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

the spoliarium and bury it as that of his wife in the tomb in which he himself would rest sometime.

He read this letter with a suffering spirit, but at the same time it seemed to him impossible that Lygia should perish under the claws of wild beasts, and that Christ would not take compassion on her. But just in that were hidden hope and trust. When he returned home, he wrote that he would come every day to the walls of the Tullianum to wait till Christ crushed the walls and restored her. He commanded her to believe that Christ could give her to him, even in the Circus; that the great Apostle was imploring Him to do so, and that the hour of liberation was near. The converted centurion was to bear this letter to her on the morrow.

But when Vinicius came to the prison next morning, the centurion left the rank, approached him first, and said⁠—

“Listen to me, lord. Christ, who enlightened thee, has shown thee favor. Last night Caesar’s freedman and those of the prefect came to select Christian maidens for disgrace; they inquired for thy betrothed, but our Lord sent her a fever, of which prisoners are dying in the Tullianum, and they left her. Last evening she was unconscious, and blessed be the name of the Redeemer, for the sickness which has saved her from shame may save her from death.”

Vinicius placed his hand on the soldier’s shoulder to guard himself from falling; but the other continued⁠—

“Thank the mercy of the Lord! They took and tortured Linus, but, seeing that he was dying, they surrendered him. They may give her now to thee, and Christ will give back health to her.”

The young tribune stood some time with drooping head; then raised it and said in a whisper⁠—

“True, centurion. Christ, who saved her from shame, will save her from death.” And sitting at the wall of the prison till evening, he returned home to send people for Linus and have him taken to one of his suburban villas.

But when Petronius had heard everything, he determined to act also. He had visited the Augusta; now he went to her a second time. He found her at the bed of little Rufius. The child with broken head was struggling in a fever; his mother, with despair and terror in her heart, was trying to save him, thinking, however, that if she did save him it might be only to perish soon by a more dreadful death.

Occupied exclusively with her own suffering, she would not even hear of Vinicius and Lygia; but Petronius terrified her.

“Thou hast offended,” said he to her, “a new, unknown divinity. Thou, Augusta, art a worshiper, it seems, of the Hebrew Jehovah; but the Christians maintain that Chrestos is his son. Reflect, then, if the anger of the father is not pursuing thee. Who knows but it is their vengeance which has struck thee? Who knows but the life of Rufius depends on this⁠—how thou wilt act?”

“What dost thou wish me to do?” asked Poppaea, with terror.

“Mollify the offended deities.”

“How?”

“Lygia is sick; influence Caesar or Tigellinus to give her to Vinicius.”

“Dost thou think that I can do that?” asked she, in despair.

“Thou canst do something else. If Lygia recovers, she must die. Go thou to the temple of Vesta, and ask the virgo magna to happen near the Tullianum at the moment when they are leading prisoners out to death, and give command to free that maiden. The chief vestal will not refuse thee.”

“But if Lygia dies of the fever?”

“The Christians say that Christ is vengeful, but just; maybe thou wilt soften Him by thy wish alone.”

“Let Him give me some sign that will heal Rufius.”

Petronius shrugged his shoulders.

“I have not come as His envoy; O divinity, I merely say to thee, Be on better terms with all the gods, Roman and foreign.”

“I will go!” said Poppaea, with a broken voice.

Petronius drew a deep breath. “At last I have done something,” thought he, and returning to Vinicius he said to him⁠—

“Implore thy God that Lygia die not of the fever, for should she survive, the chief vestal will give command to free her. The Augusta herself will ask her to do so.”

“Christ will free her,” said Vinicius, looking at him with eyes in which fever was glittering.

Poppaea, who for the recovery of Rufius was willing to burn hecatombs to all the gods of the world, went that same evening through the Forum to the vestals, leaving care over the sick child to her faithful nurse, Silvia, by whom she herself had been reared.

But on the Palatine sentence had been issued against the child already; for barely had Poppaea’s litter vanished behind the great gate when two freedmen entered the chamber in which her son was resting. One of these threw himself on old Silvia and gagged her; the other, seizing a bronze statue of the Sphinx, stunned the old woman with the first blow.

Then they approached Rufius. The little boy, tormented with fever and insensible, not knowing what was passing around him, smiled at them, and blinked with his beautiful eyes, as if trying to recognize the men. Stripping from the nurse her girdle, they put it around his neck and pulled it. The child called once for his mother, and died easily. Then they wound him in a sheet, and sitting on horses which were waiting, hurried to Ostia, where they threw the body into the sea.

Poppaea, not finding the virgo magna, who with other vestals was at the house of Vatinius, returned soon to the Palatine. Seeing the empty bed and the cold body of Silvia, she fainted, and when they restored her she began to scream; her wild cries were heard all that night and the day following.

But Caesar commanded her to appear at a feast on the third day; so, arraying herself in an amethyst-colored tunic, she came and sat with stony face, golden-haired, silent,