CHAPTER V.

CLAUDIUS FULFILS HIS VOW.

Claudius was no more inclined to the Christian faith than he had been when we last saw him in the room of Casca, the son of Severus. But he felt himself pledged to perform his vow, sworn by the gods, that if ever it were in his power he would save Ebba, the British slave, so well beloved by Hyacintha, the daughter of the noble Severus.

Since she and her brother had left Verulam, in the sunny days of July, for that distant Rome, which was then, to all intents and purposes, as far from Verulam as San Francisco or Lima would be from the St. Albans of to-day, Claudius had felt a terrible blank in his life. Games and athletic sports, feats of arms, and dashing military exercises, were much to him, but till he had lost Casca he did not know how his life had been bound up in him. Those pleasant talks in the twilight with Casca, who had read much, and was of a studious rather than a warlike nature, were all over. Claudius had felt the fascination of Casca’s conversation, although he professed to despise all those aspirations and longings which were in the boy’s heart, and welled up like an irrepressible spring, which could not be stopped in its overflow. With Casca and his young sister’s departure all the gentler elements had died out of Claudius’s life, and he had thrown himself more eagerly into any amusements, or any occupation which could drown reflection, living only in the present, and persuading himself that the present was enough. His old father had filled a post of honour under Carausius, who had held Britain as an independent province for ten years. Then Carausius was assassinated by Allectus, who had at first asserted himself, and held the command with but few Roman soldiers, and a large army of the northern tribes, who are now known to be the Caledonians.

When at last the whole province was united under the Imperial sway of Diocletian, old Caradon lived on in gloomy subjection to Roman authority, asking no public office, and allowing his two children, left to him by his Italian wife, to follow their own devices. He found them harder to control than any of the savage tribes over whom, during the temporary rule of Carausius, he had held authority; and the evening of his days was spent in a state of inaction and regret for the times which were past.

Severus treated him with a hardly concealed contempt, and his temper was soured and his patience tried by the wild freaks of his daughter Junia, and the independent spirit of his son Claudius, who had eagerly caught at the offer of accompanying Valens to hunt out the Christians under Amphibalus: little thinking that he should find Ebba amongst them, and be compelled to fulfil the solemn vow he had made to Hyacintha, the daughter of Severus, and the sister of his friend Casca.

Now, as he paced up and down before the rude stone building which was used as a sort of courthouse and prison in Radburn, Claudius thought on all possible means to effect her escape. As soon as it became known that Ebba was one of the two women who had been brought to Radburn with Amphibalus, she would be seized and beheaded, so that the price set upon her head in the spring might be claimed.

Claudius well knew the risk he ran in aiding and abetting Ebba’s escape, but he was brave and honourable, and held his vow made to Hyacintha by the gods as binding.

There was no time to lose. Valens would at once see the Governor and Severus at Verulam, and it was only too probable that the two women, Agatha and Anna, would be taken before them the next morning. They would be called upon to renounce their faith, the British slave Ebba would be recognised, and for her there could be no hope of mercy; while Agatha’s connection with the soldier who had died rather than carry out the sentence of death on Alban, would probably cause her to be tortured, if not instantly beheaded.

Under cover of the darkness of the late October night, before the moon, now on the wane, rose in the eastern sky, Claudius felt whatever he did must be done at once.

He summoned the men under his command to the small square hall in the building. A fire had been kindled there, and the smoke made its way out by the slits and apertures which pierced at intervals the thick walls. Claudius was a young commander, and the stout Roman soldiers were at first rather inclined to resent his authority. Claudius, however, had that free, pleasant manner which the roughest and hardest natures find it impossible to resist.

He ordered two of the men to go out and cater for provisions, adding, “We will sup together to-night, and will not spare the cup. See that every one of you gets his fill.”

Then he seated himself at the board on the rude bench which was placed near it, and the village of Radburn was soon found sufficient to supply the wants of the little band, and satisfy even their large appetites.

They ate and drank, and grew first hilarious and then heavy. The man in charge of the dungeon was invited to join the party, and several people from the village were also bidden to come in as they stood round the open door, and the soldiers’ carousal ended by their stretching themselves on the floor, and sleeping heavily, from the effects of over-eating, over-drinking, and fatigue; for the forced marches through the forest, and the fierce contest with the Christians, had tried even their herculean strength to the uttermost.

So far, Claudius’s scheme had answered; he feigned to sleep heavily, and when all was quiet, about nine o’clock, he crept softly past the sleepers, and went out into the darkness.

As he went down the steep incline from the courthouse, he stumbled against some dark object, and a piteous voice exclaimed--

“For the love of Heaven, have pity on me!”

“Who are you?” Claudius asked.

“A poor wandering Jew, whose only daughter has fallen down, worn out with illness and fatigue, and has passed hence, in the darkness, to Abraham’s bosom.”

“You dog!” Claudius exclaimed, “how came you hither?”

“I came over to Britain seeking for pearls, with which your rivers abound, but I have found none, but lost my own pearl. She is dead! she is dead!” he moaned. “I have carried her thus far, and none in this heathen village would give me shelter. I know by the heavy weight with which she lies in my arms that she is dead.”

Claudius strode back to the hall, and taking a burning ember from the mass upon the hearth, and returning, threw the light of a torch he had kindled upon the girl’s face. Yes, she was dead--must have been dead for hours.

Her father, gazing on her, burst into a low wail, and rocking himself to and fro, cried for pity and mercy from Jehovah.

A sudden thought flashed upon Claudius.

“Hearken, old man, wretched dog as you are, if you will do me a service I will pay you in gold pieces, but it must be done at once. Leave your daughter’s body to me for burial, and betake yourself to a thicket just beyond the village. Stay there till I come to you, and I will ensure you safe departure. If you refuse, by the gods, I will drag you before the Governor to-morrow, and see you torn limb from limb.”

“Oh! good sir! Oh! kind sir! have pity. My daughter! my daughter!”

“She is dead,” Claudius replied, as throwing the light of the torch on the pale, still face, wan and attenuated by sickness, and set in its frame of raven hair it looked white as snow.

“Poor creature!” Claudius said, “she is young to die, but we all die, some old, some young; it is the fate of all, and the gods take the best first. Now, Jew, there must be no delay. Shall I carry away your daughter, and in return will you, for gold, which I will bring you, do my behest? It must be now, or it will be too late.”

As he spoke, Claudius took the old man roughly by the arm, and setting him on his feet, raised the body of the dead maiden in his arms, and bidding the Jew follow him, went down to the road below.

* * * * *

The long, dark hours had passed slowly in the dungeon, where, after the cruel scene of the morning, Agatha and Anna had sat together, waiting for death. Anna had revived when she had swallowed a few drops of cold water, and Agatha, though utterly exhausted herself, seating herself by the wall, had gathered the girl tenderly into her maternal arms, and revived her, as best she could, by chafing her cold hands, and pressing her close to her bosom.

Then, while Agatha watched, Anna had slept at intervals, and the elder woman did her best to encourage and comfort the younger.

“It has been a fearsome day and fiery trial for thee, Anna,” Agatha said. “How wilt thou bear the morrow?”

“I think,” said poor Anna, in a low but firm voice, “I think I can bear my own pain better than witnessing that of another.”

“Thou hast no lurking fear, then, that when the trial comes thou wilt deny thy Lord?”

“Nay,” Anna said, “I, who have been so weak-hearted, feel that He gives me strength; and, Agatha, I have had a wondrous and beautiful dream. I dreamed I saw the golden city, and the great gates, through which only the pure of heart can pass. There was a soft light all round, like the light in the atrium when all the silver lamps were kindled, and there was the murmur of many waters. Then, as I stood at the gates, afraid to enter, I heard a voice say, ‘Come up hither.’

“I answered, ‘I dare not; I am only a slave, a poor slave;’ and the voice said--

“‘I have bought thee with a price, and thou art Mine.’ And then, Agatha, I saw my own beautiful little mistress, Hyacintha. I wondered to see her there, standing at the gate. I thought it must be the temple of Vesta, and not the Holy City. My mistress was still a child, yet not a child. She wore a long white robe, and her figure was tall and stately. Her hair was bound with a gold fillet, which made a shining circle around her head. She held out her arms to me, and said--

“‘Anna! Anna!’ Then I wondered why she called me Anna, for I had ever been Ebba to her--Ebba, the British slave-girl. Then she said--

“‘I have come to meet thee at the gate. I have come to bid thee welcome; the Lord has sent me for thee.’

“I marvelled much how that could be, for I knew my little mistress was to be a priestess of the goddess Vesta, and that she must worship her, and not the Lord Jesus.

“But then the voice of one I could not see, seemed to answer my thoughts, and said--

“‘I have bought you both with a price, you are Mine; enter ye into the Heavenly City, and go out no more.’ Then my little mistress, fair Hyacintha, took my hand, and we went up the golden street together, and there was again the sound of many waters, and of sweet music, and countless glad voices; and then I opened my eyes, and all was dark--so dark--but I felt thy arm pressing me to thy heart, Agatha, and was comforted.”

“My poor child,” Agatha sighed, “I would that thy dream were true. There is sharp pain first before thou canst enter through the gates. Say, wilt thou be able to endure to the end, as our master, Amphibalus, and holy Alban did?”

“I am but weak; I am but weak and young,” Anna said, “but He is with me. I hope we shall go together, Agatha.”

“I would fain hope so; but it may not be; perchance that would be too great a favour at the hands of our persecutors. While thou hast been dreaming, a dream, I doubt not, sent to thee from heaven, by the love of our Lord, I have been thinking over my life. Here, in this dark dungeon, I saw before me a peaceful hut, on the borders of the great river, where as a girl I played, and often went with my father in the coracle, to gather the oysters from their bed as the water ebbed, and to pick out the pearls from them when the shells were forced open. I mind me that my father would say that the oysters the hardest to force open always held the finest pearls. Since I have become a Christian, I have thought often of those words. For verily the Pearl of Great Price is not easy to obtain, and we find it with much pain and searching. I became afterwards the wife of a brave man, and the mother of two noble boys. I saw them all killed, in a fight between our people and some who owed allegiance to Carausius. I thought my heart was broken then, and I wanted in my blindness to end my life by plunging a dagger into my breast. But it was then that I came with Heraclius, my kinsman, under the teaching of Amphibalus, and the Lord showed me that to live according to His will was a nobler thing than to give up the life He had bestowed, ere it was His good pleasure to recall it. Thus I lived, and I have nursed the sick at Verulam, and, in my humble way, held the cross of Christ before the eyes of those, who, clasping it to their hearts, have found it turned into a crown. It was at the secret meetings of the Christians that I first saw thee, the frightened, trembling Ebba, the slave of the rich and noble Severus. Then how my love flowed forth to thee on the hill-side, on that early summer night when Amphibalus baptised thee, and thy name was no longer Ebba but Anna. And we have shared perils and trials together since then, dear one, and love has knit our hearts in a bond that death cannot break.”

“Oh! that we may die together,” Anna said. “I thought this morning, when the darkness came over me like a cold wave, it was death. Will dying be like that swoon, thinkest thou?”

“Nay, for thou wilt open thy eyes in a glorious light instead of in this black, chill cell,” Agatha replied.

Thus the two poor prisoners talked to one another, and comforted one another with the words of Him who had gone the rugged way before them; and the shadow of the dark valley--for they looked for death on the morrow--was brightened for them by the presence of their Lord.

Presently Anna said--

“They are pulling back the bolts! they are unlocking the gate! Are they at hand who will kill us, here in the darkness?”

Agatha sat upright and listened; yes, there was the slow, grating noise made by the pulling back of heavy bolts, and the rusty key turned in the rude hole which formed a lock.

Then the heavy gate opened, a draught of chill air came in, and some one was evidently entering slowly, as one who bore a burden.

No one spoke, the door was closed, and then a lamp or lanthorn, formed with a wick floating in oil, was uncovered, and showed a tall young man, standing by the prostrate figure which he had evidently just deposited at his feet.

“Another prisoner!” Agatha exclaimed. “Sir, what brings you here?”

Anna, shading her dazed eyes with her hands, exclaimed, “It is the noble Claudius, the friend of my young mistress Hyacintha!”

“Yes, it is I. I was with Valens in the expedition; you saw me then.”

“We saw you, young Claudius,” Agatha said, “and may God forgive your part in the slaughter of that cruel day. Are you come to end our sufferings with your sword? If it be so, hasten your work.”

“Nay,” Claudius said; “nay, I have sworn a solemn oath to save Ebba, the British slave, if it lay in my power. There is only one way by which I can do it; this dead girl shall be left here, and Ebba shall come forth with me, to take her place with her father, whom I have, under cover of the darkness, hidden in the thick brushwood just beyond the village. Thither I will guide Ebba, leaving the dead girl with you, and taking the living one to a place of safety.”

Anna clasped her hands.

“I cannot, I cannot come,” she said. “I will remain here to die.”

“Nay, that must not be,” said Claudius. “I swore to the pure fair maiden who was your mistress, and who loved you so well, to save your life. I must perform my vow. See here, you elder woman, I shall return to-morrow to lead you out at the Governor’s command. I call upon you to make no sign whereby you betray that this poor child lying at your feet is other than the Christian who was present with you yesterday. If you do make that sign, you will cost me my life. If not, I will order the soldiers to kindle a funeral pile, and all that will be left of this poor child, whom her father calls Rachel, will be burned to ashes before the sun sets to-morrow. Now,” said Claudius, “I have not a moment to lose,” and stooping, he raised Anna in his strong arms, and was striding away with her, when Agatha said,

“Hold! Good Claudius, I will utter no lie about this dead child. I am forbidden by my Lord to lie. I may be mute, but I will not speak, if by speaking I am to tell that this corpse is that of Ebba the Saxon slave.”

“Oh! I pray you, I beseech you, good sir!” Anna exclaimed, “leave me here. I cannot, cannot, leave Agatha alone with the dead!”

“My vow is upon me,” Claudius said, “and you must come, whether you will or no.”

“But whither? whither? to die in a forest? to--”

“Hush! I pray you, dear Anna,” Agatha said. “This is the hand of God. He may desire thy young and vigorous life for service for Him. The means are in His hands. But I pray you, noble Claudius, assure me that this poor lamb, who lieth here so still and cold, met her death by no evil practice.”

“Nay, I know nothing, save that when disturbed in mind as to how I could perform my vow, and escape the anger of the gods, I stumbled on an old whining dog, of the people they call the Jews, crying over his dead child. Here seemed the way for Ebba’s escape, and I took it, and I can sacrifice to the gods to-morrow with a good heart.”

“Go then, dear child, my child in the Son of God and faith in Christ, and may the Lord be with thee; one more kiss, and then----”

There was not time for another word; Claudius threw the light burden over his shoulder, and departed cautiously, as he had come, drawing the bolts and turning the key, and leaving Agatha, the Christian woman, alone in darkness with the dead.

Claudius strode along through brambles and thicket, till he reached the very cave where the Christians had taken refuge after Alban’s martyrdom. While hunting here one day in the late summer, he had come upon this cave, and explored it. The beds of heather were still piled up as Agatha had left them, and on one of these the young man gently laid his burden down.

“Where is that old dog of a Jew?” he shouted; “has he played me false!”

“Nay, I am here, good sir, kind sir; and a broken-hearted father. Woe is me! that ever I left my own people; but I was tempted to come in the train of a Roman, with wife and daughter and two noble boys. All, all are dead--and I--whither shall I flee?”

“Get out of Britain as fast as may be,” said Claudius, “and take this maiden as your daughter. Make for the coast, and board a ship which is to cross to Gaul; here are nine gold pieces for thy pouch.”

“But my daughter, my Rachel!” moaned the old man. “Wilt thou give her body burial--burial, not heathenish burning? Vow, young man.”

“If possible, I will have her body thrown into a hole, if you deem that to be a higher fate than burning; but I do not promise. And now I must be gone. Take two hours’ rest, and then away before day dawns. You know these parts.”

“Ay, but too well,” the old man said. “This hard rugged Britain, and its rough people. I would that I had never been tempted by the thought of goodly merchandise to cross the sea--the angry sea--and suffer thereby the bitter loss of all I count dear!”

“I dare say you have managed to get together a few pearls. I mind hearing of some of your race who carried off the biggest pearls from the river on which Londinium is built, and in conducting the barter with the Britons for their masters,[B] well filled their own pouches, as I dare to say yours is filled. Now I must away. Ebba, remember I have fulfilled my vow at the risk of my life; and if ever you see the fair Hyacintha commend me to her with these words, ‘I have kept my vow, and when she makes prayers to the goddess in the temple where her presence lingers, bid her remember Claudius.’”

When Claudius was gone the Jew carefully stowed away the coins in his pouch, and drew from it some dried fruit and a small vial of mead. Then he said,

“Daughter, for I am to call thee daughter in place of her who is in Abraham’s bosom--better there than in this cold world; come and eat, before we go on our way.”

At first Anna refused to eat and drink, but then she remembered the words of Agatha:--

“It may be that the Lord has work for thee to do for Him, and He spares thy life to do it.”

After a pause, therefore, she roused herself, and in the dim light which the waning moon shed through the aperture, she saw the Jew’s face--a face lined with furrows, and giving the appearance of a very old man, while, in truth, Ezra was scarcely sixty. Poor Anna felt that she need not fear the old man, and as she saw tears coursing each other down his cheeks she drew nearer to him.

“Father,” she said, “I would fain eat, as you desire, and live to help and comfort you.”

Ezra shook his head from side to side, rocking himself to and fro, after the fashion of his people.

“None can comfort and none can help, but I am as well pleased to have thy company as to be solitary. He setteth the solitary in families,” the old man said.

“Are you a Christian?” Anna asked, timidly.

She was surprised at the fierce denial that the Jew hurled at her. “A Christian! nay. If you mean a follower of the Nazarene--nay, by the Holy Father, I say _nay_!”

Frightened at the sudden change from calm sorrow to vehement rage, Anna said no more.

Ezra handed her the vial and the dried fruit, and bade her eat and drink, and said in the strength of that meal they must pursue their way, and that the youth bade them not delay.

Before three o’clock the old man and the maiden were on their journey eastward, making their way to the sea. When day dawned, they were about five miles from Radburn, and Ezra halted by a spring, and, stooping down, took a draught of the pure cold water in the hollow of his hand, bidding Anna do the same. Then the Jew drew out more dried fruit; and they reached a straggling village of mud dwellings about noon. The people were friendly, and Ezra thought it wise to tarry there for the rest and refreshment of his companion, who was, indeed, but the ghost of the Ebba whom we first saw standing by Cæcilia’s couch.

Ezra drew from his wallet a variety of articles, and giving Anna a handkerchief of soft white stuff, bordered with gold, he bade her bind it on her head and confine her hair under it.

“No daughter of our race had ever hair so light in colour,” he said, “and it is better that thou shouldst take the semblance of my daughter--my Rachel--my flower of beauty. Eheu! Eheu! She had borne up so long, but, weak and ailing, she tripped and fell on Watling Street, striking her head upon the stones of the highway, and scarcely spoke a word after. I bore her in my arms to a house in Verulam; but they were rough and cruel barbarians, and turned us out.

“Then I thought to reach Radburn, where I knew the people were more friendly; and hearing a small body of Roman soldiers were guarding some prisoners there, I essayed to ascend the steps to the guard-house, and here my child struggled hard for breath. I sat me down with her, and then all was still--her spirit had departed, and Ichabod is my name!”

Anna had heard of the Jewish race, and knew that her Lord had been born of them. She knew, also, that the Jews had crucified Him, and that the Cross had been set on a hill in their city. Once she remembered to have seen a man richly clothed in long garments, and heard that he had come with merchandise and pearls to the Roman nobles. He was one of the scattered people, who, like the Greeks, were sometimes conveyed to Britain in the train of the Romans. But Anna knew little about the Jews. Agatha had, indeed, while rehearsing in her ears many of the instructions which had fallen from the lips of Amphibalus and Heraclius, told her of the Jews’ city, Jerusalem, and how the Romans held the province as they held Britain; and that the Jews, as a punishment for their sins, were sent forth to wander restlessly over the face of the earth. But all this time a Jew was seldom seen in Britain except as an appendage of some great person, so that Anna had never seen other Jews besides the man in the rich garment, of whom she heard afterwards that he had been robbed of his treasures and slain on the highway, no one interfering to save or protect him.

Her heart was filled with strange doubts as she heard the Jew, who denounced her Saviour with fury, pray to his Lord Jehovah, and chant in a low monotone from a roll of parchment which he kept hidden in the breast of his robe, and fastened by a band round his neck. The low, monotonous chant was one of the Psalms of David--the Penitential Psalm--

“Out of the deep have I called.”

But the Hebrew rhythm, though pleasant to the ear, was an unknown tongue to the British maiden, and while Ezra chanted and wept, Anna, soothed, she scarcely knew why, rested on a skin which was spread upon the floor of the hut, and slept till Ezra awoke her and said they must push on towards the sea.

Fatigue and hunger, and weariness of body and mind, had dulled the sense of pain for the time; but when her powers were more fully awake, the hideous scenes of the stoning of Amphibalus, the mad shouts of the people, and the darkness of the dungeon, became once more a haunting reality. Then came the bitter fear of what might have been the fate of Agatha, her tender friend, who had been left fainting and ill in darkness and solitude with the dead, while she, who had shared so many dangers with her, was borne away. She reproached herself for cowardice, and in broken words, with many tears, prayed the Jew to let her return towards Radburn.

But Ezra was proof against her entreaties, and bade her thank Jehovah for the life He had spared; nor waste strength and time in feeble wailings.

“I have lost my only one,” he said, “the only thing left to me in this land of strangers; but I go on towards Rome, the great city, where a company of my people is gathered, and thence to Jerusalem to lay my bones where the prophets and righteous men have laid theirs; nor will I weakly faint or fail of my purpose. I was on my way to the sea coast when this misfortune befel me, to find by chance a little company, with whom my child and I might be protected through Gaul. We push on thither now, and may the Almighty be our strong tower and house of defence.”

This prayer was answered, and the longing fulfilled; the Jew and the maiden were mercifully protected from harm.

Their quiet, inoffensive bearing, their sorrowful faces and gentle demeanour, served as a shield as they passed through the widely-scattered villages of the old Britons and the more pretentious towns of their conquerors the Romans. They reached the fort of Lyme in safety, and Claudius’s gold pieces purchased their passage across the stormy channel in one of those strangely-built boats, with large curved prow and short mast, which had taken the place of the mud-lined coracles of the conquered race.