CHAPTER XXVII.

THE SECOND CROWN.

The memorable plot which the black slave betrayed to Corvinus, was one to which allusion has already been made, in the conversation between Fulvius and his guardian. He was convinced from the blind martyr’s unsuspecting admissions, that Agnes was a Christian, and he believed he had now two strings to his bow; either he could terrify her into marriage with himself, or he could destroy her, and obtain a good share of her wealth by confiscation. He was nerved for this second alternative by the taunts and exhortations of Eurotas; but, despairing of obtaining another interview, he wrote her a respectful, but pressing letter, descriptive of his disinterested attachment to her, and entreating her to accept his suit. There was but the faintest hint at the end, that duty might compel him to take another course, if humble petition did not prevail.

To this application he received a calm, well-bred, but unmistakable refusal; a stern, final, and hopeless rejection. But more, the letter stated in clear terms, that the writer was already espoused to the spotless Lamb, and could admit from no perishable being expressions of personal attachment. This rebuff steeled his heart against pity; but he determined to act prudently.

In the meantime, Fabiola, seeing the determination of Sebastian not to fly, conceived the romantic idea of saving him, in spite of himself, by extorting his pardon from the emperor. She did not know the depth of wickedness in man’s heart. She thought the tyrant might fume for a moment, but that he would never condemn a man twice to death. Some pity and mercy, she thought, must linger in his breast; and her earnest pleading and tears would extract them, as heat does the hidden balsam from the hard wood. She accordingly sent a petition for an audience; and knowing the covetousness of the man, presumed, as she said, to offer him a slight token of her own and her late father’s loyal attachment. This was a ring with jewels of rare beauty, and immense value. The present was accepted; but she was merely told to attend with her memorial at the Palatine on the 20th, in common with other petitioners, and wait for the emperor’s descent by the great staircase, on his way to sacrifice. Unencouraging as was this answer, she resolved to risk any thing, and do her best.

The appointed day came; and Fabiola, in her mourning habits, worn both as a suppliant, and for her father’s death, took her stand in a row of far more wretched creatures than herself, mothers, children, sisters, who held petitions for mercy, for those clearest to them, now in dungeons or mines. She felt the little hope she had entertained die within her at the sight of so much wretchedness, too much for it all to expect favor. But fainter grew its last spark, at every step that the tyrant took down the marble stairs, though she saw her brilliant ring sparkling on his coarse hand. For on each step he snatched a paper from some sorrowful suppliant, looked at it scornfully, and either tore it up, or dashed it on the ground. Only here and there, he handed one to his secretary, a man scarcely less imperious than himself.

It was now nearly Fabiola’s turn: the emperor was only two steps above her, and her heart beat violently, not from fear of man, but from anxiety about Sebastian’s fate. She would have prayed, had she known how, or to whom. Maximian was stretching out his hand to take a paper offered to him, when he drew back, and turned round, on hearing his name most unceremoniously and peremptorily called out. Fabiola looked up too; for she knew the voice.

Opposite to her, high in the white marble wall, she had observed an open window, corniced in yellow marble, which gave light to a back corridor leading to where Irene’s apartments were. She now looked up, guided by the voice, and in the dark panel of the window, a beautiful but awful picture was seen. It was Sebastian, wan and thin, who, with features almost etherealized, calm and stern, as if no longer capable of passion, or strong emotion, stood there before them; his lacerated breast and arms appearing amidst the loose drapery he had thrown around him. For he had heard the familiar trumpet-notes, which told him of the emperor’s approach, and he had risen, and crept thus far, to greet him.[190]

“Maximian!” he cried out, in a hollow but distinct voice.

“Who art thou, sirrah! that makest so free with thine emperor’s name?” asked the tyrant, turning upon him.

“I am come as from the dead, to warn thee that the day of wrath and vengeance is fast approaching. Thou hast spilt the blood of God’s Saints upon the pavement of this city; thou hast cast their holy bodies into the river, or flung them away upon the dunghills at the gates. Thou hast pulled down God’s temples, and profaned His altars, and rifled the inheritance of His poor. For these, and thine own foul crimes and lewdnesses, thine injustices and oppressions, thy covetousness and thy pride, God hath judged thee, and His wrath shall soon overtake thee; and thou shalt die the death of the violent; and God will give His Church an emperor after His own heart. And thy memory shall be accursed through the whole world, till the end of time. Repent thee, while thou hast time, impious man; and ask forgiveness of God, in the name of Him, the Crucified, whom thou hast persecuted till now.”

Deep silence was held while these words were fully uttered. The emperor seemed under the influence of a paralyzing awe; for soon recognizing Sebastian, he felt as if standing in the presence of the dead. But quickly recovering himself and his passion, he exclaimed: “Ho! some of you, go round instantly and bring him before me” (he did not like to pronounce his name). “Hyphax here! Where is Hyphax? I saw him just now.”

But the Moor had at once recognized Sebastian, and run off to his quarters. “Ha! he is gone, I see; then here, you dolt, what’s your name?” (addressing Corvinus, who was attending his father,) “go to the Numidian court, and summon Hyphax here directly.”

With a heavy heart Corvinus went on his errand. Hyphax had told his tale, and put his men in order of defence. Only one entrance at the end of the court was left open; and when the messenger had reached it, he durst not advance. Fifty men stood along each side of the space, with Hyphax and Jubala at the opposite end. Silent and immovable, with their dark chests and arms bare, each with his arrow fixed, and pointed to the door, and the string ready drawn, they looked like an avenue of basalt statues, leading to an Egyptian temple.

“Hyphax,” said Corvinus, in a tremulous voice, “the emperor sends for you.”

“Tell his majesty, respectfully, from me,” replied the African, “that my men have sworn, that no man passes that threshold, coming in, or going out, without receiving, through his breast or his back, a hundred shafts into his heart; until the emperor shall have sent us a token of forgiveness for every offence.”

Corvinus hastened back with this message, and the emperor received it with a laugh. They were men with whom he could not afford to quarrel; for he relied on them in battle, or insurrection, for picking out the leaders. “The cunning rascals!” he exclaimed. “There, take that trinket to Hyphax’s black spouse.” And he gave him Fabiola’s splendid ring. He hastened back, delivered his gracious embassy, and threw the ring across. In an instant every bow dropt, and every string relaxed. Jubala, delighted, sprang forward and caught the ring. A heavy blow from her husband’s fist felled her to the ground, and was greeted with a shout of applause. The savage seized the jewel; and the woman rose, to fear that she had only exchanged one slavery for a worse.

Hyphax screened himself behind the imperial command. “If,” he said, “you had allowed us to send an arrow through his head or heart, all would have been straight. As it was, we are not responsible.”

“At any rate, I will myself see my work done properly this time,” said Maximian. “Two of you fellows with clubs come here.”

Two of his attendant executioners came from behind; Sebastian, scarcely able to stand, was also there; mild and intrepid. “Now, my men,” said the barbarian, “I must not have any blood spilt on these stairs; so you knock the life out of him with your cudgels; make clean work of it. Madam, what is your petition?”--stretching out his hand, to Fabiola, whom he recognized, and so addressed more respectfully. She was horrified and disgusted, and almost fainting at the sight before her; so she said, “Sire, I fear it is too late!”

“Why too late?” looking at the paper. A flash came from his eye, as he said to her: “What! You knew that Sebastian was alive? Are you a Christian?”

“No, sire,” she replied. Why did the denial almost dry up in her throat? She could not for her life have said she was any thing else. Ah! Fabiola, thy day is not far off.

“But, as you said just now,” replied the emperor, more serene, returning her petition, “I fear it is too late; I think that blow must have been the _ictus gratiosus_.”[191]

“I feel faint, sire,” said she, respectfully; “may I retire?”

“By all means. But, by the bye, I have to thank you for the beautiful ring which you sent, and which I have given to Hyphax’s wife” (lately her own slave!). “It will look more brilliant on a black hand than even on mine. Adieu!” and he kissed his hand with a wicked smile, as if there were no martyr’s body near to witness against him. He was right; a heavy blow on the head had proved fatal; and Sebastian was safe where he had so longed to be. He bore with him a double palm, and received a twofold crown. Yet still, an ignominious end before the world; beaten to death without ceremony, while the emperor conversed. How much of martyrdom is in its disgrace! Woe to us when we know that our sufferings earn us honor!

The tyrant, seeing his work completed, ordered that Sebastian at least should not be cast into the Tiber nor on a dunghill. “Put plenty of weights to his body,” he added, “and throw it into the Cloaca,[192] to rot there, and be the food of vermin. The Christians at least shall not have it.” This was done; and the Saint’s Acts inform us, that in the night he appeared to the holy matron Lucina, and directed her where to find his sacred remains. She obeyed his summons, and they were buried with honor, where now stands his basilica.