FOR some time Vinicius had spent his nights away from home. It occurred
to Petronius that perhaps he had formed a new plan, and was working to
liberate Lygia from the Esquiline dungeon; he did not wish, however, to
inquire about anything, lest he might bring misfortune to the work. This
sceptical exquisite had become in a certain sense superstitious. He had
failed to snatch Lygia from the Mamertine prison, hence had ceased to
believe in his own star.
Besides, he did not count this time on a favorable outcome for the
efforts of Vinicius. The Esquiline prison, formed in a hurry from the
cellars of houses thrown down to stop the fire, was not, it is true,
so terrible as the old Tullianum near the Capitol, but it was a hundred
times better guarded. Petronius understood perfectly that Lygia had been
taken there only to escape death and not escape the amphitheatre. He
could understand at once that for this very reason they were guarding
her as a man guards the eye in his head.
“Evidently,” said he to himself, “Cæsar and Tigellinus have reserved her
for some special spectacle, more dreadful than all others, and Vinicius
is more likely to perish than rescue her.”
Vinicius, too, had lost hope of being able to free Lygia. Christ alone
could do that. The young tribune now thought only of seeing her in
prison.
For some time the knowledge that Nazarius had penetrated the Mamertine
prison as a corpse-bearer had given him no peace; hence he resolved to
try that method also.
The overseer of the “Putrid Pits,” who had been bribed for an immense
sum of money, admitted him at last among servants whom he sent nightly
to prisons for corpses. The danger that Vinicius might be recognized was
really small. He was preserved from it by night, the dress of a slave,
and the defective illumination of the prison. Besides, into whose head
could it enter that a patrician, the grandson of one consul, the son of
another, could be found among servants, corpse-bearers, exposed to the
miasma of prisons and the “Putrid Pits”? And he began work to which men
were forced only by slavery or the direst need.
When the desired evening came, he girded his loins gladly, covered his
head with a cloth steeped in turpentine, and with throbbing heart betook
himself, with a crowd of others, to the Esquiline.
The pretorian guards made no trouble, for all had brought proper
tesseræ, which the centurion examined by the light of a lantern. After a
while the great iron doors opened before them, and they entered.
Vinicius saw an extensive vaulted cellar, from which they passed to a
series of others. Dim tapers illuminated the interior of each, which was
filled with people. Some of these were lying at the walls sunk in sleep,
or dead, perhaps. Others surrounded large vessels of water, standing
in the middle, out of which they drank as people tormented with fever;
others were sitting on the grounds, their elbows on their knees, their
heads on their palms; here and there children were sleeping, nestled up
to their mothers. Groans, loud hurried breathing of the sick, weeping,
whispered prayers, hymns in an undertone, the curses of overseers
were heard round about it. In this dungeon was the odor of crowds and
corpses. In its gloomy depth dark figures were swarming; nearer, close
to flickering lights, were visible faces, pale, terrified, hungry, and
cadaverous, with eyes dim, or else flaming with fever, with lips blue,
with streams of sweat on their foreheads, and with clammy hair. In
corners the sick were moaning loudly; some begged for water; others, to
be led to death. And still that prison was less terrible than the old
Tullianum. The legs bent under Vinicius when he saw all this, and breath
was failing in his breast. At the thought that Lygia was in the midst of
this misery and misfortune, the hair rose on his head, and he stifled
a cry of despair. The amphitheatre, the teeth of wild beasts, the
cross,--anything was better than those dreadful dungeons filled with
the odor of corpses, places in which imploring voices called from every
corner,--
“Lead us to death!”
Vinicius pressed his nails into his palms, for he felt that he was
growing weak, and that presence of mind was deserting him. All that he
had felt till then, all his love and pain, changed in him to one desire
for death.
Just then near his side was heard the overseer of the “Putrid Pits”,
“How many corpses have ye to-day?”
“About a dozen,” answered the guardian of the prison, “but there will be
more before morning; some are in agony at the walls.”
And he fell to complaining of women who concealed dead children so as
to keep them near and not yield them to the “Putrid Pits.” “We must
discover corpses first by the odor; through this the air, so terrible
already, is spoiled still more. I would rather be a slave in some rural
prison than guard these dogs rotting here while alive--”
The overseer of the pits comforted him, saying that his own service was
no easier. By this time the sense of reality had returned to Vinicius.
He began to search the dungeon; but sought in vain for Lygia, fearing
meanwhile that he would never see her alive. A number of cellars were
connected by newly made passages; the corpse-bearers entered only those
from which corpses were to be carried. Fear seized Vinicius lest that
privilege which had cost so much trouble might serve no purpose. Luckily
his patron aided him.
“Infection spreads most through corpses,” said he. “Ye must carry out
the bodies at once, or die yourselves, together with the prisoners.”
“There are only ten of us for all the cellars,” said the guardian, “and
we must sleep.”
“I will leave four men of mine, who will go through the cellars at night
to see if these are dead.”
“We will drink to-morrow if thou do that. Everybody must be taken to the
test; for an order has come to pierce the neck of each corpse, and then
to the ‘Putrid Pits’ at once with it.”
“Very well, but we will drink,” said the overseer.
Four men were selected, and among them Vinicius; the others he took to
put the corpses on the biers.
Vinicius was at rest; he was certain now at least of finding Lygia. The
young tribune began by examining the first dungeon carefully; he looked
into all the dark corners hardly reached by the light of his torch; he
examined figures sleeping at the walls under coarse cloths; he saw that
the most grievously ill were drawn into a corner apart. But Lygia he
found in no place. In a second and third dungeon his search was equally
fruitless.
Meanwhile the hour had grown late; all corpses had been carried out.
The guards, disposing themselves in the corridors between cellars, were
asleep; the children, wearied with crying, were silent; nothing was
heard save the breathing of troubled breasts, and here and there the
murmur of prayer.
Vinicius went with his torch to the fourth dungeon, which was
considerably smaller. Raising the light, he began to examine it, and
trembled all at once, for it seemed to him that he saw, near a latticed
opening in the wall, the gigantic form of Ursus. Then, blowing out the
light, he approached him, and asked,
“Ursus, art thou here?”
“Who art thou?” asked the giant, turning his head.
“Dost not know me?”
“Thou hast quenched the torch; how could I know thee?”
But at that moment Vinicius saw Lygia lying on a cloak near the wall;
so, without speaking further, he knelt near her. Ursus recognized him,
and said,--
“Praise be to Christ! but do not wake her, lord.”
Vinicius, kneeling down, gazed at her through his tears. In spite of the
darkness he could distinguish her face, which seemed to him as pale as
alabaster, and her emaciated arms. At that sight he was seized by a
love which was like a rending pain, a love which shook his soul to
its uttermost depth, and which at the same time was so full of pity,
respect, and homage that he fell on his face, and pressed to his lips
the hem of the cloak on which rested that head dearer to him than all
else on earth.
Ursus looked at Vinicius for a long time in silence, but at last he
pulled his tunic.
“Lord,” asked he, “how didst thou come, and hast thou come here to save
her?”
Vinicius rose, and struggled for a time with his emotion. “Show me the
means,” replied he.
“I thought that thou wouldst find them, lord. Only one method came to my
head--”
Here he turned toward the grating in the wall, as if in answer to
himself, and said,--
“In that way--but there are soldiers outside--”
“A hundred pretorians.”
“Then we cannot pass?”
“No!”
The Lygian rubbed his forehead, and asked again,--
“How didst thou enter?”
“I have a tessera from the overseer of the ‘Putrid Pits.’” Then Vinicius
stopped suddenly, as if some idea had flashed through his head.
“By the Passion of the Redeemer,” said he, in a hurried voice, “I will
stay here. Let her take my tessera; she can wrap her head in a cloth,
cover her shoulders with a mantle, and pass out. Among the slaves who
carry out corpses there are several youths not full grown; hence the
pretorians will not notice her, and once at the house of Petronius she
is safe.”
But the Lygian dropped his head on his breast, and said,--“She would not
consent, for she loves thee; besides, she is sick, and unable to stand
alone. If thou and the noble Petronius cannot save her from prison, who
can?” said he, after a while.
“Christ alone.”
Then both were silent.
“Christ could save all Christians,” thought the Lygian, in his simple
heart; “but since He does not save them, it is clear that the hour of
torture and death has come.”
He accepted it for himself, but was grieved to the depth of his soul for
that child who had grown up in his arms, and whom he loved beyond life.
Vinicius knelt again near Lygia. Through the grating in the wall
moonbeams came in, and gave better light than the one candle burning
yet over the entrance. Lygia opened her eyes now, and said, placing her
feverish hand on the arm of Vinicius,
“I see thee; I knew that thou wouldst come.”
He seized her hands, pressed them to his forehead and his heart, raised
her somewhat, and held her to his breast.
“I have come, dearest. May Christ guard and free thee, beloved Lygia!”
He could say no more, for the heart began to whine in his breast from
pain and love, and he would not show pain in her presence.
“I am sick, Marcus,” said Lygia, “and I must die either on the arena
or here in prison--I have prayed to see thee before death; thou hast
come,--Christ has heard me.”--
Unable to utter a word yet, he pressed her to his bosom, and she
continued,--
“I saw thee through the window in the Tullianum. I saw that thou hadst
the wish to come to me. Now the Redeemer has given me a moment of
consciousness, so that we may take farewell of each other. I am going to
Him, Marcus, but I love thee, and shall love always.”
Vinicius conquered himself; he stifled his pain and began to speak in a
voice which he tried to make calm,--
“No, dear Lygia, thou wilt not die. The Apostle commanded me to believe,
and he promised to pray for thee; he knew Christ,--Christ loved him and
will not refuse him. Hadst thou to die, Peter would not have commanded
me to be confident; but he said, ‘Have confidence!’--No, Lygia! Christ
will have mercy. He does not wish thy death. He will not permit it.
I Swear to thee by the name of the Redeemer that Peter is praying for
thee.”
Silence followed. The one candle hanging above the entrance went out,
but moonlight entered through the whole opening. In the opposite corner
of the cellar a child whined and was silent. From outside came the
voices of pretorians, who, after watching their turn out, were playing
under the wall at scriptoe duodecim.
“O Marcus,” said Lygia, “Christ Himself called to the Father, ‘Remove
this bitter cup from Me’; still He drank it. Christ Himself died on the
cross, and thousands are perishing for His sake. Why, then, should He
spare me alone? Who am I, Marcus? I have heard Peter say that he too
would die in torture. Who am I, compared with Peter? When the pretorians
came to us, I dreaded death and torture, but I dread them no longer. See
what a terrible prison this is, but I am going to heaven. Think of it:
Cæsar is here, but there the Redeemer, kind and merciful. And there is
no death there. Thou lovest me; think, then, how happy I shall be. Oh,
dear Marcus, think that thou wilt come to me there.”
Here she stopped to get breath in her sick breast, and then raised his
hand to her lips,--
“Marcus?”
“What, dear one?”
“Do not weep for me, and remember this,--thou wilt come to me. I have
lived a short time, but God gave thy soul to me; hence I shall tell
Christ that though I died, and thou wert looking at my death, though
thou wert left in grief, thou didst not blaspheme against His will, and
that thou lovest Him always. Thou wilt love Him, and endure my death
patiently? For then He will unite us. I love thee and I wish to be with
thee.”
Breath failed her then, and in a barely audible voice she finished,
“Promise me this, Marcus!”
Vinicius embraced her with trembling arms, and said,
“By thy sacred head! I promise.”
Her pale face became radiant in the sad light of the moon, and once more
she raised his hand to her lips, and whispered,--
“I am thy wife!”
Beyond the wall the pretorians playing scriptoe duodecim raised a louder
dispute; but Vinicius and Lygia forgot the prison, the guards, the
world, and, feeling within them the souls of angels, they began to pray.