CLAUDIUS FULFILS HIS VOW.
Claudius was no more inclined to the Christian faith than he had been
when we last saw him in the room of Casca, the son of Severus. But he
felt himself pledged to perform his vow, sworn by the gods, that if
ever it were in his power he would save Ebba, the British slave, so
well beloved by Hyacintha, the daughter of the noble Severus.
Since she and her brother had left Verulam, in the sunny days of July,
for that distant Rome, which was then, to all intents and purposes, as
far from Verulam as San Francisco or Lima would be from the St. Albans
of to-day, Claudius had felt a terrible blank in his life. Games and
athletic sports, feats of arms, and dashing military exercises, were
much to him, but till he had lost Casca he did not know how his life
had been bound up in him. Those pleasant talks in the twilight with
Casca, who had read much, and was of a studious rather than a warlike
nature, were all over. Claudius had felt the fascination of Casca’s
conversation, although he professed to despise all those aspirations
and longings which were in the boy’s heart, and welled up like an
irrepressible spring, which could not be stopped in its overflow. With
Casca and his young sister’s departure all the gentler elements had
died out of Claudius’s life, and he had thrown himself more eagerly
into any amusements, or any occupation which could drown reflection,
living only in the present, and persuading himself that the present was
enough. His old father had filled a post of honour under Carausius,
who had held Britain as an independent province for ten years. Then
Carausius was assassinated by Allectus, who had at first asserted
himself, and held the command with but few Roman soldiers, and a large
army of the northern tribes, who are now known to be the Caledonians.
When at last the whole province was united under the Imperial sway
of Diocletian, old Caradon lived on in gloomy subjection to Roman
authority, asking no public office, and allowing his two children, left
to him by his Italian wife, to follow their own devices. He found them
harder to control than any of the savage tribes over whom, during the
temporary rule of Carausius, he had held authority; and the evening
of his days was spent in a state of inaction and regret for the times
which were past.
Severus treated him with a hardly concealed contempt, and his temper
was soured and his patience tried by the wild freaks of his daughter
Junia, and the independent spirit of his son Claudius, who had eagerly
caught at the offer of accompanying Valens to hunt out the Christians
under Amphibalus: little thinking that he should find Ebba amongst
them, and be compelled to fulfil the solemn vow he had made to
Hyacintha, the daughter of Severus, and the sister of his friend Casca.
Now, as he paced up and down before the rude stone building which was
used as a sort of courthouse and prison in Radburn, Claudius thought
on all possible means to effect her escape. As soon as it became known
that Ebba was one of the two women who had been brought to Radburn with
Amphibalus, she would be seized and beheaded, so that the price set
upon her head in the spring might be claimed.
Claudius well knew the risk he ran in aiding and abetting Ebba’s
escape, but he was brave and honourable, and held his vow made to
Hyacintha by the gods as binding.
There was no time to lose. Valens would at once see the Governor and
Severus at Verulam, and it was only too probable that the two women,
Agatha and Anna, would be taken before them the next morning. They
would be called upon to renounce their faith, the British slave Ebba
would be recognised, and for her there could be no hope of mercy; while
Agatha’s connection with the soldier who had died rather than carry
out the sentence of death on Alban, would probably cause her to be
tortured, if not instantly beheaded.
Under cover of the darkness of the late October night, before the moon,
now on the wane, rose in the eastern sky, Claudius felt whatever he did
must be done at once.
He summoned the men under his command to the small square hall in the
building. A fire had been kindled there, and the smoke made its way out
by the slits and apertures which pierced at intervals the thick walls.
Claudius was a young commander, and the stout Roman soldiers were at
first rather inclined to resent his authority. Claudius, however, had
that free, pleasant manner which the roughest and hardest natures find
it impossible to resist.
He ordered two of the men to go out and cater for provisions, adding,
“We will sup together to-night, and will not spare the cup. See that
every one of you gets his fill.”
Then he seated himself at the board on the rude bench which was placed
near it, and the village of Radburn was soon found sufficient to supply
the wants of the little band, and satisfy even their large appetites.
They ate and drank, and grew first hilarious and then heavy. The man
in charge of the dungeon was invited to join the party, and several
people from the village were also bidden to come in as they stood round
the open door, and the soldiers’ carousal ended by their stretching
themselves on the floor, and sleeping heavily, from the effects of
over-eating, over-drinking, and fatigue; for the forced marches through
the forest, and the fierce contest with the Christians, had tried even
their herculean strength to the uttermost.
So far, Claudius’s scheme had answered; he feigned to sleep heavily,
and when all was quiet, about nine o’clock, he crept softly past the
sleepers, and went out into the darkness.
As he went down the steep incline from the courthouse, he stumbled
against some dark object, and a piteous voice exclaimed--
“For the love of Heaven, have pity on me!”
“Who are you?” Claudius asked.
“A poor wandering Jew, whose only daughter has fallen down, worn out
with illness and fatigue, and has passed hence, in the darkness, to
Abraham’s bosom.”
“You dog!” Claudius exclaimed, “how came you hither?”
“I came over to Britain seeking for pearls, with which your rivers
abound, but I have found none, but lost my own pearl. She is dead! she
is dead!” he moaned. “I have carried her thus far, and none in this
heathen village would give me shelter. I know by the heavy weight with
which she lies in my arms that she is dead.”
Claudius strode back to the hall, and taking a burning ember from the
mass upon the hearth, and returning, threw the light of a torch he had
kindled upon the girl’s face. Yes, she was dead--must have been dead
for hours.
Her father, gazing on her, burst into a low wail, and rocking himself
to and fro, cried for pity and mercy from Jehovah.
A sudden thought flashed upon Claudius.
“Hearken, old man, wretched dog as you are, if you will do me a service
I will pay you in gold pieces, but it must be done at once. Leave your
daughter’s body to me for burial, and betake yourself to a thicket just
beyond the village. Stay there till I come to you, and I will ensure
you safe departure. If you refuse, by the gods, I will drag you before
the Governor to-morrow, and see you torn limb from limb.”
“Oh! good sir! Oh! kind sir! have pity. My daughter! my daughter!”
“She is dead,” Claudius replied, as throwing the light of the torch on
the pale, still face, wan and attenuated by sickness, and set in its
frame of raven hair it looked white as snow.
“Poor creature!” Claudius said, “she is young to die, but we all die,
some old, some young; it is the fate of all, and the gods take the
best first. Now, Jew, there must be no delay. Shall I carry away your
daughter, and in return will you, for gold, which I will bring you, do
my behest? It must be now, or it will be too late.”
As he spoke, Claudius took the old man roughly by the arm, and setting
him on his feet, raised the body of the dead maiden in his arms, and
bidding the Jew follow him, went down to the road below.
* * * * *
The long, dark hours had passed slowly in the dungeon, where, after the
cruel scene of the morning, Agatha and Anna had sat together, waiting
for death. Anna had revived when she had swallowed a few drops of cold
water, and Agatha, though utterly exhausted herself, seating herself
by the wall, had gathered the girl tenderly into her maternal arms, and
revived her, as best she could, by chafing her cold hands, and pressing
her close to her bosom.
Then, while Agatha watched, Anna had slept at intervals, and the elder
woman did her best to encourage and comfort the younger.
“It has been a fearsome day and fiery trial for thee, Anna,” Agatha
said. “How wilt thou bear the morrow?”
“I think,” said poor Anna, in a low but firm voice, “I think I can bear
my own pain better than witnessing that of another.”
“Thou hast no lurking fear, then, that when the trial comes thou wilt
deny thy Lord?”
“Nay,” Anna said, “I, who have been so weak-hearted, feel that He gives
me strength; and, Agatha, I have had a wondrous and beautiful dream. I
dreamed I saw the golden city, and the great gates, through which only
the pure of heart can pass. There was a soft light all round, like the
light in the atrium when all the silver lamps were kindled, and there
was the murmur of many waters. Then, as I stood at the gates, afraid to
enter, I heard a voice say, ‘Come up hither.’
“I answered, ‘I dare not; I am only a slave, a poor slave;’ and the
voice said--
“‘I have bought thee with a price, and thou art Mine.’ And then,
Agatha, I saw my own beautiful little mistress, Hyacintha. I wondered
to see her there, standing at the gate. I thought it must be the
temple of Vesta, and not the Holy City. My mistress was still a child,
yet not a child. She wore a long white robe, and her figure was tall
and stately. Her hair was bound with a gold fillet, which made a
shining circle around her head. She held out her arms to me, and said--
“‘Anna! Anna!’ Then I wondered why she called me Anna, for I had ever
been Ebba to her--Ebba, the British slave-girl. Then she said--
“‘I have come to meet thee at the gate. I have come to bid thee
welcome; the Lord has sent me for thee.’
“I marvelled much how that could be, for I knew my little mistress was
to be a priestess of the goddess Vesta, and that she must worship her,
and not the Lord Jesus.
“But then the voice of one I could not see, seemed to answer my
thoughts, and said--
“‘I have bought you both with a price, you are Mine; enter ye into
the Heavenly City, and go out no more.’ Then my little mistress, fair
Hyacintha, took my hand, and we went up the golden street together,
and there was again the sound of many waters, and of sweet music, and
countless glad voices; and then I opened my eyes, and all was dark--so
dark--but I felt thy arm pressing me to thy heart, Agatha, and was
comforted.”
“My poor child,” Agatha sighed, “I would that thy dream were true.
There is sharp pain first before thou canst enter through the gates.
Say, wilt thou be able to endure to the end, as our master, Amphibalus,
and holy Alban did?”
“I am but weak; I am but weak and young,” Anna said, “but He is with
me. I hope we shall go together, Agatha.”
“I would fain hope so; but it may not be; perchance that would be too
great a favour at the hands of our persecutors. While thou hast been
dreaming, a dream, I doubt not, sent to thee from heaven, by the love
of our Lord, I have been thinking over my life. Here, in this dark
dungeon, I saw before me a peaceful hut, on the borders of the great
river, where as a girl I played, and often went with my father in the
coracle, to gather the oysters from their bed as the water ebbed, and
to pick out the pearls from them when the shells were forced open. I
mind me that my father would say that the oysters the hardest to force
open always held the finest pearls. Since I have become a Christian, I
have thought often of those words. For verily the Pearl of Great Price
is not easy to obtain, and we find it with much pain and searching. I
became afterwards the wife of a brave man, and the mother of two noble
boys. I saw them all killed, in a fight between our people and some
who owed allegiance to Carausius. I thought my heart was broken then,
and I wanted in my blindness to end my life by plunging a dagger into
my breast. But it was then that I came with Heraclius, my kinsman,
under the teaching of Amphibalus, and the Lord showed me that to live
according to His will was a nobler thing than to give up the life He
had bestowed, ere it was His good pleasure to recall it. Thus I lived,
and I have nursed the sick at Verulam, and, in my humble way, held
the cross of Christ before the eyes of those, who, clasping it to
their hearts, have found it turned into a crown. It was at the secret
meetings of the Christians that I first saw thee, the frightened,
trembling Ebba, the slave of the rich and noble Severus. Then how my
love flowed forth to thee on the hill-side, on that early summer night
when Amphibalus baptised thee, and thy name was no longer Ebba but
Anna. And we have shared perils and trials together since then, dear
one, and love has knit our hearts in a bond that death cannot break.”
“Oh! that we may die together,” Anna said. “I thought this morning,
when the darkness came over me like a cold wave, it was death. Will
dying be like that swoon, thinkest thou?”
“Nay, for thou wilt open thy eyes in a glorious light instead of in
this black, chill cell,” Agatha replied.
Thus the two poor prisoners talked to one another, and comforted one
another with the words of Him who had gone the rugged way before them;
and the shadow of the dark valley--for they looked for death on the
morrow--was brightened for them by the presence of their Lord.
Presently Anna said--
“They are pulling back the bolts! they are unlocking the gate! Are they
at hand who will kill us, here in the darkness?”
Agatha sat upright and listened; yes, there was the slow, grating noise
made by the pulling back of heavy bolts, and the rusty key turned in
the rude hole which formed a lock.
Then the heavy gate opened, a draught of chill air came in, and some
one was evidently entering slowly, as one who bore a burden.
No one spoke, the door was closed, and then a lamp or lanthorn, formed
with a wick floating in oil, was uncovered, and showed a tall young
man, standing by the prostrate figure which he had evidently just
deposited at his feet.
“Another prisoner!” Agatha exclaimed. “Sir, what brings you here?”
Anna, shading her dazed eyes with her hands, exclaimed, “It is the
noble Claudius, the friend of my young mistress Hyacintha!”
“Yes, it is I. I was with Valens in the expedition; you saw me then.”
“We saw you, young Claudius,” Agatha said, “and may God forgive your
part in the slaughter of that cruel day. Are you come to end our
sufferings with your sword? If it be so, hasten your work.”
“Nay,” Claudius said; “nay, I have sworn a solemn oath to save Ebba,
the British slave, if it lay in my power. There is only one way by
which I can do it; this dead girl shall be left here, and Ebba shall
come forth with me, to take her place with her father, whom I have,
under cover of the darkness, hidden in the thick brushwood just beyond
the village. Thither I will guide Ebba, leaving the dead girl with you,
and taking the living one to a place of safety.”
Anna clasped her hands.
“I cannot, I cannot come,” she said. “I will remain here to die.”
“Nay, that must not be,” said Claudius. “I swore to the pure fair
maiden who was your mistress, and who loved you so well, to save your
life. I must perform my vow. See here, you elder woman, I shall return
to-morrow to lead you out at the Governor’s command. I call upon you
to make no sign whereby you betray that this poor child lying at your
feet is other than the Christian who was present with you yesterday.
If you do make that sign, you will cost me my life. If not, I will
order the soldiers to kindle a funeral pile, and all that will be left
of this poor child, whom her father calls Rachel, will be burned to
ashes before the sun sets to-morrow. Now,” said Claudius, “I have not a
moment to lose,” and stooping, he raised Anna in his strong arms, and
was striding away with her, when Agatha said,
“Hold! Good Claudius, I will utter no lie about this dead child. I am
forbidden by my Lord to lie. I may be mute, but I will not speak, if
by speaking I am to tell that this corpse is that of Ebba the Saxon
slave.”
“Oh! I pray you, I beseech you, good sir!” Anna exclaimed, “leave me
here. I cannot, cannot, leave Agatha alone with the dead!”
“My vow is upon me,” Claudius said, “and you must come, whether you
will or no.”
“But whither? whither? to die in a forest? to--”
“Hush! I pray you, dear Anna,” Agatha said. “This is the hand of God.
He may desire thy young and vigorous life for service for Him. The
means are in His hands. But I pray you, noble Claudius, assure me that
this poor lamb, who lieth here so still and cold, met her death by no
evil practice.”
“Nay, I know nothing, save that when disturbed in mind as to how I
could perform my vow, and escape the anger of the gods, I stumbled on
an old whining dog, of the people they call the Jews, crying over his
dead child. Here seemed the way for Ebba’s escape, and I took it, and I
can sacrifice to the gods to-morrow with a good heart.”
“Go then, dear child, my child in the Son of God and faith in Christ,
and may the Lord be with thee; one more kiss, and then----”
There was not time for another word; Claudius threw the light burden
over his shoulder, and departed cautiously, as he had come, drawing the
bolts and turning the key, and leaving Agatha, the Christian woman,
alone in darkness with the dead.
Claudius strode along through brambles and thicket, till he reached
the very cave where the Christians had taken refuge after Alban’s
martyrdom. While hunting here one day in the late summer, he had come
upon this cave, and explored it. The beds of heather were still piled
up as Agatha had left them, and on one of these the young man gently
laid his burden down.
“Where is that old dog of a Jew?” he shouted; “has he played me false!”
“Nay, I am here, good sir, kind sir; and a broken-hearted father. Woe
is me! that ever I left my own people; but I was tempted to come in the
train of a Roman, with wife and daughter and two noble boys. All, all
are dead--and I--whither shall I flee?”
“Get out of Britain as fast as may be,” said Claudius, “and take this
maiden as your daughter. Make for the coast, and board a ship which is
to cross to Gaul; here are nine gold pieces for thy pouch.”
“But my daughter, my Rachel!” moaned the old man. “Wilt thou give her
body burial--burial, not heathenish burning? Vow, young man.”
“If possible, I will have her body thrown into a hole, if you deem that
to be a higher fate than burning; but I do not promise. And now I must
be gone. Take two hours’ rest, and then away before day dawns. You know
these parts.”
“Ay, but too well,” the old man said. “This hard rugged Britain, and
its rough people. I would that I had never been tempted by the thought
of goodly merchandise to cross the sea--the angry sea--and suffer
thereby the bitter loss of all I count dear!”
“I dare say you have managed to get together a few pearls. I mind
hearing of some of your race who carried off the biggest pearls from
the river on which Londinium is built, and in conducting the barter
with the Britons for their masters,[B] well filled their own pouches,
as I dare to say yours is filled. Now I must away. Ebba, remember I
have fulfilled my vow at the risk of my life; and if ever you see the
fair Hyacintha commend me to her with these words, ‘I have kept my
vow, and when she makes prayers to the goddess in the temple where her
presence lingers, bid her remember Claudius.’”
When Claudius was gone the Jew carefully stowed away the coins in his
pouch, and drew from it some dried fruit and a small vial of mead. Then
he said,
“Daughter, for I am to call thee daughter in place of her who is in
Abraham’s bosom--better there than in this cold world; come and eat,
before we go on our way.”
At first Anna refused to eat and drink, but then she remembered the
words of Agatha:--
“It may be that the Lord has work for thee to do for Him, and He spares
thy life to do it.”
After a pause, therefore, she roused herself, and in the dim light
which the waning moon shed through the aperture, she saw the Jew’s
face--a face lined with furrows, and giving the appearance of a very
old man, while, in truth, Ezra was scarcely sixty. Poor Anna felt that
she need not fear the old man, and as she saw tears coursing each other
down his cheeks she drew nearer to him.
“Father,” she said, “I would fain eat, as you desire, and live to help
and comfort you.”
Ezra shook his head from side to side, rocking himself to and fro,
after the fashion of his people.
“None can comfort and none can help, but I am as well pleased to have
thy company as to be solitary. He setteth the solitary in families,”
the old man said.
“Are you a Christian?” Anna asked, timidly.
She was surprised at the fierce denial that the Jew hurled at her. “A
Christian! nay. If you mean a follower of the Nazarene--nay, by the
Holy Father, I say _nay_!”
Frightened at the sudden change from calm sorrow to vehement rage, Anna
said no more.
Ezra handed her the vial and the dried fruit, and bade her eat and
drink, and said in the strength of that meal they must pursue their
way, and that the youth bade them not delay.
Before three o’clock the old man and the maiden were on their journey
eastward, making their way to the sea. When day dawned, they were about
five miles from Radburn, and Ezra halted by a spring, and, stooping
down, took a draught of the pure cold water in the hollow of his hand,
bidding Anna do the same. Then the Jew drew out more dried fruit; and
they reached a straggling village of mud dwellings about noon. The
people were friendly, and Ezra thought it wise to tarry there for the
rest and refreshment of his companion, who was, indeed, but the ghost
of the Ebba whom we first saw standing by Cæcilia’s couch.
Ezra drew from his wallet a variety of articles, and giving Anna a
handkerchief of soft white stuff, bordered with gold, he bade her bind
it on her head and confine her hair under it.
“No daughter of our race had ever hair so light in colour,” he
said, “and it is better that thou shouldst take the semblance of my
daughter--my Rachel--my flower of beauty. Eheu! Eheu! She had borne up
so long, but, weak and ailing, she tripped and fell on Watling Street,
striking her head upon the stones of the highway, and scarcely spoke a
word after. I bore her in my arms to a house in Verulam; but they were
rough and cruel barbarians, and turned us out.
“Then I thought to reach Radburn, where I knew the people were more
friendly; and hearing a small body of Roman soldiers were guarding some
prisoners there, I essayed to ascend the steps to the guard-house, and
here my child struggled hard for breath. I sat me down with her, and
then all was still--her spirit had departed, and Ichabod is my name!”
Anna had heard of the Jewish race, and knew that her Lord had been born
of them. She knew, also, that the Jews had crucified Him, and that
the Cross had been set on a hill in their city. Once she remembered
to have seen a man richly clothed in long garments, and heard that
he had come with merchandise and pearls to the Roman nobles. He was
one of the scattered people, who, like the Greeks, were sometimes
conveyed to Britain in the train of the Romans. But Anna knew little
about the Jews. Agatha had, indeed, while rehearsing in her ears many
of the instructions which had fallen from the lips of Amphibalus and
Heraclius, told her of the Jews’ city, Jerusalem, and how the Romans
held the province as they held Britain; and that the Jews, as a
punishment for their sins, were sent forth to wander restlessly over
the face of the earth. But all this time a Jew was seldom seen in
Britain except as an appendage of some great person, so that Anna had
never seen other Jews besides the man in the rich garment, of whom she
heard afterwards that he had been robbed of his treasures and slain on
the highway, no one interfering to save or protect him.
Her heart was filled with strange doubts as she heard the Jew, who
denounced her Saviour with fury, pray to his Lord Jehovah, and chant
in a low monotone from a roll of parchment which he kept hidden in the
breast of his robe, and fastened by a band round his neck. The low,
monotonous chant was one of the Psalms of David--the Penitential Psalm--
“Out of the deep have I called.”
But the Hebrew rhythm, though pleasant to the ear, was an unknown
tongue to the British maiden, and while Ezra chanted and wept, Anna,
soothed, she scarcely knew why, rested on a skin which was spread upon
the floor of the hut, and slept till Ezra awoke her and said they must
push on towards the sea.
Fatigue and hunger, and weariness of body and mind, had dulled the
sense of pain for the time; but when her powers were more fully awake,
the hideous scenes of the stoning of Amphibalus, the mad shouts of the
people, and the darkness of the dungeon, became once more a haunting
reality. Then came the bitter fear of what might have been the fate
of Agatha, her tender friend, who had been left fainting and ill in
darkness and solitude with the dead, while she, who had shared so many
dangers with her, was borne away. She reproached herself for cowardice,
and in broken words, with many tears, prayed the Jew to let her return
towards Radburn.
But Ezra was proof against her entreaties, and bade her thank Jehovah
for the life He had spared; nor waste strength and time in feeble
wailings.
“I have lost my only one,” he said, “the only thing left to me in this
land of strangers; but I go on towards Rome, the great city, where a
company of my people is gathered, and thence to Jerusalem to lay my
bones where the prophets and righteous men have laid theirs; nor will
I weakly faint or fail of my purpose. I was on my way to the sea coast
when this misfortune befel me, to find by chance a little company, with
whom my child and I might be protected through Gaul. We push on thither
now, and may the Almighty be our strong tower and house of defence.”
This prayer was answered, and the longing fulfilled; the Jew and the
maiden were mercifully protected from harm.
Their quiet, inoffensive bearing, their sorrowful faces and
gentle demeanour, served as a shield as they passed through the
widely-scattered villages of the old Britons and the more pretentious
towns of their conquerors the Romans. They reached the fort of Lyme
in safety, and Claudius’s gold pieces purchased their passage across
the stormy channel in one of those strangely-built boats, with large
curved prow and short mast, which had taken the place of the mud-lined
coracles of the conquered race.