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

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 save Ruflus for thee.’ And I will think of

that seriously.

 

“One word spoken to Ahenobarbus at the right moment may save or ruin any

one. In the worst case, we will gain time.”

 

“Thanks to thee,” repeated Vinicius.

 

“Thou wilt thank me best if thou eat and sleep. By Athene! In the

greatest straits Odysseus had sleep and food in mind. Thou hast spent

the whole night in prison, of course?”

 

“No,” answered Vinicius; “I wished to visit the prison to-day, but there

is an order to admit no one. Learn, O Petronius, if the order is for

to-day alone or till the day of the games.”

 

“I will discover this evening, and tomorrow morning will tell thee for

what time and why the order was issued. But now, even were Helios to go

to Cimmerian regions from sorrow, I shall sleep, and do thou follow my

example.”

 

They separated; but Vinicius went to the library and wrote a letter to

Lygia. When he had finished, he took it himself to the Christian

centurion who carried it at once to the prison. After a while he

returned with a greeting from Lygia, and promised to deliver her answer

that day.

 

Vinicius did not wish to return home, but sat on a stone and waited for

Lygia’s letter. The sun had risen high in the heavens, and crowds of

people flowed in, as usual, through the Clivus Argentarius to the Forum.

Hucksters called out their wares, soothsayers offered their services to

passers-by, citizens walked with deliberate steps toward the rostra to

hear orators of the day, or tell the latest news to one another. As the

heat increased, crowds of idlers betook themselves to the porticos of

the temples, from under which flew from moment to moment, with great

rustle of wings, flocks of doves, whose white feathers glistened in the

sunlight and in the blue of the sky.

 

From excess of light and the influence of bustle, heat, and great

weariness, the eyes of Vinicius began to close. The monotonous calls of

boys playing mora, and the measured tread of soldiers, lulled him to

sleep. He raised his head still a number of times, and took in the

prison with his eyes; then he leaned against a Stone, sighed like a

child drowsy after long weeping, and dropped asleep.

 

Soon dreams came. It seemed to him that he was carrying Lygia in his

arms at night through a strange vineyard. Before him was Pomponia

Græcina lighting the way with a lamp. A voice, as it were of Petronius

called from afar to him, “Turn back!” but he did not mind the call, and

followed Pomponia till they reached a cottage; at the threshold of the

cottage stood Peter. He showed Peter Lygia, and said, “We are coming

from the arena, lord, but we cannot wake her; wake her thou.” “Christ

himself will come to wake her,” answered the Apostle.

 

Then the pictures began to change. Through the dream he saw Nero, and

Poppæa holding in her arms little Ruflus with bleeding head, which

Petronius was washing and he saw Tigellinus sprinkling ashes on tables

covered with costly dishes, and Vitelius devouring those dishes, while a

multitude of other Augustians were sitting at the feast. He himself was

resting near Lygia; but between the tables walked lions from out whose

yellow manes trickled blood. Lygia begged him to take her away, but so

terrible a weakness had seized him that he could not even move. Then

still greater disorder involved his visions, and finally all fell into

perfect darkness.

 

He was roused from deep sleep at last by the heat of the sun, and shouts

given forth right there around the place where he was sitting. Vinicius

rubbed his eyes. The street was swarming with people; but two runners,

wearing yellow tunics, pushed aside the throng with long staffs, crying

and making room for a splendid litter which was carried by four stalwart

Egyptian slaves.

 

In the litter sat a man in white robes, whose face was not easily seen,

for he held close to his eyes a roll of papyrus and was reading

something diligently.

 

“Make way for the noble Augustian!” cried the runners.

 

But the street was so crowded that the litter had to wait awhile. The

Augustian put down his roll of papyrus and bent his head, crying,—

 

“Push aside those wretches! Make haste!”

 

Seeing Vinicius suddenly, he drew back his head and raised the papyrus

quickly.

 

Vinicius drew his hand across his forehead, thinking that he was

dreaming yet.

 

In the litter was sitting Chilo.

 

Meanwhile the runners had opened the way, and the Egyptians were ready

to move, when the young tribune, who in one moment understood many

things which till then had been incomprehensible, approached the litter.

 

“A greeting to thee, O Chilo!” said he.

 

“Young man,” answered the Greek, with pride and importance, endeavoring

to give his face an expression of calmness which was not in his soul,

“be greeted, but detain me not, for I am hastening to my friend, the

noble Tigellinus.”

 

Vinicius, grasping the edge of the litter and looking him straight in

the eyes, said with a lowered voice,—

 

“Didst thou betray Lygia?”

 

“Colossus of Memnon!” cried Chilo, with fear.

 

But there was no threat in the eyes of Vinicius; hence the old Greek’s

alarm vanished quickly. He remembered that he was under the protection

of Tigellinus and of Cæsar himself,—that is, of a power before which

everything trembled,—that he was surrounded by sturdy slaves, and that

Vinicius stood before him unarmed, with an emaciated face and body bent

by suffering.

 

At this thought his insolence returned to him. He fixed on Vinicius his

eyes, which were surrounded by red lids, and whispered in answer,—

 

“But thou, when I was dying of hunger, didst give command to flog me.”

 

For a moment both were silent; then the dull voice of Vinicius was

heard,—

 

“I wronged thee, Chilo.”

 

The Greek raised his head, and, snapping his fingers which in Rome was a

mark of slight and contempt, said so loudly that all could hear him,—

 

“Friend, if thou hast a petition to present, come to my house on the

Esquiline in the morning hour, when I receive guests and clients after

my bath.”

 

And he waved his hand; at that sign the Egyptians raised the litter, and

the slaves, dressed in yellow tunics, began to cry as they brandished

their staffs,—

 

“Make way for the litter of the noble Chilo Chilonides! Make way, make

way!”