Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (detective books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
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guards and tell what had happened, and, though some suspicion might fall
on him, await the issue calmly. But Chilo’s whole past was of such
character that every closer acquaintance with the prefect of the city or
the prefect of the guard must cause him very serious trouble, and
confirm also every suspicion which might enter the heads of officials.
On the other hand, to flee would be to confirm Petronius in the opinion
that Vinicius had been betrayed and murdered through conspiracy.
Petronius was a powerful man, who could command the police of the whole
Empire, and who beyond doubt would try to find the guilty parties even
at the ends of the earth. Still, Chilo thought to go straight to him,
and tell what had happened. Yes; that was the best plan. Petronius was
calm, and Chilo might be sure of this, at least, that he would hear him
to the end. Petronius, who knew the affair from its inception, would
believe in Chilo’s innocence more easily than would the prefects.
But to go to him, it was needful to know with certainty what had
happened to Vinicius. Chilo did not know that. He had seen, it is
true, the Lygian stealing with Croton’s body to the river, but nothing
more. Vinicius might be killed; but he might be wounded or detained.
Now it occurred to Chilo for the first time, that surely the Christians
would not dare to kill a man so powerful,—a friend of Cæsar, and a high
military official,—for that kind of act might draw on them a general
persecution. It was more likely that they had detained him by superior
force, to give Lygia means to hide herself a second time.
This thought filled Chilo with hope.
“If that Lygian dragon has not torn him to pieces at the first attack,
he is alive, and if he is alive he himself will testify that I have not
betrayed him; and then not only does nothing threaten me, but—O Hermes,
count again on two heifers—a fresh field is opening. I can inform one
of the freedmen where to seek his lord; and whether he goes to the
prefect or not is his affair, the only point being that I should not go.
Also, I can go to Petronius, and count on a reward. I have found Lygia;
now I shall find Vinicius, and then again Lygia. It is needful to know
first whether Vinicius is dead or living.”
Here it occurred to him that he might go in the night to the baker Demas
and inquire about Ursus. But he rejected that thought immediately. He
preferred to have nothing to do with Ursus. He might suppose, justly,
that if Ursus had not killed Glaucus he had been warned, evidently, by
the Christian elder to whom he had confessed his design,—warned that
the affair was an unclean one, to which some traitor had persuaded him.
In every case, at the mere recollection of Ursus, a shiver ran through
Chilo’s whole body. But he thought that in the evening he would send
Euricius for news to that house in which the thing had happened.
Meanwhile he needed refreshment, a bath, and rest. The sleepless night,
the journey to Ostrianum, the flight from the Trans-Tiber, had wearied
him exceedingly.
One thing gave him permanent comfort: he had on his person two purses,—
that which Vinicius had given him at home, and that which he had thrown
him on the way from the cemetery. In view of this happy circumstance,
and of all the excitement through which he had passed, he resolved to
eat abundantly, and drink better wine than he drank usually.
When the hour for opening the wine-shop came at last, he did so in such
a marked measure that he forgot the bath; he wished to sleep, above all,
and drowsiness overcame his strength so that he returned with tottering
step to his dwelling in the Subura, where a slave woman, purchased with
money obtained from Vinicius, was waiting for him.
When he had entered a sleeping-room, as dark as the den of a fox, he
threw himself on the bed, and fell asleep in one instant. He woke only
in the evening, or rather he was roused by the slave woman, who called
him to rise, for some one was inquiring, and wished to see him on urgent
business.
The watchful Chilo came to himself in one moment, threw on his hooded
mantle hastily, and, commanding the slave woman to stand aside, looked
out cautiously.
And he was benumbed! for he saw before the door of the sleeping-room the
gigantic form of Ursus.
At that sight he felt his feet and head grow icy-cold, the heart ceased
to beat in his bosom, and shivers were creeping along his back. For a
time he was unable to speak; then with chattering teeth he said, or
rather groaned,—
“Syra—I am not at home—I don’t know that—good man-”
“I told him that thou wert at home, but asleep, lord,” answered the
girl; “he asked to rouse thee.”
“O gods! I will command that thou—”
But Ursus, as if impatient of delay, approached the door of the
sleeping-room, and, bending, thrust in his head.
“O Chilo Chilonides!” said he.
“Pax tecum! pax! pax!” answered Chilo. “O best of Christians! Yes, I
am Chilo; but this is a mistake,—I do not know thee!”
“Chilo Chilonides,” repeated Ursus, “thy lord, Vinicius, summons thee to
go with me to him.”
A PIERCING pain roused Vinicius. At the first moment he could not
understand where he was, nor what was happening. He felt a roaring in
his head, and his eyes were covered as if with mist. Gradually, however,
his consciousness returned, and at last he beheld through that mist
three persons bending over him. Two he recognized: one was Ursus, the
other the old man whom he had thrust aside when carrying off Lygia. The
third, an utter stranger, was holding his left arm, and feeling it from
the elbow upward as far as the shoulder-blade. This caused so terrible
a pain that Vinicius, thinking it a kind of revenge which they were
taking, said through his set teeth, “Kill me!” But they paid no
apparent heed to his words, just as though they heard them not, or
considered them the usual groans of suffering. Ursus, with his anxious
and also threatening face of a barbarian, held a bundle of white cloth
torn in long strips. The old man spoke to the person who was pressing
the arm of Vinicius,—“Glaucus, art thou certain that the wound in the
head is not mortal?”
“Yes, worthy Crispus,” answered Glaucus. “While serving in the fleet as
a slave, and afterward while living at Naples, I cured many wounds, and
with the pay which came to me from that occupation I freed myself and my
relatives at last. The wound in the head is slight. When this one
[here he pointed to Ursus with his head] took the girl from the young
man, he pushed him against the wall; the young man while falling put out
his arm, evidently to save himself; he broke and disjointed it, but by
so doing saved his head and his life.”
“Thou hast had more than one of the brotherhood in thy care,” added
Crispus, “and hast the repute of a skilful physician; therefore I sent
Ursus to bring thee.”
“Ursus, who on the road confessed that yesterday he was ready to kill
me!”
“He confessed his intention earlier to me than to thee; but I, who know
thee and thy love for Christ, explained to him that the traitor is not
thou, but the unknown, who tried to persuade him to murder.”
“That was an evil spirit, but I took him for an angel,” said Ursus, with
a sigh.
“Some other time thou wilt tell me, but now we must think of this
wounded man.” Thus speaking, he began to set the arm. Though Crispus
sprinkled water on his face, Vinicius fainted repeatedly from suffering;
that was, however, a fortunate circumstance, since he did not feel the
pain of putting his arm into joint, nor of setting it. Glaucus fixed
the limb between two strips of wood, which he bound quickly and firmly,
so as to keep the arm motionless. When the operation was over, Vinicius
recovered consciousness again and saw Lygia above him. She stood there
at the bed holding a brass basin with water, in which from time to time
Glaucus dipped a sponge and moistened the head of his patient.
Vinicius gazed and could not believe his eyes. What he saw seemed a
dream, or the pleasant vision brought by fever, and only after a long
time could he whisper,—“Lygia!”
The basin trembled in her hand at that sound, but she turned on him eyes
full of sadness.
“Peace be with thee!” answered she, in a low voice.
She stood there with extended arms, her face full of pity and sorrow.
But he gazed, as if to fill his sight with her, so that after his lids
were closed the picture might remain under them. He looked at her face,
paler and smaller than it had been, at the tresses of dark hair, at the
poor dress of a laboring woman; he looked so intently that her snowy
forehead began to grow rose-colored under the influence of his look.
And first he thought that he would love her always; and second, that
that paleness of hers and that poverty were his work,—that it was he
who had driven her from a house where she was loved, and surrounded with
plenty and comfort, and thrust her into that squalid room, and clothed
her in that poor robe of dark wool.
He would have arrayed her in the costliest brocade, in all the jewels of
the earth; hence astonishment, alarm, and pity seized him, and sorrow so
great that he would have fallen at her feet had he been able to move.
“Lygia,” said he, “thou didst not permit my death.”
“May God return health to thee,” she answered, with sweetness.
For Vinicius, who had a feeling both of those wrongs which he had
inflicted on her formerly, and those which he had wished to inflict on
her recently, there was a real balsam in Lygia’s words. He forgot at
the moment that through her mouth Christian teaching might speak; he
felt only that a beloved woman was speaking, and that in her answer
there was a special tenderness, a goodness simply preterhuman, which
shook him to the depth of his soul. As just before he had grown weak
from pain, so now he grew weak from emotion. A certain faintness came
on him, at once immense and agreeable. He felt as if falling into some
abyss, but he felt that to fall was pleasant, and that he was happy. He
thought at that moment of weakness that a divinity was standing above
him.
Meanwhile Glaucus had finished washing the wound in his head, and had
applied a healing ointment. Ursus took the brass basin from Lygia’s
hands; she brought a cup of water and wine which stood ready on the
table, and put it to the wounded man’s lips. Vinicius drank eagerly, and
felt great relief. After the operation the pain had almost passed; the
wound and contusion began to grow firm; perfect consciousness returned
to him.
“Give me another drink,” said he.
Lygia took the empty cup to the next room; meanwhile Crispus, after a
few words with Glaucus, approached the bed saying,—
“God has not permitted thee, Vinicius, to accomplish an evil deed,
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