Quo Vadis Henryk Sienkiewicz (sight word readers .TXT) 📖

After a while both were on the street.

“Now listen to me,” said Petronius. “I did not wish to lose time. I am in disfavor, beginning with today. My own life is hanging on a hair; hence I can do nothing with Caesar. Worse than that, I am sure that he would act in opposition to my request. If that were not the case, would I advise thee to flee with Lygia or to rescue her? Besides, if thou escape, Caesar’s wrath will turn on me. Today he would rather do something at thy request than at mine. Do not count on that, however. Get her out of the prison, and flee! Nothing else is left. If that does not succeed, there will be time for other methods. Meanwhile know that Lygia is in prison, not alone for belief in Christ; Poppaea’s anger is pursuing her and thee. Thou hast offended the Augusta by rejecting her, dost remember? She knows that she was rejected for Lygia, whom she hated from the first cast of the eye. Nay, she tried to destroy Lygia before by ascribing the death of her own infant to her witchcraft. The hand of Poppaea is in this. How explain that Lygia was the first to be imprisoned? Who could point out the house of Linus? But I tell thee that she has been followed this long time. I know that I wring thy soul, and take the remnant of thy hope from thee, but I tell thee this purposely, for the reason that if thou free her not before they come at the idea that thou wilt try, ye are both lost.”

“Yes; I understand!” muttered Vinicius.

The streets were empty because of the late hour. Their further conversation was interrupted, however, by a drunken gladiator who came toward them. He reeled against Petronius, put one hand on his shoulder, covering his face with a breath filled with wine, and shouted in a hoarse voice⁠—

“To the lions with Christians!”

“Mirmillo,” answered Petronius, quietly, “listen to good counsel; go thy way.”

With his other hand the drunken man seized him by the arm⁠—

“Shout with me, or I’ll break thy neck: Christians to the lions!” But the arbiter’s nerves had had enough of those shouts. From the time that he had left the Palatine they had been stifling him like a nightmare, and rending his ears. So when he saw the fist of the giant above him, the measure of his patience was exceeded.

“Friend,” said he, “thou hint the smell of wine, and art stopping my way.”

Thus speaking, he drove into the man’s breast to the hilt the short sword which he had brought from home; then, taking the arm of Vinicius, he continued as if nothing had happened⁠—

“Caesar said today, ‘Tell Vinicius from me to be at the games in which Christians will appear.’ Dost understand what that means? They wish to make a spectacle of thy pain. That is a settled affair. Perhaps that is why thou and I are not imprisoned yet. If thou art not able to get her at once⁠—I do not know⁠—Acte might take thy part; but can she effect anything? Thy Sicilian lands, too, might tempt Tigellinus. Make the trial.”

“I will give him all that I have,” answered Vinicius.

From the Carinae to the Forum was not very far; hence they arrived soon. The night had begun to pale, and the walls of the castle came out definitely from the shadow.

Suddenly, as they turned toward the Mamertine prison, Petronius stopped, and said⁠—

“Pretorians! Too late!”

In fact the prison was surrounded by a double rank of soldiers. The morning dawn was silvering their helmets and the points of their javelins.

Vinicius grew as pale as marble. “Let us go on,” said he.

After a while they halted before the line. Gifted with an uncommon memory, Petronius knew not only the officers, but nearly all the pretorian soldiers. Soon he saw an acquaintance, a leader of a cohort, and nodded to him.

“But what is this, Niger?” asked he; “are ye commanded to watch the prison?”

“Yes, noble Petronius. The prefect feared lest they might try to rescue the incendiaries.”

“Have ye the order to admit no one?” inquired Vinicius.

“We have not; acquaintances will visit the prisoners, and in that way we shall seize more Christians.”

“Then let me in,” said Vinicius; and pressing Petronius’s hand, he said, “See Acte, I will come to learn her answer.”

“Come,” responded Petronius.

At that moment under the ground and beyond the thick walls was heard singing. The hymn, at first low and muffled, rose more and more. The voices of men, women, and children were mingled in one harmonious chorus. The whole prison began to sound, in the calmness of dawn, like a harp. But those were not voices of sorrow or despair; on the contrary, gladness and triumph were heard in them.

The soldiers looked at one another with amazement. The first golden and rosy gleams of the morning appeared in the sky.

The cry, “Christians to the lions!” was heard increasingly in every part of the city. At first not only did no one doubt that they were the real authors of the catastrophe, but no one wished to doubt, since their punishment was to be a splendid amusement for the populace. Still the opinion spread that the catastrophe would not have assumed such dreadful proportions but for the anger of the gods; for this reason “piacula,” or purifying sacrifices, were commanded in the temples. By advice of the Sibylline books, the Senate ordained solemnities and public prayer to Vulcan, Ceres, and Proserpina. Matrons made offerings to Juno; a whole procession of them went to the seashore to take water and sprinkle with it the statue of the goddess. Married women prepared feasts to the gods and night watches. All Rome purified itself from sin, made offerings, and placated the Immortals. Meanwhile new broad streets were opened among the ruins. In one place and another foundations were laid for magnificent houses,