CHAPTER IX.

DAYSPRING.

Clœlia received the news of Casca’s immediate departure with that self-repression which at the time of greatest trial characterised the old Roman matron.

The inevitable was accepted, and she merely said--

“It was but likely that your noble father should desire to place you amongst the nobles, but you depart to scenes of license, I fear, and to see the hunt after pleasure put before honour and the welfare of Rome. It was not always thus. There were times when the sons of our great city strove after all those gifts which should make them her worthy protectors and defenders. They call Rome now the mistress of the world, but her children have grown weak since the arms of their great mother have embraced so many strangers and aliens. I would, my son Casca, that you were to be committed to one even of less exalted rank than Antonius, who, if report speaks truly, lives the life of luxury and ease which is as a canker-worm at the root of the gourd.”

Casca’s tender, gentle spirit was touched at the emotion which Clœlia could not entirely hide under her quiet calm manner.

“I would that I could stay with you, dear Clœlia,” said the boy. “I am not fitted for the life to which I go.”

“There is no choice for us; a son must obey his father; and it may be that in some time of need the mother of Caius may stand you in good stead, as once the son did, when he rescued you and your sister from the pursuing sea-robbers and brought you safe into port. If the time ever comes when you need Clœlia, she will not fail you.”

Clœlia embraced Casca affectionately as she spoke, and then she bestirred herself to prepare the evening meal, which they were to eat together for the last time.

Casca thought it wisest to keep the appointment with Ebba to himself. He intended to leave the house long before dawn, and to return to make final arrangements for his departure later in the day. The strange announcement in his father’s letter of the death of both Agatha and Ebba seemed a mystery he could not unravel. He knew nothing of Agatha, nor could he believe that it was Ebba who was with her in a cell at Radburn, and that both women should be found dead when the prison door was opened.

Certain it was, however, that he had seen Ebba at the Circus--he felt sure he could not be mistaken. She knew him, and addressed him as “Master,” and he wanted no further proof.

How she came to Rome, and why she was with the old Jew, he could not understand, and he was anxious for the meeting at the fountain of Egeria, below the Cælian Hill.

It was quite dark when Casca left Clœlia’s house the next morning, except, indeed, for the light of the stars, which had not yet begun to fade before the dawn.

When the boy reached the deserted and silent Forum, faint streaks of the coming day were just enough to show the outline of the columns which supported the façade of the temples, and the statues which surrounded the pillars.

There were a good many sleepers about the steps of the temple and plinths of the statues. The outside garment or toga was rolled up for a pillow, and the poor Roman citizens, who lived, for the most part, desultory lives out of doors, and earned a scanty pittance by helping to unlade the mules which came in from the country to supply fruit and milk and vegetables to the city, never desired easier or more luxurious couches! Then Casca threaded his way cautiously along till he took the narrow path which wound by the temple of Vesta to the Cælian Hill. In the hush before the dawn every sound was distinctly heard--the ripple of running waters--the low splash of fountains--the fall of solitary footsteps. Once there was the sound of a band of revellers, who were returning to one of the palaces in the Palatine, after a night of wild bacchanalian license. The noise grew nearer, passed below the place where Casca stood, and then grew fainter and fainter, and died away in the distance. Then there was a low sullen roar, which was often heard in the stillness of a Roman night--the lions roaring at daybreak for their prey, the food which would be supplied to them in the arena before sunset, when the Christians who might have been in captivity in some of the adjoining cells would be brought out to die!

Casca pursued his way, leaving the temple of Vesta behind him, pausing every now and then to look back at the place where his little sister was one day to minister, to keep the sacred fire burning, for the safety and welfare of the Roman people all over the world.

The boy’s heart went out in loving tenderness towards Hyacintha, and he longed for one hour of free intercourse, such as they used to have in the villa of Severus, in Verulam.

The footpath between the gardens was very narrow, and wound in and out, till the summit of the Cælian Hill was reached. Here Casca paused again, and was soon conscious that a figure clothed in a long dark stole and hood was seated on a fragment of stone waiting for him. It was, indeed, Ebba, the Christian Anna, who advanced to him, saying--

“Dear master, the son of my lord the noble Severus, I greet you with humble affection. I have been yearning to see you, for I knew that you were in Rome, and I have watched and waited, and now you are here!”

“Good Ebba,” exclaimed Casca, “I am right glad to find you here. But tell me how it has come about.”

“I was delivered from death by Claudius, your noble-hearted friend, who bade me see my dear young mistress, and tell her that he had fulfilled his vow. But I have never dared to present myself at the temple, or the house of the vestals, for I might perchance bring trouble upon my dear young mistress, for I am a baptised Christian.”

Casca started back--

“A Christian!” he exclaimed. “There is greater peril here than in Verulam. There is a fresh outbreak of persecution, and a number are to be thrown to the beasts this very day.”

“I know it,” Anna said, in a firm voice. “The life that my Lord has given back to me I will guard, nor rashly deliver myself up. But, oh! my young master, why will you not accept the cross and bear it after Jesus?

“He is rising over the world,” Anna continued, “like yonder light, which proclaims the near approach of the sun. He is coming to flood this sinful world with righteousness, even as the golden flood of sunrise is bathing the Alban Hills.” As she spoke, she pointed with her hand to the scene stretched out before them, as they stood under the shadow of the ilex trees, and looked down upon the prospect, which lay like a vision of beauty, rather than a reality of this lower world, in all its loveliness. For one by one the peaks of the Alban Hills rose from the plain, and a rosy flush touched the highest of all, where the old temple of Jupiter once stood, the common meeting-place and shrine of the early Latin race. Soon the Campagna smiled in the early level rays of the sun, and everything became imbued with life!

Casca was strangely moved as Anna said--

“Here, or at Verulam in the caves, or in the forests of Britain, the Lord is the light. Oh! my noble Casca, I pray you bathe your soul in His light, and you will have peace and joy in His presence!”

Casca folded his arms and looked out upon the shining landscape, wondering much that the slave-girl should have become a woman on whose face was written a high and noble resolve, the outcome of the reality and fervour of her faith.

“Yes!” she continued, “I am now living in the Jews’ quarter, on the slope of the hill. I hear from them the words of their prophets and sibyls, and I know that these foretold the coming of the Saviour of the world. They did not know Him, and he was nailed to the cross, like a malefactor, by the Roman Governor’s order, in the province of Judæa. The Jews clamoured for His life, as the Romans clamour for the lives of the Christians. And He laid it down, to take it again, dying for Roman and Greek, Jew and Christian, Briton and Druid, alike.”

“I would I could believe,” Casca sighed, “for there is a hunger of the soul nothing can satisfy. But, Anna, this may be a fable or a phantom, this Christ of whom you speak.”

“Nay, dear master, He is no fable and no phantom. He lives in _us_ and we live in Him. But----”

She broke off suddenly, for two figures clothed in the purest white garments were seen ascending the hill with light, agile steps. The taller of the two bore a pitcher on her head, with the grace with which only the women of Italy know how to carry a burden. Her young companion had no burden. She had gathered a large bunch of the pale violet anemone which carpets the turf in every Roman garden in spring, and had fastened it under the fillet with which her short shining curls were bound.

“Two vestals!” Casca said, springing to his feet. “The younger one is--yes, surely it is--Hyacintha!”

In another moment the brother and sister stood face to face. Hyacintha gave him a rapturous greeting.

“Chloe!” she exclaimed, “this is my brother Casca.”

Chloe, who had set down her pitcher, smiled pleasantly. And then, with a wild cry of joy, Hyacintha discovered that Anna, her Ebba of other times, was with her brother.

“We have come to draw the water from the spring,” she exclaimed; “little did I think I should find you here. Oh, Ebba, tell me how you came hither!”

“I have been longing to see you, dear mistress, to give you a message. My story is indeed so strange, that even to myself it is scarce like reality.”

“Tell it to me, tell it to me! Oh, Chloe, may I stay, and hear what she says? She was the dear attendant of my mother and myself, in my old home at Verulam. She has brought me a message.”

“You can remain here while I go to the fountain,” said Chloe. She was good-natured and kindly, and the little Hyacintha had been her especial care and joy since the day of her arrival in the house of the vestals, now six months before.

Indeed, Hyacintha had won all hearts. There was a gentle grace about her, and yet a sunny brightness, which made the vestals call her their singing bird.

The deep earnestness of her nature, and her serious desire to fit herself for the high office of a vestal, did not prevent her from entering into every innocent pleasure with the keenest delight.

The anxiety which had awoke in her young heart at Verulam, to find a more excellent way of life than that led by the ladies she saw in her mother’s society, had been a weight upon her child-heart. But now she had found, as she believed, her vocation; and while leaving far behind her, her young companions in the accomplishments in which they were all instructed, she was always simple and humble, and her exceeding beauty, which was increasing month by month, did not make her vain.

“A great gift to lay at the shrine of the goddess,” Terentia had told her, and Hyacintha joyfully laid down that gift, and would gladly lay down others also, for the honour of the goddess who had the sacred fire in her keeping.

Ebba could scarcely restrain her expressions of admiration as Hyacintha seated herself on a stone bench beneath an outspread ilex tree, and said,

“Now, Ebba, my message, my message! Dear Ebba, you look so happy now, no longer like a sad slave, but free and happy.”

“Yes, dearest lady, I am free--free from the fetters which bound me, no longer a slave, but a _child_ of a loving Father.”

Hyacintha’s questioning eyes were turned wistfully upon Anna as she spoke. She could hardly understand her.

The sunlight flickered through the branches upon Hyacintha’s spotless robe, and touched the ruddy gold of her hair with glory.

Her little sandalled feet peeped out beneath the hem of her robe, as they rested on the mossy turf. Her beautifully-formed hands were folded in a sort of happy expectation as to what Anna might say next, what the message might be from her home beyond the stormy sea, and her whole attitude was one of attention and wonder as to what was coming.

Casca watched his sister with eyes of tender brotherly admiration, and he wondered it had never struck him before, how beautiful she was!

“Poor Ebba,” Hyacintha said, “the child of a loving Father! I do not understand. I know you left our home, in Britain, after they had killed the man on the hill-side, near Verulam. I know my father was angry at your loss, put a price on your head, but I know no more.”

“Nor need I tell you all that happened, for it would serve no good end, nor would I throw over your brightness so dark a cloud as the story of my life since we met would surely throw.”

“I was baptised by the holy Amphibalus on the night of my escape. Then our little band wandered towards the fastnesses of Wales, after hiding in a cave at Radburn. We were settling in a village, in peace and rest, converts daily brought in by the teaching of Amphibalus, when we were surprised by the barbarians, and to escape them a band of thirty fell into the hands of a Roman convoy under Valens and Claudius.”

“Claudius! good, dear Claudius!” Hyacintha exclaimed; “nay, I do not believe he hunted you down.”

“He did as he was commanded, and many fell. Some were carried to Radburn as prisoners. I was one, and Agatha, the mother’s sister of Heraclius, who perished before the holy Alban rather than take his life,--Agatha was my support and stay. We were thrown into a dungeon together, from which we were dragged to witness the martyrdom of Amphibalus.

“I remember little more after that, till I found myself committed to the care of old Ezra, the Jew, by brave Claudius, who rescued me from death, and bade me say to you, dear Hyacintha, that he had fulfilled his vow made to the gods and to you, and had saved the life of the slave whom you loved.”

“Whom I must love always,” Hyacintha murmured. “But how was it done?”

“I have since heard from Ezra that his daughter died on her toilsome journey from Verulam to Radburn, and that Claudius, finding him weeping over her body, took it up and carried it to the dungeon, where he left it with Agatha, and carried me away. I have never heard what befel Agatha--my friend and mother--for a mother in Christ she was, truly, to me.”

Severus’s letter to his son became intelligible now. The boy sprang to his feet.

“I can tell you,” he said. “Both women, so my father writes in his letter--both women were found dead in their cell, and their bodies were burned to ashes the next morning. My father believes that you, Ebba, were one of those women.”

Anna raised her eyes to the sky above her, and the tears which gathered there flowed down her cheeks.

“She is with Him whom she loved, in Paradise,” she said, “only, would that our Father had taken me with her!”

“Dear Ebba, do not grieve,” Hyacintha said.

“Nay,” Casca sighed out, “nay, it is over for her, it is to come for you and for me. Tell me where I can get instruction in the faith of which you speak.”

“Come to the Via Appia in the early morning, or in the late evening. I will be on the watch, for I steal thither unperceived, as hundreds of our faith steal. In the last sleeping-place of the Christians the faith of the living is built up, and you shall be instructed in that faith. Think you, Casca, that there is no Rome but that which you see? Yes, there is a Rome, invisible to all mortal eyes, over which the angels watch the Christian people of the great city, who are compelled to worship their Lord in secret and silence.”

“I will come,” Casca said.

“Go whither, dear brother?” asked Hyacintha; “nay, run into no danger.”

Casca smiled.

“I am never bold or daring, little sister; has not that weakness of mine been ever foremost? Did not good Claudius try to harden me to danger? Did not my father look on me with scorn, as unworthy of his noble ancestors? I will run into no danger.”

Chloe’s footsteps were heard approaching, on her return from the fountain, where she had filled the pitcher with pure crystal water.

This water was used to sprinkle the altar of Vesta, and only those who were fully qualified by their term of probation were ever allowed to perform this office.

“Now, Hyacintha,” Chloe said, “the day wears on apace, and we must return to the temple.”

Hyacintha embraced her brother, and then turned to follow Chloe. The path bore a little to the left before it descended to the gate of the garden, and there Hyacintha paused for a moment, and with her hand waved her farewell to the two who stood below her. The low level rays of the lately-risen sun glanced through the vines and olive trees amongst which she stood. Her white robe glistened and glowed in the sunshine, and her face--that beautiful face--so childlike, and yet so womanly, made Anna exclaim--

“She is like the Hyacintha of my dream in the dungeon! Oh, that the journey was indeed over, and that she was standing to welcome me at the golden gate! but it will come at last--at last.”

Hyacintha had disappeared at the garden gate. A lictor stood to escort the two vestals along the public thoroughfare to the door of the vestals’ house. The vestals were never allowed to appear in public without a guard; for from their high office they formed a part of the sacred magistracy and state of the city of Rome.

When Casca and Anna were left alone together, Anna said--

“We must not be seen together in the public streets; therefore, dear young master, I will depart first, and you can follow. The quarter where the Jews live is below the hill, and I reach it by a side path.”

“Are you happy with that old man, Ebba? Is he good to you?”

“Yes, at times,” was the answer. “He mourns for his lost Rachel and his lost treasure. The name of Christian is scarcely less hated by the Jews than by the heathen, and I live a secluded life with Ezra. But he has taught me much of the words of the old prophets and sibyls in whom he believes, who worshipped the God of Israel, and I have learned to sing some of the songs written by one of their kings to the praise of Jehovah. And now we part till the evening, when I will conduct you to the place where you shall hear much which my poor tongue cannot tell. But be wary, for the eyes of many are upon all who are suspected of being Christians.”

In another moment Anna had glided away, and Casca was left alone.

A new life was beginning for the boy that day; he was to exchange the toga prætexta for the toga virilis--the boy’s garment for the man’s--a sign of manhood which the Romans looked upon as imperative.

Before that bright day had closed, Casca had bidden Clœlia farewell, and, with a heavy heart, had committed his books and parchments to two slaves from Antonius’s household, who had arrived for them about noon.

Then he penned a dutiful epistle to his father, which would be despatched by the next special messenger who might be sent on official business from Rome to her distant province of Britain, and prepared himself for his fresh start in the palace of Antonius.

It is very hard for us to realise the events of the fourth century, and any picture of those times, and of the men and women who took part in the scenes then enacted, must, at the best, be shadowy. To the eye of the casual observer, Rome, seated on her seven hills, under the sway of the Emperor Diocletian, was at the zenith of fame and prosperity.

The throngs in the Forum--the gay crowds in the gardens of Circus Maximus, the race-course, the arena--all told of wealth and prosperity and pleasure. But this very love of show and outward grandeur, this excessive devotion to the indulgence of every selfish desire, was sapping the foundation of the great empire, and its decline had even then set in.

Still, out of sight, and hidden from general observation, a kingdom was growing daily in strength and numbers. Like the grain of mustard seed, like the little lump of leaven, the Church of the Catacombs was gathering force and extending its boundary, month by month, year by year. But if it requires a strong effort of the imagination to call back the individual life of the men and women who flocked to the resorts of pleasure and business in the Forum and the Circus, it is almost more difficult to realise the buried life of Rome at that time, which, nevertheless, was as a spark to be kindled into a light that should cast its bright beams over the world, when the splendour of the great Empire, with all its false brilliancy, should have sunk in gloom and darkness.

The Christians grew and multiplied, and we are told that thousands were even now converts in heart, though held back by fear from confessing Christ openly.

The persecution which was raging fiercely in 304 had, perhaps, the effect of driving timid ones into obscurity, but it was as a stimulant to many steadfast souls, who died with a smile of victory on their faces and a song of rejoicing on their lips.

Anna, the British slave, lived in the Jews’ quarter, with old Ezra, and faithfully fulfilled her duties as his daughter. The old man was querulous and exacting; the desire of gain, which had taken him to the distant pearl-fisheries of Britain, was strong upon him. He found Anna’s skill with her fingers most useful to him, and she was now engaged in the embroidery of a quantity of rich velvet with gold and seed-pearls, which Ezra was to sell to a dealer, for the train of the Empress, and for which he was to receive a fabulous sum. But it was the gold, and not the advantages which the gold could bring, which was precious to Ezra. The Jews’ quarter, hidden under a spur of the Cælian Hill, was thickly populated, and the low square buildings where they dwelt were poor and overcrowded. They had one rather larger than the rest, which was set apart for their synagogue, and here the more devout worshipped the God of their fathers at the appointed seasons.

The community was not a happy or particularly harmonious one; jealousies were rife, and Ezra was believed to have amassed riches, though he lived in a mean way, and professed to be poor. One of the Jewish women would often come and sit with Anna, while she bent over her embroidery, and she would talk of the expected deliverer of Israel, who was soon to come, “As a king, to reign,” she would say. And then Anna would tell of the King who _had_ come--whose dominion was to spread from sea to sea, and who was to put all enemies under His feet.

Anna had been well taught by Amphibalus and Agatha, and instructed in the Scriptures, so that she could tell Rebekah many things of which she had never heard.

As the spring day waned to its close, Anna’s eyes ached with the continuous work, till pearls and gold thread looked one confused mass; she laid aside her frame, and invited Rebekah to accompany her to the Cæmeteria, as soon as the shadows fell upon the city, and they might pass unnoticed. Rebekah hesitated a little, but finally agreed to bear Anna company, stipulating that she might return if she heard anything spoken against the God of Jacob in the place where Anna said she would be instructed in her faith.

“Nay, you can hear no word against the God of Jacob, for He is our God for ever and ever,” Anna answered. “You will hear of his Son the Deliverer, whom your people, knowing not what they did, nailed to the cross.”

Rebekah shook her head. “Our Jehovah would never suffer Messiah to perish like a malefactor, it was contrary to His nature. He is the Lord God merciful and gracious.”

“But,” Anna quietly added, “He will in no wise spare the guilty.”

“We have sacrifices offered for sins once a year,” was the reply, with a proud sense of security.

“But this one sacrifice of Christ, once offered, avails for all time and for all people.”

“Well,” the young Jewess said, “I will accompany you, for it is at least a diversion. I am weary of pining for my espoused husband Joel. He has departed hence and I have had no tidings of him for two years, and I can scarce bear my life shut up in this dull corner of Rome, while I know in Jerusalem I should have a high place in all the feasts and joyful meetings of my own people. It was a woeful day for me when my father Ezekiel came hither.”

Rebekah was a fine Jewish woman, with the strongly-marked features and raven hair of her race, but her face was hard, and the expression of her mouth cross and discontented.

“I loathe this place,” she repeated, “and I marvel how any one like you can abide here. You are bound by no tie to old Ezra.”

“Yes, a strong tie,” Anna said; “by the death of his daughter my life was saved. I must be as a daughter to him while I live.”

“Well, I would not count such a man as a father,” was Rebekah’s reply. “When shall we start? the sun has nearly set.”

“As soon as you please,” Anna replied; “I must get ready my long cloak, and cover my head, and set out the evening meal, and light the lamp in the outer court, that Ezra may find all ready, and think I am gone to rest.”

“Then do not tarry,” Rebekah said, “for I am cramped with sitting on the low cushion, and long for air and sights and sounds pleasanter than those which greet me here. Hark! there’s the sound of a multitude shouting, there must be sport in the arena; food for the lions, no doubt.”