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

had recovered in the open air and returned to the amphitheater for Caesar’s song, pushed up, and said⁠—

“I am here, O Radiant Offspring of the sun and moon. I was ill, but thy song has restored me.”

“I will send thee to Achaea,” said Nero. “Thou must know to a copper how much there is in each temple there.”

“Do so, O Zeus, and the gods will give thee such tribute as they have never given anyone.”

“I would, but I do not like to prevent thee from seeing the games.”

“Baal!” said Chilo.

The Augustians, delighted that Caesar had regained humor, fell to laughing, and exclaimed⁠—

“No, lord, deprive not this valiant Greek of a sight of the games.”

“But preserve me, O lord, from the sight of these noisy geese of the Capitol, whose brains put together would not fill a nutshell,” retorted Chilo. “O firstborn of Apollo, I am writing a Greek hymn in thy honor, and I wish to spend a few days in the temple of the Muses to implore inspiration.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Nero. “It is thy wish to escape future games. Nothing will come of that!”

“I swear to thee, lord, that I am writing a hymn.”

“Then thou wilt write it at night. Beg inspiration of Diana, who, by the way, is a sister of Apollo.”

Chilo dropped his head and looked with malice on those present, who began to laugh again. Caesar, turning to Senecio and Suillius Nerullinus, said⁠—

“Imagine, of the Christians appointed for today we have been able to finish hardly half!”

At this old Aquilius Regulus, who had great knowledge of everything touching the amphitheater, thought a while, and said⁠—

“Spectacles in which people appear sine armis et sine arte last almost as long and are less entertaining.”

“I will command to give them weapons,” answered Nero.

But the superstitious Vestinius was roused from meditation at once, and asked in a mysterious voice⁠—

“Have ye noticed that when dying they see something? They look up, and die as it were without pain. I am sure that they see something.”

He raised his eyes then to the opening of the amphitheater, over which night had begun to extend its velarium dotted with stars. But others answered with laughter and jesting suppositions as to what the Christians could see at the moment of death. Meanwhile Caesar gave a signal to the slave torchbearers, and left the Circus; after him followed vestals, senators, dignitaries, and Augustians.

The night was clear and warm. Before the Circus were moving throngs of people, curious to witness the departure of Caesar; but in some way they were gloomy and silent. Here and there applause was heard, but it ceased quickly. From the spoliarium creaking carts bore away the bloody remnants of Christians.

Petronius and Vinicius passed over their road in silence. Only when near his villa did Petronius inquire⁠—

“Hast thou thought of what I told thee?”

“I have,” answered Vinicius.

“Dost believe that for me too this is a question of the highest importance? I must liberate her in spite of Caesar and Tigellinus. This is a kind of battle in which I have undertaken to conquer, a kind of play in which I wish to win, even at the cost of my life. This day has confirmed me still more in my plan.”

“May Christ reward thee.”

“Thou wilt see.”

Thus conversing, they stopped at the door of the villa and descended from the litter. At that moment a dark figure approached them, and asked⁠—

“Is the noble Vinicius here?”

“He is,” answered the tribune. “What is thy wish?”

“I am Nazarius, the son of Miriam. I come from the prison, and bring tidings of Lygia.”

Vinicius placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and looked into his eyes by the torchlight, without power to speak a word, but Nazarius divined the question which was dying on his lips, and replied⁠—

“She is living yet. Ursus sent me to say that she prays in her fever, and repeats thy name.”

“Praise be to Christ, who has power to restore her to me,” said Vinicius. He conducted Nazarius to the library, and after a while Petronius came in to hear their conversation.

“Sickness saved her from shame, for executioners are timid,” said the youth. “Ursus and Glaucus the physician watch over her night and day.”

“Are the guards the same?”

“They are, and she is in their chamber. All the prisoners in the lower dungeon died of fever, or were stifled from foul air.”

“Who art thou?” inquired Petronius.

“The noble Vinicius knows me. I am the son of that widow with whom Lygia lodged.”

“And a Christian?”

The youth looked with inquiring glance at Vinicius, but, seeing him in prayer, he raised his head, and answered⁠—

“I am.”

“How canst thou enter the prison freely?”

“I hired myself to carry out corpses; I did so to assist my brethren and bring them news from the city.”

Petronius looked more attentively at the comely face of the youth, his blue eyes, and dark, abundant hair.

“From what country art thou, youth?” asked he.

“I am a Galilean, lord.”

“Wouldst thou like to see Lygia free?”

The youth raised his eyes. “Yes, even had I to die afterwards.”

Then Vinicius ceased to pray, and said⁠—

“Tell the guards to place her in a coffin as if she were dead. Thou wilt find assistants to bear her out in the night with thee. Near the ‘Putrid Pits’ will be people with a litter waiting for you; to them ye will give the coffin. Promise the guards from me as much gold as each can carry in his mantle.”

While speaking, his face lost its usual torpor, and in him was roused the soldier to whom hope had restored his former energy.

Nazarius was flushed with delight, and, raising his hands, he exclaimed⁠—

“May Christ give her health, for she will be free.”

“Dost thou think that the guards will consent?” inquired Petronius.

“They, lord? Yes, if they know that punishment and torture will not touch them.”

“The guards would consent to her flight; all the more will they let us bear her out as a corpse,” said Vinicius.

“There is a man, it is true,” said Nazarius,