CHAPTER VII.

ROME.

There are many travellers in the present day who, when they reach Rome, and exchange the railway for an omnibus, feel a throb of disappointment.

The “eternal city” of their dreams vanishes for the moment into thin air, and in place of it there is only a modern town, where the voices of the great past are lost in the noise and din of the present.

But the Rome upon which the eyes of Casca and Hyacintha gazed with intense wonder, on the September afternoon of 303, may hardly be adequately described, even by the aid of those wonderful discoveries which the zeal and untiring exertions of exploring labourers in the work of excavation have lately brought to light.

There has been, indeed, a partial resurrection of the buried Rome; the city lying beneath the heaped-up excrescences of a degenerate age has been unearthed. We can now dimly picture the glories of the noble Forum, with its temples and statues, the long stretch of the Appian Way, and the vast and almost illimitable proportions of the Circus Maximus, with its belt of distant mountains, and over all the cloudless sky, which seemed, on this glowing autumn day, to be hanging like one great canopy of celestial blue over the city set upon her seven hills.

The good Caius had taken the tired boy and girl to his mother’s house, as he had promised, with their two attendants. The stately old Roman matron received her son with a smile of welcome; and as they stood in the little atrium, uncertain what to do, she advanced to Casca and Hyacintha, and bade them welcome to enter, and rest for a season.

Caius, in a few words, related the events of the past few weeks; and when he came to the encounter with the pirates, and the deliverance of the small galley under his command, Clœlia clasped her hands, and said--

“Neptune has been pleased to receive my offerings, made daily for you, my son, since you left me for the region of the barbarian, now three years ago.”

“Nay, good mother, we speak not of barbarians now in Britain. Verulam is a little Rome, and as fair a daughter of our great mother as you can picture. The villa of Severus, which is the home of this fair maiden and her brother, is scarcely to be excelled here in all its furnishings and appointments, though, of course, less in size and extent.”

Clœlia led Hyacintha and her attendant to a small chamber, separated from her own by a curtain, and Caius took Casca, who was still weakened by the effects of his wound, to his own apartments, which in his absence were always prepared for his return at any moment.

Caius’s position answered to that of a naval officer of our time; he was sent out with the troops for foreign service when a galley was required, and he was, as we have seen, an able commander of a vessel in time of danger.

Casca and Hyacintha remained two days in the home of Clœlia, and it was agreed that Clœlia should accompany Hyacintha to the house of the vestals on the third day.

The child’s heart was filled with wonder as she passed through the streets of Rome with her new friend.

All her worldly possessions had been carried off by the pirates, and there was therefore nothing for her to carry to the Vestals’ house.

It was a grand event in Clœlia’s life to think of presenting herself there, and inquiring for the Vestal Maxima. For these vestals were looked upon as beings of a superior order, and far above the usual rank of Roman women.

Clœlia had donned her best robe, which was plain in colour and material, and had no embroidery or ornament except the purple segmentum, which is the badge of widowhood. Clœlia wore a veil over her silvery hair, and walked with the graceful dignity which distinguished the Roman matron.

As they passed along Clœlia pointed out to Hyacintha the principal objects of interest, and paused at the Forum, where a variety of business and some religious rites were going on.

A sacrifice was being offered before the temple of Dioscuri, and a large car, drawn by milk-white horses, and preceded by a band of girls and boys playing on silver trumpets, was followed by a large crowd.

Clœlia paused by one of the huge pillars, which seemed to lift its head to the very skies, and bade Hyacintha look round at the grand statues and buildings which were on every side.

From one rostrum an orator was speaking to a listening crowd, and accompanied his oration with the graceful action which kept up the rhythm of the words as they left his lips, and attracted many to his feet.

A large caravan rolled past, which seemed to attract attention. From their post of observation at the base of the pillar, Clœlia addressed a woman, a widow like herself, and asked, nodding her head in the direction of the caravan--

“More beasts for the arena?”

“Yes,” was the answer, “and more sport for them. A whole body of Christians have been seized to-day while burrowing like ants in their underground resort. There will be good sport to-morrow or next day. Will you not come with me to see it? They have two huge Barbary lions in that caravan, six leopards, and a panther that has already done to death two of his keepers.”

“Yes, there will be fine sport,” the woman repeated, her dark eyes flashing with a cruel light. “Ah! They have caught another. See! Two!--three more! Look! they are trying to escape; they are seized by the lictors. One looks as if she would be a sweet mouthful for the lion. I must hasten to find out who they are.”

The woman turned away, and Hyacintha could distinguish three figures being borne off by the guards, one a girl of her own age, the others two older women.

“They refused to do homage on their knees at the sacrifice,” a voice said near them. “The vile wretches! It seems they can never be stamped out.”

“No,” laughed another man.

“They swarm like lizards on a sunny wall. They say the Governor in Britain has done good service, and several of the reptiles have been caught and made an end of. The Emperor has vowed he will never stop till he has got rid of the whole brood, and those fellows in that caravan will be happy to carry out his intentions!”

A laugh greeted this sally, and, as if in reply, a loud roar from the captive lion sounded through the Forum.

Then the laugh was repeated, and Clœlia and Hyacintha, as they moved away, heard the cry of the people answering the roar of the lions.

“Away with the Christians! to the lions let them go! Away with them from the face of the earth! Away with them!”

Hyacintha caught the cry, and there came back to her thoughts of the hill-side outside her native city, of the earnest, watching gaze of Ebba, and of the news of Alban’s death, which had been brought into the atrium by her father.

And it was the same here in Rome; the Christians must be killed; they must all be stamped out, like so many “lizards on a sunny wall,” as the man had said.

Death, then, was here--as everywhere--and was lying like a shadow over the sunlit Forum, with all its throngs of people, intent on business or pleasure.

The circular stalls of the bookseller and the scrolls of popular authors attracted Hyacintha.

Then there were the keen-eyed, sharp-featured money-lenders, seated at Medius Janus with their clerks around them. Here might be seen young Romans, who wasted life and substance in all the luxury and folly of the baths, trying to raise loans at an enormous rate of interest, some successful, departing with a jaunty air, their slaves following them; others gathering their robes about them and slinking off with a look of despair in their faces, to plunge deeper and deeper into the sea of self-indulgence and misery which it caused.

Clœlia drew Hyacintha onward, for she saw she attracted attention, and many bold dark eyes were turned towards her.

“We must hasten,” she said; “let us skirt the Forum to the left, where the crowd is less, and we shall reach the House of the Vestals.”

As they got into a quieter thoroughfare those who were passing gave way; then a body of lictors appeared, and a most stately, queenlike figure, clothed in a long stole, which reached to her feet, moved through the street, with two female attendants.

The lady’s eye fell upon Hyacintha, whose remarkable beauty was likely to arrest any one’s attention. By a little movement of the foot-passengers, Hyacintha was pushed out of the line of those who were standing aside, and a lictor roughly called to her to--

“Stand back!” touching her with no gentle hand on the shoulder.

Then the lady paused.

“Nay,” she said, “do not be rough with the maiden;” and she looked down upon Hyacintha with a smile, which seemed to raise her drooping spirits, as the sun raises the head of a flower after a storm.

It was but momentary, and the lady passed on.

“Who is that beautiful lady?” Hyacintha asked.

“She is the Vestal Maxima, the very lady whom you desire to see,” Clœlia said. “I dare not speak, for the vestals must never be addressed by the commoner folk when they walk abroad; they are always guarded by lictors, as you see. But let us follow; we shall reach the House of the Vestals in a short space now.”

“Oh!” Hyacintha exclaimed, “I am glad that gracious lady is my father’s kinswoman; her smile is so beautiful. It is a great honour, I think, that I may one day be a Vestal Maxima.”

“A long time ere that day comes,” said Clœlia. “Ten years must pass ere you are allowed to take any especial or high office in the temple, and then it is not every vestal who attains the high rank of Maxima.”

“No,” said Hyacintha, humbly. “I know that well, but there is hope that it _may_ be my honourable post one day.”

Clœlia nodded her head, and then Hyacintha, feeling that the time of parting was near, said--

“I pray you to be kind to my brother Casca; he is far tenderer than I am, and loves quiet and study. As soon as Caius lets it be known to my father that he is under your roof he will reward you, for he is a noble, and can command money and treasures.”

Clœlia’s colour rose.

“I need not money or treasures,” she said, “nor aught at thy father’s hands. Be not afraid, I will tend thy sickly brother till his wound be healed, and Caius will settle the rest. Our fare is simple, and we know nought of the luxuries of the Romans of to-day. We belong to a far stronger race, a race which I fear me is dwindling down from giants to pigmies. I have, thank the gods, a son who fears neither storm nor tempest; sword nor famine. He is known as the bravest of the brave, thank the gods!”

Clœlia’s speech made poor Hyacintha feel as if she had said something that had unwittingly offended her new friend. Her tender heart was a little wounded, and she hastened to say--

“I know well how brave good Caius is. I know that we owe our lives to him. If we had been aboard Burrhus’s vessel, we should have perished. Oh yes! I know how brave he is, and I shall keep the memory of his goodness for ever in my heart. We shall meet sometimes, for my father saith the young disciples of the goddess have leave to come and go under guard.”

“Yes, we shall meet,” Clœlia said, “but there is a great gulf between a vestal and one in my position. We are nearly at the porch of the cloisters now. What if they do not receive thee?”

The possibility now presented itself that in the travel-stained little maiden, whose robe was far from fresh, and whose chief covering and ornament were her golden-brown tresses tied back by a plait to which hung a veil that had been drenched with sea spray and torn in several places, the grand lady vestal might not recognise a child of the noble and wealthy Severus. But it was too late now to draw back. They had crossed the threshold of the cloisters, and two guards demanded their business.

“We seek an audience with the noble lady, Terentia Rufilla, the Vestal Maxima.”

“What credentials have you?” asked a small woman in a purple robe and dark veil.

“I come from my father, the noble Severus, of the house of Rufilla,” Hyacintha said, in her sweet silvery tones. “I am to be admitted to be a disciple of the goddess, to serve in her temple.”

“Forsooth, you are bold enough,” said the woman, who called to another in the same dress.

“Here, Julia, here! This child says she is come to be admitted to the discipleship.”

“Send her off,” was the scornful reply; “she looks like it, forsooth. Verily, send her off, nor waste thy own time in prating. Why, child, those who aspire to such an office as this do not come to present themselves like beggars.”

Hyacintha’s breast heaved, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Clœlia now spoke--

“The maiden has suffered perils on the way from Britain. She was brought with her brother to my house three days ago. The ships were beset by pirates, and everything the maiden possessed is lost. My son, the brave Caius, brought a small galley safe into the Portus Augusti a few days past, and he can tell you of the truth of my story.”

“I wear upon my breast,” Hyacintha faltered, “a pierced gold coin attached to a chain. This coin bears on it the letters of my father’s house, and his name.

“I bore with me,” she continued, “a letter and many precious things addressed to the great lady, Terentia Rufilla, but the pirate ship boarded that on which my baggage was placed, and I reached Rome in a sorry plight.”

There was now a very perceptible change in the manner of the two women. The family of Rufilla was one to win respect, and the elder said--

“Will it please you to follow me?”

These words were addressed to Hyacintha, and she was about to obey when the sound of steps in the long cloisters made the women turn. And there, coming from the shadows into the dim light where they stood, was the same graceful, dignified lady who had passed by them on their way from the Forum. Terentia Rufilla was no longer young--indeed, it was impossible for the virgins to attain the highest office at a very early age. Ten years had to pass as a noviciate, and ten more was generally considered as a necessary probation before the honour of Vestal Maxima could be aspired to.

The servants and attendants all bowed low as the lady approached, and Hyacintha’s heart beat so loudly that she could almost hear it.

“What brings you hither, my daughter?” the lady asked.

“I am the daughter of Severus, of the house of Rufilla,” said the little maiden. “I crave to be admitted to the service of the temple, and my father has sent me hither from the city of Verulam in Britain.”

“Thy father! Yes, a post brought in despatches from Verulam yesternight, and there was a letter from thy father, Severus. Welcome, my daughter,” the lady said, bending over the little shrinking figure. “Welcome; and I will receive thee here and examine thee on some matters necessary to be known ere thy training begin. How old art thou?”

“I am eleven years old, lady,” Hyacintha said.

“Eleven! Ten is the accustomed age. Thy companions have mostly entered upon their services at ten, but we will not let that hinder us, if other matters prove convenient. Is that good woman related to thee?”

“Nay, lady,” said Clœlia, advancing; and then, encouraged by Terentia’s kindly manner, Clœlia drew nearer, and, bowing low, kissed the hand extended to her.

“And canst thou tell me aught of this maiden?” Terentia asked.

Clœlia, in a few words, gave the account of the perils by sea which the maniple under Burrhus had met. She did not forget to extol the merits of her son Caius, and to let it be known that by his skilful seamanship one galley had been saved. “The maiden has lost everything she possessed; because her sick, weakly, brother was aboard my son’s galley, and she spent the days with him, and returned to the vessel of Burrhus by night under the care of his lady Cornelia. The pirate attacked them at sundown, and soon overpowered the men under Burrhus, while Caius, seeing it hopeless to help men in their cups, and fearing this maiden might meet a fate worse than death, set his little vessel’s head to the breeze and escaped.”

The lady listened with courteous attention, and then taking Hyacintha’s hand, she said--

“I will now receive her into the house of the vestals consecrated to the service of the goddess. Has she an attendant?”

“Yes,” Hyacintha exclaimed, “I have one attendant, but she remains at the house of the good Clœlia.”

“And so may she remain. Of what nation is she--a Briton?”

“Nay, gracious lady,” Hyacintha said, “she is of Roman birth, and her family are to be found here.”

“Seek them out then,” said the Vestal, “and let her return to them. I must commit thee, child, to the care of those who will clothe thee in the proper habit, and to-morrow at dawn thou shalt be led to our high priest, who shall examine thee, and then consecrate thee for thy high office in the temple of the goddess.”

Clœlia understood that the time for leaving Hyacintha was come, and she bade her farewell, making a low reverence to the stately lady, who, taking Hyacintha by the hand, was leading her away, when she turned quickly--

“I pray you, Clœlia, commend me to my brother Casca, and let me know of his welfare. I pray you assure him of my affection.”

“It shall be as you desire,” Clœlia said, as she turned to pursue her way towards her home on the further side of the Forum.

Hyacintha was led through the cloisters, up a staircase by which the upper floor was reached, to a small hall where several vestals were seated, employed in weaving a fine tissue embroidered with gold and silver, which was used for the service of the altar.

As the Vestal Maxima entered the hall the sound of voices ceased, and the maidens rose as a token of respect.

“I desire to speak with Lucia, who is the custodian of the robes. I need the garments for this young girl, who is the daughter of the noble Severus of my own patrician house, and who is sent hither from the wilds of Britain, to be restored to the high rank her family has ever held in Rome.” Then turning to Lucia, who had answered a summons from an inner hall, separated by a heavy purple curtain from the larger one, the Vestal Maxima continued--

“Take this maiden, and clothe her in becoming garments, Lucia. See that she rests well and has proper food, and just before dawn, when I am leaving the temple, bring her to my presence, where she will meet the priest and be received as a disciple. Till then,” she said, waving her hand, “I give her into your keeping.”

Hyacintha was a little surprised at the change in the manner and bearing of the maidens the instant their superior was out of hearing.

They had stood in respectful silence, with their silks and threads in their hands, and their tongues, like their fingers, had come to a pause. But both were now in active operation again. They clustered round Hyacintha, asking her questions, which she, from imperfect acquaintance with the colloquial language which they spoke, could hardly understand. It is true that the Romans of noble birth in Britain had kept most strictly to their native tongue, regarding the British language as that of slaves. Still, there were differences then, as now, in dialect--those differences which we call provincial--and thus Hyacintha found it far easier to understand the lady Terentia than these vestal maidens, who were as yet only disciples, and chattered in the fashion of young creatures in every age and in every country, clustering round the new arrival like a flock of pigeons round an addition to the dovecot.

Lucia, who was older and more considerate, said--

“Peace, will you deafen the child with your rattle! It is truly like the brawling of a brook down the hill-side. Peace, and return to your tasks.”

Dazed and bewildered, Hyacintha suffered Lucia to lead her away, but when on the other side of the purple curtain she began to breathe more freely.

“You are tired, child, and need rest,” Lucia said. “See, I will measure you for a stole, and cut off your hair, and then you shall have a refreshing bath, and lie on one of the couches till it is time for supper. After that meal is over I will fit your garments again on you, and at dawn you shall be taken to the door of the temple to meet the priest.”

Hyacintha was quite passive under Lucia’s hands, and as she operated on her she talked of the vestal’s life, of the insubordination of some of the disciples, of the serious defalcation of two professed vestals, and of the fearful punishment which had been awarded them.

Hyacintha listened with a mingled awe and amazement to all she heard.

“Yes,” Lucia said, as one by one the golden-brown tresses dropped to the marble floor. “Yes, there have been terrible scenes amongst us, and I often think that children like you, who come hither, know but little of all that lies hidden within these walls.”

“But,” said Hyacintha, “is it not the most noble and beautiful life for any woman to keep the sacred fire for ever burning for the Roman people all over the world. Surely, it is nobler and more beautiful than to live only for things which when attained make none happy.”

“Happy! Ah, my child, happiness is like the bow across the wide Campagna. You see its many-coloured arch and hasten to reach it, and, lo! it is gone; the nearer you think you get to it, the further it seems. But the gods are kind to us poor mortals, and our goddess Vesta does not forget us. You are but a child, a young child,” Lucia said, surveying Hyacintha as she stood up before her in a loose underrobe, with all her marvellously lovely hair gone, and the little slender figure, beautifully formed, giving the appearance of extreme youth.

“I am nearly twelve years old!” Hyacintha said.

“Twelve years old. Ah!” Lucia said, with an appraising critical glance, “there is something in your eyes which tells of thought and reflection which a child under ten years of age could not possess. And what hands and feet! Only a Roman patrician could show such. Well, if you are ready, we will go to the bath that is always required before the stole can be worn.”

“I would fain keep the token of my birth, and that I am the daughter of Severus,” Hyacintha said, as she saw Lucia casting aside in a heap all her travel-stained garments, and the chain which she had worn round her neck with the coin attached to it.

“I know not whether you will be permitted to retain it,” Lucia said, “but I will put it in this casket, and consult the Vestal Maxima. And now let us go to the bath.”