THE SNARE
Meanwhile all was made ready for the sailing of the ship. Coffined in
lead, the body of Maximus awaited only a return of fine weather for its
conveyance to the vessel. When at length calm fell upon the sea, and
after a still night of gentle rain the day broke radiantly, all
Surrentum was in movement between church and harbour. Mass having been
said, the bishop himself led the procession down the hollow way and
through the chasm in the cliffs seaward, whilst psalms were chanted and
incense burnt. Carried in her litter, Petronilla followed the bier;
beside her walked Basil and Decius. Only by conscious effort could
these two subdue their visages to a becoming sadness; for Basil thought
of his marriage, Decius of Rome and his library. Nor did Petronilla
wear an aspect of very profound gloom; at moments she forgot herself,
and a singular animation appeared on her proud features; it was as
though some exultancy took hold of her mind.
That Aurelia held apart, that the daughter gave no testimony of
reverence for a father's remains, caused such murmuring in the crowd of
Surrentines: her heresy seemed to be made more notorious, more
abominable, by this neglect. At Surrentum, Arianism had never been
known; no Goth had ever dwelt here; and since Aurelia's arrival public
opinion had had time to gather force against her. It was believed that
she had driven forth with insults the most noble Petronilla, that
exemplar of charity and of a saintly life. Worse still was the rumour,
now generally believed, that the Senator's daughter had obtained her
inheritance by wicked hypocrisy, by a false show of return to the true
faith. Being herself so evil, it was not to be wondered that she
corrupted those who fell under her influence; the young lord Basil, for
instance, who, incredible as it sounded, was said to be on the point of
espousing a Gothic damsel, a mysterious attendant upon Aurelia, of whom
strange stories were rife. Talk of these things made no little
agitation in the town when ceremonies were over and the coffin had been
embarked. The generality threw up their hands, and cried shame, and
asked why the bishop did not take some action in so grave a scandal.
But here and there folk whispered together in a different tone, with
winkings and lips compressed, and nods significant of menace. Patience!
Wait a day or two, and they would see what they would see. Heaven was
not regardless of iniquity.
Scarce had the ship weighed anchor, to be wafted across the bay by a
gentle wind, when Petronilla started on her land journey for Rome. The
great chariot, the baggage, the servants riding, made fresh commotion
in Surrentum; many accompanied the great lady along the winding road
until they were weary and their curiosity satisfied. To this obsequious
escort Petronilla uttered certain words which before evening were
repeated throughout the town. 'Let us forgive our enemies,' she said,
with that air of hers, at once so grand and so devout--'let us forgive
our enemies, but let us omit no means, however rigorous, of saving
their souls'; and of those who reported the saying, some winked and
nodded more significantly than ever.
Just before sunset on this same day there was trampling of hoofs along
the road ascending to the villa, as two horsemen, with a dozen
followers, some on horses, some on mules, rode up. Summoned to the
atrium, Basil greeted the return of Marcian, and looked with curiosity
at the man standing beside him, who could be no other than Venantius. A
tall and comely man, wearing a casque and a light breastplate, his
years not more than thirty, rather slim, yet evidently muscular and
vigorous, he had a look of good-humoured determination, and the tones
in which he replied to Basil's welcome were those of a born commander.
In contrast with his host's elaborate courtesy, the manners of
Venantius might have been judged a trifle barbarous, but this bluntness
was no result of defective breeding; had he chosen, he could have
exchanged lofty titles and superlatives of compliment with any expert
in such fashionable extravagances, but he chose a plainer speech, in
keeping with his martial aspect. First of all he excused himself for
having arrived with so many followers.
'But our good Marcian,' he added, clapping a hand on his companion's
shoulder, 'had a story to tell me of a fair lady and fairer
maiden--though not long to bear the name, she--who may belike need
protection as well as honourable attendance; whereas you, noble Basil,
have thought little of the use of arms, and probably keep no very
warlike retinue at command. So I mounted half a dozen bowmen, who will
ride and shoot with any Hun, and as many stout fellows who can wield
lance or throw javelin, and here they are at your gates. Have no fear
for the girls within doors; my men are both sober and chaste by
prudence, if not by nature. There was a time when I had to make an
example here and there'--he scowled a smile--'but now they know me.'
Basil replied as became him, not without some slight imitation of his
guest's bluff manliness. Admiring, as he did, above all things, that
which savoured of heroism, he was strongly impressed by Venantius,
whose like, among natives of Rome, he had not yet beheld, who shone
before him, indeed, in a nobler light than any man he had seen since
the days when he worshipped Belisarius. Arrangements were speedily made
for the entertainment of the little armed troop, and as dusk gathered
the host and his two guests sat down to supper. Whilst the meal was
being made ready, Basil had found opportunity of speech with Aurelia,
who heard with great satisfaction of the coming of Venantius, and
promised to receive him early on the morrow.
'The lady Aurelia's name is not unknown to me,' said Venantius, when
Basil spoke of her at table. He would have added a remark, but paused
with a look at the attendant slaves. 'Her illustrious father,' he went
on, 'I spoke with when I was young. But for the illness of Maximus I
should have ventured hither during this year gone by, notwithstanding
some difference in our view of things; or rather, to make sure whether
there really was as much difference as I supposed.'
'Perchance you would have found that there was not,' said Basil.
'Certainly not towards the end.'
'May his soul repose! He had the bearing which suited with his noble
name--a true Anicius to look upon. If Rome have need in these times of
another breed of citizens--and who can gainsay that?--she will not
forget such men as he, who lived with dignity when they could do no
more. You, my dear lord'--he turned towards Basil--'Anicius though you
are, see another way before you, what?'
They talked far into the night. When he spoke of the Imperial
conquerors--'Greeklings' he called them--Venantius gave vent to his
wrath and scorn. The Goths were right when they asked what had ever
come out of Greece save mimes and pirates; land-thieves they might have
added, for what else were the generals of Justinian with their
pillaging hordes? They dared to speak of the Goths as barbarians--these
Herules, Isaurians, Huns, Armenians, and Teutons!--of the Goths, whose
pride it had so long been to defend Roman civilisation, and even to
restore the Roman edifices. What commander among them could compare
with Totila, brave, just, generous?
'By the Holy Mother!' he cried, with a great gesture, 'if I were not
wedded to a wife I love, who has borne me already three boys as healthy
as wolf cubs, I would follow your example, O Basil, and take to myself
a blue-eyed daughter of that noble race. They are heretics, why yes,
but as far as I can make out they pray much as I do, and by heaven's
grace may yet be brought to hold the truth as to the Three-in-One. When
they had the power, did they meddle with our worship? Let every man
believe as he list, say I, so that he believe sincerely, and trust God
against the devil.'
In the stillness of their secluded abode, Aurelia and Veranilda went to
rest earlier than usual this evening, for they were to arise before the
dawn. This afternoon they had been visited by the black monk, who
announced the return of Sisinnius, and invited them to the promised
mass on the morrow; and such was their agitation in the foretaste of
this religious ecstasy, as well as in the hope of having their future
revealed to them, that neither slept much during the night. Not long
after the crowing of the first cock, when all was silent and dark,
Aurelia stepped, with a lamp in her hand, into the maiden's chamber.
'Is it the hour?' whispered Veranilda, raising herself.
'Not yet. I have had a troubled dream. I dreamt that this night the
holy Sisinnius had fought with the demon, and had been worsted. O
Veranilda!'--the speaker's voice trembled--'what may this mean?'
'Dearest lady,' answered the other reassuringly, 'may it not be a
temptation of the demon himself; who at times is permitted to tempt
even the holiest?'
'And you, sweet? You have not dreamt?'
'Only of Basil,' answered Veranilda, with a smile that asked pardon for
her happiness.
They talked over the disquieting vision, whilst the little lamp-flame,
wavering in breaths of air, cast strange shadows about the room. On the
walls were faded frescoes, one of which represented the poetess Proba
on her knees before St. Agnes. Impelled by her fears, Aurelia of a
sudden knelt before this picture, and prayed silently to the virgin
martyr. Then Veranilda rose from the couch, and knelt beside her.
Having solaced their souls, they kissed each other tenderly.
'You are not afraid,' whispered Veranilda, 'that Basil may be in the
garden when we go forth?'
'Basil? Ah, little rogue, have you betrayed yourself?'
'Of a truth, dearest lady, he has been there more than once, but not,
oh not so early!'
'Nay, I hope not,' said Aurelia. 'It were scarce maidenly--'
'Never, never before the east had broken for the dayspring! Never, I
swear to you, O my heart's friend!'
'Then there is small fear of his interrupting us this morning; all the
more that he must have sat late with his friends, talking of many
things. I am glad of the coming of this brave Venantius; it puts an end
to every peril.'
They conversed on this encouraging theme until Aurelia's ear caught the
sound of a footfall in the gallery. She stepped forth and encountered a
female slave, who told her that there wanted two hours to dawn; it was
time, then, to set forth and a few minutes saw them ready. In the
garden they were met by the watchman, who carried a lantern. He, having
merely been ordered to stand in readiness at this hour and being
ignorant of his mistress's intention, showed astonishment when he saw
Aurelia and her companion bent on going out. He took it for granted
that he was to accompany them. But at this moment there appeared in the
rays of the lantern a black figure, which had entered by the breach in
the wall. Aurelia whispered a few words to her watchman, whose religion
was the same as hers, and at once he dropped to his knees.
'Peace be with you, good brother,' said the monk, in his feeble voice,
as he drew a lantern from beneath his cloak. You may not accompany us;
but have no fear. The way is short.'
Forthwith he turned, and Aurelia, holding Veranilda's hand, followed
where he lighted the way. For a few minutes they pursued a level path,
then, passing between myrtles, began to descend the seaward slope. The
ground was rough, but the monk, going before, marked the places for
their footing. A few minutes thus, and they reached trees, black
against a sky sown with stars and overshimmered by a wasted moon.
Veranilda, who was trembling, clung to her companion's arm.
'How much further?' asked Aurelia, striving to make her voice firm.
'This is not the way by which I came before.'
'Scarce fifty steps. See you not the light yonder?'
Among the trees was perceptible a faint shining. Hand tight clasped in
hand, the two moved forward over thick herbage, and still descended.
They drew near to the light, and saw that it issued from a little cave.
Within stood a man, bent as if with age and infirmities, his face
half-hidden under a cowl. When the visitors were near, he stretched
forth his arms, murmuring words of welcome, and the two knelt devoutly
before him.
There was a moment of silence, then the cowled man again spoke, in a
voice firmer and less senile.
'My daughters, you have come hither through the gloom of night and over
rough places, led by a faithful guide, whom you followed without doubt
or fear. You will have your reward. The darkness, the stones that made
your feet to stumble, what are these but symbols of your spiritual
state? In your blindness, you sought one blind as yourselves, to follow
whom was to walk in darkness eternal. But a beneficent Power has
watched over you, guiding your steps in the better way, whereof you
recked not.'
Aurelia and Veranilda had raised their heads, and were gazing at him,
in fearful astonishment.
'Be not troubled,' he went on, taking a step forward and speaking in a
voice strong and clear. 'Though unworthy, I am a priest of the faith in
which you, Aurelia, were baptized. In my hands you will suffer no harm,
no indignity. Be still, be silent. Behind you stand those who will not
permit you to flee, but who will conduct you hence as if they were your
own attendants if you do but follow me, as you needs must, without cry
or resistance.'
Aurelia turned and saw a number of figures whom the dim light showed to
be men with weapons. A moan of anguish escaped her lips. Clinging to
her in terrified silence, Veranilda seemed about to sink to the ground.
'Our way,' pursued the priest, who was now revealed as neither old nor
infirm, 'is down to the harbour. Not far from here a litter awaits you;
summon your strength for the short effort over rugged ground. Speak
words of comfort to this maiden; she also will ere long walk in the
light, and will be grateful to those who rescued her from the path of
destruction. Think not to escape us when we pass through the city; it
were vain to cry aloud; not a man in Surrentum would raise his hand to
release you, knowing, as all do, that we confine your body only to free
your soul from the bonds of the Enemy.'
'Whither are you taking us?' asked Aurelia, suddenly commanding
herself, and speaking with cold scorn.
'That you will know before the evening. Enough for the present that you
will travel without fatigue and without danger. Follow now whither I
lead.'
He moved forward, and the armed men, half a dozen in number, among whom
stood the black monk, closed about the prisoners. Seeing the futility
of any resistance, Aurelia whispered to her companion such words of
encouragement as she could find, and supported her with her arms. But
Veranilda had overcome the first terror which made her droop.
'Basil will find and release us,' she whispered back. 'While he has
life, Basil will not forsake us.'
And with unfaltering steps she moved onward, holding Aurelia's hand.
Their path, illumined by lanterns, the guards presently issued from the
wood, and came to the place where the litter was waiting. Hence the
captives were borne rapidly towards the haven. As they entered the city
gates, Aurelia raised the curtain which concealed her, and looked out
at the men on watch; words exchanged between them and her conductors
only confirmed what the priest had said, and made her understand that
she was powerless amid enemies.
'Are we not to have a look at the Gothic beauty?' cried one fellow,
when the litter was passing.
'Peace!' answered the priest sternly; and nothing more was said.
Through the streets they were followed by a few persons. These, calling
to each other, collected at length a small crowd, which hung about the
litter when it reached the place of embarkation. Here torches were
burning; their red glare fell upon angry or mocking faces, and every
moment the crowd increased. With utmost speed the prisoners were passed
into a little boat, then rowed to a vessel lying at the harbour mouth.
As the ship hoisted sail, dawn began to glimmer over the flank of
Vesuvius.