Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero by Henryk Sienkiewicz (good ebook reader txt) 📖

VINICIUS, on leaving the Apostle, went to the prison with a heart renewed by hope. Somewhere in the depth of his soul, despair and terror were still crying; but he stifled those voices. It seemed to him impossible that the intercession of the viceregent of God and the power of his prayer should be without effect. He feared to hope; he feared to doubt. “I will believe in His mercy,” said he to himself, “even though I saw her in the jaws of a lion.” And at this thought, even though the soul quivered in him and cold sweat drenched his temples, he believed. Every throb of his heart was a prayer then. He began to understand that faith would move mountains, for he felt in himself a wonderful strength, which he had not felt earlier. It seemed to him that he could do things which he had not the power to do the day before. At moments he had an impression that the danger had passed. If despair was heard groaning again in his soul, he recalled that night, and that holy gray face raised to heaven in prayer.

“No, Christ will not refuse His first disciple and the pastor of His flock! Christ will not refuse him! I will not doubt!” And he ran toward the prison as a herald of good news.

But there an unexpected thing awaited him.

All the pretorian guards taking turn before the Mamertine prison knew him, and generally they raised not the least difficulty; this time, however, the line did not open, but a centurion approached him and said,—

“Pardon, noble tribune, to-day we have a command to admit no one.”

“A command?” repeated Vinicius, growing pale.

The soldier looked at him with pity, and answered,—

“Yes, lord, a command of Cæsar. In the prison there are many sick, and perhaps it is feared that visitors might spread infection through the city.”

“But hast thou said that the order was for to-day only?”

“The guards change at noon.”

Vinicius was silent and uncovered his head, for it seemed to him that the pileolus which he wore was of lead.

Meanwhile the soldier approached him, and said in a low voice,

“Be at rest, lord, the guard and Ursus are watching over her.” When he had said this, he bent and, in the twinkle of an eye, drew with his long Gallic sword on the flag stone the form of a fish.

Vinicius looked at him quickly.

“And thou art a pretorian?”

“Till I shall be there,” answered the soldier, pointing to the prison.

“And I, too, worship Christ.”

“May His name be praised! I know, lord, I cannot admit thee to the prison, but write a letter, I will give it to the guard.”

“Thanks to thee, brother.”

He pressed the soldier’s hand, and went away. The pileolus ceased to weigh like lead. The morning sun rose over the walls of the prison, and with its brightness consolation began to enter his heart again. That Christian soldier was for him a new witness of the power of Christ. After a while he halted, and, fixing his glance on the rosy clouds above the Capitol and the temple of Jupiter Stator, he said,—

“I have not seen her to-day, O Lord, but I believe in Thy mercy.”

At the house he found Petronius, who, making day out of night as usual, had returned not long before. He had succeeded, however, in taking his bath and anointing himself for sleep.

“I have news for thee,” said he. “To-day I was with Tullius Senecio, whom Cæsar also visited. I know not whence it came to the mind of the Augusta to bring little Rufius with her,—perhaps to soften the heart of Cæsar by his beauty. Unfortunately, the child, wearied by drowsiness, fell asleep during the reading, as Vespasian did once; seeing this, Ahenobarbus hurled a goblet at his step-son, and wounded him seriously. Poppæa fainted; all heard how Cæsar said, ‘I have enough of this brood!’ and that, knowest thou, means as much as death.”

“The punishment of God was hanging over the Augusta,” answered Vinicius; “but why dost thou tell me this?”

“I tell thee because the anger of Poppæa pursued thee and Lygia; occupied now by her own misfortune, she may leave her vengeance and be more easily influenced. I will see her this evening and talk with her.”

“Thanks to thee. Thou givest me good news.”

“But do thou bathe and rest. Thy lips are blue, and there is not a shadow of thee left.”

“Is not the time of the first ‘ludus matutinus’ announced?” inquired Vinicius.

“In ten days. But they will take other prisons first. The more time that remains to us the better. All is not lost yet.”

But he did not believe this; for he knew perfectly that since to the request of Aliturus, Cæsar had found the splendidly sounding answer in which he compared himself to Brutus, there was no rescue for Lygia. He hid also, through pity, what he had heard at Senecio’s, that Cæsar and Tigellinus had decided to select for themselves and their friends the most beautiful Christian maidens, and defile them before the torture; the others were to be given, on the day of the games, to pretorians and beast-keepers.

Knowing that Vinicius would not survive Lygia in any case, he strengthened hope in his heart designedly, first, through sympathy for him; and second, because he wished that if Vinicius had to die, he should die beautiful,—not with a face deformed and black from pain and watching.

“To-day I will speak more or less thus to Augusta,” said he: “‘Save Lygia for Vinicius, I will