Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
stupidity. Come with me to her. Should she begin to flirt with thee, and
write letters on the table with her fingers steeped in wine, know that I
shall not be jealous.”
And he gave command to bear them both to Chrysothemis.
But in the entrance Petronius put his hand on Vinicius’s shoulder, and
said,--“Wait; it seems to me that I have discovered a plan.”
“May all the gods reward thee!”
“I have it! I judge that this plan is infallible. Knowest what, Marcus?”
“I listen to thee, my wisdom.”
“Well, in a few days the divine Lygia will partake of Demeter’s grain in
thy house.”
“Thou art greater than Cæsar!” exclaimed Vinicius with enthusiasm.
Chapter IV
IN fact, Petronius kept his promise. He slept all the day following his
visit to Chrysothemis, it is true; but in the evening he gave command to
bear him to the Palatine, where he had a confidential conversation with
Nero; in consequence of this, on the third day a centurion, at the
head of some tens of pretorian soldiers, appeared before the house of
Plautius.
The period was uncertain and terrible. Messengers of this kind were more
frequently heralds of death. So when the centurion struck the hammer at
Aulus’s door, and when the guard of the atrium announced that there
were soldiers in the anteroom, terror rose through the whole house.
The family surrounded the old general at once, for no one doubted that
danger hung over him above all. Pomponia, embracing his neck with
her arms, clung to him with all her strength, and her blue lips moved
quickly while uttering some whispered phrase. Lygia, with a face pale
as linen, kissed his hand; little Aulus clung to his toga. From the
corridor, from chambers in the lower story intended for servant-women
and attendants, from the bath, from the arches of lower dwellings, from
the whole house, crowds of slaves began to hurry out, and the cries of
“Heu! heu, me miserum!” were heard. The women broke into great weeping;
some scratched their cheeks, or covered their heads with kerchiefs.
Only the old general himself, accustomed for years to look death
straight in the eye, remained calm, and his short eagle face became as
rigid as if chiselled from stone. After a while, when he had silenced
the uproar, and commanded the attendants to disappear, he said,--“Let me
go, Pomponia. If my end has come, we shall have time to take leave.”
And he pushed her aside gently; but she said,--“God grant thy fate and
mine to be one, O Aulus!”
Then, failing on her knees, she began to pray with that force which fear
for some dear one alone can give.
Aulus passed out to the atrium, where the centurion was waiting for him.
It was old Caius Hasta, his former subordinate and companion in British
wars.
“I greet thee, general,” said he. “I bring a command, and the greeting
of Cæsar; here are the tablets and the signet to show that I come in his
name.”
“I am thankful to Cæsar for the greeting, and I shall obey the command,”
answered Aulus. “Be welcome, Hasta, and say what command thou hast
brought.”
“Aulus Plautius,” began Hasta, “Cæsar has learned that in thy house is
dwelling the daughter of the king of the Lygians, whom that king during
the life of the divine Claudius gave into the hands of the Romans as a
pledge that the boundaries of the empire would never be violated by the
Lygians. The divine Nero is grateful to thee, O general, because thou
hast given her hospitality in thy house for so many years; but, not
wishing to burden thee longer, and considering also that the maiden as
a hostage should be under the guardianship of Cæsar and the senate, he
commands thee to give her into my hands.”
Aulus was too much a soldier and too much a veteran to permit himself
regret in view of an order, or vain words, or complaint. A slight
wrinkle of sudden anger and pain, however, appeared on his forehead.
Before that frown legions in Britain had trembled on a time, and even
at that moment fear was evident on the face of Hasta. But in view of the
order, Aulus Plautius felt defenceless. He looked for some time at the
tablets and the signet; then raising his eyes to the old centurion, he
said calmly,--“Wait, Hasta, in the atrium till the hostage is delivered
to thee.”
After these words he passed to the other end of the house, to the
hall called oecus, where Pomponia Græcina, Lygia, and little Aulus were
waiting for him in fear and alarm.
“Death threatens no one, nor banishment to distant islands,” said he;
“still Cæsar’s messenger is a herald of misfortune. It is a question of
thee, Lygia.”
“Of Lygia?” exclaimed Pomponia, with astonishment.
“Yes,” answered Aulus.
And turning to the maiden, he began: “Lygia, thou wert reared in our
house as our own child; I and Pomponia love thee as our daughter. But
know this, that thou art not our daughter. Thou art a hostage, given
by thy people to Rome, and guardianship over thee belongs to Cæsar. Now
Cæsar takes thee from our house.”
The general spoke calmly, but with a certain strange, unusual voice.
Lygia listened to his words, blinking, as if not understanding what the
question was. Pomponia’s cheeks became pallid. In the doors leading
from the corridor to the oecus, terrified faces of slaves began to show
themselves a second time.
“The will of Cæsar must be accomplished,” said Aulus.
“Aulus!” exclaimed Pomponia, embracing the maiden with her arms, as if
wishing to defend her, “it would be better for her to die.”
Lygia, nestling up to her breast, repeated, “Mother, mother!” unable in
her sobbing to find other words.
On Aulus’s face anger and pain were reflected again. “If I were alone in
the world,” said he, gloomily, “I would not surrender her alive, and my
relatives might give offerings this day to ‘Jupiter Liberator.’ But I
have not the right to kill thee and our child, who may live to happier
times. I will go to Cæsar this day, and implore him to change his
command. Whether he will hear me, I know not. Meanwhile, farewell,
Lygia, and know that I and Pomponia ever bless the day in which thou
didst take thy seat at our hearth.”
Thus speaking, he placed his hand on her head; but though he strove to
preserve his calmness, when Lygia turned to him eyes filled with tears,
and seizing his hand pressed it to her lips, his voice was filled with
deep fatherly sorrow.
“Farewell, our joy, and the light of our eyes,” said he.
And he went to the atrium quickly, so as not to let himself be conquered
by emotion unworthy of a Roman and a general.
Meanwhile Pomponia, when she had conducted Lygia to the cubiculum, began
to comfort, console, and encourage her, uttering words meanwhile which
sounded strangely in that house, where near them in an adjoining chamber
the lararium remained yet, and where the hearth was on which Aulus
Plautius, faithful to ancient usage, made offerings to the household
divinities. Now the hour of trial had come. On a time Virginius had
pierced the bosom of his own daughter to save her from the hands of
Appius; still earlier Lucretia had redeemed her shame with her life.
The house of Cæsar is a den of infamy, of evil, of crime. But we, Lygia,
know why we have not the right to raise hands on ourselves! Yes! The law
under which we both live is another, a greater, a holier, but it gives
permission to defend oneself from evil and shame even should it happen
to pay for that defence with life and torment. Whoso goes forth pure
from the dwelling of corruption has the greater merit thereby. The earth
is that dwelling; but fortunately life is one twinkle of the eye, and
resurrection is only from the grave; beyond that not Nero, but Mercy
bears rule, and there instead of pain is delight, there instead of tears
is rejoicing.
Next she began to speak of herself. Yes! she was calm; but in her breast
there was no lack of painful wounds. For example, Aulus was a cataract
on her eye; the fountain of light had not flowed to him yet. Neither was
it permitted her to rear her son in Truth. When she thought, therefore,
that it might be thus to the end of her life, and that for them a moment
of separation might come which would be a hundred times more grievous
and terrible than that temporary one over which they were both suffering
then, she could not so much as understand how she might be happy even in
heaven without them. And she had wept many nights through already, she
had passed many nights in prayer, imploring grace and mercy. But she
offered her suffering to God, and waited and trusted. And now, when
a new blow struck her, when the tyrant’s command took from her a dear
one,--the one whom Aulus had called the light of their eyes,--she
trusted yet, believing that there was a power greater than Nero’s and a
mercy mightier than his anger.
And she pressed the maiden’s head to her bosom still more firmly. Lygia
dropped to her knees after a while, and, covering her eyes in the folds
of Pomponia’s peplus, she remained thus a long time in silence; but when
she stood up again, some calmness was evident on her face.
“I grieve for thee, mother, and for father and for my brother; but I
know that resistance is useless, and would destroy all of us. I promise
thee that in the house of Cæsar I will never forget thy words.”
Once more she threw her arms around Pomponia’s neck; then both went out
to the oecus, and she took farewell of little Aulus, of the old Greek
their teacher, of the dressing-maid who had been her nurse, and of all
the slaves. One of these, a tall and broad-shouldered Lygian, called
Ursus in the house, who with other servants had in his time gone with
Lygia’s mother and her to the camp of the Romans, fell now at her feet,
and then bent down to the knees of Pomponia, saying,--“O domina! permit
me to go with my lady, to serve her and watch over her in the house of
Cæsar.”
“Thou art not our servant, but Lygia’s,” answered Pomponia; “but if they
admit thee through Cæsar’s doors, in what way wilt thou be able to watch
over her?”
“I know not, domina; I know only that iron breaks in my hands just as
wood does.”
When Aulus, who came up at that moment, had heard what the question was,
not only did he not oppose the wishes of Ursus, but he declared that he
had not even the right to detain him. They were sending away Lygia as a
hostage whom Cæsar had claimed, and they were obliged in the same way to
send her retinue, which passed with her to the control of Cæsar. Here he
whispered to Pomponia that under the form of an escort she could add as
many slaves as she thought proper, for the centurion could not refuse to
receive them.
There was a certain comfort for Lygia in this. Pomponia also was glad
that she could surround her with servants of her own choice. Therefore,
besides Ursus, she appointed to her the old tire-woman, two maidens from
Cyprus well skilled in hair-dressing, and two German maidens for the
bath. Her choice fell exclusively on adherents of the new faith; Ursus,
too, had professed it for a number of years. Pomponia could count on the
faithfulness of those servants, and at the same time consoled herself
with the thought that soon grains of truth would be in Cæsar’s house.
She wrote a few words also, committing care over Lygia to Nero’s
freedwoman, Acte. Pomponia had not seen her, it is true, at meetings of
confessors of the new faith; but she had heard from them that Acte had
never refused them a service, and that she read the letters of Paul of
Tarsus eagerly. It was known to her also that the young freedwoman lived
in melancholy, that she was a person different from all other women of
Nero’s house, and that in general she was the good spirit of the palace.
Hasta engaged to deliver the letter himself to Acte. Considering it
natural that the daughter of a king should have a retinue of her own