the animal bounded into the air; and, “Valerius!” quoth he, “ha! by the
life of Cæsar, what is the meaning of this? Valerius in a Christian
synagogue! By all the gods, there must be some mistake.” But before I, in
my confusion, could make any answer to these exclamations, his eye chanced
to glance on Athanasia, who, trembling, still retained the support of my
arm; whereupon, “Ha! ha!” said he, in a quite different tone of voice,
“there is a lady in the case.” And then, stooping in his seat, he
whispered, half laughing, into my ear, “My most hypocritical smooth-face,
you shall see what is the consequence of bringing these transatlantic
pranks of yours to Rome. By Hercules, you wild dog, it may cost you some
little trouble to get out of this scrape.”
Having said so, he turned his horse, and rejoining the troop, appeared to
enter into close conversation with him who sate at the head of the line.
Of what my friend said, I could catch nothing more than certain vehement
oaths, while, all the time, the Tribune (for such he was) continued to
shake his head, in a way significant at once of doubt and determination.
The end was, that he pointed with his sword; and Sabinus forced his horse
backwards, at one plunge, into the place from which he had advanced.
Our party were immediately separated one from another. I saw the priest
lifted on a mule and hurried away towards the city, with a horseman on
each hand of him. The fiery Cotilius, and one or two more, were compelled
to follow, with similar attendance, in the same direction; others, again,
had their horses’ heads turned more to the westward—but all departed at
speed, and were soon lost to my view among the projections of the tombs.
The last that remained to be disposed of were Athanasia and myself, and
for a moment I had some hope that we might perhaps be intrusted to the
same guards; but this hope was in vain, and after I perceived that it was
so, scarcely even was time permitted to me for bidding her farewell. To
kiss her hand, and to whisper a single word of parting hope into her ear,
was all I could do. A tear rolled from her cheek and fell upon my hand;
yet she smiled faintly upon me, and “Hope,” said she—“yes, dear Valerius,
Hope and Faith both go with me.” And with that the pale maiden was
separated from the arm to which she had trusted, and I saw her also
mounted and borne away rapidly. A moment after, I found myself, in like
manner, seized and lifted upon a horse, and almost before I could look
around me, we had escaped from the flare of the torches, and the crowd of
the soldiery, and were stretching at a rapid pace, I knew not whither,
although I suspected, from the width of the road, that we had regained the
Appian.
But I have forgotten to mention to you, that just at the moment when they
were lifting Athanasia upon the mule that was to bear her from my sight,
my eye caught a glimpse of the witch Pona, who was sitting at the root of
one of the pine-trees, close to the tower. And behind her stood, leaning
against the tree, a figure wrapped in a rich red cloak, which I suspected
to be a female also, but could not be certain, because the countenance was
concealed in the folds of the garment. To this person, whoever it might
be, the witch turned round eagerly, while the soldiers were carrying off
Athanasia. I saw no more, for, as I have told you, immediately afterwards
I also was carried away.
_CHAPTER VI._
Our hasty pace had not borne us to any great distance from the place where
all these things occurred, ere the sky, which, as ye have heard, had all
that night been sufficiently variable, began to exhibit appearances which
my two companions interpreted as significant of the approach of one of
those nocturnal storms, to which, at that season of the year, the fair
heaven of Italy is peculiarly subject. That they apprehended somewhat of
this sort, I perceived from their looks, as they stopped for a moment to
draw the hoods of their mantles over their brazen helmets; for words they
uttered none, either to me or to each other, until our journey drew near
its close. For me, however, the numberless agitations through which I had
passed in the course of the few preceding hours, had, I suppose,
communicated an unnatural measure of ardour to my boyish blood; for
neither did I feel the night-breeze chill me as we rushed through it, nor
partook, in any sort, of the desire my companions testified to cover
themselves from the rain, which seemed to be about to discharge itself out
of all those black and lowering clouds now gathered above our heads from
every region of the heavens. When, on the contrary, the first heavy drops
fell, I bared my forehead with the eagerness of one who, in a parched
region, comes suddenly upon the margin of a well-spring. Nor did this
sensation subside even after the storm had thickened to the utmost, and
the dusty roads had drunk abundantly of the plashing rain. The strong wind
blew with redoubled coolness upon my moistened neck—the rain-drops dashed
on my hot hands; and I perceived, that, as is the nature of those animals,
the thunder which was mustering in the air, filled my horse one moment
with dread, and the next with a blind fierceness. At last the thunder
shouted over-head, and its echoes spread wide and far on either side,
until they seemed to be absorbed to the left in the remote depths of the
Appenine, and on the right hand in the measureless bosom of the Western
Sea—of which, as we galloped along the hill side, the broad lightning
(unless my fancy deceived me) revealed ever and anon a distant and
melancholy glimpse.
We had passed a hill covered with towns, villages, and stately mansions,
(which I afterwards learned was no other than the famous Alban,) ere the
storm subsided beneath the influence of the reddening dawn. Yet even then
we slackened not our pace, although the horses were by this time not a
little exhausted with the swiftness of their motion, and the weight of
their wet riders. On rode we in the growing light of the morning; but I
perceived ere long that we had left the wide and magnificent Appian Way,
and were pursuing the line of a narrower road, which seemed to carry us
more and more westward.
We halted for a moment on the brow of a declivity, where three paths
separated; and I perceived that among my guides there was some little
uncertainty as to which of these it behoved them to follow. While they
were muttering together, I looked and beheld at length the wide sea
heaving far below, over what appeared to me to be a forest as mighty as I
had ever seen in my native island.
Old hoary oaks leaned on either hand quite over the narrow path-way, into
which (after their brief pause of consultation) my conductors directed our
course. Here and there, such a shield had those huge leafy boughs extended
over the road, that the dust rose from amongst the feet of our horses as
if all that night not one drop of rain had fallen there; although
elsewhere, in the absence of such mighty trees, the water lying across the
path in pools testified abundantly that the tempest had not spared the
forest any more than the champaign. Vast waving gulfs of bay and ilex,
with here and there some solitary pine raising itself proudly in the
midst, seemed to stretch away on either hand between the groves of those
gigantic oaks.
The path we followed carried us ever deeper and deeper into the bosom of
the woods; and, at length, so buried were we in the windings of their
stifling shade, that I had lost all notion of the direction in which I was
moving; until, after two or three hot hours, weary man and jaded horse
were, I believe, equally delighted with snuffing once more the open
current of the air. We reached not the edge of the forest, however, before
I could hear distinctly the dashing of the Mediterranean waves; and the
last ascent we climbed laid open to my view a long sweep of the rolling
waters, and their rocky coast garnished every where with the richness of
superincumbent woods. Far, very far, in the distant north, I thought I
could recognize some of the stately towers of Ostium, bosomed apparently
within the billows over which they presided. All between was one wide
waste of wood and rock, save here and there a watch-tower perched on the
margin, and whitened half-way up with the foam of the yet uncalmed sea.
Then, nor ever could I look upon the waters of the great deep, without
something of that filial yearning which seems so natural to every native
of our sea-girt island. But neither could I contrast the condition in
which I now approached it, with the gay and hopeful mood in which I had so
lately left it behind me, without many thoughts more sad and serious than
as yet had frequently visited my bosom. What a strange brood of visions
had passed before my eyes, since, but a few days before, I stept for the
first time, light of heart, beneath the shadow of those far-off bulwarks!
What new emotions had arisen, in the interval! How had every sense been
gratified! how had every dream of imagination been exceeded! Yet what a
void had been revealed within!—Alas! said I to myself, why is it that I
have been subjected to all these novelties? Had I not done better to have
remained, after all, where life flowed ever calmly—where affection hung
over me like a protecting buckler, and my soul could sleep in the security
of unbroken faith! But this was only for a moment. The thoughts of
Athanasia haunted me more deeply and more firmly. I thought over every
word she had spoken—every look of hers rose up in succession, with all the
vividness of a beautiful and a troubled dream. I seemed to feel, as if she
were yet present beside me, the trembling of her pale fingers upon my
shoulder—I kissed the hand on which her parting tear had fallen, as if it
were yet wet with the dear moisture. When I thought of the perils in which
she must now be enveloped—of the pains she must have suffered—must at that
moment be suffering,—it was as if I could have burst bands of iron, like
flax, from off my hands. When a glimpse of the darker future opened before
me, I shuddered, and, urging my poor horse onwards in the recklessness of
total abstraction, I perceived that even my guides pitied the agony of my
despair.
_CHAPTER VII._
We stopped before one of the watch-towers which, as I have told you, I had
seen scattered along the edge of the sea. But this, when we came up to it,
appeared larger than I had expected to find any of them. The narrow way,
alongst which we had been riding, brought us close to its gate, on the
side towards the land; but the rock shelving rapidly on the other side,
gave it the semblance, at a little distance, of being suspended over the
waves.
It was a building of rude, and apparently very antique structure, the
under part square, but the upper circular; as is, for the most part, the
old Roman fashion in such erections. And this, indeed, I doubt not, might
have stood there long enough to have shewn a beacon, when some fleet of
Syracuse or Carthage darkened the blue sea over against the Lestrigonian
bay renowned in old song, or the snow-white promontory of Gaieta.
One of the soldiers dismounted, and began to knock rather violently at the
door; but some little time elapsed ere any sound from within responded to
the clamour he raised. At last a hard and withered face made its
appearance at a little opening above the door, and then the helmets
passed, I suppose, for a sufficient warrant, for in a twinkling we heard
the bolts creaking; the old postern was soon set ajar, and forth stepped
the venerable keeper. Imagine a tall, skinny man of threescore years, with
a face as dry and yellow as ye have seen on the outside of a pye, and hair
as white as ever the skill of a confectioner could represent, and legs
bearing the same proportion to the feet, which the shaft of Saturn’s
scythe usually does to its blade. Clothe the nether part of this figure in
Dacian, or Gaulish breeches, throw a somewhat threadbare cloak over his
shoulders, and to finish the outfit, deck his head with a casque of the
Macedonian cut, that is to say, sitting close above the ears, and topped
with a bristling plume of horse hair. The Warder stood with dignity, and
listened with gravity, while one of my Prætorians whispered his message.
On its conclusion, he shrugged his shoulders, and regarding me with a
glance made up, I think, in pretty equal proportions, of surprise and
contempt, signified by the motion of his hand that we might all three
enter. He whistled at the same moment, and there came forth a comely
damsel, who, with many blushes and smiles, took possession of the reins of
our horses.—“Stand there,” quoth he, “stand there, little Cestia, and see
if there be never a handful of corn to be got for the prince’s
cattle,—stand there, and we shall be with you again anon.” And then he
also whispered something into the maiden’s ear, and I saw her looking at
me from under her eyelids with an expression of very uncommon curiosity.
Two or three curly-pated urchins, of different sizes, joined her at the
same moment, and to them, in her turn, the maiden whispered; whereupon the
eldest of the children retreating behind her, eyed me earnestly along the
skirt of her tunic, while the younger ones continued to gaze where they
were, with looks of open stupidity and wonder. Of all this I could make
nothing at the moment, but when we had got fairly into the inside of the
tower, I heard the children whispering to each other, “A Christian! A
Christian! A Jew! A Jew!”
The lower part of the tower, into which I had now been conducted, seemed
to form nothing more than one huge, bare, and quadrangular apartment,
serving, I supposed (and rightly) at once as hall and vestibule to the
upper chambers contained within the walls. A small flight of steps, in one
of the corners, seemed to afford the only means of access to what was
above; but from the position of a door immediately below these, it was we
inferred that there were vaults under ground. Close beside this door there
stood, upon a very rude pedestal, a still more rude bust, either of
Jupiter, of Apollo, or of Hercules. The workmanship was such, that I could
not be very certain which of the family it was intended to represent, nor
whether the principal appendage was a club, a lyre, a bow, or a
thunder-bolt; but it did not escape my observation, that the old keeper
crept as close as he could to the sacred stone, as soon as I stepped over
the threshold.
One of the little boys that had come out to the door on our arrival,
busied himself in setting forth a wooden board, whereon he placed in great
order a huge piece of yellow cheese, and a heap of crisp white cakes of
rye. A large jug of water also garnished the mess; but there seemed to be
a little less of diligence, or more of difficulty, about the wine. After
some pause, however, the mistress of the garrison appeared. A string of
amber beads floated to and fro on the ocean of her bosom. She had fine
golden bracelets on her arms too, but they were only half seen, being
almost buried in fat; and she wore a flaxen wig, which did not entirely
conceal the dark bristles below. At the girdle of the amazon hung, on the
right side, the much desiderated bunch of keys, being balanced on the left
by a dagger and toothpick case, almost of equal dimensions.
“Will _you_ drink to Cæsar, young man?” cried the matron, ere the sitting
had been much prolonged; “will you drink honestly to the Emperor, in case
you also have a full cup given you? and, by the by, I think you must have
almost as much need of it as the rest.” And, with this courteous
invitation, I heard her whisper to one of my guards,—“By Jove, ’tis a
proper lad, after all; is this true that they have told me of him? Why, I
believe, the young man has a red edge to his gown. What is his name? who
is he?”—I heard him answer,—“By the life of Cæsar, you know as much about
him as any of us. There was a whole cluster taken last night a little way
beyond the Capene-Gate, and he was one; but what they were about, or who
he is, I know not, only he is certainly somebody, for I saw our Centurion
salute him.”—“I saw him with Sabinus,” whispered the other—“I am quite
sure of it, the last day the Amphitheatre was open; they sate together,
and appeared familiar.”—“I pray you, sir,” quoth the lady, raising her
voice,—“I pray you fill your cup, and here I pledge you to our better
acquaintance. You shake your head—well. But what must be, must; and while
you are with us, we may at least be good friends.”—“Thanks,” said I,
complying with her command; “Here, then, is health to all present; and
fair health to the great Trajan, says no one here more heartily than I.”—I
drank off the wine, and setting down the goblet, I believe I said,
“Excellent, by Jove,” or something of that sort; for they all started when
they heard what I said, and the old woman called out lustily, “Fill him
another cup to the brim, whether he be Christian or not. The young man at
least swears by the gods, and drinks to Cæsar.”
“The old man,” observed one of the soldiers,—“he that was killed the other
day in the Amphitheatre—he might have saved his head, even at the last
moment, if he would have done as much.”—“Well, well,” quoth she again;
“let every one mind his own matters. Husband, bring down your book, and
let the new-comer enter his name with his own hand.”
Having drained his cup, the keeper rose, and ere long returned with a
musty scroll of parchment, which, having blown away the dust from it, he
presented to me. I glanced over the record, and found in it the names of
various persons, all apparently entered in their own handwriting; and most
of them, as I could perceive, bearing date in the troublous reign of
Domitian. The last was that of Marcus Protius Lamontanus, who, as it
seemed, had been set free from his confinement immediately on the
accession of Nerva; and immediately under this I wrote my own name, with
that of my birthplace. The keeper read, and said, “So preserve me the
power of Jove! A Valerius! and born in Britain! Can you be the son of the
same Valerius who was Centurion in the ninth legion under Agricola?”—“You
have guessed rightly—I am the same.”—“Then the more is the pity,” he
replied, in a grave voice, “that you should have entered, in such a case
as this, the dwelling of one that was a true soldier beneath the eagle of
your father. But forgive me if in any thing we have been
disrespectful.”—“There is no occasion,” said I, “for any such apology. I
am here as a prisoner, and have been treated with all courtesy beyond what
a prisoner could expect.”
“By Hercules!” interrupted the spouse, “I thought I had some knowledge of
the face—Well, I hope ten years hence he will be as fine a man as his
father was the day he slew the Caledonian giant, and tumbled him from his
chariot in front of all the line—yes, in sight of Galgacus himself. It was
the same day,” said she, turning to her lord, “that you were taken
prisoner, and driven away into the woods.”—“As witness these marks,” quoth
the man; and with that he stripped open his tunic, and displayed part of
his breast, stamped with various figures of blue and yellow, after the
northern fashion, and bearing withal the traces of two formidable wounds.
The woman redoubled her kindness; but not wishing to interrupt festivity,
I soon requested her to shew me the place where I was to be confined. And,
indeed, as you may imagine, I had by this time not a little need of
repose.
Both she and her husband accordingly rose to usher me to my prison. I gave
money to the soldiers, and requested them to inform Sabinus of the place
to which I had been conveyed; but did not choose to write any thing,
either to him or to Licinius, until I should have had a little time for
reflection.
_CHAPTER VIII._
My fatigue brought speedy sleep; and so profound, that before I again
unclosed my eyes, the calm sea was already purple below me, and the sun
about to set. But neither purple sea, nor golden sky, nor all the divine
tranquillity of the evening air, could sooth my mind into repose, after I
had once awaked to a sense of the situation into which I had been
brought—I should say rather of the situation in which Athanasia was
placed. For myself, I could not in seriousness fear any calamity worthy of
the name,—if such should come, it must be my business to wrestle with it
as I might. But to think of her, young, beautiful, innocent; and of all to
which she might be exposed amidst the rude hands in which I had left her!
Some time had passed before my attention was attracted by a conversation
carried on in the chamber below me, in which you will not be surprised
that I should have felt myself interested, even although the distance was
such that I could not distinguish one word that was said. I knew from the
first moment that it was impossible I should be mistaken—I was perfectly
certain it was Sabinus himself, who was talking with the old woman; and I
at once suspected that the worthy Centurion, having learned from the
soldiers who carried me off, to what place they had conveyed me, had
undertaken this speedy journey, for the purpose of comforting me in my
confinement. The kindness with which he had treated me from the beginning
of our acquaintance had been such, that I could have no occasion to wonder
at his exerting himself to discover me; but I confess this alacrity was
more than I had been prepared for, and I waited only for the moment when
he should enter my apartment to throw myself upon his bosom, and intrust
all my troubles to him, as to a friend and a brother. There was something,
however, which I could not at all comprehend in the merriment which seemed
to be reigning below on his arrival. Peals of female laughter interrupted
the uniform hearty tone of the Centurion’s voice; and the feeble treble of
the old Warder himself was stretched ever and anon in attempt at a
chuckle.
At last in they came, and Sabinus, embracing me affectionately, thrust
into my hand a piece of parchment, which I perceived to be nothing less
than an order for my immediate release. Then taking off his riding-cap,
and rubbing with his handkerchief his most audacious and soldier-looking
brows, “My dear boy,” quoth he, “I see you are going to thank me—but wound
not modesty by fine speeches. There was war before Helen—have a better
care another time, and don’t pay Rome such a poor compliment, as to say
that you can find nobody to charm you but a Christian damsel, and no place
for flirtation but a gloomy tomb lined with urns and lachrymatories. My
honest friend here was quite frightened with the idea of having such an
unbelieving reprobate as they said you were, under the same roof with her
children. But now her fears are dispelled, for good souls are always
tolerant to the little vagaries of young blood; so thank your hostess, my
lad, kiss her hand, take one cup to the hearth of the old tower, and
tighten your girdle.”
“Well!” quoth the woman; “who should have thought when the soldiers
brought him in with such mystery, that it was all for kissing by
moonlight! I protest to Venus, they would have made me believe he had been
caught eating an infant; but still I cannot quite pardon him. Well—well—we
must e’en take good hope he will mend ere he dies.”
“Die?” cried the Centurion; “do you talk of dying to one that has scarcely
yet begun to live!—Come, come, Caius, I hope, after all, you may never get
into a worse scrape.”
“And if I do,” said I, “I hope I shall always be equally fortunate in my
jailers.”
“By the beard of Jove!” quoth Sabinus, “it needs no great skill to see
that you have been fortunate in that respect. I swear that, if the truth
were known, you are almost as unwilling to leave this tower now, as you
were last night to be torn away from another.”
“Oh, Master Kæso,” quoth she again, “when will you have done with your
joking? Well, your father loved a jest in his time himself; but now he, I
suppose, is quiet enough. And he, good old man, how does he wear?—Can he
still sit in his porch of a fine morning, and listen to the news, as he
used to do, with his cup at his knee?”
“I trust the old grasshopper can still chirp when the sun shines. But to
tell you the truth, it is long since I have seen him; and if this young
blade has no objection, I mean to pay him a visit this very night. I am
only just come home from Britain, and have not yet had leisure to salute
my Lares.”