TWOFOLD REVENGE.
Sebastian’s visit to the cemetery had been not merely to take thither
for sepulture the relics of the first martyr, but also to consult with
Marcellinus about his safety. His life was too valuable to the Church to
be sacrificed so early, and Sebastian knew how eagerly it was sought.
Torquatus now confirmed this, by communicating Fulvius’s designs, and
the motive of his attendance at the December ordination. The usual papal
residence was no longer safe; and a bold idea had been adopted by the
courageous soldier,--the “Protector of the Christians,” as his acts tell
us he had been authoritatively called. It was to lodge the Pontiff where
no one could suspect him to be, and where no search would be dreamt of,
in the very palace of the Cæsars.[159] Efficiently disguised, the holy
Bishop left the cemetery, and, escorted by Sebastian and Quadratus, was
safely housed in the apartments of Irene, a Christian lady of rank, who
lived in a remote part of the Palatine, in which her husband held a
household office.
Early next morning Sebastian was with Pancratius. “My dear boy,” he
said, “you must leave Rome instantly, and go into Campania. I have
horses ready for you and Quadratus; and there is no time to be lost.”
“And why, Sebastian?” replied the youth, with sorrowful face and tearful
eye. “Have I done something wrong, or are you doubtful of my fortitude?”
“Neither, I assure you. But you have promised to be guided by me in all
things, and I never considered your obedience more necessary than now.”
“Tell me why, good Sebastian, I pray.”
“It must be a secret as yet.”
“What, _another_ secret?”
“Call it the same, to be revealed at the same time. But I can tell you
what I want you to do, and that I think will satisfy you. Corvinus has
got orders to seize on Chromatius and all his community, yet young in
the faith, as the wretched example of Torquatus has shown us; and, what
is worse, to put your old master Cassianus, at Fundi, to a cruel death.
I want you to hasten before his messenger (perhaps he may go himself),
and put them on their guard.”
Pancratius looked up brightly again; he saw that Sebastian trusted him.
“Your wish is enough reason for me,” said he, smiling; “but I would go
the world’s end to save my good Cassianus, or any other
fellow-Christians.”
He was soon ready, took an affectionate leave of his mother; and before
Rome had fully shaken off sleep, he and Quadratus, each with
well-furnished saddle-bags on their powerful steeds, were trotting
across the campagna of Rome, to reach the less-frequented, and safer,
track of the Latin way.
Corvinus having resolved to keep the hostile expedition in his own
hands, as honorable, lucrative, and pleasant, it was delayed a couple of
days, both that he might feel more comfortable about his shoulders, and
that he might make proper preparations. He had a chariot hired, and
engaged a body of Numidian runners, who could keep up with a carriage
at full speed. But he was thus two days behind our Christians, though
he, of course, travelled by the shorter and more beaten Appian road.
When Pancratius arrived at the Villa of Statues, he found the little
community already excited, by the rumors, which had reached it, of the
edict’s publication. He was welcomed most warmly by all; and Sebastian’s
letter of advice was received with deep respect. Prayer and deliberation
succeeded its perusal, and various resolutions were taken. Marcus and
Marcellianus, with their father Tranquillinus, had already gone to Rome
for the ordination. Nicostratus, Zoë, and others followed them now.
Chromatius, who was not destined for the crown of martyrdom, though
commemorated, by the Church, with his son, on the 11th of August, found
shelter for a time in Fabiola’s villa, for which letters had been
procured from its mistress, without her knowing the reason why; for he
wished to remain in the neighborhood a little while longer. In fine, the
villa _ad Statuas_ was left in charge of a few faithful servants, fully
to be depended upon.
When the two messengers had given themselves and their horses a good
rest, they travelled, by the same road as Torquatus had lately trodden,
to Fundi, where they put up at an obscure inn out of the town, on the
Roman road. Pancratius soon found out his old master, who embraced him
most affectionately. He told him his errand, and entreated him to fly,
or at least conceal himself.
“No,” said the good man, “it must not be. I am already old, and I am
weary of my unprofitable profession. I and my servant are the only two
Christians in the town. The best families have, indeed, sent their
children to my school, because they knew it would be kept as moral as
paganism will permit; but I have not a friend among my scholars, by
reason of this very strictness. And they want even the natural
refinement of Roman heathens. They are rude provincials; and I believe
there are some among the elder ones who would not scruple to take my
life, if they could do so with impunity.”
“What a wretched existence indeed, Cassianus, you must be leading! Have
you made no impression on them?”
“Little or none, dear Pancratius. And how can I, while I am obliged to
make them read those dangerous books, full of fables, which Roman and
Greek literature contain? No, I have done little by my words; perhaps my
death may do more for them.”
Pancratius found all expostulation vain, and would have almost joined
him in his resolution to die; only he had promised Sebastian not to
expose his life during the journey. He, however, determined to remain
about the town till he saw the end.
Corvinus arrived with his men at the villa of Chromatius; and early in
the morning rushed suddenly through the gates, and to the house. He
found it empty. He searched it through and through, but discovered
neither a person, a book, nor a symbol of Christianity. He was
confounded and annoyed. He looked about; and having found a servant
working in the garden, asked him where his master was.
“Master no tell slave where he go,” was the reply, in a latinity
corresponding to such a rude phraseology.
“You are trifling with me. Which way did he and his companions go?”
“Through yonder gate.”
“And then?”
“Look that way,” answered the servant. “You see gate? very well; you see
no more. Me work here, me see gate, me see no more.”
“When did they go? at least you can answer that.”
“After the two come from Rome.”
“What two? Always two, it seems.”
“One good youth, very handsome, sing so sweet. The other very big, very
strong, oh, very. See that young tree pulled up by the roots? He do that
as easy as me pull my spade out of the ground.”
“The very two,” exclaimed Corvinus, thoroughly enraged. “Again that
dastardly boy has marred my plans and destroyed my hopes. He shall
suffer well for it.”
As soon as he was a little rested, he resumed his journey, and
determined to vent all his fury on his old master; unless, indeed, he
whom he considered his evil genius should have been there before him. He
was engaged during his journey, in plotting vengeance upon master and
fellow-student; and he was delighted to find, that one at least was at
Fundi, when he arrived. He showed the governor his order for the arrest
and punishment of Cassianus, as a most dangerous Christian; but that
officer, a humane man, remarked that the commission superseded ordinary
jurisdiction in the matter, and gave Corvinus full power to act. He
offered him the assistance of an executioner, and other requisites; but
they were declined. Corvinus had brought an abundant supply of strength
and cruelty, in his own body-guard. He took, however, a public officer
with him.
He proceeded to the school-house when filled with scholars; shut the
doors, and reproached Cassianus, who advanced with open hand and
countenance to greet him, as a conspirator against the state and a
perfidious Christian. A shout arose from the boyish mob; and by its
tone, and by the look which he cast around, Corvinus learnt there were
many present like himself--young bears’ cubs, with full-grown hyenas’
hearts within them.
“Boys!” he shouted out, “do you love your master Cassianus? He was once
mine too, and I owe him many a grudge.”
A yell of execration broke out from the benches.
“Then I have good news for you; here is permission from the divine
emperor Maximian for you to do what you like to him.”
A shower of books, writing tablets, and other school missiles, was
directed against the master, who stood unmoved, with his arms folded,
before his persecutor. Then came a rush from all sides, with menacing
attitudes of a brutal onslaught.
“Stop, stop,” cried out Corvinus, “we must go more systematically to
work than this.”
He had reverted in thought to the recollection of his own sweet
school-boy days; that time which most look back on from hearts teeming
with softer feelings than the contemplation of present things can
suggest. He indulged in the reminiscence of that early season in which
others find but the picture of unselfish, joyous, happy hours; and he
sought in the recollection what would most have gratified him then, that
he might bestow it as a boon on the hopeful youths around him. But he
could think of nothing that would have been such a treat to him, as to
pay back to his master every stroke of correction, and write in blood
upon him every word of reproach that he had received. Delightful
thought, now to be fulfilled!
It is far from our intention to harrow the feelings of our gentle
readers by descriptions of the cruel and fiendish torments inflicted by
the heathen persecutors on our Christian forefathers. Few are more
horrible, yet few better authenticated, than the torture practised on
the martyr Cassianus. Placed, bound, in the midst of his ferocious young
tigers, he was left to be the lingering victim of their feeble cruelty.
Some, as the Christian poet Prudentius tells us, cut their tasks upon
him with the steel points used in engraving writing on wax-covered
tablets; others exercised the ingenuity of a precocious brutality, by
inflicting every possible torment on his lacerated body. Loss of blood,
and acute pain, at length exhausted him, and he fell on the floor
without power to rise. A shout of exultation followed, new insults were
inflicted, and the troop of youthful demons broke loose, to tell the
story of their sport at their respective homes. To give Christians
decent burial never entered into the minds of their persecutors; and
Corvinus, who had glutted his eyes with the spectacle of his vengeance,
and had urged on the first efforts at cruelty of his ready instruments,
left the expiring man where he lay, to die unnoticed. His faithful
servant, however, raised him up, and laid him on his bed, and sent a
token, as he had preconcerted, to Pancratius, who was soon at his side,
while his companion looked after preparations for their departure. The
youth was horrified at what he beheld, and at the recital of his old
master’s exquisite torture, as he was edified by the account of his
patience. For not a word of reproach had escaped him, and prayer alone
had occupied his thoughts and tongue.
Cassianus recognized his dear pupil, smiled upon him, pressed his hand
in his own, but could not speak. After lingering till morning he
placidly expired. The last rites of Christian sepulture were modestly
paid to him on the spot, for the house was his; and Pancratius hurried
from the scene, with a heavy heart and a no slight rising of its
indignation, against the heartless savage who had devised and witnessed,
without remorse, such a tragedy.
He was mistaken, however. No sooner was his revenge fulfilled than
Corvinus felt all the disgrace and shame of what he had done; he feared
it should be known to his father, who had always esteemed Cassianus; he
feared the anger of the parents, whose children he had that day
effectually demoralized, and fleshed to little less than parricide. He
ordered his horses to be harnessed, but was told they must have some
more hours’ rest. This increased his displeasure; remorse tormented
him, and he sat down to drink, and so drown care and pass time. At
length he started on his journey, and after baiting for an hour or two,
pushed on through the night. The road was heavy from continued rain, and
ran along the side of the great canal which drains the Pontine marshes,
and between two rows of trees.
Corvinus had drunk again at his halt, and was heated with wine,
vexation, and remorse. The dragging pace of his jaded steeds provoked
him, and he kept lashing them furiously on. While they were thus excited
they heard the tramp of horses coming fast on behind, and dashed forward
at an uncontrollable speed. The attendants were soon left at a distance,
and the frightened horses passed between the trees on to the narrow path
by the canal, and galloped forward, rocking the chariot from side to
side at a reckless rate. The horsemen behind hearing the violent rush of
hoofs and wheels, and the shout of the followers, clapped spurs to their
horses, and pushed gallantly forward. They had passed the runners some
way when they heard a crash and a plunge. The wheel had struck the trunk
of a tree, the chariot had turned over, and its half-drunken driver had
been tossed head over heels into the water. In a moment Pancratius was
off his horse and by the side of the canal, together with his companion.
By the faint light of the rising moon, and by the sound of his voice,
the youth recognized Corvinus struggling in the muddy stream. The side
was not deep, but the high clayey bank was wet and slimy, and every time
he attempted to climb it his foot slipped, and he fell back into the
deep water in the middle. He was, in fact, already becoming benumbed and
exhausted by his wintry bath.
“It would serve him right to leave him there,” muttered the rough
centurion.
“Hush, Quadratus! how can you say so? give me hold of your hand. So!”
said the youth, leaning over the bank and seizing his enemy by his arm,
just as he was relaxing his hold on a withered shrub, and falling back
fainting into the stream. It would have been his last plunge. They
pulled him out and laid him on the road, a pitiable figure for his
greatest foe. They chafed his temples and hands, and he had begun to
revive when his attendants came up. To their care they consigned him,
together with his purse, which had fallen from his belt as they drew him
from the canal. But Pancratius took possession of his own pen-knife,
which dropped out with it, and which Corvinus carried about him, as
evidence to convict him of having cut down the edict. The servants
pretended to Corvinus, when he had regained consciousness, that they had
drawn him out of the water, but that his purse must have been lost in
it, and lay still buried in the deep mud. They bore him to a neighboring
cottage, while the carriage was being repaired, and had a good carouse
with his money while he slept.
[Illustration: The Anchor and Fish, emblematic of Christianity, found in
the Catacombs.]
Two acts of revenge had been thus accomplished in one day,--the pagan
and the Christian.