CHAPTER VIII.

DISCIPLESHIP.

Hyacintha slept soundly after her bath, and a supper of fruit and delicately-baked bread, crisp and fresh, after the fashion of our modern biscuits. A draught of the pure water from the spring on the hill above the house of the vestals was refreshing, and it was the daily duty of the vestals to draw it for the service of the house and the temple.

Hyacintha was awoke by Lucia’s voice.

“It is nearing the dawn,” she said; “the cock has crowed twice, and I see the first signs of Aurora’s coming feet in the eastern sky. Now arise, little maiden, and I will dress you for your presentation to the priest.”

Hyacintha sprang up at once, and after another ablution of clear cold water, the attendant vestal put upon her little feet a pair of sandals, and the fine robe which she was to wear under the stole. The stole itself and the fillet which was to bind her hair the vestal placed in a basket, and then telling Hyacintha to follow her, she led the way to the chamber of Terentia Rufilla.

This chamber was nearly adjoining the temple, and to reach it, it was necessary to descend again and cross the large atrium, now almost dark, except for the faint light of a lamp which hung in the large porta or gateway.

The sunshine could not reach this stately hall, which consisted of eight Corinthian columns of veined marble, with pure white bases.

The state apartments were on this lower storey of the vestals’ house, and as the floor was thirty feet below the Nova Via, with the walls resting against the Palatine, it must have been very damp and chill; the pure air of heaven could never reach it; and in spite of double walls, double floors, and hot-water currents--of which distinct traces are left--it could not have been a healthy abode.

The living rooms from which Hyacintha and Lucia had descended were, perhaps, more salubrious, but the Imperial Palace, rising at that time one hundred and fifty feet above the building, must have always over-shadowed the whole house, and prevented the light from entering, as well as the air.

A heavy curtain was drawn aside by one of the servants of the temple, and the next moment Hyacintha found herself in the presence of the Vestal Maxima, her father’s kinswoman.

She had been keeping watch that night in the temple, and wore a different and more elaborate dress--as the sign of her high vocation--than that in which Hyacintha had seen her on the preceding evening.

The Vestal Maxima wore a long stole of snow-white linen, drooping gracefully to her feet. A loose hood, falling a little from the back of the head, displayed a close-fitting cap, bound with gold fillets, and lay in easy folds over her shoulders. A large pallium, of a deep violet colour, was gathered over her left arm, and wound closely round her waist. Terentia Rufilla was in the autumn of her life, and when the little novice made her profound reverence, as Lucia had instructed her to do, a smile, which was half pitying and half admiring, spread over her noble countenance.

“Welcome, little maiden,” she said. “Thy name is of Greek origin, and scarcely one to be registered as a vestal. Was that name chosen by the noble Severus?”

“I know not, lady,” said Hyacintha. “Methinks my mother chose it because she loved the flower and its sweet scent, but I cannot tell.”

“It will, perhaps, be better to register thy name as Severa, and yet Hyacintha suits thee so well, I think it must stand.

“Hyacintha Severa, the daughter of the noble Severus,” she said, waving her hand to the maidens; “lead the way.”

The maidens turned towards an entrance to the chamber opposite to that by which Lucia had entered, and as two of their number held the curtain aside, the others passed through, chanting a low monotonous song as they went.

The sun had risen now, and the sky above the temple court was bright, and of the indescribably lovely blue of early day.

The light fell upon the vestals’ white garments till they glistened like snow, and upon the short clustering curls of little Hyacintha’s head till they shone like gold.

The procession crossed the court and ascended a flight of wide and very shallow steps, shadowed by the portico, on which were seen, in bas-relief, many figures, illustrating the past history of the vestals, from the earliest date to the time of which I write.

A nation’s history was almost told by these figures, to which Hyacintha did not even raise her eyes, so engrossed was she with the first sight of the temple of her dreams.

At last they were within the sacred building, where in the gloom and shadows the sacred light of the fire upon the altar shone like a star of glory.

Hyacintha had eyes for nothing but that light--that clear lambent light--shed by the sacred and never-to-be-extinguished fire, which had been brought down from high heaven and preserved here by those consecrated and set apart for the office.

The child’s heart thrilled with a sense of awe, and a gentle sigh escaped her. She clasped her hands, and looking up to the opening in the temple roof to the clear azure sky, her eyes filled with tears, which one by one fell upon her bare hands and arms in crystal drops.

The Vestal Maxima noticed this unwonted expression of feeling, and her thoughts went back to the day--now thirty years ago--when she, too, had entered the temple for the first time to be presented to the priest.

The prime of youth was over for her; the “sacred fire” had grown dim. The heavenly light and warmth had, she knew, waned. At her noble heart there was an aching void, and there was a hungry yearning for something--for _some one_--which was not satisfied. As she looked at the little earnest enthusiast by her side, she wondered if all the long years of temple service which stretched before her would be as barren of real satisfaction and true peace as hers had been.

Terentia Rufilla saw at a glance that Hyacintha, the daughter of Severus, was not of the ordinary type of the maidens over whom she held rule. Many of them came with no serious thought of responsibility; many with positive distaste, and simply because the vocation was chosen for them by their parents, and they had no choice in the matter.

It was confessedly a grand office, this of the vestal virgins, in the eyes of the world. To be a vestal was to bear about the imprimatur of patrician birth and noble ancestry. No plebeian might ever wear that snow-white stole, or aspire to the high office of a Vestal Maxima.

This pride of rank and personal aggrandisement were often the distinguishing characteristics of the vestal virgins. As they passed through the public streets, the way was cleared for them by attendant lictors. If by chance they met a slave on his way to the arena or the fire, and he prayed for mercy, the vestal could procure his pardon. Her word was enough, and the life of the criminal was spared!

All these things conspired to feed the self-importance and vanity of many women; and then there was their palatial atrium, and their own chambers, which were furnished with all things befitting the high rank of Roman ladies.

Terentia Rufilla had seen many of the proud ones brought low, and the vain and frivolous ones made shipwreck. The cases of the latter were rare, but there had been such, even during her time of office, and her heart might well be heavy as she thought over them.

The beauty and rare simplicity of her little kinswoman had touched her from the first moment of their meeting, and now as she led her up to the old priest, who was awaiting them in a side vestibule, she felt a yearning tenderness and love for Hyacintha which made her silvery voice almost mournful as she said--

“I bring you the daughter of the noble Severus, to be consecrated for the service of the goddess and of Rome, in this temple.”

The priest, an old man, who had received the candidates for many, many years, went through the usual form of questions as to Hyacintha’s willingness to take the solemn oath he tendered to her.

The child understood but little of the meaning of much that was said to her, but she knew that the penalty was death if she should break her vow.

As she knelt before the old priest her childlike transparent soul received no impression but that she was never to have any other home than the temple; and she wished for no other. She was to learn to spin and weave the sacred curtains and veils for the altar, and she desired nothing better.

She was to submit herself entirely to the rule of the Vestal Maxima and those of the sacred virgins whom she should appoint to watch over her and instruct her. She was to be under training for eight or ten years, as the Vestal Maxima should see good, and then her full consecration would take place, and she would take her turn in watching in the temple at night and feeding the sacred fire--which only the fully consecrated were ever allowed to do.

“And now, beloved,” the priest said, “Hyacintha, the daughter of the noble Severus, I give thee entrance as a disciple, to be educated for a vestal priestess, to minister in sacred things, and to do for the Roman people what the law has appointed.”

Then Hyacintha took the vow in the prescribed form, and, rising, the Vestal Maxima invested her with the stole, and bound a purple fillet round her head; then bending with an irresistible impulse, she kissed the pure sweet brow of her little kinswoman, and with a reverence to the priest, she committed her to the care of Lucia, and, followed by the band of vestals, chanting low as they went, she slowly left the temple.

* * * * *

Hyacintha’s new life was hardly what she had pictured it would be; what seemed so solemn and grave a responsibility to her, was an everyday routine to many of her companions.

The appointed tasks were done, and the appointed work fulfilled, and then Hyacintha was free to wander about in the gardens, which sloped up the Cælian Hill, and where the pure cold water of the spring was drawn of which Hyacintha had drunk a refreshing draught on the first evening of her arrival.

Lucia had committed the little Hyacintha to the especial care of a Roman maiden, who had nearly passed her time of probation, and would soon be allowed to take charge of the sacred fire in the stillness of the night.

When this vestal, who was named Chloe, went abroad with her lictors in attendance, Hyacintha often accompanied her; and when the autumn and winter was passed, and the glory of the Roman spring broke over the Campagna, strewn broadcast with the flowers of every hue, Hyacintha’s spirits seemed to rise to meet it, and the child’s heart within her beat with a gladness which it had not known since she left her northern home a year before.

Clœlia had paid her several visits; and once or twice, under the charge of an older vestal, she had seen her brother.

Casca was still living in Clœlia’s house, awaiting more definite orders from his father, which had not yet arrived. For though the posting service of the Romans was wonderfully arranged and carried out, whole months must elapse before the perils and losses of his children could reach the ear of Severus. It would, indeed, be a downfall to his pride to know that both his son and daughter had reached Rome robbed of all the possessions which had been provided for them, as meet for the children of a man holding high office in the Roman city of Verulam.

Casca was well content. He attended the schools, and listened with the most profound interest to the orations delivered daily from the Rostra, where the eloquence of distinguished scholars was in itself an education.

The military training, on account of his wound, would not have been possible for Casca under any circumstances, and he rejoiced with all his heart to be spared the discipline.

The boy’s gentleness and goodness won more and more upon Clœlia’s heart, and while Casca wrote upon parchment wise sayings, which he gathered from the teaching of the philosophers and poets, Clœlia would, when the boy paused for a few minutes to rest his hand, tell him stories of old Roman valour and adventure, which was a delight to her to recount and to Casca to hear.

Never had a winter passed so rapidly for Casca; and when, with lengthening days, the outdoor life of the city began again, neither Clœlia nor Casca was altogether pleased to think that their long evenings in the little atrium of the Villa Caius were over.

“Who can foresee what another winter may bring,” Clœlia said. “The noble Severus will surely send orders for your future, and if he decrees it, you must leave my humble roof. I know not when I shall see Caius again; he is never at rest on shore, and must ever be fighting pirate or storm. The gods have preserved him hitherto--it may be that they will not forsake him while I, his mother, live. And for the rest, sons are made for something better than to sit with folded hands by their mother’s side. That, at least, is not the place of a true Roman.”

It was a sunny morning, early in March, when Casca set forth for the school with a bundle of papers and vellum rolls, fastened together and hung across his shoulder.

He yet wore the short toga prætexta which reached below the knee, and the golden bulla, which was a hollow ball of gold, hung round his neck.

Casca had easily obtained admission to the school, which was presided over by a master who had no fear that the son of Severus would fail to recompense him for his trouble. And, indeed, there was something very winning in the gentle boy. His nervous temperament and dislike of all scenes of bloodshed and warfare had irritated his warlike father, but they were qualities which endeared him to the scholar and the poet, and Casca had become a great favourite in the schools, and was remarkable for his ability and quickness in learning.

It was now many months since the martyrdom of Alban, and Casca began to think of that dreadful scene which his father compelled him to witness as a hideous dream. The persecutions of the Christians still raged, but in Rome there was so much space and so wide an area that the boy had not necessarily been brought in contact with the scenes which were continually enacted in the Coliseum.

To-day there was a chariot race in the Circus Maximus, and when the morning school was over one of Casca’s companions invited him to stroll with him in that direction, in the hope of getting near the race. The Circus Maximus was of such enormous extent that this was no easy matter.

The arena had in the centre a group of columns and obelisks on a raised platform, and round this the chariots raced. The judges sat here, and those to whom the chariots and horses belonged, moved round and round, shouting and waving their hands, and encouraging those who were in the arena to urge on their fiery horses to the utmost speed.

The spring sunshine illuminated the temple and buildings on either side of the arena. The tiers of seats were filled with a vast multitude all in holiday attire, while the Emperor and his suite occupied a vantage-ground above the rows of seats on the right hand of the arena.

These seats were reached by long flights of steps which divided the long line into twelve compartments, and the two boys found some vacant places near the end and commanding a view of the whole arena, though perhaps a distant one.

It is difficult to picture anything more beautiful than the aspect of the Circus Maximus on a day like this. The range of mountains which seemed to shut it in at the further end, were seen in distinct outline against the clear blue sky--the clear and beautiful sapphire blue of Italy, which is never seen in our northern climates.

The dark line of the foliage of spiral cypresses and round-topped pines set off the snowy whiteness of the marble pillars to which they made a background, and Casca was more fascinated by the grandeur of the place itself than interested in watching the race.

Something in the boy’s heart seemed to respond to the beauty around him; and while his friend Fulvius was excited to frenzy at the hairbreadth success which one of the chariots won, Casca was lost in his own meditations, from which he was awoke by the over-turning of one of the unsuccessful carriages, and the cry of pain, which sounded through the first shout of victory.

“The charioteer was killed!” he heard a voice near him say, “and the horses will never be worth a silver coin again. So much the worse for Cassianus, who owns them.”

The fallen horses and the dead charioteer were hastily removed, and then another race was proclaimed by the herald. And again there was breathless anxiety as to the result.

Casca turned presently at the sound of a voice, which seemed familiar.

“Do not push him roughly; he will make way!”

“A cursed dog of a Jew!” was the answer, “standing, forsooth, in the way of a noble.”

“Turn him out!” and then two lictors, who were stationed at the entrance of every one of the galleries, seized the old man roughly by the shoulder, and pushed him before them to the outside of the Circus.

Casca forgot the race and the shouts which proclaimed another victory, forgot Fulvius, and that he had agreed to remain with him and return to supper with him, and followed the old man, who was leaning on the arm of a woman whose voice had been familiar.

“Do not push him roughly,” the voice now said. It was the voice of Ebba, the slave of his mother Cæcilia.

Casca followed the pair at a little distance, till he was beyond the shouts of the crowd which was thronging the entrances to the Circus.

Then he laid his hand on Ebba’s arm. She started, and turned round--

“Is it possible!” she exclaimed; “but do not speak to me, dear master.”

“Speak! yes, I must speak, and learn whence you came, and who has brought you hither.”

“Nay, not here, not here; it is dangerous for you and me here.”

“Come on, my daughter,” moaned old Ezra, “come on, nor delay, for this is no place for us. Young man, what is your business?”

“I will come, father,” said Anna, “I will come. I would you had heeded me, and never come near the race.”

“Ah, but I furnished the harness--the gold--for the chariot of Cassianus, and now”----

“Hush, I pray you, father,” Anna whispered. “We are watched.” Then turning to Casca, she said--

“To-morrow, at dawn, near the fountain of Egeria, that is near to the temple of Vesta, to-morrow.”

And then Anna hurried on, and Casca was accosted by a man.

“Do you know the woman and the old man?”

Casca shook his head. “The old man is a stranger to me, but _not_ the woman,” was the rejoinder.

“I would have you beware, Casca, the son of Severus: that woman is one of the Christians, though she lives with an old Jew, a dealer in precious stones and pearls, a charlatan and sorcerer. Beware!”

“I know not,” said Casca, with some dignity, “why you should issue these commands against me.”

“I have the best reason. I have to-day, by the special messenger from Verulam, received commands from your father, the noble Severus, that you are to be committed to my care till you come to man’s estate. I went to seek you at the house of Clœlia Pudentia, and she bade me seek you at the schools, and thence again I was sent to the Circus Maximus. Return with me and watch the race out.”

“Nay!” Casca said, “I have had quite enough of the race.”

“You will prefer the Coliseum to-morrow,” the man said, with a malignant smile. “There is fine sport coming on there, to which I bid you. But you must see my credentials for thus accosting you. If you will not return to the Circus, accompany me to my house at the foot of the Quirinal Hill, and I will lay before you your father’s letter. Surely you have heard my name--Antonius Scæva--I hold a high office in the Emperor’s household. I am as well known as the Palatine,” he said, with a cynical smile.

Casca accompanied his new companion rather reluctantly, and listened to his somewhat bombastic talk with disgust.

He would greatly have preferred remaining with Clœlia, in the quiet retirement of her humble home. He dreaded the return to the life that he had led at Verulam, and yet the commands of his father, he knew too well, could not be set aside, and he had no alternative but to obey.

Antonius’s house was one of the most magnificent in the valley below the Quirinal and Esquiline Hills.

Besides the spacious atrium, or large outer court, there was a third large peristyle, from which immense apartments opened, furnished in the most magnificent style. There were carpets from Eastern looms, and many coloured curtains of purple and gold embroidery, from Babylon. Curious carving in ivory and metal were on every side; and Antonius said, as he led Casca to one of the most magnificent chambers--

“Well, there is no great hardship in taking up your abode with me. The emperor himself is pleased to frequent this house, and we are ready with a banquet for him at any moment. A penalty, you may say, to pay for imperial favour. Now we will take that couch and throw aside these parchments, and have a light repast.”

Antonius clapped his hands, and as if by magic a retinue of slaves appeared, bearing all kinds of refreshments, in silver and gold cups and flagons, with dishes of all the viands then most in favour with the luxurious Romans, the degenerate representatives of the noble and hardy race which had laid the foundation of the great empire, even now hastening to its fall!

Antonius led the usual life of the Roman nobles of that time. He lounged, drank, and played for high stakes at the gaming-tables at the baths. He sauntered into the Forum, and listened to some favourite orator, or later in the day he attended the Court, and either drove in his gaily-decorated chariot, or sauntered in the gardens where the beauty and fashion of Rome resorted. Then he would bid guests to his supper, who were never unwilling to respond to his invitation, for his board was always spread with sumptuous fare, and the emperor himself was frequently announced by heralds as deigning to confer the favour of his presence upon Antonius.

When Antonius had dismissed the slaves and attendants, he said--

“Here is your father’s letter. He begs me to make a Roman of you, and mentions that by reason of robbers by land, and pirates by sea, you had arrived in a sorry plight. You can be equipped by my people in native attire, and it is time that you left off that prætexta, if your father’s version of your age be true--near fifteen. He says, and truly, that you are small and slender, and a contrast to him in all things. He does not think you will make a soldier.”

Antonius laughed. “And I agree with him; we must turn you into a Roman, befitting in manners and appearance your high rank. You have a sister a vestal, I hear.”

“Yes, a young sister received as a disciple,” Casca said.

“A vestal’s brother must needs be careful to do her honour, and you must submit yourself to the hands of my dresser, and acquire some accomplishment, play on some instrument, as well as play high at other games. The Emperor may look kindly on you, and I will get you a place in his household.”

Then Antonius yawned, and lazily stretching himself on his luxurious couch, leaned over a few parchments and made a cabalistic sign on one or two, and then settled himself to his siesta.

Meantime Casca was reading his father’s letter, which Antonius had tossed to him, and there was also a short one addressed to himself. He knew already the contents of that written to Antonius, but Severus’s counsel to his young son may bear to be transcribed here as a specimen of paternal counsel in those days of Roman decline.

“Severus, pro-consul at Verulam, to my son Casca, greeting.

“My son,--News has reached me of your disasters by sea and land on your journey towards Rome. This will reach you by the hand of the noble Antonius, who will by his goodness receive you into his household, to prepare you to take office in that of the Emperor himself. You refused the study of arms, to my great disquiet, therefore you must now study diligently to shape your manners after those of the young nobles at Rome. You must learn to sing, game, and become an adept on some instrument of music. You must study dress and deportment, and lie as occasion requires, when the flattery of your superiors demand it. My office in this distant province, amidst these barbarous tribes, has obliged me to live the life of the soldier only. You refused that life, therefore you must cultivate that of the courtier.

“Have no more intercourse with the woman at whose house you lodged. I have directed that gold should be given her. Her son Caius did his part well, but, alas for Burrhus and his maniple! they are prisoners and slaves, and we doubt if a ransom would avail if offered. We must leave them to the gods.

“I have received news also from my noble kinswoman Terentia Rufilla, that my daughter finds favour in her eyes, and that her beauty and wisdom are far beyond her years.

“Her mother and yours sends greeting. Beware of the vile reptiles calling themselves Christians; it is told me that they swarm in Rome like ants. Here in Verulam we have done good work amongst them, and thanks are due to Valens and Claudius, who crushed out a goodly number in the forest beyond Radburn. The chief Amphibalus was done to death by stoning, and when the cell was opened on the morning after his execution, to our great astonishment the woman Agatha and the miserable slave Ebba were found dead.

“Claudius lighted a pyre at once and the bodies were burned to ashes, before we knew we were saved the trouble of roasting them alive. We had been counselled to try burning, as execution by the sword, and even stoning, bore small fruit. Again, I say, beware of the Christians as of lepers and the plague.

“Vale!”

Neither of these letters was in the hand of Severus, who could wield the sword and battle-axe, but hardly a pen. They were written on the parchment roll in a clear hand by the man who fulfilled an office which we should call that of secretary to the Governor’s court.

As Casca read this letter, his face betrayed surprise and emotion, which Antonius, lying back with half-closed eyes, was not slow to discern.

“I crave leave,” Casca said, “to return whence I came till the morrow. I have books and parchments which I must have carried hither, and I must see good Clœlia, the mother of Caius, and take leave of her.”

“Well, be it so,” was Antonius’s reply, in a lazy tone. “Meet me in the Coliseum to-morrow, when there will be some sport with thy father’s enemies, the Christians. By Jove!” Antonius said, “I care not whether they live or die, though we should miss some sport if there were no more to be thrown to the beasts. Vale! Vale!” he exclaimed, waving his hand, and leaving Casca free to depart.