CHAPTER XX

IN THE BASILICA

The Quatuorvir Petronius Atacinus, who was on duty, occupied his chair in the stately Plotinian Basilica, or court of justice, that had been erected by Hadrian, in honor of the lady to whose ingenious and unscrupulous maneuvers he owed his elevation to the throne of the Cæsars. Of this magnificent structure nothing remains at present save some scraps of the frieze in the museum.

When the weather permitted, Petronius or his colleagues liked to hear a case in the open air, from a tribune in the forum. But this was impossible to‐day, in the howling wind and lashing rain. The court itself was comparatively deserted. A very few had assembled to hear the trials. None who had a warmed home that day left it uncalled for. Some market women set their baskets in the doorway and stepped inside, but it was rather because they were wet and out of breath than because they were interested in the proceedings. Beside the magistrate sat the chief _pontifex_ who was also Augustal _flamen_. Of _pontifices_ there were three in the city, but one of these was a woman, the priestess of Nemausus.

Throughout the south of Gaul the worship of Augustus had become predominant, and had displaced most of the ancestral cults. The temples dedicated to Augustus exceeded in richness all others, and were crowded when the rest were deserted.

Jupiter was only not forgotten because he had borrowed some of the attributes of the Gallic solar deity, and he flourished the golden wheel in one hand and brandished the lightnings in the other. Juno had lent her name to a whole series of familiar spirits of the mountains and of the household, closely allied to the _Proxumes_, a set of domestic Brownies or Kobolds, who were chiefly adored and propitiated by the women, and who had no other temple than the hearth. At Tarasconum, the Phœnician goddess Britomartis reigned supreme, and her worship was stimulated by a grand annual procession and dramatic representation of her conquest over a dragon. At Nemausus the corresponding god of war was called Mars Britovius. But the Volcæ Arecomici were a peaceably‐disposed people, and paid little devotion to the god of battles. The cult of the founder Nemausus did not flag, but that of Augustus was in the ascendant. All the freedmen were united in one great sodality under his invocation, and this guild represented an important political factor in the land. It had its religious officers, its _flamines_ and _seviri_, attended by lictors, and the latter had charge of all the altars at the crossroads, and sat next to the civic functionaries in the courts, at banquets, in the theater. Rich citizens bequeathed large sums to the town and to the sodalities to be expended in public feasts, in largesses, and in gladiatorial shows. The charge of these bequests, as also their distribution, was in the hands of the _flamines_ and _seviri_. The priesthood was, therefore, provided with the most powerful of all means for gaining and moving the multitude, which desired nothing better than bread and games.

“Have that door shut!” called the magistrate. “It bangs in this evil wind, and I cannot even hear what my excellent friend Lucius Smerius is saying in my ear; how then can I catch what is said in court?” Then, turning to the pontiff, he said: “I detest this weather. Last year, about this time, I was struck with an evil blast, and lost all sense of smell and taste for nine months. I had pains in my loins and an ache in all my bones. I doubt if even the jests of Baubo could have made me laugh; I was in lower dumps than even Ceres. Even now, when seated far too long in this marble chair, I get an ache across my back that assures me I am no longer young. But I could endure that if my sense of taste had been fully restored. I do not relish good wine as of old, and that is piteous, and I really at times think of suicide.”

“It was the work of enchantment,” said the pontiff. “These Christians, in their orgies, stick pins into images to produce pains in those the figures represent.”

“How do you know this? Have you been initiated into their mysteries?”

“I——! The Immortals preserve me therefrom.”

“Then, by Pluto, you speak what you have heard of the gossips—old wives’ babble. I will tell you what my opinion is, Smerius. If you were to thrust your nose into the mysteries of the Bona Dea you would find—what? No more than did Clodius—nothing at all. My wife, she attends them, and comes home with her noddle full of all the tittle‐tattle of Nemausus. It is so with the Christian orgies. I would not give a snap of the fingers for all the secrets confided to the initiated—neither in Eleusis nor in the Serapium, nor among the Christians.”

“These men are not like others; they are unsociable, brutish, arrogant.”

“Unsociable I allow. Brutish! The word is inapt; for, on the contrary, I find them very simple, soft‐headed, pulp‐hearted folk. They abstain from all that is boisterous and cruel. Arrogant they may be. There I am at one with you. ‘Live and let live’ is my maxim. We have a score of gods, home made and foreign, and they all rub and tumble together without squabbling. Of late we have had Madame Isis over from Egypt, and the White Ladies,(11) and the Proxumes, Victoria Augusta, Venus, and Minerva, make room for her without even a frown on their divine faces. And imperial Rome sanctions all these devotions. Why, did not the god Augustus build a temple here to Nemausus and pay him divine honors, though he had never heard him named before? Now this Christian sect is exclusive. It will suffer no gods to stand beside Him whom they adore. He must reign alone. That I call illiberal, narrow‐minded, against the spirit of the age and the principle of Roman policy. That is the reason why I dislike these Christians.”

“Here come the prisoners. My good friend, do not be too easy with them. It will not do. The temper of the people is up. The sodality of Augustus swear that they will not decree you a statue, and will oppose your nomination to the knighthood. They have joined hands with the Cultores Nemausi, and insist that proper retribution be administered to the transgressors, and that the girl be surrendered.”

“It shall be done; it shall be so,” said the Quatuorvir. Then, raising his hand to his mouth, and speaking behind it—not that in the roar of the wind such a precaution was necessary—he said to the pontiff: “My dear man, a magistrate has other matters to consider than pleasing the clubs. There is the prince over all, and he is on the way to Narbonese Gaul. It is whispered that he is favorably disposed towards this Nazarene sect.”

“The Augustus would not desire to have the laws set at naught, and the sodalities are rich enough to pay to get access to him and make their complaint.”

“Well, well, well! I cannot please all. I have to steer my course among shoals and rocks. Keep the question of Christianity in the background and charge on other grounds. That is my line. I will do my best to please all parties. We must have sport for the games. The rabble desire to have some one punished for spoiling their pet image. But, by the Twins, could not the poor god hold his own head on his shoulders? If he had been worth an as, he would have done so. But there, I nettle you. You shall be satisfied along with the rest. Bring up the prisoners: Quincta, widow of Aulus Harpinius Læto, first of all.”

The mother of Perpetua was led forward in a condition of terror that rendered her almost unconscious, and unable to sustain herself.

“Quincta,” said the magistrate, “have no fear for yourself. I have no desire to deal sharply with you; if you will inform us where is your daughter, you shall be dismissed forthwith.”

“I do not know——” The poor woman could say no more.

“Give her a seat,” ordered Petronius. Then to the prisoner: “Compose yourself. No doubt that, as a mother, you desire to screen your daughter, supposing that her life is menaced. No such thing, madame. I have spoken with the priestess, and with my good friend here, Lucius Smerius, chief pontiff, Augustal _flamen_, and public haruspex.” He bowed to the priest at his side. “I am assured that the god, when he spoke, made no demand for a sacrifice. That is commuted. All he desires is that the young virgin should pass into his service, and be numbered among his priestesses.”

“She will not consent,” gasped Quincta.

“I hardly need to point out the honor and advantage offered her. The priestesses enjoy great favor with the people, have seats of honor at the theater, take a high position in all public ceremonies, and are maintained by rich endowments.”

“She will never consent,” repeated the mother.

“Of that we shall judge for ourselves. Where is the girl?”

“I do not know.”

“How so?”

“She has been carried away from me; I know not whither.”

“When the old ewe baas the lamb will bleat,” said the Quatuorvir. “We shall find the means to make you produce her. Lady Quincta, my duty compels me to send you back to prison. You shall be allowed two days’ respite. Unless, by the end of that time, you are able and willing to give us the requisite information, you will be put to the question, and I doubt not that a turn of the rack will refresh your memory and relax your tongue.”

“I cannot tell what I do not know.”

“Remove the woman.”

The magistrate leaned back, and turning his head to the pontiff, said: “Did not your worthy father, Spurius, die of a surfeit of octopus? I had a supper off the legs last night, and they made me sleep badly; they are no better than marine leather.” Then to the _vigiles_: “Bring forward Falerius Marcianus.”

The deacon was conducted before the magistrate. He was pale, and his lips ashen and compressed. His dark eyes turned in every direction. He was looking for kinsmen and patron.

“You are charged, Falerius, with having broken the image of the god whom Nemausus delights to honor, and who is the reputed founder of the city. You conveyed his head to the house of Baudillas, and several witnesses have deposed that you made boast that you had committed the sacrilegious act of defacing the statue. What answer make you to this?”

Marcianus replied in a low voice.

“Speak up,” said the magistrate; “I cannot hear thee, the wind blusters and bellows so loud.” Aside to the pontiff Smerius he added: “And ever since that evil blast you wot of, I have suffered from a singing in my ears.”

“I did it,” said the deacon. Again he looked about him, but saw none to support him.

“Then,” said the magistrate, “we shall at once conclude this matter. The outrage is too gross to be condoned or lightly punished. Even thy friends and kinsfolk have not appeared to speak for thee. Thy family has been one of dignity and authority in Nemausus. There have been members who have been clothed with the Quatuorvirate _de aerario_ and have been accorded the use of a horse at public charge. Several have been decurions wearing the white toga and the purple stripe. This aggravates the impiety of your act. I sentence Cneius Falerius Marcianus, son of Marius Audolatius, of the Voltinian tribe, to be thrown to the beasts in the approaching show, and that his goods be confiscated, and that out of his property restitution be made, by which a new statue to the god Nemausus be provided, to be set up in the place of that injured by the same Cneius Falerius Marcianus.”

The deacon made an attempt to speak. He seemed overwhelmed with astonishment and dismay at the sentence, so utterly unexpected in its severity. He gesticulated and cried out, but the Quatuorvir was cold and weary. He had pronounced a sentence that would startle all the town, and he thought he had done enough.

“Remove him at once,” said he.

Then Petronius turned to the pontiff and said: “Now, my Smerius, what say you to this? Will not this content you and all the noisy rag‐tag at your back?”

Next he commanded the rest of the prisoners to be brought forward together. This was a mixed number of poor persons, some women, some old men, boys, slaves and freedmen; none belonged to the upper class or even to that of the manufacturers and tradesmen.

“You are all dismissed,” said the magistrate. “The imprisonment you have undergone will serve as a warning to you not to associate with image‐ breakers, not to enter into sodalities which have not received the sanction of Cæsar, and which are not compatible with the well‐being and quiet of the city and are an element of disturbance in the empire. Let us hear no more of this pestilent nonsense. Go—worship what god ye will—only not Christos.”

Then the lictors gathered around the Quatuorvir and the pontiff, who also rose, and extended his hand to assist the magistrate, who made wry faces as rheumatic twinges nipped his back.

“Come with me, Smerius,” said the Quatuorvir, “I have done the best for you that lay in my power. I hate unnecessary harshness. But this fellow, Falerius Marcianus, has deserved the worst. If the old woman be put on the rack and squeak out, and Marcianus be devoured by beasts, the people will have their amusement, and none can say that I have acted with excessive rigor—and, my dear man—not a word has been said about Christianity. The cases have been tried on other counts, do you see?” he winked. “Will you breakfast with me? There are mullets from the Satera, stewed in white wine—confound those octopi!—I feel them still.”