himself at defiance.
The day broke bright and beautiful. All the altars in the temples and the shrines in the streets were gaily decorated with wreaths and flowers; while banners and gaily-coloured cloths were hung out from the windows, or over the walls of the private houses, in the streets through which the procession was to pass. As usual, numbers of religious mendicants – belonging to a brotherhood devoted to begging – with huge satchels on their backs, and figures of gods or demigods in their hands, were on foot, eager to collect contributions from the multitude assembled on the occasion. The members of several other heathen brotherhoods also might have been seen hurrying through the city, to take their part in the spectacle.
Now the procession streamed forth from the temple of Flora, which formed one of a line of magnificent temples extending from the Flavian amphitheatre to the north of the Palatine and Capitoline hills – that of Rome and Venus being the most easterly, and nearest to the amphitheatre. As it appeared, shouts of joy and applause were raised by the multitude. There had been no lack of persons ready to perform the duty of carrying the banners and figures of the gods and the goddesses. Coecus had also secured the assistance of as large a number of the female part of the population as he could collect, for he believed that could he keep them attached to the old faith, there would be less danger of their husbands becoming its opponents. Some hundreds of dames and damsels dressed in white, their heads adorned with glittering jewels and bright wreaths, issued from the temple, scattering handfuls of flowers before and around them. Bands of musicians performed their most lively airs suited to the occasion; vast numbers of young children, dressed likewise in white, with floral ornaments, chanted at intervals hymns in honour of the goddess. Priests also, of numerous temples, with shorn crowns, there were, carrying banners or figures of the gods they served, or sacred relics. The heathen magistrates and officers of state had willingly consented to attend and exhibit themselves in the procession, although the Christians had universally refused, under any pretence, to take a part in the idolatrous performance. Coecus, as he watched the pageant winding its enormous length along the streets, the banners and gilded statues glittering in the sun, before he took his accustomed place with his brother pontiffs, felt satisfied that the larger portion of the population of Rome still sided with them.
Gaius alone, as he walked along, muttered not a few expressions of discontent. “To say the least of it, these processions are a bore,” he grumbled. “They may please the mob, but sensible men ridicule them; and we who superintend them, and have thus to parade through the streets, have become the laughing-stock of all the wise men and philosophers. It will in no way benefit us, notwithstanding the trouble we take in the matter: how completely I have failed of convincing my young nephew of the advisability of the worship of the immortal gods his running away and refusing to return is strong evidence. As to putting to death this poor girl Coelia, I do not half like it. The emperor will visit us with his anger should her Christian friends prove her innocence, as they are sure to attempt doing. They are wonderfully active in defending their own friends, when they can do so by means of the law, without having recourse to force. This may be on account of their mean and timid spirits; though it is said that they fight well in battle, and that the emperor places great dependence on their courage and fidelity. Well, well, ‘Times change, and we must change with them,’ as one of our poets sings; but for my part I would rather have retained our old-fashioned ways. What has endured so long must be the best. The oldest religion cannot but be the right one, at all events most suited to the multitude, while it has not failed to bring a copious revenue into our coffers, and that, after all, is the matter of chief consequence to us. All the accounts, however, which come from Byzantium show that Augustus is becoming more and more inclined to favour these Christians. I wish that Coecus hid not been so obstinate, and would at once have consented to abandon our failing cause.”
When passing close to the Arch of Constantino, which had been erected after the visit of the emperor to Rome close to the Flavian amphitheatre, he glanced up at it with a look of contempt. “What can be expected of our Romans nowadays, when the whole architectural talent of our city can only produce a monstrosity like that!” he observed to a brother pontiff walking next to him. “‘The times are changed, and we must change with them,’” he repeated, “if we wish to retain our position.”
The other pontiff only shook his head, and groaned.
