CAPTURE AND DEATH.
The warm summer weather was in favour of the little band of Christians
who had concealed themselves in the cave at Radburn. But the long days
and short nights made their marches towards Wales very slow, as all had
to be done under cover of darkness, and not until they had moved away
some miles from Verulam did Amphibalus dare to allow them to march by
daylight. The little company always separated into detachments, and
Agatha kept Ebba, the Christian Anna, under her especial care. Agatha
was the right person to inspire poor Anna with confidence. She was
bright and active, and had a cheerfulness and even merriment at command
which often surprised the timid and retiring Anna.
The warm, dry weather made it easy to sleep out of doors, and Agatha
and Anna, with an old man and his daughter, had arrived one morning at
a clearing in a thick wood, where a stone altar showed that it was a
resort of the Druids.
“We must not tarry here,” Agatha said, “the danger from the Druids
would be as great as the danger from the Romans. We must push on
westward, and I believe there is a deep forest where we can easily
hide. Amphibalus mentioned it as a secure resting-place for a few days,
and we are sure to meet him before the day is spent.”
“It is so pleasant here,” Anna said; “let us at any rate take some
food, and perform our morning worship.”
But Agatha said they must move on, as it was dangerous to tarry near
what was evidently a resort of the Druids. She had scarcely done
speaking, when some tall figures were seen approaching: an old man,
with a white beard and still whiter robe, and most venerable aspect,
and a few young men and boys.
There was nothing alarming in their appearance, and Agatha, rising,
made a deep reverence. The old man bore in his hand a golden
crescent-shaped knife, and he wore on his white robe a heavy chain of
rudely-moulded emblems.
“Art thou come to worship, my daughter?” said the old priest. “The sun
has risen, and the hour is at hand.”
“Nay,” said Agatha boldly, “I am a fugitive from the Roman city of
Verulam, and only crave permission to pass onwards, with my companions.”
The young men now drew nearer, and scanned the little party with
curious, eager eyes.
“The Romans are our masters and tyrants; no marvel you would escape
them.” Then, turning to Anna, “You, poor child, look pale and wan, and
you, old man, aweary. If it be possible for you, I bid you halt awhile,
while I proceed with our short worship; afterwards we will share a
repast with you.”
But Agatha shook her head. “You are very gracious, my lord, but we are
anxious to get on our way;” and she added, “We are Christians, and
worship only the true God.”
There was a murmur amongst the young men, and Anna trembled. She knew
full well that human sacrifices were a part of her old religion, for
the Briton’s religion was then chiefly represented by the Druidical
faith.
But Anna need not have been afraid. The old priest waved his hand, and
then, disappearing in a thicket with his followers, chanting a low
dirge-like monotone, he returned with a large cluster of the mistletoe,
the sacred plant which was cut and offered on the altar at intervals at
the morning worship. Then followed a strange invocation muttered in a
low, guttural voice, the Druid priest raising his hands to the summer
sky.
The sun was just high enough to strike athwart the grassy glade, and
illuminated the boles of the trees with a golden radiance. The priest’s
white robe shone in the new-born light, and every leaf was turned to an
emerald, every dew-drop to a diamond.
The birds sang, and there was the rustle of awakening activity in the
forest. A squirrel hopped from the overhanging boughs of a tall larch,
and the wood pigeons told their sweet monotonous story of love.
All things seemed to swell the chorus of the earth’s thanksgiving hymn
for light and blessing bestowed.
And who shall say what dim visions of a beautiful and unknown God
filled the heart of the aged priest, as he offered his orison according
to the form hallowed to him by the usage of ages!
When all was over he waved his hand, and his little congregation
dispersed, the priest returning presently with a quantity of dried
fruits and cakes which had been baked over an open fire.
There was also a rudely-shaped stone jar, from which was poured a drink
distilled from certain herbs, and pleasant to the taste.
That beverage, the priest said, had wonderful properties, and he
continually dispensed it as a medicine when strength was exhausted.
Agatha ate a hearty meal, and so did the old man and his daughter, but
Anna could not eat. She was weighed down with a sense of danger and
distress, and her heart turned continually to those whom she had left
behind at Verulam. At Agatha’s order, however, she drank a little from
the jar, and ate a few crumbs broken off the thick mass of dried cake,
which had a bitter rather than a sweet flavour, as it was mixed with
the flour ground out of acorns.
Presently the old priest said--
“Ye are Christians, you say. There has been an arm of fury stretched
out against you, so we have heard. For ourselves, we have no bitterness
against you. The Romans are our conquerors as well as yours, but they
leave us to our old faith undisturbed for the most part. How have you
incurred their dire displeasure? I tell you, you cannot resist the
Romans’ power; they are the masters of the world. They will treat you
like beasts of burden if you resist not, but they will kill you if you
are rebellious. From whom do you flee?”
“We flee from the persecution, which has taken the life of a holy man
named Alban. We are under the guidance of one Amphibalus, who is to
gather us safely in a certain valley amongst the mountains of Wales,
where we may worship our Lord, and form a struggling church.”
“You will fail to do it; the bloodhounds will track you out. Renounce
your false religion, and go back to your homes.”
“Never!” said Agatha, “we will never bow the knee in the heathen
temple, or worship at the sacrifices of the false gods.”
The old Druid priest shook his head sadly.
“My daughter, you are fighting against a legion; you will never
prevail. I know,” he continued, “that the old faiths are shaking. I
know many of our people have been massacred. We have peace now, but I
see--I see in the distance, when I am dead--I see the legions of the
North Sea conquering, trampling down our faith as yours, and wading
through the blood of Druid and Christian alike. We are peaceful, and
there are many of the sick and the stricken in body, even lepers, who
come to us, and not in vain, for cure. We have salves for wounds, and
physic for pain; we are skilled in the compounding of the herbs which
are given for the good of mankind. But we are a body of men diminishing
year by year, and our time is short.”
“Oh! father,” said Agatha, touched by the pathos of the old man’s
words, “oh, father, have you never heard of Jesus the Lord, who died
a cruel death to save us all? I would that I could show you the way
to Him. The father, Amphibalus, could show it. But I tell you that He
opens His arms wide to receive you, and all the Britons, and every
dweller on the face of the earth. Oh! could you but come to Him!”
“Aye,” said the old Christian, “would that you could come!”
“Come whither?” asked the Druid proudly.
“To the Cross of Christ,” said Anna firmly. This was the first time
that she had spoken, and her words sounded with peculiar power.
“To the Cross of Christ,” she repeated, “and if we bear it after Him,
we shall wear a crown.”
The old priest extended his hand towards Anna as if in blessing, and
said--
“And where is that crown, my daughter? It is not to be found in the
depths of the forest, where the wolves roar at night, and the dangers
of robbers and thieves are all around.”
“Yes,” Anna said, “the crown may be even there. As for me, I am a poor
faint-hearted girl, and I can speak with no true courage, as Agatha
can, but like a whisper in my soul from heaven I hear the words, ‘The
crown is laid up in the heavens for you, who are kept by God’s power
through faith.’”
“Our Lord,” Agatha continued, as Anna stopped, “our Lord wore a crown
of thorns, that we might wear a crown of jewels. We know in Whom we
believe. If those who are seeking us were to break through the thicket
yonder, and shed our blood on your altar, yet through death, as
Jesus passed, I know that we should pass to our joyful resurrection.
And, oh!” exclaimed Agatha, “think you we would give up the precious
possession of the love of Christ? Have I not seen its power? Do I not
know that it is as the sunshine piercing the deep of the forest at
dawn, and bringing life and light to the soul? We may not tarry,” she
continued, “for we have to press forward on our journey, but we will
pray for you, father, and may our God reward you for your charity
towards us, the poor hunted Christians, who nevertheless rejoice in
their name.”
The four then moved away, and the thick summer foliage soon hid them
from the Druidical priest.
He stood gazing after them like one in a trance, and the young men
gathered round him, expecting to hear from his lips some strange,
prophetic utterances, or some recital of the past glory of their race.
But no words came, and after a few minutes of profound silence the
young men departed, one by one leaving their chief still wrapt in his
devotions and meditations.
The way through the forest was long and toilsome, and poor Anna often
lay trembling by Agatha’s side, listening all night to the howling of
the wolves. Amphibalus joined them from time to time, and at last, when
the first golden leaf was telling the story of coming autumn in the
woods, the whole band was settled in a remote village on the borders
of Wales, girt in with mountains, and entirely hidden as they thought,
from the eyes of their persecutors.
There were continued additions to their numbers, and we are told that
there were a thousand converts baptised by Amphibalus’s hands.
Amphibalus himself was often absent for days together, and boldly
preached Christ to the poor native idolaters of the district. Some
drank in the good tidings eagerly, like drops of living water, and the
little colony throve for a time.
The mountain streams provided them with fish, and the woods with wild
rabbits and hares, for meat. They constructed huts with twigs and reeds
curiously plaited together, and covered with a sticky clay which, when
mixed with water, kept out the rain and the wind.
The life was a hard one, but it was peaceful, and none of those who had
given up all for Christ turned regretful looks backward.
The leading spirit amongst the women was Agatha, who was always
cheerful and full of hope.
Anna’s skill with her hands was much appreciated, and the women of the
little band were taught by her to plait their hair, and mend their
torn garments, with the delicate spikes of the fir-trees for needles,
and slender strands of dried, long grass for thread.
Amphibalus returned from one of his missionary expeditions early one
morning. By common consent Agatha was considered the adviser-in-chief
of the community, and Amphibalus came at once to the hut where she and
Anna were busily engaged in tying up the long leaves of the bulrush and
iris, which were to be twisted into wicks for the rude lamps that were
to lighten the long winter nights. The oil was made from the fat of the
animals which were snared for food, and carefully preserved by Agatha’s
orders.
Amphibalus’s face was grave and anxious when he appeared at the door or
opening of the hut, and he beckoned Agatha to come outside.
“Is aught wrong?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, “the heathen idolaters of the old British gods have
discovered our hiding-place, and they will be upon us with more
fierceness than the Romans. I dread them, daughter, more than I dread
the Roman torture. Not for myself,” he added, “but for the weak women
and maidens, and the young boys in our community. I have seen a horde
of these wild people, with fierce and threatening aspect, yesterday,
and overheard their jargon, which, as far as I made it out, told of
enmity and bad intentions. An effort must be made to escape from their
clutches, and we must separate, the women under protection of the
bravest men amongst us, and take different ways through the forest.
This village must be broken up, and we must leave as little trace
behind us as we can. But I would fain gather the people together for a
last word of prayer and praise, and break the bread and drink the cup
once more ere we part.”
By mid-day, nearly all his people had assembled, and Amphibalus then
addressed them. He told them he had reason to believe they were
discovered by their enemies, and that the church must be scattered. But
he added--
“Let it be scattered as seed. Let every one of you hold fast the faith,
and wherever you wander, tell the people of the God whom you serve, and
be not afraid to confess Christ. As for myself, I feel that the time of
my departure is at hand, and I will gladly follow the dear and honoured
Alban, who laid down his life for me. Weep not for me, for I may say,
‘I am ready to be offered, and I fear not.’”
Then, amidst tears and sighing, the service was proceeded with, and
scarcely had the blessing left the priest’s lips when the whole
congregation separated in detachments under his orders, having first
pulled down the huts they had so lately erected; and taking different
routes, they spread themselves once more in the forest.
Amphibalus led the little band, in which were Agatha and Anna, with
some sixteen more, stout of heart and strong of limb, able to offer
resistance. There were women and children amongst them, who were placed
in the centre of the square, four men at the rear, and four in the
van, and four on either side. In this order they marched along for
three days, Amphibalus’s aim being to get into another district nearer
Verulam, where he knew a church had been founded.
It was on the evening of the third day’s march that one of the outposts
came running in breathless to the place, under an overhanging rock,
where some thirty of the wanderers had encamped for the night.
“The Romans are upon us!” he exclaimed; “I have heard the clanging of
armour, and climbing a tree, I saw nearly fifty soldiers, and heard
them say they had got on the track of the fugitives.”
Scarcely had the man delivered himself of his message, falling down
exhausted with the exertion he had made to reach Amphibalus, when the
trampling of horses’ hoofs was heard, and the Roman officer who was
in command of the fifty men called to them to halt, “for the game was
scented out at last.” By the side of the Roman commander was a young
man scarcely past boyhood, who had prayed to be allowed to accompany
the expedition, that he might, as he said, see some service for his
master, and track out the Christians to their destruction. This young
man was Claudius, the son of the Briton who held a high position in
Verulam.
At a word from the commander of the force, a rough, stern man, named
Valens, the Christians were seized and bound with manacles, and told
they were to follow on foot to Radburn. But the strong men made a
desperate resistance, and a fearful struggle ensued. Amphibalus in vain
exhorted them to cease to fight, for that he was ready to accompany
Valens, and no coercion would be needful for him. But no one listened
to his voice, and Anna, clinging to Agatha, hid her face, that she
might not see the terrible conflict which dyed the green sward with
blood, and made the wood resound with cries and groans. Some of the
women of the company cried out that they would recant, and Agatha in
vain exhorted them to be firm to their faith. Terror-stricken and
distressed for their husbands and brothers, they threw themselves
before Valens and entreated for mercy.
Alas! none was shown, and Amphibalus was bound tightly, and constrained
to stand by and see his followers fall one by one dead upon the turf,
where several of the Romans’ bodies lay, covered with blood, which
flowed from ghastly wounds.
At last, when the slaughter was ended by the entire mastery of the
Roman band, the word was given to march, and by the light of a pale
moon the remnant of Amphibalus’s followers, fainting and exhausted,
were obliged to follow their captors towards Radburn.
Before they reached Radburn the next day news was brought in that the
idolaters of South Wales had fallen upon and slaughtered the rest of
Amphibalus’s church; and there was a thrill of triumph through the
Roman band that the martyrdom of Alban had not increased the numbers of
the Christians in these parts, for nearly all those who had been won
over by Amphibalus were killed. Only a few remained. Agatha and Anna,
and some half-dozen more women and children, with two old men, whose
aged feet could scarcely bear them along the rugged paths of the forest.
Radburn was reached the next day, and here the Christians were
consigned to dismal dungeons to await the Governor’s orders.
Agatha and Anna were shut into a damp cell, where a little water and
some dry bread were all the food allotted to them, and Amphibalus was
separated from the rest of the poor converts, and, heavily fettered,
was literally thrown into a dungeon under the rude stone dwelling which
served for a prison, and where neither light nor air could penetrate.
He was brought out the next day, and a hasty tribunal was formed. He
stood before his accusers with a calm and unmoved countenance. He was
asked if he would save his life, and he answered--
“I would save it were it my Lord’s will, but if He calls me to the
crown of martyrdom, as He called my friend, who laid down his life for
me, I will humbly receive it.” He was roughly struck upon the mouth,
and then asked if he would at once resort to the temple at Verulam,
and, prostrating himself there, renounce his evil practices.
“Nay,” he said, “I know of no evil practices to renounce, but I will
never deny my Lord.”
“Have you nought else to say?”
“Nay, save that I would pray you to shield two weak women of my company
from the sight of my sufferings.”
This request, as might be expected, had the opposite effect to what
Amphibalus desired. Agatha and Anna were dragged out to the open space,
where a crowd scarcely less numerous than that which had assembled to
witness the death of Alban were pressing round to see Amphibalus suffer.
It may truly be said that they stoned Amphibalus calling upon God, and
commending his spirit to Him for Whose sake he lay down his life. Death
by stoning seemed to make a more profound impression on the spectators
than death by the sword, and the savage executioners who were hired to
fling the stones upon the martyr showed no pity. Rather, they delighted
to prolong his sufferings, and they were intense.
Scarcely less intense were those of the two women who were compelled to
see the cruel deed accomplished. A deep swoon mercifully spared Anna
the prolonged torture which Agatha had to undergo, nor could she at the
first raise her voice, as her friend did, to cheer and encourage the
martyr.
There was one present who watched Anna with something more than common
interest. Claudius remembered the words of little Hyacintha, and his
promise to save her, if it were possible. Now, the boy knew well enough
that to help a Christian to escape was scarcely a less heinous offence
than to profess the faith himself. But Hyacintha’s pleading eyes, her
gentle voice, her beautiful little hands raised in appeal, rose before
him, and he was thinking over every possible way whereby he could save
Anna. The two women were remanded to their cell to await the Governor’s
pleasure, and Claudius obtained permission of Valens after he had
conducted them thither to remain as their guard.
“Thou art early in thy zeal for the gods, brave Claudius, but thy
strong arm yesterday did such good service that I am willing to leave
thee in command here of a handful of soldiers large enough for the
occasion. One of the women looks dead already, and will save us further
trouble. As to the rest, I think the Governor may desire to apply
torture before finally disposing of them. By the gods, Claudius, what
fools these Christians are!”
“Fools, indeed,” said Claudius. “I do not care what short work I make
with the men. I slew three yesterday, after a fierce tussle, but
women--weak women--well, I’d as lief not crush them out.”
“Who are these two women?” Valens asked.
“One belongs to the family of the soldier who refused to strike off
Alban’s head.”
“Ah! then she is a dangerous reptile. The other looks harmless, poor
wretch; and what hair--like the autumn leaves with the sun on it!”
“Yes,” Claudius replied, hastily, “yes, she is a Briton, methinks.”
“Has aught been heard of the runaway slave of the noble Severus? He
offered a high price for her head.”
“Nay, not that I know of. He has forgotten it ere now; the fair Cæcilia
has supplied her place by a Greek, so Junia, my sister, affirms.”
Valens shrugged his broad shoulders. “The fair Cæcilia has freed
herself of all burdens now. That little daughter of hers, and the
weakling Casca, are sent off to Rome under Burrhus’s convoy; the maiden
is to be buried for life in the Temple of Vesta. Why, her beauty, at
this tender age, is enough to turn the heads of a legion. Perhaps it
has turned thine, good Claudius!”
“I have something else to think of than fair faces,” said Claudius.
“Has news arrived of Burrhus’s reaching Rome?” he asked, carelessly.
“Nay, I am not so like to hear as thou art. Thy sister, Junia, is
continually a guest in the house of Severus. He is a high and mighty
man, forsooth; they call him second to the Governor. Methinks he has
more power than the Governor: and I must not delay any longer, but seek
both noble personages and find out their will, and I think I may claim
a reward for the last day’s work. We tracked out the wretches cleverly
enough, and came upon that band of thirty with a swoop. Catching the
chief, Amphibalus, was somewhat a greater catch than if we had only
surprised the others.”
“We were saved that trouble by the Welsh folk,” Claudius said. “A man
came in this morning to say not one of the eight hundred is left.”
“Nay, but that is good hearing. I can now claim my reward with some
assurance. Crushing out the whole swarm of Christians was more than was
expected. I’ll put in your claim, young Claudius; which shall it be, a
gold chain or a slave, eh!”
“I desire neither,” said Claudius, haughtily. “Methinks we Britons want
no slaves, and as to gold collars, let my sister have the chain, if one
be accorded. Commission for foreign service is the only reward I claim.”
“I’ll leave you to press the claim yourself,” Valens said, in an
offended voice. Then in a loud stentorian tone he told off half-a-dozen
of his men, and ordered them to remain under the authority of the young
Claudius until he returned on the following day, and brought back
orders as to the fate of the prisoners who were confined in the dungeon.
And then Valens, followed by his troop, rode off towards Verulam.