CHAPTER XIX

MARCIANUS

When the deacon Baudillas and his faithful Pedo emerged from the river, and stood on the bank, they were aware how icy was the blast that blew, for it pierced their sodden garments and froze the marrow in their bones.

“Master,” said Pedo, “this is the beginning of a storm that will last for a week; you must get under shelter, and I will give you certain garments I have provided and have concealed hard by in a kiln. The gates of the town are shut. I have no need to inform you that we are without the city walls.”

Pedo guided the deacon to the place where he had hidden a bundle of garments, and which was not a bowshot distant from the mouth of the sewer. The kiln was small; it had happily been in recent use, for it was still warm, and the radiation was grateful to Baudillas, whose teeth were chattering in his head.

“I have put here bread and meat, and a small skin of wine,” said the slave. “I advise you, master, to make a meal; you will relish your food better here than in the black‐hole. Whilst we eat we consume time likewise; but the dawn is returning, and with it the gates will be opened and we shall slip in among the market people. But, tell me, whither will you go?”

“I would desire, were it advisable, to revisit my own house,” said the deacon doubtfully.

“And I would advise you to keep clear of it,” said the slave. “Should the jailer discover that you have escaped, then at once search will be made for you, and, to a certainty it will begin at your habitation.” Then, with a dry laugh, he added, “And if it be found that I have assisted in your evasion, then there will be one more likely to give sport to the people at the forthcoming show. Grant me the wild beasts and not the cross.”

“I will not bring thee into danger, faithful friend.”

“I cannot run away on my lame legs,” said Pedo. “Ah! as to those shows. They are to wind up with a water‐fight—such is the announcement. There will be gladiators from Arelate sent over to contend in boats against a fleet of our Nemausean ruffians. On the previous day there will be sport with wild beasts. I am told that there have been wolves trapped during the winter in the Cebennæ, and sent down here, where they are retained fasting. I have heard their howls at night and they have disturbed my sleep—their howls and the aches in my thigh. I knew the weather would change by the pains in my joint. There is a man named Amphilochius, a manumitted slave, who broke into and robbed the villa of the master who had freed him. He is a Greek of Iconium, and the public are promised that he shall be cast to the beasts; but whether to the panthers, or the wolves, or bear, or given to be gored by a bull, that I know not. Then there is a taverner from somewhere on the way to Ugernum, who for years has murdered such of his guests as he esteemed well furnished with money, and has thrown their carcasses into the river. He will fight the beasts. There is a bear from Larsacus; but they tell me he is dull, has not yet shaken off his winter sleep, and the people fear they will get small entertainment out of him.”

“You speak of these scenes with relish.”

“Ah! master, before I was regenerate I dearly loved the spectacles. But the contest with bulls! That discovers the agility of a man. Falerius Volupius Servilianus placed rosettes between their horns and gave a prize to any who would pluck them away. That was open to be contested for by all the youths of Nemausus. There was little danger to life or limb, and it taught them to be quick of eye and nimble in movement. But it was because none were gored that the spectators wearied of these innocent sports and clamored for the butchery of criminals and the contests of gladiators. There was a fine Numidian lion brought by a shipmaster to Agatha; a big price was asked, and the citizens of Narbo outbid us, so we lost that fine fellow.”

“Ah, Pedo! please God that none of the brethren be exposed to the beasts.”

“I think there will not be many. The Quatuor‐viri are slow to condemn, and Petronius Atacinus most unwilling of all. There are real criminals in the prison sufficient to satisfy an ordinary appetite for blood. But, see! we are discussing the amphitheater and not considering whither thou wilt betake thyself.”

“I have been turning the matter over, and I think that I will go first to Marcianus, my brother‐deacon, and report myself to be alive and free, that he may inform the bishop; and I will take his advice as to my future conduct, and where I shall bestow myself.”

“He has remained unmolested,” said the slave, “and that is to me passing strange, for I have been told that certain of the brethren, when questioned relative to the mutilation of the statue, have accused him by name. Yet, so far, nothing has been done. Yet I think his house is watched; I have noticed one Burrhus hanging about it; and Tarsius, they say, has turned informer. See, master! the darkness is passing away; already there is a wan light in the east.”

“Had the mouth of the kiln been turned to the setting in place of the rising sun, we should not have felt the wind so greatly. Well, Pedo, we will be on the move. Market people from the country will be at the gates. I will consult with Marcianus before I do aught.”

An hour later, Baudillas and his attendant were at the gate of Augustus, and passed in unchallenged. Owing to the furious mistral, accompanied by driving rain, the guards muffled themselves in their cloaks and paid little attention to the peasants bringing in their poultry, fish and vegetables for sale. The deacon and his slave entered unnoticed along with a party of these. In the street leading to the forum was a knot of people about an angry potter whose stall had been blown over by the wind. He had set boards on trestles, and laid out basins, pitchers, lamps, urns on the planks; over all he had stretched sail‐cloth. The wind had caught the awning and beaten it down, upsetting and crushing his ware. The potter was swearing that he was ruined, and that his disaster was due to the Christians, who had exasperated the gods by their crimes and impieties.

Some looking on laughed and asked, shouting, whether the gods did not blow as strong blasts out of their lungs every year about the same time, and whether they did so because annually insulted.

“But they don’t break my crocks,” stormed the potter.

“Charge double for what remain unfractured,” joked an onlooker.

“Come, master,” said Pedo, plucking Baudillas by the sleeve. “If that angry fellow recognize you, you are lost. Hold my cloak and turn down the lane, then we are at the _posticum_, at the back of the house. I know some of the family, and they will admit us.”

Near by was a shop for flowers. Over the shop front was the inscription, “Non vendo nisi amantibus coronas” (“I sell garlands to lovers only”).(10) The woman in charge of the bunches and crowns of spring flowers looked questioningly at Baudillas. Her wares were such as invited only when the sun shone. The poor flowers had a draggled and desponding appearance. No lovers came to buy in the bitter mistral.

“Come, master, we shall be recognized,” said Pedo.

In another moment they had passed out of the huffle of the wind and the drift of the rain into the shelter and warmth of a dwelling.

Pedo bade a slave go to Marcianus and tell the deacon that someone below desired a word with him. Almost immediately the man returned with orders to conduct the visitor to the presence of the master.

Baudillas was led along a narrow passage into a chamber in the inner part of the house, away from the apartments for the reception of guests.

The room was warmed. It was small, and had a glazed window; that is to say, the opening was closed by a sheet of stalagmite from one of the caves of Larsacus, cut thin.

In this chamber, seated on an easy couch, with a roll in his hand, which he was studying, was Marcianus. His countenance was hard and haughty.

“You!” he exclaimed, starting with surprise. “What brings you here? I heard that you had been before the magistrate and had confessed. But, bah! of such as you martyrs are not made. You have betrayed us and got off clear yourself.”

“You mistake, brother,” answered Baudillas, modestly. “In one thing are you right—I am not of the stuff out of which martyrs and confessors are fashioned. But I betrayed no one. Not that there is any merit due to me for that. I was in such a dire and paralyzing fright that I could not speak.”

“How then come you here?”

“As we read that the Lord sent His angel to deliver Peter from prison, so has it been with me.”

“You lie!” said Marcianus angrily. “No miracle was wrought for you—for such as you who shiver and quake and lose power of speech! Bah! Come, give me a more rational explanation of your escape.”

“My slave was the angel who delivered me.”

“So you ran away! Could not endure martyrdom, saw the crown shining, and turned tail and used your legs. I can well believe it. Coward! Unworthy of the name of a Christian, undeserving of the cross marked on thy brow, unbecoming of the ministry.”

“I know that surely enough,” said Baudillas; “I am of timorous stuff, and from childhood feared pain. But I have not denied Christ.”

“What has brought you here?” asked Marcianus curtly.

“I have come to thee for counsel.”

“The counsel I give thou wilt not take. What saith the Scripture: ‘He that putteth his hand to the plough and turneth back is not fit for the kingdom of God.’ Thou wast called to a glorious confession, and looked back and ran away.”

“And thy counsel?”

“Return and surrender, and win the crown and palm. But it is waste of breath to say such words to thee. I know thee. Wast thou subjected to torture?”

“No, brother.”

“No; not the rack, nor the torches, nor the hooks, nor the thumbscrews. Oh, none of these!”

“No, brother. It is true, I was scarce tried at all. Indeed, it was good luck—God forgive me!—it was through His mercy that I was saved from denying the faith. I was not even asked to sacrifice.”

“Well; go thy ways. I cannot advise thee.”

“Stay,” said Baudillas. “I saw in the outer prison some of the faithful, but was in too great fear to recognize any. Who have been taken?”

“The last secured has been the widow Quincta. The pontiff and the _flamen_ Augustalis and the priestess of Nemausus swear that she shall be put on the rack and tortured till she reveals where her daughter is concealed, and that amiable drone, the acting magistrate, has given consent. Dost thou know where the damsel Perpetua is concealed?”

“Indeed, Marcianus, I know not. But tell me: hast thou not been inquired for? I have been told how that some have accused thee.”

“Me! Who said that?”

Marcianus started, and his face worked. “Bah! they dare not touch me. I belong to the Falerii; we have had magistrates in our family, and one clothed with the pro‐consulship. They will not venture to lay hands on me.”

“But what if they know, and it is known through the town, that it was thou who didst mutilate the statue of the founder?”

“They do not know it.”

“Nay, thou deceivest thyself. It is known. Some of those who were at the Agape have spoken.”

“It was thou—dog that thou art!”

“Nay, it was not I.”

Marcianus rose and strode up and down the room, biting his nails. Then, contemptuously, he said: “My family will stand between me and mob or magistrate. I fear not. But get thee gone. Thou compromisest me by thy presence, thou runagate and jail‐breaker.”

“I came here but to notify my escape and to ask counsel of thee.”

“Get thee gone. Fly out of Nemausus, or thy chattering tongue will be set going and reveal everything that ought to be kept secret.” Then taking a turn he added to himself, “I belong to the Falerii.”

Baudillas left; and, as he went from the door, Pedo whispered in his ear: “Let us escape to Ad Fines. We can do so in this detestable weather. I have an old friend there, named Blanda. In my youth I loved—ah! welladay! that was long ago—and we were the chattels of different masters, so it came to naught. She is still a slave, but she may be able to assist us. I can be sure of that; for the remembrance of our old affection, she will do what lies in her power to secrete us.”

He suddenly checked himself, plucked the deacon back, and drew him against the wall.

An ædile, attended by a body of the city police, armed like soldiers, advanced and silently surrounded the house of Marcianus.

Then the officer struck the door thrice, and called: “By the authority of Petronius Atacinus and Vibius Fuscianus, Quatuor‐viri juridicundo, and in the name of the Imperator Cæsar Augustus, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, I arrest Cneius Falerius Marcianus, on the atrocious charge of sacrilege.”