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Chapter Eleven.
Released
As the procession moved along towards the Sacra Via, Gaius observed a number of persons of a better class standing aloof, and watching it with looks far removed from admiration. Although the most earnest Christians kept away from such exhibitions, there were several people of good position who he knew had embraced the new faith, while there were others, among whom he recognised a poet, an architect, a sculptor, two or three philosophers, and some other men of intellect, who, although not Christians, he suspected had no belief in the immortal gods of Rome, as they were wont to look with most supreme contempt on spectacles such as that in which he was taking a part.
“There they stand, sneering at us,” he muttered; “perhaps they come to look as they believe it to be for the last time at our gods and goddesses parading our city; but they are mistaken, – our old divinities will hold their places still in the faith and affections of the people, albeit they may be habited in somewhat different garments.”
Now and then the eye of Gaius caught that of some young gallant, who nodded to him familiarly, and smiled at his evident annoyance as he endeavoured to keep up his dignity. The procession moved along towards the Capitoline Hill, on which stood the great temple of Jupiter, where the chief ceremonies of the day were to be performed. The people waved garlands, and shouted, the more devout prostrating themselves before the statues as they passed along, until the hill was gained. Coecus had taken care to have a large number of animals ready for the sacrifice, so that the people might not be stinted in their expected portions of meat. He well knew that they chiefly valued these ceremonies for the food they were certain to obtain after them.
The procession once more filed off through the streets, depositing the figures of the gods and goddesses in their respective temples and shrines; but the business of the day was not over. Coecus and his brother pontiffs had undertaken to superintend a ceremony of a very different character.
On arriving at the temple of Vesta they there found Fausta prepared for the part she was to play. Within the court was seen a litter closely covered in, borne by men with shrouded faces, and habited in dark robes. Its appearance was lugubrious in the extreme.
“Have you prepared the guilty creature for her just doom?” asked Coecus of the Vestalis Maxima.
“She awaits you in her cell,” answered Fausta; “but you have not as yet inflicted the scourging – which, according to the ancient custom, she should suffer.”
“We will omit it in her case,” answered Coecus, with whom his brother pontiffs had previously pleaded, even their minds revolting at causing one so young and innocent to suffer such degradation. “It would of necessity have to be inflicted in private; therefore, no one will know whether or not she has suffered. No object therefore will be gained,” observed Coecus.
“Are we in these days thus to neglect our ancient customs?” exclaimed Fausta. “That she is young and beautiful is no reason why she should escape the punishment which is her due.”
The pontiff made no reply; perhaps even he discerned the love of cruelty which the remark of the ancient priestess exhibited.
“I am thankful I have not to submit to the discipline which the old virgin is inclined to inflict on her disciples,” muttered Gaius. “I would as lief see a tigress deprived of her cubs placed in charge of a flock of sheep as a band of young maidens given to the custody of a bitter old woman like Fausta. If they were not inclined to act naughtily before, they would be driven to do so, in very despair, when subject to her tender mercies.”
“We can delay no longer,” said Coecus to the elder vestal; “let the criminal be brought forth and placed in the litter.”
His orders were obeyed. After a short interval a figure, closely veiled, in coarse attire, was conducted out, and unresistingly placed in the litter. Coecus then gave the word to the bearers and attendants to move on. Fausta and three other vestals accompanied the funeral procession, but no weeping relatives and friends – as in most instances would have been the case – followed Coelia. She was alone in the world, without loving kindred. Her male relations were far away with the armies of the emperor, and her mother, sisters, and female connexions, had been removed by death since she, in her extreme youth, had been dedicated by her heathen father to the service of the goddess.
She was thus considered a fit victim, whose barbarous fate there was no one to revenge. Marcia had spoken of her as her sister, but she was a sister only of the affections. Slowly the mournful procession moved on, and a stranger would have supposed that a corpse was being borne to the funeral pile; but those who watched at a distance knew well – from the direction it was taking, to the Campus Sceleratus – that there was a terrible fate prepared for the occupant of the litter. Such a spectacle had not been for a long time seen in Rome, and did not fail to attract a large number of the population.
Gaius, who was looking about him, remarked amongst the crowd a considerable number of persons whom he knew to be Christians, who walked along with sad and averted looks. Some he recognised as presbyters and deacons, and other officers of the Christian Church. He felt no little surprise at seeing them: he even fancied that he saw the Christian bishop; but as his costume differed but slightly from the rest of the people, he was uncertain that such was the case. Me did not feel altogether satisfied about the matter; but still, as they were unarmed, he believed that, even should they feel inclined to rescue the doomed vestal, they would not make the attempt. “What can it mean?” said he to himself. “I wish that Coecus had left the matter alone; it is my belief that we shall gain nothing by the death of this young creature, and we shall have much greater difficulty hereafter, when we pretend to turn Christians, in persuading these presbyters and others that we are in earnest. However, it is too late now to expostulate with him. Coecus is a man who, having once determined on carrying out an object, is not to be deterred from it.” The Campus Sceleratus was at length reached. It was a gloomy spot, and was called the Campus Sceleratus, because it was here that vestal virgins convicted of breaking their vows had for ages past been entombed alive; for even although doomed to this fearful punishment, they retained the privilege of being interred within the walls. Ruin and desolation reigned around, for only the poorest and most abandoned were willing to erect their abodes in the neighbourhood of a spot deemed accursed. Beyond rose the dark walls erected around the city – a sign of the degeneracy of the inhabitants, whose breasts and stout arms in former days had been considered sufficient for its protection. Near it was the Porta Collina, from whence started two important roads (the Via Salaria and the Via Nomentana), passing close to the enormous baths erected by the Emperor Diocletian. Thus, people from all parts of the city had easy access to the spot. A large crowd soon collected. Even some of the frequenters of the bath sauntered forth, prompted by their curiosity to see what was taking place.
Coecus had kept his intention a secret; how it had become known he could not tell. Although he wished to have some spectators who were likely to approve of his proceedings, he had no desire to have them witnessed by so large and mixed a concourse. Still, he was determined to go through with what he had undertaken.
The litter stopped near the centre of the field, on the summit of a slight elevation.
The earth turned up in heaps showed the entrance to the horrible tomb prepared for the hapless vestal. The sun was now sinking behind the Pincian hill, but still shot forth its rays above the trees which crowned its summit, and lighted up the dark litter and those who stood around. In the hollow below were the fossors, with the public executioner and his attendants, ready to receive the doomed vestal and to lead her into her tomb. Coecus, who had to perform the part which would have been taken by the Pontifex Maximus – a dignity long held by the emperors, as it was still by Constantino – raised his hands to the skies; but his words, if he uttered any, were not heard. He then gave directions to the bearers to place the litter on the ground, and advanced, in order to lead forth his victim. He started back. Without assistance a figure rose from within, and stepped forth, when, casting off the dark garment which shrouded her, instead of Coelia, the vestal Marcia, in her white robes, with a purple fillet encircling her brow, appeared in all her radiant beauty.
“She whom you cruel men would have destroyed has escaped!” she said. “Me you cannot accuse of the crime with which you falsely charged her. My eyes have been opened; from henceforth no longer will I serve your false goddesses! I declare myself a Christian, and appeal for protection to the emperor. Ah! you dare not stop me,” she added, as Coecus, hoping that what she had said had not been heard by those around, stepped forward to grasp her arm. At the same moment several persons were seen approaching, who were at once perceived to be presbyters and other men of influence in the Christian Church. They were attended by several lictors and other officers of the law.
Coecus drew back as Marcia spoke, but his presence of mind did not desert him.
“I see that there is One who protects the Christians more powerful than the gods of the ancients,” he exclaimed. “We were ignorantly endeavouring to perform what we considered our duty; but it is evident that a miracle – of which I have heard the Christians speak – has been wrought. Brother pontiffs, what say you? For my own part I am inclined to embrace the faith which has become that of the fair and beautiful Marcia.”
“Anything you please,” muttered Gaius in a low voice; “but it seems to me that we have gained but little by this proceeding.”
Coecus, however, was, as has been seen, a man of prompt action. Ordering the fossors to fill in the tomb, he declared that from henceforth no vestal should be buried on that spot. He expressed his belief that he had been greatly deceived by some of the witnesses who had been suborned to swear falsely against the innocent Coelia. He then advanced towards Amulius, and the other presbyters, and expressed his wish to be instructed in their faith. “I will,” he added, “in the meantime retain my position as chief of the pontiffs; but it shall be that we may together design the means of advancing further the Christian religion.”
Whether or not Amulius and the other presbyters trusted to the expressions of Coecus it was difficult to say, but the larger number of persons among the crowd, many of whom were Christians, believed him; while the idolaters, who had been wont to look up to him as the director of their religious mysteries, were unable to comprehend the meaning of the wonderful change which had taken place. That the chief pontiff of Rome, who had clung to her idolatries, and even defied the emperor after he had expressed himself openly in favour of the new faith, should thus suddenly declare his intention of becoming a Christian, seemed to them a thing altogether incomprehensible.
The first rejoiced under the idea that they had gained a great accession to their strength, since the chief of their opponents had thus openly declared himself willing to become one of their number; while to the crowd of heathens it was a matter of indifference, so long as they should receive their accustomed doles of food, and could enjoy the spectacles with which they had so long been indulged.
Chapter Twelve.
Captured
When Jovinian found himself in the hands of the Roman soldier, he naturally struggled to get free. He was held fast, however, by the man who had seized him.
“Why, by Mars, I believe he must be the youth we were sent to look for with the slave Eros whom we captured yesterday and took back to his master, the pontiff Gaius,” exclaimed the soldier, holding his torch so that the light fell on Jovinian’s countenance.
“Whether or not you speak the truth, I am a Roman citizen, guilty of no crime, with perfect right, prompted by whatever cause, to visit these galleries,” answered Jovinian, feeling that his best course was to put a bold face upon the matter, and not to exhibit any signs of fear.
“You cannot deny that you are the youth we are in search of – the nephew of the pontiff Gaius,” said the soldier. “Although we may have missed the larger game we were sent to hunt down, we have secured you, and shall obtain the reward promised us; so come along.”
“What! and give up the search for the others we expected to capture!” observed another soldier. “The youth was in company with two or more persons. Will you consent to lead us to where your friends are concealed?” he continued, addressing Jovinian; “it will be well for you if you do, for if we take them we will allow you to go free.” So debased was the soldier, that it did not occur to him that he was making a proposal which was sure to be refused, “I know not where those you speak of have gone, nor would I lead you to them if I did,” answered Jovinian. “I insist, however, on being set at liberty. By what authority do you detain me?”
“By that of the grip I have on your arm,” answered the soldier, laughing; “your boldness proves you to be the youth we were sent to look after; so come along, I say, and if you will not show us the way your friends have taken we must try and find it ourselves.”
While the man was speaking some of his companions discovered the gallery along which Jovinian had been endeavouring to make his escape. “This way, this way!” cried several of the soldiers; “they must have gone down here, and we shall soon overtake them.”
The party, dragging Jovinian with them, entered the gallery; but he observed that most of their torches were nearly burnt out, and he knew that if they continued on long they would be left in total darkness. This, however, the soldiers did not appear to have thought of. Jovinian was relieved of all anxiety about his friend Severus and the fossor from finding the soldiers proceeding along the gallery by which he had at first attempted to escape until convinced that it was not the path he ought to have followed. What he had expected soon happened: first one torch went out, then another.
“We must beat a retreat, or we shall be losing our way,” said the man who held him, calling to his comrades. “No time to lose! Quick! quick! – our safest plan is to retreat by the road we entered; let all the torches be put out except one, which will suffice to guide us; these galleries have no end, they say, or may conduct, for what I know, to the infernal regions.”
Even the plan proposed availed the party but little. They had made their way much farther than they supposed along the galleries.
The first torch was quickly burnt out, a second and third were soon after extinguished; and in a short time, before they had got to any great distance from the entrance to the gallery where Jovinian had been captured, the torch alone of the soldier who held him by the arm was left alight.
“Here, Bassus,” said his captor, addressing a comrade, “hold him fast and bring him along. I will go ahead and lead the way, or we shall be left in darkness.”
The speaker hurried forward, and Jovinian felt his arm clasped by his fresh guardian.
Directly afterwards the other man, in his eagerness, stumbled over a block of stone, and dropped his torch into a pool of water, by which it was immediately extinguished. The men groped their way in the direction they had before been going. “On! on!” cried their leader: “we must escape from this as fast as we can.”
Other passages turned off from the gallery they had been following; and, as a natural consequence, some of the men went into one of them, others into a second, and more into a third, and then, suspecting that they were going wrong, they tried to retrace their steps, and in a short time completely lost themselves.
Jovinian and his guard had not gone far when the latter whispered to him, “If you know the road out of this, and wish to make your escape, you are welcome to do so. It is my belief that we shall be all lost in this labyrinth; the further we go the less hope there will be for you. I would not involve you in our destruction. I am a Christian, and would gladly accompany you, but I must not desert my comrades.” As Bassus spoke he released his captive’s arm.
Jovinian was at first inclined to doubt the man, but this last remark convinced him that Bassus was a follower of the Lord.
“If you will accompany me I will try and find the way,” he said; “and would rather have you with me than be alone.”
“No, no; go, and save yourself,” said Bassus. “I am committing a military crime in letting you go; but I feel sure that I shall never be questioned on the subject.”
At length Jovinian, finding that he could not persuade Bassus to accompany him, took his advice. With arms outstretched before him, he hastened along the gallery away from the soldiers. He had carefully noted the distance he had come since leaving the mouth of the passage along which Severus and the fossor, he was now satisfied, had proceeded. He hoped that they would come back and look for him, and if not, that he might be led by Providence to the abode of Gentianus. For some time he could hear the soldiers shouting to each other, but their cries grew fainter and fainter. The entrance to the gallery he was seeking for was on the left side, and then he ought, he supposed, to take the first opening on the right, instead, as he had before done, of going straight forward. On he went, but in the darkness his progress was of necessity very slow; still, as he had the path mapped, as it were, clearly in his mind, he proceeded without hesitation. At last he entered the gallery he was seeking for.
Chapter Thirteen.
The Assassins
The way before Jovinian was now unknown, and he had to walk with the greatest caution. He might meet with some pit, or hole, or flight of steps, or the gallery might turn off abruptly to the right or left. He had heard that persons had been lost in these galleries, and wandered about for days, unable to find their way out, when they had sunk down from hunger and fatigue, and died. These were, however, heathens who had gone in pursuit of the Christian fugitives. The God of the Christians, he knew, would be watching over him; he, therefore, had no cowardly fears, but went forward in the full confidence that he would be protected.
Even with a torch the undertaking would have been a difficult one. It appeared to him that he had gone on for half an hour or more. Every now and then he shouted out, in the hope that Severus might hear him; but no answer came to his cries, except an occasional echo from the galleries on either hand. He remembered that he and his friends had proceeded a considerable distance before they encountered the soldiers, so that it must of necessity take him a long time to get back. He was surprised that Severus and the fossor had not come to look for him, feeling confident that he was following the gallery they had taken. How much longer he wandered on he could scarcely tell. At times he felt almost inclined to sit down in despair; but then he said to himself, “He who watches over Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps; I will trust to Him,” and with renewed courage he went on. Although he might not discover the abode of Gentianus, or find his way out of the catacomb, he was sure to encounter some of the persons who might come to visit the tombs of the martyrs, or to pray at the graves of their relatives, and they would certainly render him all the assistance in their power.
It also occurred to him that other parties might have been sent in search of Gentianus and Severus, and it would be dangerous to fall into their hands.
He might conceal himself, however, should he discover any suspicious-looking persons approaching. He was too anxious to experience any sensation of hunger; but he at length began to feel very weary. He fancied, indeed, that he must already have been groping his way for several hours. If so, he could hardly have proceeded in a straight line, and might, for aught he could tell, be actually turning back in the direction from which he had come. “Had I myself only to depend on, such might be the case! – but the God of love and mercy will lead me; I will trust Him,” he exclaimed.
Becoming accustomed to the darkness, he found that he could move much faster than at first, and, with his hands stretched out, the instant his fingers came in contact with the rock, he was able easily to avoid it. At length his feet struck against a slab of stone. It was the facing of a tomb, which had never been placed in its intended position. This showed him that he was in a part of the galleries likely to be visited, and reminded him also that he might probably stumble over other similar impediments.
He sat down to rest, at the same time listening for a sound which might assist to guide him, should persons perchance be in any of the neighbouring galleries. He had sat thus for some time, and was on the point of moving onwards, when a faint cry reached his ear; it came from the direction towards which he had been proceeding, he had gone a few paces, when he saw a light streaming along the gallery, on the left. He hurried towards it. As he approached the spot from whence the light shone forth, he observed that it issued from a lantern held by a female, whom he recognised as Rufina. Another female was bending over a person who lay stretched on the ground. The first was Julia, the other Eugenia, whom she appeared to be endeavouring to restore to animation, uttering, at the same time, expressions of grief and endearment. “Oh, mother! mother! speak to me,” she exclaimed. “Revive! the danger is over; we have escaped our pursuers, and are safe here!” So engaged were Julia and Rufina in their efforts to recall Eugenia to consciousness that they had not heard Jovinian approach. Rufina, her ear catching the sound of footsteps, at length perceived him. At first she cast towards him a look of alarm, but discovering who he was, she uttered an exclamation of joy. “Here is Jovinian, dear lady,” she exclaimed; “your husband Severus cannot be far off, and we shall be able to escape from the wretches who were following us.” From what Jovinian heard, he knew that Severus and his guide must still be wandering about the galleries, or else that they had been overtaken by some of the parties sent to capture them. Unwilling, however, to deprive his friends of the hopes Rufina had endeavoured to raise, he did not express his fears; but, kneeling down by the side of Eugenia, he tried to assist Julia and Rufina in restoring her to animation.
“There is a fountain near,” he said; “I heard the sound of the water bubbling forth as I came along: very likely a cup or basin may have been left near it to enable passers-by to drink; let me take the lantern, and I will quickly return.”
“Oh, go! go!” said Julia; “we shall not fear to remain in darkness.”
He was not disappointed in his expectations; a small metal cup was placed in a niche by the side of the rock, out of which the water bubbled forth, making its escape by some hidden course beneath the ground. This showed that the gallery must be frequently visited.
Jovinian hastened back with the cool liquid, with which Julia bathed her mother’s brow and lips, pouring a small quantity down her throat.
Julia thanked him more by her looks than with her lips. “Oh, see! she is reviving now,” she exclaimed.
After a short time Eugenia was able to sit up, and declared herself strong enough to proceed, should it be necessary.
“We are as safe here as in any other part of the gallery,” observed Rufina. “Should any person approach, we can seek for shelter in one of the many passages which turn off close to us.”
Eugenia’s first inquiry was for her husband.
“I trust that he is safe,” answered Jovinian; and he then described how he had been parted from him. His answer appeared rather to increase than to calm Eugenia’s alarm. Jovinian now inquired of Rufina what had caused them to take to flight; for he was unwilling to question either Julia or her mother, who was, indeed, little able to answer him.
“It was I who have been the instrument in God’s hands of warning them of the dangers with which they were threatened, and of assisting them to escape from their heathen enemies,” answered Rufina. “It happened in this wise: Eros had ventured forth, unwisely as it proved, from his hiding-place, when he was captured by some emissaries of your uncle Gaius. We mourned him as lost, feeling sure that his life would be sacrificed to the vengeance of the pontiff. We were not mistaken: he was doomed to be crucified. The night before he was to suffer, when it was believed by his guards that he would never again hold communication with his fellow-creatures, he sat with heavy chains on his legs and arms; they, either supposing him to be asleep, or not caring whether he heard or not, began to talk of various projects on foot; some of those, which only showed in what vile offices they were engaged, were matters of indifference to him. At length, however, they spoke of a design for the destruction of Gentianus and Severus. They hoped to obtain a guide – one well acquainted with the galleries, a recreant to the faith of the Gospel – and by his means they felt sure of accomplishing their object.
“What he heard brought deep grief to the heart of Eros. A slave bound in chains and expecting to die on the morrow, he could render no assistance to the noble patrician who was thus placed in such fearful jeopardy, and about whom I had so often spoken to him.” Rufina then described how the life of Eros had been saved by the vestal Marcia. “As soon as he was at liberty,” she continued, “he hastened to me, and told me what he had heard – I being better able to warn our friends than any one he knew. There was not a moment to be lost, he said, for that very day the assassins would set out on their search. Eros offered to accompany me; but this I declined, and hastened as fast as my feet would convey me to the entrance of the galleries. After much difficulty I found the ladies, Eugenia and Julia, with the patrician Gentianus; I warned them of the approach of the assassins, entreating Gentianus to fly with his daughter and Julia.
“‘I should only impede them,’ he answered. ‘Rufina, I charge you conduct them to a place of safety; I will remain here; I am prepared for whatever Heaven will allow my enemies to do.’
“In vain we pleaded with him. He made his commands imperative on us. ‘Seek for Severus, and warn him,’ he added; ‘his life is of more value than mine; he may still live to preach the Gospel and to exhort sinners to turn to the Saviour.’ Again he charged us to fly, in a way we could not disobey; and Eugenia, who had ever implicitly followed his commands, taking Julia by the hand, accompanied me in the direction I considered the safest.
“Scarcely had we left the gallery when we heard the shouts of the assassins, as, led by their treacherous guide, they burst into the long-concealed chamber. I judged by their voices that they were expressing their disappointment at not discovering Severus. The guide, either knowing his way no farther, or having performed what he had undertaken, must have refused to lead them on, for they did not follow us, as I feared they would have done. I could not leave Eugenia and Julia, or I would have retraced my steps, and endeavoured to ascertain the direction they had taken. Judging by the sounds I heard, I believed that, dreading to remain in the gallery, they had endeavoured to regain the upper world.”
Jovinian trusted that such might be the case; but greatly feared they were more likely to have gone in search of Severus. He offered to try and find his way to the abode of Gentianus, if Rufina could give him sufficient directions. “I have been so many hours moving in the dark that I do not fear to make the attempt,” he said, “and the lamp hanging to the roof, which it is not likely has been extinguished, will guide me when I approach the chamber.”
Eugenia, deeply anxious to know what had occurred to her father, gladly accepted Jovinian’s offer.
“Oh that I might go with, you!” said Julia, taking his hand.
“No,” said Rufina; “it will be far safer for you to go alone.” And she then proceeded to give him such directions as he believed would enable him to direct his course aright.
He set out, counting his steps, that he might not fail to know the distance he had traversed. More than once he stopped, fearing that he had missed his way; but, feeling the importance of his errand, he persevered in his endeavour, and so well did he remember his directions, that he made no mistake. At length he reached the entrance to the gallery which led to the chamber. It had been left open by Rufina, who had been unable to shut it, and at the farther end he saw the faint light of the lamp still burning. He stopped and listened. No sound reached his ear. He feared that the assassins, disappointed at not finding their chief victim, had wreaked their anger on the head of his aged father-in-law. He hurried forward as he approached the chamber, hoping to see Gentianus still seated in his chair; but the chair was empty. In another minute he was kneeling beside the old man, who was stretched his length on the ground. Jovinian at first thought that Gentianus was dead; but as he lifted up the head of his venerable friend, the few faint words uttered by Gentianus showed him that he was still conscious.
“Have they escaped?” he asked; “have my beloved Eugenia and Julia been preserved from the daggers of the assassins? And Severus, – can you give me news of him, my son? or have their cruel weapons struck him down?”
