Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (detective books to read .TXT) 📖

as columns.

 

“Thanks to Mercury that my neck was not broken by him,” thought

Vinicius. “By Pollux! if the other Lygians are like this one, the

Danubian legions will have heavy work some time!”

 

But aloud he said, “Hei, slave!”

 

Ursus drew his head out of the chimney, and, smiling in a manner almost

friendly, said,—“God give thee a good day, lord, and good health; but I

am a free man, not a slave.”

 

On Vinicius who wished to question Ursus touching Lygia’s birthplace,

these words produced a certain pleasant impression; for discourse with a

free though a common man was less disagreeable to his Roman and

patrician pride, than with a slave, in whom neither law nor custom

recognized human nature.

 

“Then thou dost not belong to Aulus?” asked he.

 

“No, lord, I serve Callina, as I served her mother, of my own will.”

 

Here he hid his head again in the chimney, to blow the coals, on which

he had placed some wood. When he had finished, he took it out and

said,—“With us there are no slaves.”

 

“Where is Lygia?” inquired Vinicius.

 

“She has gone out, and I am to cook food for thee. She watched over

thee the whole night.”

 

“Why didst thou not relieve her?”

 

“Because she wished to watch, and it is for me to obey.” Here his eyes

grew gloomy, and after a while he added:

 

“If I had disobeyed her, thou wouldst not be living.”

 

“Art thou sorry for not having killed me?”

 

“No, lord. Christ has not commanded us to kill.”

 

“But Atacinus and Croton?”

 

“I could not do otherwise,” muttered Ursus. And he looked with regret

on his hands, which had remained pagan evidently, though his soul had

accepted the cross. Then he put a pot on the crane, and fixed his

thoughtful eyes on the fire.

 

“That was thy fault, lord,” said he at last. “Why didst thou raise thy

hand against her, a king’s daughter?”

 

Pride boiled up, at the first moment, in Vinicius, because a common man

and a barbarian had not merely dared to speak to him thus familiarly,

but to blame him in addition. To those uncommon and improbable things

which had met him since yesterday, was added another. But being weak

and without his slaves, he restrained himself, especially since a wish

to learn some details of Lygia’s life gained the upper hand in him.

 

When he had calmed himself, therefore, he inquired about the war of the

Lygians against Vannius and the Suevi. Ursus was glad to converse, but

could not add much that was new to what in his time Aulus Plautius had

told. Ursus had not been in battle, for he had attended the hostages to

the camp of Atelius Hister. He knew only that the Lygians had beaten

the Suevi and the Yazygi, but that their leader and king had fallen from

the arrows of the Yazygi. Immediately after they received news that the

Semnones had set fire to forests on their boundaries, they returned in

haste to avenge the wrong, and the hostages remained with Atelius, who

ordered at first to give them kingly honors. Afterward Lygia’s mother

died. The Roman commander knew not what to do with the child. Ursus

wished to return with her to their own country, but the road was unsafe

because of wild beasts and wild tribes. When news came that an embassy

of Lygians had visited Pomponius, offering him aid against the

Marcomani, Hister sent him with Lygia to Pomponius. When they came to

him they learned, however, that no ambassadors had been there, and in

that way they remained in the camp; whence Pomponius took them to Rome,

and at the conclusion of his triumph he gave the king’s daughter to

Pomponia Græcina.

 

Though only certain small details of this narrative had been unknown to

Vinicius, he listened with pleasure, for his enormous pride of family

was pleased that an eye-witness had confirmed Lygia’s royal descent. As

a king’s daughter she might occupy a position at Cæsar’s court equal to

the daughters of the very first families, all the more since the nation

whose ruler her father had been, had not warred with Rome so far, and,

though barbarian, it might become terrible; for, according to Atelius

Hister himself, it possessed an immense force of warriors. Ursus,

moreover, confirmed this completely.

 

“We live in the woods,” said he, in answer to Vinicius, “but we have so

much land that no man knows where the end is, and there are many people

on it. There are also wooden towns in the forest, in which there is

great plenty; for what the Semnones, the Marcomani, the Vandals, and the

Quadi plunder through the world, we take from them. They dare not come

to us; but when the wind blows from their side, they burn our forests.

We fear neither them nor the Roman Cæsar.”

 

“The gods gave Rome dominion over the earth,” said Vinicius severely.

 

“The gods are evil spirits,” replied Ursus, with simplicity, “and where

there are no Romans, there is no supremacy.”

 

Here he fixed the fire, and said, as if to himself,—“When Cæsar took

Callina to the palace, and I thought that harm might meet her, I wanted

to go to the forest and bring Lygians to help the king’s daughter. And

Lygians would have moved toward the Danube, for they are virtuous people

though pagan. There I should have given them ‘good tidings.’ But as it

is, if ever Callina returns to Pomponia Græcina I will bow down to her

for permission to go to them; for Christus was born far away, and they

have not even heard of Him. He knew better than I where He should be

born; but if He had come to the world with us, in the forests, we would

not have tortured Him to death, that is certain. We would have taken

care of the Child, and guarded Him, so that never should He want for

game, mushrooms, beaver-skins, or amber. And what we plundered from the

Suevi and the Marcomani we would have given Him, so that He might have

comfort and plenty.”

 

Thus speaking, he put near the fire the vessel with food for Vinicius,

and was silent. His thoughts wandered evidently, for a time yet,

through the Lygian wildernesses, till the liquid began to boil; then he

poured it into a shallow plate, and, cooling it properly, said,—

“Glaucus advises thee, lord, to move even thy sound arm as little as

possible; Callina has commanded me to give thee food.”

 

Lygia commanded! There was no answer to that. It did not even come to

Vinicius’s head to oppose her will, just as if she had been the daughter

of Cæsar or a goddess. He uttered not a word, therefore; and Ursus,

sitting near his bed, took out the liquid with a small cup, and put it

to his mouth. He did this so carefully, and with such a kindly smile,

that Vinicius could not believe his own eyes, could not think him the

same terrible Titan who the day before had crushed Croton, and, rushing

on him like a storm, would have torn him to pieces but for Lygia’s pity.

The young patrician, for the first time in life, began to ponder over

this: What can take place in the breast of a simple man, a barbarian,

and a servant?

 

But Ursus proved to be a nurse as awkward as painstaking; the cup was

lost among his herculean fingers so completely that there was no place

left for the mouth of the sick man. After a few fruitless efforts the

giant was troubled greatly, and said,—“Li! it would be easier to lead

an aurochs out of a snare.”

 

The anxiety of the Lygian amused Vinicius, but his remark did not

interest him less. He had seen in circuses the terrible urus, brought

from wildernesses of the north, against which the most daring bestiarii

went with dread, and which yielded only to elephants in size and

strength.

 

“Hast thou tried to take such beasts by the horns?” inquired he, with

astonishment.

 

“Till the twentieth winter passed over me, I was afraid,” answered

Ursus; “but after that it happened.”

 

And he began to feed Vinicius still more awkwardly than before.

 

“I must ask Miriam or Nazarius,” said he.

 

But now Lygia’s pale face appeared from behind the curtain.

 

“I will assist directly,” said she. And after a while she came from the

cubiculum, in which she had been preparing to sleep, as it seemed, for

she was in a single close tunic, called by the ancients capitium,

covering the breast completely, and her hair was unbound. Vinicius,

whose heart beat with more quickness at sight of her, began to upbraid

her for not thinking of sleep yet; but she answered joyously,—“I was

just preparing to sleep, but first I will take the place of Ursus.”

 

She took the cup, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, began to give

food to Vinicius, who felt at once overcome and delighted. When she

inclined toward him, the warmth of her body struck him, and her unbound

hair fell on his breast. He grew pale from the impression; but in the

confusion and impulse of desires he felt also that that was a head dear

above all and magnified above all, in comparison with which the whole

world was nothing. At first he had desired her; now he began to love

her with a full breast. Before that, as generally in life and in

feeling, he had been, like all people of that time, a blind,

unconditional egotist, who thought only of himself; at present he began

to think of her.

 

After a while, therefore, he refused further nourishment; and though he

found inexhaustible delight in her presence and in looking at her, he

said,—“Enough! Go to rest, my divine one.”

 

“Do not address me in that way,” answered Lygia; “it is not proper for

me to hear such words.”

 

She smiled at him, however, and said that sleep had fled from her, that

she felt no toil, that she would not go to rest till Glaucus came. He

listened to her words as to music; his heart rose with increasing

delight, increasing gratitude, and his thought was struggling to show

her that gratitude.

 

“Lygia,” said he, after a moment of silence, “I did not know thee

hitherto. But I know now that I wished to attain thee by a false way;

hence I say, return to Pomponia Græcina, and be assured that in future

no hand will be raised against thee.”

 

Her face became sad on a sudden. “I should be happy,” answered she,

“could I look at her, even from a distance; but I cannot return to her

now.”

 

“Why?” inquired Vinicius, with astonishment.

 

“We Christians know, through Acte, what is done on the Palatine. Hast

thou not heard that Cæsar, soon after my flight and before his departure

for Naples, summoned Aulus and Pomponia, and, thinking that they had

helped me, threatened them with his anger? Fortunately Aulus was able to

say to him, ‘Thou knowest, lord, that a lie has never passed my lips; I

swear to thee now that we did not help her to escape, and we do not

know, as thou dost not, what has happened to her.’ Cæsar believed, and

afterward forgot. By the advice of the elders I have never written to

mother where I am, so that she might take an oath boldly at all times

that she has no knowledge of me. Thou wilt not understand this,

perhaps, O Vinicius; but it is not permitted us to lie, even in a

question