CHAPTER VI.

BY LAND AND SEA.

The party under the convoy of Burrhus had embarked from Lyme, in Dorsetshire, very soon after Alban’s martyrdom. The remains of the old harbour, although at a distance from the sea, which has receded from this part of the coast, can still be seen by those who may be curious to discover them. The channel had been smooth, for a great gale had passed over it some days before, and the weather was exceptionally calm and favourable.

The pain of parting was over, and Hyacintha and her brother gave themselves up to the full enjoyment of travel, unthinking of the dangers which in reality threatened them, and delighting in the thought that every day brought them nearer to Rome.

There was also in Hyacintha’s child-heart a strange yearning for the office for which she was to be trained under her kinswoman. Years must pass, she knew, before the care of that sacred fire could really be entrusted to her, but the time would come, and then what life on earth could be found to compare to it? Had Hyacintha lived in our day, she would have had the same visions and dreams of a vocation higher than that which is pursued year by year by those who live only for the present. In the higher rank of society, which corresponds to that in which our little Hyacintha was born, there is the same imperative demand made for all that can conduce to pleasure.

The London season of to-day, with its ceaseless round of gaiety, its slavish adherence to prevailing customs, the glare and false brilliancy of the life of the votaries of fashion, is found quite insufficient for many who are caught in the vortex and hurried along the stream, to be carried they have scarcely time to ask whither.

The human heart, with all its joys and sorrows, is the same in the nineteenth as it was in the fourth century.

The surroundings may be different, and this difference in outside things is likely to make us look upon the men and women of a remote age as apart from us, and forget that they had their cares, and joys, and hopes, and fears, as we have them now.

The woman’s heart then, as now, often sent up a cry for something that could satisfy it; and half-unconsciously to herself that cry was making itself heard in Hyacintha’s young heart, like the first notes of a bird sent forth to meet the dawn.

All travelling was long and dangerous in those times. The tribes of Gaul--the Burgundæ--had risen in 287, and Carausius, who had carried all before him for ten years in Britain, had once been amongst them.

The troop which Burrhus commanded did not pass through the country without several fierce encounters with the Burgundæ, and the women were terror-struck with the clash of arms, and the savage cries of the wild bands which again and again attacked them. The wife of Burrhus was attended by several ladies and slaves, and Hyacintha and Casca each had their own attendant. Hyacintha’s was a girl of Roman birth, who thought it an honour to be the servant of a young aspirant to the office of a priestess in the temple of Vesta.

In one of the most alarming encounters Casca was wounded in the shoulder. His father had given Burrhus instructions to lose no opportunity of hardening his son, and to do everything that might make him worthy to be a Roman soldier, so that he was placed in the front rank of this skirmish.

Poor Casca suffered terribly from his wound, though in the eyes of the soldiers it was but a trifling one.

His sensitive organism, so widely different from that of the big and burly Burrhus, excited contempt rather than pity, and as it was a drag upon their movements to have to carry a litter with a wounded man, Burrhus determined to embark his troop on board two Roman galleys which were lying in the port of Marseilles, and perform the rest of the journey by water.

This plan was hailed gladly by the ladies of the party, and especially by Hyacintha, who could sit continually by her brother, as he lay on the deck of the galley, and talk to him, or be silent, as he liked; but Casca was gloomy and sad, and lamented that the spear of the wild warrior who had overpowered him had not made an end of him altogether.

The galley was lying one evening off the coast of that part of southern France and northern Italy we know as the Riviera.

Beyond the rugged outline of the rocky range, lofty mountains rose--the peaks of eternal snow, the white-crowned line of the Alpes Maritimes. The evening was fair and calm, and the sails of the galley hung idly in the gentle breeze.

Hyacintha’s soul was filled with the beauty before her, and Casca’s large mournful eyes were turned towards the snowy peaks, now blushing rosy-red with the last kiss of the setting sun.

“That,” Casca said, “looks like the city Ebba murmured about. I never could make out where it was, nor how it was to be reached. Poor Ebba!” he repeated. “I wonder if she is dead, like Alban, and passed hence? and if so, whither?”

Hyacintha did not reply. She was looking down upon the sapphire water which rippled against the low, cumbrous vessel, and her eyes were scanning a dark object which floated slowly past.

“See, Casca!” she said, “see! There are dead women in that boat, drifting whither?”

“As we drift,” said the boy, raising himself on his elbow, “as we drift. But I heard some one say that the people of these parts place their dead that they love best in boats, that they may reach Arles--the holy city--with money to pay for their burial.”

Hyacintha did not answer, but continued to gaze down upon the boat till it was carried beyond her sight.

Death everywhere, the child thought. Death by sword, and fire, and tempest, and sickness. Death! and she had heard Ebba say something about One who was the Life. Life was so beautiful, and so sweet, and yet the shadow of death was everywhere.

“I shall be beyond the sights and sounds of woe and trouble in the temple,” she thought. “I shall have so many beautiful things about me, and I shall forget all that is dark and dreadful.”

As the sun went down, a cool brisk breeze sprang up, and the little convoy, of which the ship in which the brother and sister were sailing was the middle one, began to dance merrily on the water.

The galley on board of which were Burrhus and the chief officers of the maniple was the scene of feasting and merriment.

There were sounds of music, and of voices singing, and nothing seemed to depress or sadden the rest of the party.

“How different they are from me,” Casca said. “Do not you wish to join them in the other vessel?”

“Nay, brother, you know I love best to be with you,” Hyacintha said, “but I would fain see you happier. Be not so faint-hearted; think of Rome, and all you will see and do there; and how proud I shall feel when I hear of my brother as foremost in all things in which young and noble Romans excel.”

“Nay, little sister, I crave only for peace and study. I know full well that, by my father’s orders, I shall be hunted about at Rome, as I have been at Verulam, and I shall have no Claudius to cheer me and help me there. I marvel much, Hyacintha, what has become of Ebba. If the faith of the Christian should be the real faith! It seemeth to give the weak strength and the faint-hearted courage, and for that alone it should be the faith for such as me.”

Hyacintha turned quickly from her contemplation of the water, and said, brightly--

“Nay, but Casca, there are brave and courageous ones who follow the old faith; you forget that everyone is not sad, and----”

“A coward like me”--Casca finished the sentence. “A coward like me! Well, little sister, you have courage enough for both. I hate bloodshed.”

“Oh, Casca! Think you that I love to see it? When my mother made me sit with her, when the wild boars and bulls were let loose on those poor slaves in the arena at Verulam, I hid my eyes. It is not that sort of courage I mean. I mean, courage for great and noble things. When the wild barbarians fell on our troop near Arles, I shuddered. And oh, Casca! when I saw thee brought in, bleeding so terribly, I could scarce bear it. I shall be glad to be in Rome, safe in the Vestal’s atrium, where I am to learn all that befits a priestess of the beautiful goddess Vesta. I dream of her; and she comes to me in white robes. I saw her last night walking on the sea--so calm and beautiful--and on her head burned a star, like that,” the child said, pointing to a planet which was setting in the eastern heaven, and shone with a steady radiance in the opal sky.

“The dangers of the way are nearly over now, and then it will be Rome, and I shall be learning all that I could never learn in Verulam.”

“And have you no longings for our mother and our father? I, who did not love them, or seem to be loved by them as you were, I have longings. Our beautiful mother and our noble father! He was hard enough on me--stern and hard--but then, while it is a gift of the gods to have a beautiful daughter like thee, Hyacintha, it is a curse for a brave man to have a weakling like me for an only son.”

Hyacintha was silent for a minute, and then said,

“If they had wanted me sorely it would have been hard to part, but my mother did not want me. Even Ebba was more to her than I was. And my father’s desire was that I should be a chosen priestess, as many of his race have been before; therefore, I am content. And it may be that our parents will return to Rome, if it be the great Emperor’s will--all he wills comes to pass. It was his will that the Christians should be put to death, and who could gainsay him?”

Two of the attendants now came to spread the evening meal under a canvas canopy, which bore upon it the picture of an eagle with outstretched wings. This sheltering canopy was made of the most beautiful and costly material in the ships which belonged to any great Roman noble. Even that of Burrhus was of purple silk with an embroidered edge, but the other two small galleys were less costly in their furnishings, and Hyacintha slept in the superior vessel, only boarding the other in the day-time that she might be near her brother.

This vessel was under the command of a Roman named Caius, who was a fine, noble-looking man, of few words; but who, nevertheless, had conceived a great interest in the two children of the noble house who were under the care of Burrhus.

He now drew near, and asked Hyacintha whether she and her attendant would repair to the galley of Burrhus, or remain on board to partake of the evening meal with Casca.

“I would fain stay here,” she answered, “till the merriment is over there. The loud voices and music drown the sweet ripple of the water against the prow, which I love to hear. And, moreover, good Caius,” Hyacintha said, “I feel safer aboard your vessel from the pirates’ attacks.”

Caius’s dark eyes were fixed on a spot in the horizon, and he did not reply. He stood motionless at the prow, gazing out in the same direction, till the moon, nearly at the full, lifted her round face above the distant horizon, and sent a flood of silvery light across the water which seemed to come straight to the spot where the galley was curtseying on the rising waves.

A dark speck upon the line of light was now visible to all eyes.

“Is that a Roman galley?” Casca asked.

Before he could get an answer, Caius had given the word for all sails to be set.

Then he went to the prow, and shouted to those in Burrhus’s galley that the foe was nearing them fast.

“All sails set,” was shouted back from the third galley.

And then much trampling and confusion and noise were heard on board Burrhus’s ship. There had been free circulation of the wine cup, and it was difficult to get those who were drowsy from drink to perform their office.

The sailors were all at cross purposes, and the officers on board shouting their orders, and countermanding them as soon as given.

Meantime, there could be no further doubt of the intentions of the large ship which was bearing down upon them.

There was not a moment to lose, and Caius, having his men under orders, with all sails set, drove before the wind, speedily increasing the distance between his ship and that of Burrhus and the small galley behind it, which contained the baggage of the maniple.

There was only one large pirate vessel; and, probably concluding that the Roman galley with the richer awning contained the more important people, it tacked, and, giving up the pursuit of Caius’s galley, came alongside that of Burrhus, who was unprepared to defend himself.

Cries and shouts, and the clang of weapons, came borne upon the waters; and as the gallant little ship commanded by Caius increased the distance between the vessels, Casca and Hyacintha stood hand-in-hand on the prow, watching in the bright moonlight the conflict which was evidently raging.

Just as Caius’s ship had rounded the point which now marks the frontier at Ventimiglia, the pirate vessel was seen skimming the waters with her head set out to sea, while Burrhus’s vessel and the small galley were evidently fastened to the victorious cruiser, and soon became but specks on the distant line of blue waters.

“We have escaped,” said Caius, “but I fear me all your baggage is lost; and as for me, I have lost all but honour. I have saved one galley, and had the fellows on board Burrhus’s ship been sober, and not drunk, I could have rescued them also. Now they will be seen no more.”

“Were lives lost, think you?” said Casca.

“Ay, if they made a fight for life, they would be hewn down by those swarthy Moors--for Moors they were. They have the sharpest scimitars of any nation under heaven, and strong arms to wield them. You are bound for Rome, methinks?”

“Ah! yes,” said Hyacintha; “I am going to be sent to the noble Terentia Rufilla, the Vestal Maxima, in the temple of the goddess; but my brother was to have remained with Burrhus, and now----”

“Fret not for him,” said Caius. “I can bestow him in my home--a humble one, it may be--till orders can be received from the Governor of Britain or your father, the noble Severus; and I will conduct you and your attendant to the palace of the vestals. But we are not at Rome yet; there is a long voyage before us, though with this fresh wind and fair weather, we ought to make the Portus Augusti in a few days. We must make the best of it,” Caius added, “but I fear the accommodation on board my vessel is not what the fair Hyacintha has a right to expect.”

“Tell me,” Hyacintha said, “what will be the fate of Burrhus and all the people with him.”

“Nay, I cannot tell a maiden of thy tender age of all I fear may befall them, especially the women of the band. Let us thank the gods that thou art safe, and thy brother also, who looks little fitted to bear the brunt of war.”

“You know Rome well?” Casca asked. “I pray you tell me if I shall find it easy to frequent a school of learning there. Now that I am free of Burrhus, though I wish him no ill, yet I do feel that I lose a hard master. It is learning for which I crave.”

“Thy craving for learning can be satisfied, boy,” said Caius, “as all things can be satisfied in Rome. Rome holds within her hand all that her sons and daughters can need, be it for war, or fame, or pleasure, or learning. There is a school, kept by one Cassius, who may receive you for learning by day; and as for a home, I have a poor little villa not far from the schools, where my good mother lives, and there, as I have said, you will be welcome till the good pleasure of your father, the noble Severus, is known. For myself, I must present myself before the Emperor’s minions and report the loss of the chief part of the maniple under Burrhus, and the capture of the large galley and the small baggage vessel by the swart African pirates.

“May the gods protect us from further attacks from them! I did not forget to sacrifice to Neptune before we set sail. I think I was the only man who did so propitiate the god; and see how he has rewarded me! Ay, it is beyond a doubt that no sacrifice or libation poured out is in vain; and here I have proved it, as my good mother will be glad to hear. She is one who is always amongst the first in the temples at grand ceremonies, and the very sight of you, fair maiden, about to be vowed to the highest service, will fill her old heart with pride that she is allowed to touch your hand.

“And now it is time for rest. Your couch, and that of your slave, is made ready; and if Neptune and Æolus deign to favour us, we shall be well on our voyage ere you open your eyes on another day.”