CHAPTER XIV

TO THE LOWEST DEPTH

Baudillas found that there were already many in the prison, who had been swept together by the mob and the soldiers, either for having refused to produce an image, or for having declined to sacrifice. To his no small surprise he saw among them the wool‐merchant Julius Largus Litomarus. The crowd had surrounded his house, and as he had not complied with their demands, they had sent him to the duumvir,(6) Petronius Atacinus, who had consigned him to prison till, at his leisure, he could investigate the charge against him.

The two magistrates who sat in court and gave sentence were Petronius Atacinus and Vibius Fuscianus, and they took it in turns to sit, each being the acting magistrate for a month, when he was succeeded by the other. Atacinus was a humane man, easy‐going, related to the best families in the place, and acquainted with such as he was not allied with by blood or marriage. His position, in face of the commotion relative to the mutilation of the image and the rescue of Perpetua, was not an easy one.

In Rome and in every other important city, the _flamen_, or chief priest, occupied a post of considerable importance and influence. He sat in the seat at the games and in the theater next to the chief magistrates, and took precedence over every other officer in the town. Nemausus had such a _flamen_, and he was not only the official religious head in the place, but was also the _flamen Augustalis_, the pontiff connected with the worship of Augustus, which had become the predominant cult in Narbonese Gaul, and also head of the College of the Augustals, that comprised the very powerful body of freedmen. The priestess of the divine founder and giver of the fountain shared his dignity and authority. Between them they could exercise a preponderating power in the town, and it would be in vain for Petronius Atacinus, however easy‐going he might be, and disinclined to shed blood, to pass over what had been done without affording satisfaction to the pagan party moved and held together by the priesthood.

Yet the duumvir judged that it would be eminently unadvisable for him to proceed with too great severity, and to punish too many persons. Christianity had many adherents in the place, and some of these belonged to the noble, others to the mercantile, families. The general wish among the well‐to‐do was that there should be no systematic persecution. An inquisitorial search after Christians would break up families, rouse angry passions, and, above all, disturb business.

Petronius had already resolved on his course. He had used every sort of evasion that could be practiced. He had knowingly abstained from enjoining on the keepers of the city gates the requisition of a passport from such as left the town. The more who fled and concealed themselves, the better pleased would he be.

Nevertheless, he had no thought of allowing the mutilation of the statue to pass unpunished, and he was resolved on satisfying the priesthood by restoring Perpetua to them. If he were obliged to put any to death, he would shed the blood only of such as were inconsiderable and friendless.

There was another element that entered into the matter, and which helped to render Atacinus inclined to leniency. The Cæsar at the time was M. Aurelius Antoninus, commonly known as Caracalla. He had been brought up from infancy by a Christian nurse, and was thought to harbor a lurking regard for the members of the religion of Christ. At any rate, he displayed no intolerance towards those who professed it. He was, himself, a ferocious tyrant, as capricious as he was cruel. He had murdered his brother Geta in a fit of jealousy, and his conscience, tortured by remorse, drove him to seek relief by prying into the mysteries of strange religions.

The duumvir Atacinus was alive to the inclinations and the temper of the prince, and was the more afraid of offending him by persecution of the Christians, as the Emperor was about shortly to visit Gaul, and might even pass through Nemausus.

If in such a condition of affairs the Christians were exposed to danger, it may well be inferred that, where it was less favorable, their situation was surrounded with danger. They were at all times liable to fall victims to popular tumults, occasioned sometimes by panic produced by an earthquake, by resentment at an accidental conflagration which the vulgar insisted on referring to the Christians, sometimes by distress at the breaking out of an epidemic. On such occasions the unreasoning rabble clamored that the gods were incensed at the spread of the new atheism, and that the Christians must be cast to the lions.

When Baudillas saw the wool merchant in the prison, he went to him immediately. Litomarus was sitting disconsolately on a stone bench with his back against the prison wall.

“I did not go to the Agape,” said he; “I was afraid to do so. But I might as well. The people bellowed under my windows like bulls of Bashan.”

“And you did not exhibit an image?”

“No, I could not do that. Then the _viatores_ of the ædiles took me in charge. I was hustled about, and was dragged off here. My wife fell down in a faint. I do not think she will recover the shock. She has been in a weak condition ever since the death of our little Cordula. We loved that child. We were wrapped up in her. Marcianus said that we made of the little creature an earthly idol, and that it was right she should be taken away. I do not know. She had such winning ways. One could not help loving her. She made such droll remarks, and screwed up her little eyes——”

“But before you were arrested, you thought considerately of Perpetua and her mother Quincta.”

“I do not understand to what you refer.”

“To the sending of litters for them.”

“I sent no litters.”

“Your slave Tarsius came to my house to announce that you had been pleased to remember the ladies there taking refuge, and that you had placed your two palanquins at their disposal.”

“Tarsius said this?”

“Even Tarsius.”

“Tarsius is a slippery rascal. He was very fond of our little Cordula, and was wont to carry her on his shoulder, so we have liked him because of that. Nevertheless, he is—well, not trustworthy.”

“May God avert that a trap has been laid to ensnare the virgin and her mother. Tarsius was expelled the Church for inebriety.”

“I know nothing about the palanquins. I have but one. After the death of little Cordula, I did not care to keep a second. I always carry about with me a lock cut from her head after death. It is like floss silk.”

The wool merchant was too greatly absorbed in his own troubles to give attention to the matter that had been broached by the deacon. Baudillas withdrew to another part of the prison in serious concern.

When day broke, Litomarus was released. His brother was a pagan and had easily satisfied the magistrate. This brother was in the firm, and traveled for it, buying fleeces from the shepherds on the limestone plateaux of Niger and Larsacus. He had been away the day before, but on his return in the morning, on learning that Julius was arrested, he spoke with the duumvir, presented him with a ripe ewe’s milk cheese just brought by him from Larsacus, and obtained the discharge of Julius without further difficulty.

Baudillas remained in prison that morning, and it was not till the afternoon that he was conducted into court. By this time the duumvir was tired and irritable. The _flamen_ had arrived and had spoken with Atacinus, and complained that no example had been made, that the Christians were being released, and that, unless some sharp punishments were administered, the people, incensed at the leniency that had been exhibited, would break out in uproar again. Petronius Atacinus, angry, tired out, hungry and peevish, at once sent for the deacon.

The head of the god had been found in his house, and he had been seen conveying the rescued virgin from the fountain, and must certainly know where she was concealed.

It was noticeable that nothing had been said about the punishing of Æmilius. Even the god, as interpreted by the priestess, had made no demand that he should be dealt with; in fact, had not mentioned him. The duumvir perfectly understood this reticence. Æmilius Lentulus belonged to a good family in the upper town, and to that most powerful and dreaded of all professions—the law. Even the divine founder shrank from attacking a member of the long robe, and a citizen of the upper town.

When Baudillas appeared in court, the magistrate demanded an explanation of the fact of the broken head being found in his house, and further asked of him where Perpetua was concealed.

Baudillas would offer no explanation on the first head; he could not do so without incriminating his brother in the ministry. He denied that he had committed the act of violence, but not that he knew who had perpetrated the outrage. As to where Perpetua was, that he could not say, because he did not know. His profession of ignorance was not believed. He was threatened with torture, but in vain. Thereupon the duumvir sentenced him to be committed to the _robur_, and consigned to the lowest depth thereof, there to remain till such time as he chose to reveal the required information.

Then Petronius Atacinus turned and looked at the _flamen_ with a smile, and the latter responded with a well‐satisfied nod.

A Roman prison consisted of several parts, and the degree of severity exercised was marked by the portion of the _carcer_ to which the prisoner was consigned. Roman law knew nothing of imprisonment for a term as a punishment. The _carcer_ was employed either as a place for temporary detention till trial, or else it was one for execution.

The most tolerable portion of the jail consisted of the outer court, with its cells, and a hall for shelter in cold and wet weather. This was in fact the common _atrium_ on an enlarged scale and without its luxuries. But there was another part of the prison entitled the _robur_, after the Tullian prison at Rome. This consisted of one large vaulted chamber devoid of window, accessible only by the door, through the interstices of which alone light and air could enter. It derived its name from oak beams planted against the walls, to which were attached chains, by means of which prisoners were fastened to them. In the center of the floor was a round hole, with or without a low breastwork, and this hole communicated with an abyss sometimes given the Greek name of _barathrum_, with conical dome, the opening being in the center. This pit was deep in mire. Into it flowed the sewage of the prison, and the outfall was secured by a grating.(7) The title of _barathrum_ sometimes accorded to this lower portion of the dungeon was derived from a swamp near Athens, in which certain malefactors were smothered.

When Jeremiah was accused before King Zedekiah of inciting the people to come to terms with the Chaldeans, he was put into such a place as this.

“Then took they Jeremiah, and cast him into the dungeon of Malchiah, that was in the court of the prison, and they let down Jeremiah with cords. And in the dungeon there was no water, but mire; so Jeremiah sunk in the mire.”

When Paul and Silas were at Philippi, they were imprisoned in the superior portion of the _robur_, where were the stocks, whereas the other prisoners were in the outer portion, that was more comfortable, and where they had some freedom of movement.

Baudillas turned gray with horror at the thought of being consigned to the awful abyss. His courage failed him and he lost power in his knees, so that he was unable to sustain himself, and the jailer’s assistants were constrained to carry him.

As he was conveyed through the outer court, those who were awaiting their trial crowded around him, to clasp and kiss his hand, to encourage him to play the man for Christ, and to salute him reverently as a martyr.

“I am no martyr, good brethren,” said the deacon in a feeble voice. “I am not called to suffer for the faith, I have not been asked to sacrifice; I am to be thrown down into the pit, because I cannot reveal what I do not know.”

One man, turning to his fellow, said, in a low tone: “If I were given my choice, I would die by fire rather than linger in the pit.”

“Will he die there of starvation?” asked another, “or will he smother in the mire?”

“If he be sentenced to be retained there till he tells what he does not know, he must die there, it matters not how.”

“God deliver me from such a trial of my faith! I might win the crown through the sword, but a passage to everlasting life through that foul abyss—that would be past endurance.”

As Baudillas was supported through the doorway into the inner prison, he turned his head and looked at the brilliant sky above the yard wall. Then the door was shut and barred behind him. All, however, was not absolutely dark, for there was a gap, through which two fingers could be thrust, under the door, and the sun lay on the threshold and sent a faint reflection through the chamber.

Nevertheless, on entering from the glare of the sun, it seemed to Baudillas at first as though he were plunged in darkness, and it was not for some moments that he could distinguish the ledge that surrounded the well‐like opening. The jailer now proceeded to strike a light, and after some trouble and curses, as he grazed his knuckles, he succeeded in kindling a lamp. He now produced a rope, and made a loop at one end about a short crosspole.

“Sit astride on that,” said he curtly.

Baudillas complied, and with his hands grasped the cord.

Then slowly he was lowered into the pitch blackness below. Down—down—down he descended, till he plashed into the mire.

The jailer holding the lamp, looked down and called to him to release the rope. The deacon obeyed. There he stood, looking up, watching the dancing pole as it mounted, then saw the spark of the lamp withdrawn; heard the retreating steps of the jailer, then a clash like thunder. The door of the _robur_ was shut. He was alone at the bottom of this fetid abyss.

Then he said, and tears coursed down his cheeks as he said it: “Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit—in the place of darkness and in the grave.”