 Part 2, Chapter 1 of Quo Vadis, A Tale of the Time of Nero. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Binyon and Malevsky. Part 2, Chapter 1. Vinicius was awakened by a poignant pain. Where was he? What was happening? For a moment he could not tell. There was a roaring in his ears, a mist over his eyes. Suddenly he came into full possession of his senses, and through that mist he saw three men bending over him. Two of them he recognized. The first was Ursus. The second was the old man whom he had knocked down as he fled with Ligia. The third was a stranger. He had hold of Vinicius's left hand, and was feeling the arm from the elbow to the shoulder-blade. This caused such exquisite agony that Vinicius, imagining it was some scheme of vengeance that was being wreaked upon him, cried through his set teeth, Kill me! The men paid no attention to these words. They acted as though they had not heard them, or hearing, deemed them but the meaningless moans of a badly wounded man. Ursus, his face serious, yet stern in its strong barbaric lines, held a bundle of white linen rags torn into long strips. The old man was addressing the stranger. Glockus, he said, art thou certain that the wound in the head is not mortal? I am certain worthy, Christmas, was the reply, while serving as a slave in the galleys, and later, while residing in Naples, I occupied my spare time in nursing the wounded. With my earnings I purchased my own freedom and thought of my family. The wound in the head is a slight one. When this man, he nodded at Ursus, snatched the girl from the young man he knocked him against the wall, to save himself the youngster shielded his head with his arm, which he dislocated and broke. Thou hast had many of my brethren under thy care, replied Christmas, and thou art renowned as a skilful physician, that is why I sent Ursus for thee. Ursus, why he is the man who, on the way hither, confessed that yesterday he was ready to kill me. Before he made that confession to thee, he had already said the same to me. I, who know thee and thy love for Christ, explained to him that not thou, but that stranger who sought to incite him to murder, is the traitor. It was an evil spirit which I took for a good one, replied Ursus, with a sigh. Tell me all about it some other time. Let us now care for the patient. With these words Glockus proceeded to set the broken arm. Venisius, notwithstanding the water which Christmas sprinkled over his face, fainted away. Glockus was fortunate as it saved him from feeling the setting of the bones and the tightening of the bandages around the two splints between which Glockus placed the arm so as to render it immovable. After the operation was over, Venisius revived. He woke to see Ligia. She was standing by his bed. In one hand she held a bronze pail wherein Glockus from time to time dipped his sponge, wetting the head of the patient. Venisius stared. He could not believe his eyes. Was this a gracious vision vouchsafed him by the fever? It was some time before he could whisper. Ligia! At the sound of his voice the pail trembled in her hand. She turned upon him eyes full of sorrow. Peace be with thee, she murmured faintly. She stood there without stretched hands, her face beaming with pity. He stared at her as though he wished to fasten her image upon his retina where it might remain after his eyelids were closed. He stared at her face, paler and thinner now than ever before, at the dark dresses of her hair, at her cheap working-girl's dress. He stared so fixedly that under the influence of his gaze her snowy forehead flushed a rosy red. His first thought was that he would love her always, his next that her pallor and her poverty were due to him, to him who had driven her from a home where she was surrounded by love and plenty, and forced her into the wretched hovel and clad her with this threadbare dress of dark wool. Willingly would he have arrayed her in the costliest gold brocade and adorned her with the most precious jewels in the world. Wonder and alarm and pity overcame him. If he could have stirred he would have thrown himself at her feet. Ligia! He said, thou didst not suffer me to be killed? In sweet low tones she replied, May God restore thee to health. To Vinicius, mindful of all the harm which he had brought down upon her in the remote and more recent past, these words were as balm. He forgot for a moment that her lips could utter Christian teachings. He felt only that the speaker was the woman he loved, and that her reply was fraught with a special tenderness, a superhuman goodness which stirred him to the depths of his being. Once more he grew weak. It was not pain now, but emotion that overcame him, a faintness, overwhelming but delicious seized him. It seemed to him as if he were falling into a deep abyss, yet the fall was a delight, and he was happy. At that moment he felt as though face to face with a divinity. Glacus had now finished laving the wound in his head, and had placed upon it a healing salve. Ursus took the basin from the hands of Ligia, who, lifting a cup of wine and water from the table, placed it to the lips of the sufferer. Ligia drank eagerly, and felt immediate relief. After the wounds and bruises had been dressed, the pain almost ceased. Perfect consciousness returned to him. Give me more drink, he said. Ligia retired with the empty cup to the next room. Crispus, after exchanging a few words with Glacus, approached the bed. Venisius, he said, God did not allow thee to accomplish a great wrong. He preserved thy life in order that thou shouldst repent. Thee in whose sight man is but dust gave thee unarmed into our hands, but Christ in whom we believe has commanded us to love even our enemies. We dressed thy wounds, and as Ligia has said, we will pray God to restore thy health, but we cannot care for thee any further. Peace be with thee, therefore, but consider whether it be right to continue thy persecutions of Ligia, whom thou hast deprived of home and guardians, and of us who have returned to thee good for evil. Is it your intention to leave me? asked Venisius. It is our intention to leave this building where the city prefect can reach us. Thy comrade has been killed. Thou who ought a man of influence among thine own people lie here wounded. It was no fault of ours, but we might be made to answer for it before the law. Fear not, said Venisius, I will protect you from prosecution. This did not explain that their fear was not solely on account of the prefect and the police, but of Venisius also, whom they could not trust, and from whose further pursuit they wished to protect Ligia. Master, thy right hand is well, he said. Here are stylus and tablets, right to thy servants that they come here with a litter and bear thee to thy home, where thou wilt have better accommodations than our poverty can afford. We are living here with a poor widow who will soon return with her son. The lad will carry thy letter, as to ourselves we will seek another hiding-place." Venisius paled. He saw that they wished to part him from Ligia. In losing her again he felt that he would lose her for life. He recognized that grave obstacles had intruded themselves between him and her, and that he must think up some scheme to gain possession of her. But for this he needed time. He perceived also that whatever he might tell these people, even if he swore that he would return Ligia to Pomponia Grisina, they would not believe him, and would be right in their unbelief. Long before, in lieu of harassing Ligia, he might have gone to Pomponia and sworn to renounce all further pursuit. Then Pomponia might have found the girl and taken her back. No, he felt that no promises of this kind could impose upon them, nor could his solemn oath be taken, since he was no Christian, and could only swear in the name of the immortal gods, in whom he himself had scant belief, and whom they looked upon as evil spirits. Fain would he have conciliated Ligia and her guardians in any possible way, but this required time. He felt the need of seeing her even for a few days. As a drowning man sees safety in every fragment of a plank or an oar, it seemed to him that during these few days he might say some words which would bring her closer to him, that he might resolve some scheme, or that some lucky accident might occur. Collecting his thoughts he said, Harken to me, O Christians, yesterday I was with ye in Ostronium. I listened to your teachings. Even if I had not heard them, your actions alone would have convinced me that ye are upright and inoffensive people. Bid the widow who dwells in this house to remain here. Do you also remain, and allow me to remain. Let this man, he turn his eyes on Glockus, who is a physician, for at least understands the dressing of wounds, judge whether it would be safe to transfer me elsewhere to-night. I am sick. I have a broken arm which must remain immovable for at least a few days. Therefore I say to you that I will not leave here, save ye, bear me away by force. And with that he stopped speaking, his bruised breast refusing him further utterance. No one, O master, will use force against thee. We alone will take ourselves from here to a place of safety. Only youth unused to opposition knit his brows. Let me take breath, he cried. In a moment he began to speak again. Nobody will ask after Croto whom Ursus strangled. He intended to go to-day to Benaventum, with her he was called by Vatinius. Everybody will think he is on his way. When we came with Croto to this house nobody saw us, save one man, a Greek, who was with us in Ostronium. I will tell you where he resides. Bring him here. I will order him to keep silence, for he is in my pay. I will write home that I have also gone to Benaventum. If the Greek has already informed the prefect I will say that it was I who killed Croto, for that he broke my arm. I swear by the ashes of my father and my mother that I will do this. Therefore ye may remain here without danger. Not a hair on any head will be injured. Bring the Greek to me at once. His name is Kylo Kylonides. In that case, said Crispus Glockus, will remain with thee, O master, and will aid the widow in caring for thee. Vinicius frowned more darkly. Hark an old man to what I say, he cried, I owe thee gratitude, thou seemest to be good and harmless, but thou dost not utter that which is in the bottom of thy heart, thou fearst lest I call my slaves and take Ligia, is it not so? It is so, replied Crispus gravely. Take heed, then. See that I speak with Kylo in your presence, and in your presence I will write home saying that I have gone. I will select no other messengers save you. Take heed thyself and do not further vex me." As he spoke, his face was distorted with anger. A little later he resumed violently, "'Tinky, I will deny that it is for her sake I wish to remain here. A fool could perceive this, even were I to deny it, but I will no longer attempt force where she is concerned. To thee I will say one thing more. If she will not remain here, with this well hand I will tear away the bandages from my arm. I will take neither food nor drink, and may my death rest upon the heads of thee and thy brothers. Why didst thou nurse me? Why didst thou not command my death?' He was now pale with anger and weakness. Ligia in the next room had overheard all. She was confident that Vinicius would keep his promises. His words alarmed her. Not for anything would she have wished his death. Wounded and unarmed, he had awakened her pity and not her fear. From the time of her escape she had lived among religious enthusiasts, whose only thoughts were of sacrifices, oblations, and unlimited alms-giving. To such a degree was she imbued with the spirit of her surroundings, that it took the place of her home, of her family, of her lost happiness, and transformed her into one of those Christian virgins whose influence was to change the erstwhile soul of the world. Vinicius was too important a factor in her life he had thrown himself too obtrusively in her way to make it possible for her to forget him. For whole days she had thought of him. Often she had prayed God to send an opportunity when, following the dictates of her faith, she might return him good for evil and charity for persecution, might humble his pride and win him to Christ. And now the opportunity had come. Her prayers had been answered. She approached Crispus, her face beaming as that of one inspired. When she spoke it was though some other voice were finding utterance through her lips. Crispus, she said, suffered him to remain with us, and we will remain with him until Christ has healed him. To the aged presbyter, accustomed to see in all things the finger of God, Ligia's exaltation took on the aspect of a direct message from on high. He bent his head, and with awe in his heart answered, Be it so. On Vinicius, who had never taken his eyes from the virgin's face, this immediate obedience of Crispus produced a strange and profound impression. It seemed to him that Ligia was a civil or priestess among these Christians who rendered her honor and obedience. Almost against his will he surrendered himself to that honor. To the love that he felt was now added a kind of awe before which love itself seemed impertinence. He did not know how to accustom himself to the thought that their relations were now changed, that now it was he that was at her mercy, not she at his. Lying here, sick and broken, he had ceased to be the aggressor and the conqueror, and was merely a helpless child under her guardianship. To his haughty and domineering nature such a relation with any other being would have been a humiliation. This time, however, not only did he not feel humiliated, but he was grateful to her as to a superior. These were new feelings which he could never before have dreamed of as a possibility, and which even then would have astonished him if he could have explained them to himself. But now he did not ask why this thing had happened. He accepted it as something absolutely natural. He simply felt happy at being allowed to remain where she was. He wished to thank her with gratitude and some other feeling, so little known to him that he could not name it, for it was humility. But the excitement he had gone through so exhausted him that he could not speak. He could only thank her with his eyes, wherein shown joy that he could remain with her, could look on her to-morrow and the next day may have for a long time. There was only one fear to spoil his joy, the fear of losing what he had gained. Though great was this fear that when Ligia once more approached him with a cup, he had to suppress a wild craving to grasp her hand. He dared not do it, yet he was the same Vinicius who at Nero's banquet had forcibly kissed her lips, and after her escape had sworn that he would drag her by the hair to his bed, or order her to be flogged. CHAPTER II. Nevertheless he now began to dread lest some exterior agency might ruin his joy, Kylo might readily communicate the news of his disappearance to the prefect or to his own freedmen. This would mean the coming of a watchman to the house in which he lay. For a moment it is true, the temptation came to him that he might give an order to seize Ligia and lock her up in his house, but the next instant he felt that he could not do it. Erogant self-willed and dissolute as he was, merciless enough when need be, he yet was no Tijalinas, no Nero. Every life had imbued him with some feeling of justice, of good faith, and of conscience, which made him recognize the dastardly nature of such a deed. In a moment of anger indeed, when in full possession of his strength he might have done this. But at this moment and under these circumstances his nerves were unstrung. He was sick at heart, he was moved with strange emotions. All that he cared for was that no one should stand between him and Ligia. First he perceived that from the moment that Ligia had pleaded for him, neither she herself, nor Crispus, had sought any assurance from him, seemingly confident that some supernatural force would defend them in case of need. Venisius, who, since he had heard the sermon of the Apostle at Ostronium, had felt the distinction between the possible and the impossible fading away, was inclined to believe that this might be so. But recovering his wanted mood, he called to mind what he had said about the Greek and again told them to bring Kylo before him. Crispus consented, it was decided to send Ursaus. Venisius, in the last days before his visit to Ostronium, had often sent his slaves to Kylo without finding him. He now explained to the Ligian exactly where Kylo resided. Then, writing a few words on the tablet, he addressed himself to Crispus. I give you this tablet, because this man is suspicious and treacherous. Often when I have summoned him he has sent word to my messenger that he was away. This he always did when he had no good news for me and was afraid of my anger. Let me find him, and I will bring him whether he be willing or not, replied Ursaus, taking his cloak he hurried out. It was no easy task to find anyone in Rome, even with the completest directions. Ursaus, however, was aided in such cases by the instincts of the semi-savage of the forests and his intimate acquaintance with the city. Hence he soon found himself in Kylo's dwelling. He failed to recognize him, only once before, and then at night had he seen him. Furthermore the towering and self-possessed old man who had ordered him to murder Glocus, so little resembled the Greek who now bent himself almost double before him in abject fear that no one could have imagined them the same person. Although perceiving that Ursaus took him for a stranger was relieved, the sight of Vinicius's writing on the tablet quieted him still more. It never occurred to him to think that Vinicius would entrap him into an ambuscade, nor did he imagine that the Christians could have killed Vinicius in as much as they would not dare to lift their hands against so imminent a person. Ah! so Vinicius will protect me in case of need, he thought. Surely then he does not summon me for the purpose of giving me up to death. Regaining courage he asked, Good friend, did not the noble Vinicius send a litter for me? My legs are swollen. It is impossible for me to walk so far. No, replied Ursaus, we will walk. Suppose I decline. Do not, thou must go. Be it so, but I go of my own free will. No one can compel me, for I am a freedman and a friend of the city prefect. As a philosopher I have means against the use of force. I know how to change men into trees and animals. But I will go, I will go. I will first don a warmer cloak and a hood, so that the slaves in this quarter may not recognize me. If they did, they would detain me at every step to kiss my hands. Speaking thus, he put on another mantle, as well as an ample gallic hood in order that Ursaus should not recognize him in a broader light. Wither willst thou lead me, he asked Ursaus on the way. To the trans-Tiber, I have not dwelt long in Rome, and I have never been in the trans-Tiber, but doubtless in that quarter also there dwell men who love virtue. Now the blunt and outspoken Ursaus had already heard Vinicius say that the Greek had been with him in the Ostronium cemetery. Later he had seen the pair at the portal of the house where the religious lived, so he halted for a moment and said, Tell no lie, old man, today thou wilt with Vinicius at the Ostronium and at our portal. Ha! said Kylo, is your house in the trans-Tiber? I have been but a short time in Rome, and I am not familiar with the names of the quarters. Thou sayest truth, my friend, I stood at thy portal today, and I strove to persuade Vinicius in the name of virtue not to enter. True also I was in Ostronium, and thus thou know why, because for some time past I have been endeavoring to save Vinicius. I would that he could hear the oldest of the apostles. May the light gain access to his soul and to thine. Certainly as a Christian thou must wish that truth should conquer falsehood. Yes, said Ursaus humbly. Kylo had now entirely regained his courage. Vinicius is a powerful lord and a friend of Caesar. He said he often listens to the suggestions of evil spirits, but if a hair of his head were injured Caesar would revenge himself on all Christians. Nay, we are protected by a still greater power. True, true, but what do you intend to do with Vinicius? asked Kylo with renewed fear. I know not Christ command's charity. Thou sayest well, remember this always, otherwise thou will be fried in hell like sausage in a frying pan. Ursaus uttered a sigh. Kylo said to himself that he could do anything he would with this man, terrible as he might be in a moment of passion. Anxious to know how things had gone since the carrying off of Ligia, he asked with an assumption of sternness, what has thou done with Croto? Speak and tell no lie. Once more Ursaus sighed. Vinicius will tell you, he said, which means that you stabbed him with a dagger or killed him with a club. I was unarmed, answered Ursaus. The Greek could not repress his wonder at the supernatural strength of the barbarian. May Pluto, I mean may Christ forgive you. For a while they continued their journey in silence, then Kylo said, I will not betray thee, but look out for the watchmen. I fear Christ not watchmen. That is right, there is no greater crime than murder. I will pray for thee, but I know not that my prayer will help thee unless thou wilt vow that thou wilt not raise a finger against anybody. But I did not kill with premeditation, replied Ursaus. Kylo, who was determined to ensure his own safety, continued to instill into the mind of Ursaus a horror of murder, and to persuade him to take the vow. He also questioned Ursaus about Vinicius, but the Lydian answered him unwillingly, again asserting that he would hear all that was necessary from the lips of Vinicius himself. Thus talking, they traversed the long distance from the dwelling of the Greek to the trans-Tiber, and reached the house. Kylo's heart throbbed uneasily. In his terror it appeared to him that Ursaus gazed upon him, with a look of longing for rossity. Small comfort it would be to me, he thought, if he should kill me without premeditation, would that paralysis might strike him as well as all his fellow Lydians. What is Ursaus, if thou canst? So thinking he drew his Gallic mantle more tightly around him, explaining that he was afraid of the cold, at length, after passing the portal and the first courtyard, they found themselves in a corridor leading to the garden. Kylo halted suddenly and said, Let me take breath, otherwise I could not speak with Vinicius to give him wholesome advice. He stopped short, though he repeated to himself that no danger menaced him, nevertheless the thought of facing those mysterious people whom he had seen in Ostronium made his legs tremble somewhat. From the inside hymns came floating to his ears. What is that? he queried. Thou claims to be a Christian, yet thou knowest not that we have accustomed after each meal of singing a hymn of praise to the Saviour. Miriam and her son must have returned by this time. May hap the apostle is with them, as he is a daily visitor to the widow and Crispus. Lead me to Vinicius. Vinicius is in the same room as the others, as it is the largest room. The rest are small dark chambers which we use only for sleeping. Come in and rest yourself. They went in. The room was somewhat dark. It was a cloudy winter evening. The light of a few lamps struggled dimly through the gloom. Vinicius felt rather than saw that the hooded man was Kylo, the latter, seeing Vinicius stretched on the bed, went straight to him without looking at the others, as if convinced that with him alone was safety. Master, why didst thou not take my advice? he exclaimed, clasping his hands together. Keep still, said Vinicius, and listen. He looked sharply into Kylo's eyes, speaking slowly but distinctly, as if he wished every word to be taken as an order to be forever engraved upon Kylo's memory. Kylo assaulted me with intent to rob and murder. Dost understand, so I had to slay him. These people dressed the wounds which I received in the fight. Kylo perceived at once that if Vinicius spoke in this way it was by some previous arrangement with the Christians, and that he wished to be believed. He perceived this in Vinicius's very face, so without expressing either doubt or wonder, he lifted up his eyes and exclaimed, D'was a thorough catechol, master. Remember I want thee not to put thy faith in him. All my precepts to him struck his head like peas against the wall. There is no torture enough in all Hades for him. If a man cannot be honest, it is because he is a rascal. To whom is it more difficult than to a rascal to become honest, but to assault his benefactor, and so generous a master ye gods? After he recalled that on the way he had represented himself to Ursus as a Christian and stopped short, Vinicius resumed speaking, had it not been for the dagger I had with me he would have killed me. Blessed be the moment when I advised you to take the dagger with you! Vinicius, turning on the Greek-ascrutinizing look, said, What did thou today? Master, have I not told thee that I was offering up vows for thy health? And nothing more. I was just making ready to call upon thee when that good man brought me thy summons. Here is a tablet. Go with it to my house. Find my freedman and give it to him at once. It is here written that I have gone to Beneventum. Thou wilt tell Dimas from thyself that I went this morning in answer to an urgent call from Petronius. He repeated emphatically, I have gone to Beneventum. Dost thou comprehend? You have gone, master! This morning I bade thee farewell at Porta Capena, and since thy departures that melancholy has overcome me, that if thy generosity do not temper it, I will weep myself to death even as the unhappy wife of Zethus mourning for Itulus. Vinicius, despite his sickness and his knowledge of the craftiness of the Greek, could not refrain from smiling, but it pleased him that Kylo understood him at once. I will add an order, said he, that thy tears be wiped away at once. Give me a lamp. Kylo had now recovered his equanimity. He rose, and stepping to the hearth took from the mantle one of the burning lamps. As he did this the hood slipped from his head. The light struck full in his face. Glockus jumped from his bench. A few quick steps brought him face to face with the Greek. Dost thou not recognize me, Cephas? he asked. There was something so terrible in his voice that a shiver ran through all present. Kylo lifted the lamp and immediately let it drop. Then he bent himself in terrified supplication. No, I am not he, I am not he, I have pity. Glockus glanced towards the people around the supper table and cried, Here is the man who betrayed and wrecked me and my family. The story of Glockus was known to all the Christians. Vinicius himself had heard it. But he had not guessed that Glockus and the stranger were one. Owing to his continuous fainting spells during the dressing of his wounds he had not heard the man's name. To ursist the words of Glockus came in that moment as lightning out of darkness. With one leap he was at his side. He seized him by the shoulders and shaking him exclaimed, This is the man who persuaded me to murder Glockus. Have mercy, shrieked Kylo. I will return thee everything, he moaned. O good master, he cried turning to Vinicius, Save me, O save me, I can fight it in thee. Be my protector, I will take thy letter, O master, master. Vinicius was least moved of all the spectators at this strange scene, first because he knew all the hidden doings of the Greek and second because his heart had small room for pity or compassion. Burry him in the garden, he said coldly. Some other messenger will take the letter. To Kylo these words seemed to be a final sentence. His bones were cracking in the terrible clutch of ursus, pain filled his eyes with tears. For the sake of your God do not kill me, peace be with you. I am a Christian. If you do not believe me, baptize me at once, twice more, ten times more. Glockus, this is a terrible mistake. Let me explain, make me a slave. Do not kill me, mercy, mercy. His voice, stifled with agony, died away in a whimper. From behind the table rose the apostle Peter. For a moment his white head trembled and drooped, his eyes closed. Then he opened them again, drew himself up, and amidst a hush of silence said, The Saviour hath commanded, If thy brother sin against thee, chastise him. But if he is repentant, forgive him. And if he has offended seven times in the day against thee, and has turned to thee seven times saying, Have mercy on me, forgive him. The silence grew deeper. Glockus stood for a long time with his face covered by his hands. At length he removed them. Seafus, he said, May God forgive thee, and thy trespasses against me, as I forgive them. Ursus freed the Greeks' arms and added, May the Saviour take mercy on me even as I take mercy upon thee. Kylo fell to the floor, upon his hands and knees. Shaking his head like a beast caught in a trap, he gazed around in immediate anticipation of death. Even yet he could not believe his eyes and ears. He did not dare to hope for mercy. Slowly he recovered himself, his blue lips still trembling from fright. The apostle said, Go in peace! Kylo rose. He could not speak. Automatically he sought the couch of Benicius as if looking to him for protection. But yet could he understand that the man who profited by his services and was in a measure his accomplice condemned him, while these very people whom he had injured forgave him. Recognition of this fact came later. At present he looked only astonishment and disbelief. He had heard the words of forgiveness, but his one aim was to rescue his head from these incomprehensible people whose kindness affrighted him more than cruelty. It seemed to him that if he remained here any longer, nothing unexpected would again occur. Therefore standing by Benicius he stammered out, Give me the letter! Taking the tablet which Benicius handed him, he bowed low to the Christians, and then to the patient, and crouching along the wall, hurried out into the darkness of the garden. Fright raised the hair on his head, for he felt sure that Ursus would follow and kill him. Fain would he have put forth his utmost speed, but his legs failed him. The next moment he had lost complete control of them as he caught sight of Ursus by his side. Kylo fell with his face to the ground and cried out in agony, Ursus, for Jesus' sake! But Ursus said, Be not afraid, the apostle bade me lead you beyond the portal, so that you be not lost in the darkness. If you lack strength I will lead you to your house. Kylo lifted his face. What sayest thou, he exclaimed, Thou wilt not slay me? Nay, I will not kill thee, and if I clutch thee too fiercely and injure the bone of thy body, forgive me. Help me up, said the Greek. What? You will not kill me. Lead me to the street, and I will make the rest of the journey alone. Ursus lifted him as he might have lifted a feather and stood him on his feet. Then he led him through the dark alley to the second courtyard. Here was the exit to the street. In the corridor Kylo repeated to himself, I am lost! Not until he had reached the street did he recover and say, I can now go alone. Then peace be with thee, and with thee, and with thee suffer me to take breath. After the departure of Ursus he drew a long breath. With his hands he felt all over his legs and hips, as though to convince himself that he was still alive and whole. Then he hurried forward. After a score of rapid steps he halted and said aloud, Why did they not kill me? Notwithstanding his long dispute with Euryceus about Christian teaching, notwithstanding his discussion with Ursus by the mill-pond, and notwithstanding all he had heard in Ostronium, he could imagine no answer to this question. CHAPTER III Vinicius also was at a loss for an explanation of what had happened. In the innermost depths of his soul he was as much astonished as Kylo, that these people should have treated him as they did, and in lieu of avenging his assault, should have carefully dressed his wounds, might have been ascribed partly to the doctrines they professed, more to Ligia, and not a little to his imminent position. But their behaviour to Kylo was beyond his conception of the human possibilities of forgiveness. Involuntarily the question forced itself upon him, Why did they not kill the Greek? They could have done this without fear of punishment. Ursus could have interred the body in the garden, or carried it at night to the Tiber, which in those times of nocturnal homicides, often dictated by Caesar himself, cast up human corpses so frequently in the daytime that few stopped to inquire whose they were or whence they came. Besides in the opinion of Vinicius the Christians not only could, but they ought to have killed Kylo. Yet compassion was not an entire stranger to the patrician world in which he belonged. The Athenians had raised an altar to compassion, and had long fought against the introduction of gladiatorial shows into Athens. In Rome the vanquished sometimes received mercy from the victor. Thus Caracticus, a king of the Britons, taken captive by Claudius and richly provided for by him, was even then living in the city in liberty. But revenge for personal injuries seemed to Vinicius as to all other Romans just and right. To renounce it was opposed to all his feelings. True he had heard in Ostronium that one ought to love one's enemies, but he held it to be a new theory without any application to real life. Even now the thought passed through his heart that possibly Kylo had not been killed because the day was a holiday or fell under some phase of the moon when Christians were not allowed to kill. He had heard that among foreign nations certain days and periods were tabooed even for warfare. But why then was not the Greek surrendered to the hands of justice? Why then had the Apostles said that if thy brother had sinned against thee seven times, seven times shouldst thou forgive him? Why had Glaucus said to Kylo, May God forgive thee as I forgive thee? Kylo had inflicted upon Glaucus the most terrible injury that man can wreak on man. At the very thought of what he would do to anyone who should kill Ligia the heart of Vinicius seathed like a boiling cauldron. No tortures would be too terrible for such a wrong, and that man had forgiven, and Ursus too had forgiven, he who might kill anyone he wished in Rome with entire impunity for he could escape by simply killing the king of the Nemorian Grove and taking his place. How could the Gladiator who held that dignity for the time being, a dignity only held by killing the former king, stand up against the man whom Croto could not stand against? There was only one answer to all these questions. This was that they did not kill only because of a charity so stupendous that nothing like it dwelt elsewhere in the world, and because of a love for humanity so boundless that the believer forgot himself, his own injuries, his own happiness and sorrows, and lived only for others. What reward these people expected Vinicius had heard in Ostronium, but it lay beyond his comprehension. Nevertheless he felt that a life lived in this world with complete renunciation of all wealth and comforts would be a wretched one. Therefore in thinking about the Christians, pity and a shade of scorn mingled with his astonishment. In his eyes they were like sheep which sooner or later must be devoured by the wolf. His Roman nature forbade him to respect those who laid themselves open to be devoured. One point, however, startled him. It was that after the departure of Kylo some great joy illuminated all faces. The apostle approached Glaucus, and placing his hand on his head said, Christ hath conquered in thee. Glaucus had lifted up a face as radiant as though overflowed by some great and unexpected happiness. Vinicius, who could only understand the joy of accomplished vengeance, stared at him with fever-brightened eyes as one who gazed upon a lunatic. With some inward disturbance he saw Ligia press her queenly lips to the hands of this man, who at first sight had the appearance of a slave. It seemed to him that the order of the world had been reversed. Then Ursus returned and related how he had led Kylo to the street, and craved his pardon for any injury he had inflicted upon his bones, whereupon the apostle blessed him also. Crispus declared that it was the day of a great victory. Upon hearing the word victory Vinicius was entirely at a loss. When Ligia once more brought him a refreshing draft he held her hand for a second and asked, And so thou forgivest me also? We are Christians, we are not allowed to nurse anger in our hearts. Ligia, he said then, Whoever thy God may be I will offer him a hecatome, only because he is thine. She replied, Thou wilt honor him in thy heart when thou lovest him, Only because he is thine, repeated Vinicius. But his voice had grown faint. He dropped his eyes. Weakness once more overcame him. Ligia left him, but shortly returned, and standing by his couch bent over to see if he were sleeping. Vinicius felt that she was close to him. He opened his eyes and smiled. She placed her hand softly over his lids as if to induce him to sleep. A great calm settled down upon him. But now his condition changed. He felt worse. In fact, he was worse. With the coming of the night had come a violent fever. He could not fall asleep. His eyes followed Ligia wherever she went. At times he fell into a half-dream wherein he saw and heard all that went on around him, but in which reality was strangely mingled with feverish visions. He thought that he saw Ligia a priestess in a tower-shaped temple in an ancient and lovely cemetery. Without removing his eyes from her she appeared suddenly to be standing on the summit of the tower, a liar in her hand, her entire form bathed in light. She resembled those priestesses who at night sang praise to the moon and whom he had often seen in the Orient. Then he dreamed that by a great effort he climbed the spiral staircase to carry her off. Behind him crawled Kylo, his teeth chattering together with fright, and crying, Master, do not do this! It is a priestess who will be avenged by God! The priestess did not know who this God was. Nevertheless he knew that he was about to commit a sacrilege and felt immeasurable terror. But when he reached the railing around the top of the tower, the apostle with the silvery beard appeared suddenly by the side of the maiden and said, Raise not thy hand against her, for she belongs to me. With these words the pair moved upwards as if ascending towards heaven on a pathway formed by the moon's beams. Then Vinicius, raising his hands, prayed them to take him with them. At this point he awoke. With regained consciousness he stared about him. The fire in the hearth had gone down, but still shed light enough for vision. The Christians all sat before the fire, warming themselves, for the night was wintry and the room was cold. Vinicius noted their fog-like breath. In the midst of the group was the apostle. Ligius sat at his knees on a low-foot stool, farther away sat Glaucus, Crispus, Miriam. On one side of the crescent so formed sat Ursus, on the other Nazarius, son of Miriam, a young lad with a beautiful face and long dark curls falling down his shoulders. Ligia, her eyes uplifted to the apostle, was listening intently. All eyes were turned to him. He was speaking in an undertone. Vinicius began to look upon him with a superstitious fear, hardly inferior to that which he had felt in his fevered vision. Was his dream at least half-true, and was this wanderer from distant shores really to carry off his Ligia and lead her away through unknown paths? He felt certain that he himself was the subject of the old man's talk. Possibly the latter was planning how to separate him from the girl. It seemed to him impossible that any other subject for conversation could come up. He bent all his energies to catch Peter's words. But he found himself entirely mistaken. The apostle was speaking once more of Christ. They live only in his name, Vinicius said to himself. The old man was telling of the capture of Christ. A detachment of soldiers and servants of the priest came to take him. When the Saviour asked whom they were seeking, they replied Jesus of Nazareth. But when Jesus said, I am he, they fell on the ground and did not dare to raise their hands against him. Not until after the second question did they attempt to capture. Here the apostle paused, and stretching out his hands to the fire continued. The night was as cold as this. But my blood boiled within me. I took my sword to defend him, and I cut off the ear of the servant of the high priest. I would have defended him with more than my life had he not said, Put up thy sword in the scabbard. Shall I not drink the cup which the father hath given me? So they took and bound him. Having spoken thus, Peter raised his hand to his forehead and stopped short, as though striving to banish some of the recollections that crowded upon him before proceeding further. Ursus, unable to bear any more, leaped up and stirred the fire with an iron, scattering a multitude of golden sparks around, until the flame shot up with new vigor, whereupon he sat down and exclaimed, Let what would have happened, I— He stopped short, for Ligia had placed her finger on her lips. He breathed loudly, however, and it was evident that his soul was in a turmoil. Although he was always ready to kiss the apostle's feet, he could not approve that one act on his part. Had anyone in his presence raised his hand against the Saviour, had he been with him that night, ah, how he would have laid about him among priests and servants and soldiers and officials. His eyes overflowed with tears at the very thought. He went through a frightful mental struggle, for on the one hand he thought how gladly not only would he have fought himself, but how he would have summoned to the aid of the Saviour his fellow Ligians, the very pick of them all. On the other hand he reflected that this would have been disobedience to the Saviour himself, a disobedience which would have hindered the redemption of the world, hence his tears. Peter, withdrawing his hand from his forehead, continued the narrative. But a feverish, semi-somnolent state had now overcome Vinicius. What he had overheard mingled itself with what he had previously learned in Ostronium, of that day when Christ manifested himself on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. He saw a vast surface of water whereupon was a fisherman's boat. In the boat were Peter and Ligia. He swam towards them with all his might, but the pain in his broken arm prevented his reaching them. A gale blew water into his eyes, he sank below the surface, and with a loud voice cried for help. Ligia knelt imploringly before the apostle, who turned the boat and reached out an oar to him. Vinicius seized it. By its aid he succeeded in clambering into the boat and fell prone at the bottom. After a while it seemed to him he raised himself to his feet, and gazing back he beheld a vast multitude swimming after the boat. The foaming waves broke over them. He could see the hands of some stretched out above the water. Peter saved one after the other of the drowning men by pulling them into the boat, which grew miraculously larger and larger. Soon great crowds filled it, as great as the crowds at Ostronium, and more and more were added to them. Vinicius wondered how they could find room and was affrighted lest the boat should be swamped, but Ligia comforted him by showing him a light on the far offshore towards which they were making. Even dreams were mixed with what he had heard at Ostronium, how Christ had manifested himself on the sea. In that far-off light he saw a form. Peter steered for the sight on which it stood. As they drew nearer, the storm went down, the waters grew calmer, the light burned with a stronger blaze. The crowds began to sing a sweet hymn, the air was pervaded with the odor of nard, the waters took on the hue of a rainbow as if lilies and roses were looking from the bottom of the sea. Finally the boat's prow struck softly on the sand. Then Ligia gave him her hand, and said, Come, I will lead thee, and she conducted him to the light. Once more Vinicius awoke. His dreams slowly scattered. He slowly regained the full consciousness of reality. For a time it had seemed to him that he was still on the sea surrounded by the multitude. Unwittingly he had looked around for Petronius and wondered why he was not there. The bright light of the fireplace, whence his former roommates had now withdrawn, fully awoke him. Branches of olive smoldered slowly on the rose-colored ashes, while splinters of vines evidently recently thrown upon the fire shot up bright flames. In this light Vinicius saw Ligia sitting beside his couch. The sight moved him to his soul's depths. He remembered that she had spent the previous night in Ostronium, yet during the whole of the present day she had occupied herself in nursing him. Now that all had retired, she alone remained by his bedside. It was evident that she was tired. She sat motionless, her eyes were closed. Vinicius knew not whether she slept or was buried in thought. He gazed at her profile, at her drooping eyelashes, at her hands dropped listlessly on her knees. In his pagan brain the thought began to resolve that besides the beauty of nudity, confident of itself and proud of its Greek and Roman perfection, there existed in the world another order of beauty, pure and undefiled, in which a soul had taken up its abode. He could not bring himself to call this strange new thing Christianity, yet looking at Ligia he could not separate her from the creed which she professed. He now understood that if all the others had gone to sleep and she alone, whom he had wronged, had remained awake to keep watch over him, it was undoubtedly because that creed so commanded. Though this thought filled him with wonder, he felt it unbearable. He would have preferred that Ligia had done this thing from love for him, for his face, his eyes, for his statuesque form, in a word for all those reasons which had often wound around his neck the snowy arms of Grecian and Roman beauties. And then he realized that were she like these other women, something would be wanting in her. He wondered at himself what was happening to him. He recognized that strange new feelings and tendencies were arising within himself. She opened her eyes. Catching Vinicius's look, she approached. I am with thee, she said. He replied, I have seen thy soul in a dream. CHAPTER IV On the morrow he awoke weak but with a cool brow. The fever had left him. It seemed to him that a whispered conversation had aroused him. When he opened his eyes, however, Ligia was not beside him. Ursus, bending over the fireplace, was raking the gray ashes away from the live coals beneath them. These he blew upon, not merely with his lips, but as if his lungs were a pair of bellows. Vinicius, remembering how yesterday this man had crushed Croto, gazed with the critical interest of a gladiatorial connoisseur at his cyclopean back and his column-like thighs. Mercurybeath thanked that he did not break my neck, reflected Vinicius. By Pollux, if all other Ligians are like him, there is a hard task before the legions of the Danube. He called aloud, what hoe there, slave! Ursus withdrew his head from the fireplace. With a friendly smile, he said, God give thee a good day, master, a happy day and good health, but I am a free man, not a slave. Vinicius, anxious to question Ursus concerning Ligia's native place, was pleased by these words, for conversation with a free man, however simple, brought less humiliation to his Roman and patrician dignity than with a slave in whom neither law nor custom recognized a human being. Dost thou not belong to Aulus? he asked. No, master, I serve Calina as I served her mother, but by my own free will. Once more he hid his head in the fireplace to blow out the coal on which he placed a bundle of wood. He withdrew it for a moment to say, Among us there are no slaves. Where is Ligia? asked Vinicius. She has just gone out, and I have to cook thy breakfast, master. She kept awake all night to watch thee. Why didst thou not take her place? Because she willed it so, and my duty is to obey. Here his brow darkened. Next moment he added, Had I not obeyed her, thou hadst not now been alive, master. Ought thou sorry that thou didst not kill me? Nay, master, Christ did not command us to kill. And at Asenus and Croto, I could not restrain myself, murmured Ursus. He gazed regretfully at his hands, which had evidently remained pagan, though the soul had been baptized. He put a pot on the fireplace. Crouching down beside the fire he fixed a thoughtful regard on the flame. Tis thy fault, master, he said at length, Why didst thou raise thy hand against her, the daughter of a king? And pride was the first emotion aroused in Venetius, that a common man and a barbarian dared not merely to address him so familiarly, but even to reprove him. To the strange and uncommon circumstances which had environed him since last night a new one had been added. But weak as he was and without his slaves around him, he restrained himself, the more that he wished to obtain further particulars of the past life of Ligia. Seeing himself, he inquired about the war of the Ligians against Vanius and the Suaves. Ursus was more than willing to talk, but he could add little new to what Venetius had already heard from Aulus Plautius. Ursus had not taken part in the battle, for he had conducted the hostages to the camp of Atelius Hister. He only knew that the Ligians had vanquished the Suave and the Yazeghis, but that their leader and king had fallen beneath the shafts of the Yazeghis. Hostages had quickly followed that the Seminines had set fire to the forests on their frontiers. They returned at once to avenge the injury. The hostages had been left with Atelius, who at first ordered that they should be treated with royal honour. Soon after Ligia's mother had died. The Roman leader did not know what to do with the child. Ursus wished to return with it to the fatherland, but the road was infested with wild beasts and savage tribes. So when the news came that a Ligian embassy had waited on Pomponius to propose that they should become allies with him against the Marcomani, Hister sent them to Pomponius. From him, however, they learned that no embassy had arrived there, and thus they remained in the camp. Thither Pomponius took them to Rome, and after his triumph handed Ligia over to Pomponius Grisina. Venetius, though few of these details were unknown to him, wasn't with pleasure, because his overweening Patrician pride was elated that an eyewitness existed to the royal lineage of Ligia. As a king's daughter she could take a place in Caesar's court equal to that of the daughters of the first families, the more so that the people over whom her father ruled had never hitherto warred against Rome. It was barbarian indeed, but it was formidable, for, according to the testimony of Atelius Hister himself, it possessed innumerable warriors. When questioned by Venetius about the Ligians, he replied, We are denizens of the forest, but we possess so much land that no one knows its confines, and we are large in numbers. There are towns in the forest built of wood. Here are many rare treasures. For what the Semlunis, the Marcomani, the Vandals, and the Quaddis despoil from the world, we in our turn plunder from them. They dare not invade us. Even the wind blows from their quarter, they burn our forests. We are afraid neither of them nor of the Roman emperor. The gods gave to the Romans the sovereignty over the world, said Venetius, with dignity. The gods are evil spirits, said Ursus, simply, where there are no Romans there is no sovereignty. He stirred the fire and continued as if to himself. When Caesar took Kalina to his court, and I thought evil might befall her, I wished to go far away into the forests and bring with me a regiment of Ligians to help the king's daughter. Gladly would they have gone to the Danube, for they are good and brave, though Pagans, and I should have brought them good news. Even as it is, should Kalina ever return to Pomponia Grisina, I will crave permission to go to them, for Christ was born in a far-off place, and they have never heard of him. He knew better than I where it was right that he should be born. But if he had come into the world in our forests, we would not have tortured and crucified him. We would have brought up the child and cared for it, so that it would never have wanted for game, nor mushrooms, nor skins of beaver, nor amber. Whatever we could have plundered from the Suavis or Marcomani, we should have given to him so that it could have plenty of comfort. He placed on the fire the vessel containing broth for Venetius. He paused in the flow of his talk. Evidently his mind was wandering to the Ligian forests. When the liquid began to simmer, he poured it into a shallow plate. Cooling it, he continued, Claucas advises the master that thou movest thy sound arm as little as possible, therefore Kalina has asked me to wait on thee. Ligia commanded this, then no denial was possible, no thought of opposition to her will crossed Venetius's brain. He obeyed as implicitly as if she had been the daughter of a Caesar, or a Divinity. Ursus, seating himself by his couch, dished up the broth in a small cup which he presented to the patient's lips. He did this so carefully, with so kindly a smile in his blue eyes, that Venetius could hardly accept the testimony of his own senses that this was the same Titan who last night after crushing Croto fell upon him like a tempest that would have torn him limb from limb but for Ligia's intercession. For the first time in his life the young patrician began to ponder over the question as to what strange emotions and thoughts might be at work in the breast of a ruffian, a servant, and a barbarian. Ursus, as a nurse, was as awkward as he was willing. The cup lost itself so completely among his herculean fingers that no place remained for the lips of Venetius. After several vain efforts the giant lost heart. It would be easier to lead a bison from out a tangled wilderness. Ursus was amused by the crestfallen look of the Ligian. He was no less interested in his conversation. In the circuses he had seen the terrible wild bull from the northern fastnesses whom the bravest hunters pursued with fear and whom only the elephant exceeded in strength and bulk. As thou ever tried to take such beasts by the horn, he asked in amazement. Until twenty winters had passed over me I was afraid, but I then mustered up sufficient courage for the task. Then he strove to feed Venetius more awkwardly than ever. I must seek the help of Miriam or Nazarius, he said. Just then the pale face of Ligia was thrust out from behind the curtain. I will help you presently, she said. Next moment she had come out from the bedroom where evidently she had been preparing for sleep as she was clad only in a tight fitting tunic called by the ancients a capitium. Her hair was unbound. Venetius, whose heart throbbed more quickly at sight of her, remonstrated with her for not having yet sought her couch, but she replied gaily, I was just making ready for it, but first I will take the place of Ursus. Taking the cup from Ursus she seated herself at the edge of the couch and began to feed Venetius. He experienced a mixture of humiliation and joy. When she bent towards him he felt the warmth of her body, and her long tresses rested on his breast. He paled with emotion. In the torment and turmoil of passion he felt that there was a head, deer and venerated beyond everything, in comparison with which the whole world was as nothing. Once it had been mere passion which she had excited, now he felt that he loved her with all his heart. Once like all people of his time he was a blind and utter egotist both in life and in feeling, who cared only for himself, now he cared only for her. Then he declined any more food, though he found boundless delight in her presence and in gazing at her he said, Enough! Go to rest! O thou my divinity! Do not call me that, I ought not to listen, said Ligia. Nevertheless she smiled. She insisted that she had lost all desire for sleep, that she felt no fatigue, and that she would not retire to rest before the coming of Glockus. Her words were music in his ears, his heart overflowed with still greater emotion, still greater ecstasy, still greater thankfulness, and he disparate of manifesting that thankfulness. Ligia! He said after a short pause, hitherto I have known thee not, but now I know that I would have gained thee by wrong means. So now I tell thee, go back to Pomponia Grisina, and be assured that henceforth no one will raise a hand against thee. Her face fell. It would give me great happiness if I could so much as catch a glimpse of her from afar, but I cannot go back to her. Why, Marvel Venetius? We Christians know, through Actia, what is happening on the Palatine. Has thou not heard that Caesar, soon after my escape, and before his departure to Naples, summoned Aulus and Pomponia, and suspecting that they had assisted me, menaced them with his wrath? Happily Aulus was able to reply, Thou knowest, Lord, that a lie has never passed my lips. And now I swear to thee that we did not assist her to escape, and that we know no more than thou what has become of her. Caesar believed, and soon forgot. But by the advice of the elders I have never communicated with my mother, nor told her where I was, so that she always could boldly swear complete ignorance of my whereabouts. Thou mayest not understand, Venetius, that we are not allowed to lie, even were our life at stake, such is the teaching to which we conform our hearts. Though I have not seen Pomponia since I left her abode, from time to time far off rumors reached her ears assuring her that I was safe. Here a great longing overcame her, her eyes filled with tears. She soon recovered herself and said, I know that Pomponia is longing for me, but we have consolations unknown to others. Yes, answered Venetius, your consolation is Christ, but that is something I cannot understand. Look on us! We have no partings, no sorrows, no sufferings, or if they do come they are changed into joys. Death itself, which for you is the end of life, for us is only its commencement, a change from a state of minor to greater happiness, of minor calm to a higher, which shall endure for eternity. Think of a faith which commands us to love even our enemies, forbids lies, clenches our souls from evil, and promises illimitable happiness after death. I heard all this in Ostronium, I have seen how you behaved towards me and Kylo, and when I think of all this it seems a dream. I would feign disbelieve my ears and my eyes, but now answer another question, ought thou happy? Yes, replied Ligia, confessing Christ I cannot be unhappy. Venetius gazed at her as if that which she spoke were all together beyond human understanding, and would still not go back to Pomponia. I would, with all my heart, I shall do so if such be the will of God. Then I say to thee go back, in the name of my lorries I swear that I will never raise my hand against thee. Ligia pondered for a moment, and then replied, No, I cannot expose my dear ones to peril. Caesar does not love the family of Plotius. If I go back, you know the slaves scatter news throughout Rome. The fact would soon be rumoured within the city. Nero undoubtedly would learn it from his slaves. He would punish Aulus and Pomponia. He would tear me away from them once more. Yay! said Venetius, knitting his brows, that is possible. He would do this if only to show that his will must be fulfilled. True, he only forgot thee, and he would only remember thee. For that it was I, not he, that was offended. But perchance if he took thee away from Aulus he would bestow thee on me. Then I would return thee to Pomponia. Soroughly, she asked, Venetius, would you see me again on the Palatine? He ground his teeth together and replied, No, thou art right, I spoke as a fool, no! It seemed to him that a bottomless of this opened out before him. He was a patrician, a military tribune, a mighty man, but above all the power and the authority of the world to which he belonged stood a madman whose evil passions and evil will were beyond human kin. Not to take him into account, not to dread him, was possible only to people like the Christians for whom this world with its separations, sufferings, and death itself were as nothing. All others must tremble before him. The terrors of the times in which they were living presented themselves to Venetius in all their monstrosity. Before he could not return Ligia to the Owly, fearful that the monster would remember her and pour his wrath upon her. For the same reason, should he wed her, he would imperil her, himself, and the Owly. A moment of irritation would suffice to destroy all. For the first time in his life Venetius felt that the whole world needed a change, a regeneration, or life itself would become impossible. But further he felt this, which a moment before had been dark to him, that in such times the Christian Owly could be happy. But above all remorse fell upon him as he recognized that it was he himself who had so tangled up his own life and Ligias that no disentanglement seemed possible. Under the influence of this remorse he began to speak. Knowest thou that thou art happier than I? In poverty, in this one room, in the midst of base-born people, thou hast thy creed and thy Christ. I have only thee, and when I lost thee, I was like an outcast who has no roof above him nor bread to eat. Thou art for me dearer than all the world. I sought thee, for that I could not live without thee. I cared neither for banquets nor for sleep, save for the hope of finding thee I should have thrown myself on my sword. But I am afraid of death, for dead I could not see thee. I say but the frankest truth when I say that I cannot live without thee. Hitherto I have lived only in the hope of finding and seeing thee. Rememberest thou our discourses at the Owly? Once thou didst draw upon the sand a fish. I knew not what it meant. Rememberest thou how we played ball? Even then I loved thee more than life. Even then thou hadst begun to perceive that I loved thee. But our list came scaring us with talk of the Libertina and broke up our discourse. When we took leave, Pomponia told Petronius that God is one, almighty and all merciful, but it did not come into our minds to conceive that your God is Christ. Let him return thee to me and I will love him, although he seems to be a God of slaves, aliens and outcasts. Thou sittest by me and thinkest only of him. Think also of me, or I shall hate him. To me thou alone art a divinity. Blessed be thy father and thy mother. Blessed be the land which brought thee forth. Would that I could cast my arms around thy feet and pray to thee, shower honors upon thee, cover thee with offerings, humble myself before thee, O thou thrice divine, thou knowest not nor canst thou know how much I love thee. He passed his hand over his pale forehead, and half closed his eyes. His nature knew neither let nor hindrance in anger or in love. He spoke with wild passion, as a man who, losing self-mastery, places no check to his words or his emotions. He spoke from the deeps of his soul, frankly and openly, from his heart. It was evident that the pain, ecstasy, passion and adoration gathered in his breast were now let loose in an irresistible torrent of words. To Ligia these words seemed sacrilegious. Nevertheless her heart throbbed as though it would rend the tunic that invested her bosom. She could not help feeling pity for him and for his sufferings. She was moved by the adoration which he poured out before her. She felt that she was loved and deified beyond measure, felt that this imperious and terrible man now belonged to her soul and body like a slave. This recognition of his submission and her own power filled her with happiness. Her memories revived in all their original force. Again he was the same Venetius, splendid and beautiful as a pagan god, who in the house of the Owly had spoken to her of love, and awakened her yet childish heart as from a dream, the same whose kisses she still felt on her lips, the same from whom Ursus had torn her away on the Palatine, as though he were tearing her away from the flames. But now, with mingled pain and ecstasy on his eagle face, with pale forehead and imploring eyes, wounded and crushed by love, full of adoration and of humility, he came closer to that ideal which she would have him realize, that ideal which she could love with her whole heart, and therefore he was now dearer to her than ever. Then she realized that an hour might come when her love for him might carry her off her feet like a whirlwind, and she too felt, as Venetius had just felt, that she stood on the edge of a precipice. Was it for this that she had left the Owly, for this that she had saved herself by flight, for this that she had so long lain hidden in the poorer quarters of the city? Who was this Venetius, an Augustali, a soldier, one of Nero's courtiers? He has taken part in Caesar's mad debauches, as was proved by that banquet which Ligia could never forget. He had gone to the temples with the others, and made offerings to depraved gods, in whom may have he had little faith, though he gave them official honors. He had pursued her in order to make her his slave and his mistress. He had cast her into the midst of that terrible world of luxury, debauchery and depravity, that called aloud for the wrath and vengeance of God. True he seemed changed yet, but a moment ago he had told her that if she thought more of Christ than of him, he would hate Christ. To Ligia it seemed that the mere thought of any other love than the love of Christ was in itself a sin against him, and against his teachings. When therefore she saw that at the bottom of her soul other feelings and desires could be awakened, fear seized her as to her own future and her own heart. At this moment of mental disturbance Glockus entered. He had come to dress the wounds of the patient and to see how he was progressing. For a moment anger and impatience flashed in the eye of Vinicius. The interruption made him wroth. When Glockus questioned him he answered almost scornfully. He calmed himself almost instantly. But if Ligia had preserved any faint illusion that what he had heard in Ostronium would soften his unbending nature, that illusion must at once have been dispelled. There was a change only towards her. Behind that single feeling his heart retained all the old fierceness and egoism, Roman and wolfish, incapable not only of realizing the sweetness of Christianity, but even of common gratitude. She left the room full of inner sorrow and inquietude. Hitherto in her prayers she had offered to Christ a calm heart, a heart as truly pure as a tear. Now the calm was disturbed. In the petals of the flower a poisonous worm had intruded itself and commenced its ravages. Sleep itself, notwithstanding two wakeful nights, brought her no peace of mind. She dreamed that at Ostronium, Nero, leading a troupe of Augustalis, Bacantis, Corribantes, and Gladiators, was crushing throngs of Christians under the wheels of his rose-covered chariot, and that Vinicius, grasping her in his arms, pulled her into the chariot, and tightening his embrace about her whispered, come with us. From that moment Ligia appeared more rarely in the common room, and still more rarely approached the couch of Vinicius. But calm did not return to her. She saw the patient's imploring eyes following her every movement, knew that he accepted every word of hers as a favour, felt that he dared not complain through fear that she would shun him, and that she alone was joy and health to him. Her heart would overflow with compassion, but she saw that the more she turned away from him, the more she pitied him, and the tenderer were her feelings towards him. Peace forsook her. At times she strove to persuade herself that, in very truth, it was her duty to be with him constantly, first because God taught that good should be returned for evil, and second because by her conversation she could draw him towards the true religion. But conscience stepped in to accuse her of faltering with herself, of being influenced only by his charm and by her love for him. Thus she lived in a constant turmoil, which intensified day by day. At times it seemed to her as though she were caught in the meshes of a net, and that every effort she made to escape only entangled her the more. She fain had to confess to herself that every day his face grew more necessary to her, his voice dearer, and that she needed all her strength to battle with the growing desire to sit by his couch. When she approached him and his eyes brightened, joy danced in her heart. One day she observed traces of tears on his lashes. For the first time in her life there came a wild desire to wipe them away with kisses. Frightened at the very thought, full of contempt with herself, she wept all through that night. For himself he was as patient as though he had sworn himself to patience. Then at times his eyes flashed with impatience, self-will and anger. He repressed those feelings at once, and looked anxiously at her as if craving her pardon. This disarmed her the more, never before had she had the feeling of being so much beloved. At thought of it she felt at once guilty and happy. Vinicius also was immensely changed. He showed less pride in his discussions with Glockus. Then the thought came to him that this poor slave physician and the old barbarian Miriam, who surrounded him with care, and Crispus, whom he saw constantly immersed in prayer, were human beings. These thoughts amazed him, nevertheless they visited him. In time he came to love Ursus, and conversed with him all day long because it gave him an opportunity to talk about Ligia. The giant for his part was inexhaustible in tales. While rendering the meanest services to him he began now to show him a sort of attachment. Though Ligia seemed to Vinicius of being belonging to another species, higher a hundred folds than those who surrounded her, nonetheless he began to have a fellow feeling with poor and simple folk, something he had never experienced before in his life. He even discovered in them traits of character which he had never noticed before. Nazarius was the only one he could not endure. He felt that the youth dared to love Ligia. For a time he restrained his feelings, but once when Nazarius brought the maiden a pair of quails purchased in the market with his own earnings, then the descendant of the Choirites asserted himself in Vinicius, the Choirites in whose sight the alien wanderer from strange shores was lower than the meanest vermin. Hearing Ligius' thanks he turned frightfully pale, and when Nazarius went out to get water for the quails he cried, "'Ligia, canst thou bear that he should give you presents? Dost thou not know that his people are called by the Greeks Jewish dogs?' "'I know not how they are called by the Greeks,' replied she, but I know that Nazarius is a Christian and a brother. But and regret were in her eyes as she spoke. She had grown unused to such outbursts. He set his teeth to keep himself from telling her that he would feign order such a brother to be flogged to death, or would send him to labor with chained feet in his Sicilian vineyards. But he restrained himself, beat back his wrath, and finally said, "'Ligia, forgive me, for me thou art the daughter of kings, the adopted child of Plotius.' He had so fully conquered himself when Nazarius reappeared in the room that he promised him when he returned to his villa he would present him with a pair of peacocks, or of flamingos, of which his gardens were full. Ligia knew how dearly such self-conquest was purchased. But the more often he achieved it the more her heart yearned towards him. His merit, in the case of Nazarius, was, however, smaller than she supposed. This might be momentarily angry with him, but not permanently jealous. The son of Miriam, in his eyes, was a mere dog. Further, he was still a mere child, who, if he loved Ligia, loved her without knowing what love meant. Harder battles must the young tribune fight with himself to submit even in silence to the honour with which these people surrounded the name of Christ and his creed. Towards that creed he had taken up a strong attitude. As the creed in which Ligia believed, he was ready to recognize it. The nearer he approached to convalescence, the more acutely he recalled the series of events which had flowed from that night at Ostronium, and the whole train of ideas which had since followed one another in his brain, the more he marveled at the superhuman power of this religion which regenerated the soul of man from its foundations. He perceived that there was something extraordinary in it, something here to fore unknown on earth, and he felt that if it could conquer the world and engraft into it its own love and charity, an epoch would arise resembling that in which not Jupiter but Saturn had reigned. He dared not doubt the supernatural parentage of Christ, his resurrection nor the other miracles. The eyewitnesses who related them were too trustworthy, and had too firm an aversion for lies, to make it possible for him to believe that these things had never happened. Roman skepticism which rejected the gods accepted miracles. Venisius therefore found himself in the presence of a strange and insoluble problem. This religion seemed to him opposed to all existing order, utterly impracticable, and mad beyond any madness he had ever heard of. In his opinion, man in Rome and all over the world might be bad, but the extant order was good. If the Caesar of the day were honest, if the Senate of the day were composed not of depraved debauchés but of men like Thasca, what more could be desired? Nay, Roman peace and the Roman rule were good, social inequality was right and just. To Venisius's mind this new creed must prove subversive of all order and all rule must abolish all inequality. What would then befall the supremacy of Rome? Could Romans cease to govern? Could they recognize a herd of conquered nations as their equals? This was beyond the reasoning powers of a born patrician. Furthermore, this religion was personally repugnant to all his convictions, his customs, his character, and his ideas of life. He could not imagine himself existing if he accepted it. He feared and admired it, but acceptance was abhorrent to his nature. At the end of all the ends he understood that this was the one thing which divided him from Ligia. When he thought of this he hated Christianity with all the energies of his being. Nonetheless, he could not fail to perceive that it had clothed Ligia with that exceptional inexplicable beauty which had nurtured in his heart not only love but homage, not only desire but adoration, and had made Ligia herself dearer to him than any other being in the world. Then the desire to love Christ arose afresh. He saw clearly that he must either love or hate, no middle ground was possible. Two currents drove him from opposite sides. He wavered in his thoughts and feelings. He knew not what to choose. He bowed his head and paid silent homage to that unknown God who was Ligia's God. Ligia perceived what was going on within him, how he strove to humble himself, yet how his whole nature rejected the creed of Christ. On the one hand she was mortally grieved, on the other this unacknowledged respect which he felt for Christ inclined her heart to him with irresistible force. She recalled Pomponia Grisina and Aulus. For Pomponia it was a source of constant sorrow and never-drying tears that beyond the grave she would not find Aulus. Ligia now grew into a completeer understanding of this bitterness, this pain. She too had found a being who was dear to her, and eternal separation menaced them both. It is true that at times she deceived herself into the belief that he might accept the teachings of Christ, but this illusion could not last. Too well did she know and understand him, Vinicius a Christian, even in her inexperienced head the two conceptions could not blend. If the thoughtful, solid Aulus had not become a Christian under the influence of the wise and perfect Pomponia, how could Vinicius become one? There was no answer to this, save one, that for him there was no hope and no salvation. She drew back with terror at the perception that the sentence of destruction which hung over him, in lieu of alienating him from her, rendered him, through very compassion, the dearer. At times she longed to speak to him frankly of his dark future, and once, as she sat beside him, she dared to tell him that there was no life outside of Christianity. He had now grown stronger, he lifted himself up with his sound arm, and suddenly laid his head in her lap saying, Thou art life! Breath failed her at that moment, consciousness left her, a shiver of delight ran through her from head to foot, taking his forehead between her hands. She strove to lift him, but meanwhile bent so that her lips touched his hair. For a moment they weltered in the intoxication of the moment, then awoke to struggle against themselves and against love which urged them together. Ligia rose at last, and ran away. There was fire in her veins, and a giddiness in her head, but this was only the one drop that overflowed the cup filled already to the brim. Venisius did not divine the price which he would have to pay for this moment of happiness, but Ligia saw that she needed saving from herself. She spent a sleepless night in tears and prayers, feeling that she had no right to pray and that she would not be heard. Next morning she rose early, and summoning Christmas to the vine-covered arbor, there opened out her heart to him, praying him to let her leave Miriam's house, since she had lost confidence in herself, and found it impossible to conquer her love for Venisius. Christmas, aged, severe, ever immersed in religious ecstasy, assented to her desire for flight, but could find no words of forgiveness for a love which seemed sinful in his eyes. His heart filled with wrath and horror at the very thought that Ligia, whom he had watched over since the moment of her escape, whom he had loved, whom he had confirmed in the faith, and on whom he looked as a white lily growing in the soil of the Christian Creed, undefiled by any earthly breath, could have found a place in her heart for any but a heavenly love. He had thought that in the whole world there did not exist a heart more purely and sincerely devoted to the glory of Christ. It was his desire to offer her to the Redeemer as a pearl, a jewel, rounded and perfected by his own hands. Hence this disappointment filled him with amazement and bitterness. Go, and implore God to pardon thy guilt, he said gloomily, flee ere yet the evil spirit who hath tempted thee bring thee down to utter ruin ere yet thou renounced the Saviour. God died on the cross for thee with his own blood to redeem thy soul, but thou hast elected to love him who plotted to make thee his concubine. God miraculously saved you from his hands, and now thou openness thy heart to impure desire, and beginnest to love the Son of Darkness. Who is he, a friend and servant of Antichrist, a participant in his debauchery and crimes? Where will he lead thee, save to the abyss, to that Sodom in which he himself abides, but which God himself will annihilate with the flames of his wrath? I say to thee it were better that thou hadst died, that the walls of this dwelling had fallen upon thy head, before this man crept into thy heart, and contaminated it with the poison of his depravity. He grew more and more excited, for Lydia's love filled him not only with wrath, but with contempt and loathing for human nature in general and for female nature in particular. Even Christian teaching could not save women from Eve's weakness. It meant nothing to him that the maiden was still pure, that she wished to flee from temptation, that she confessed her love with remorse and shame. Christmas had wished to make an angel love her, to lift her to heights where no love existed save that of Christ, and lo! She had fallen in love with an Augustali. The very thought filled his heart with horror, intensified by disappointment and disillusion. No she was beyond pardon. Words of contumely burned his lips like live coals. He sought to stifle them, but he shook his withered hands over the affrighted maiden. Lydia acknowledged her guilt, but not to that degree. She had imagined that her flight from Miriam's dwelling was a victory over temptation and a minimizing of her guilt. Christmas ground her into the dust, showed her a baseness in her soul which she had not hitherto suspected. She had even hoped that the old presbyter, who from the time of her escape from the Palatine had taken the place of a father to her, might show her some compassion, console her, encourage her, and strengthen her. I would fain offer up to God my disappointment and my pain, thou hast cheated the Saviour himself, for thou hast descended into a slough whose exhalations have poisoned thy soul. Thou mightest have offered it up to Christ as a precious vessel, saying, Fill it, O Lord, with grace, but thou hast preferred to offer it to the servant of the fiend. May God forgive thee and show thee mercy, as to me until thou cast out the serpent, I who deemed thee a chosen. He stopped short, realizing that they were not alone. Through the withered vines and the evergreen ivy he saw two men. One was the Apostle Peter. The other he failed to recognize, for a mantle of course-woven stuff known as Solicium hid a portion of his face. For a moment Christmas thought this was Kylo. At the sound of Christmas's voice they approached the summer house, and entering sat upon the stone bench. Then Peter's companion uncovered his then face. The sides of his head were covered with curly hair, which grew thinner at the top. His eyelids were red, his nose crooked. In his homely yet inspired countenance, Christmas recognized the features of Paul of Tarsus. Ligia, throwing herself on her knees, despairingly embraced the feet of Peter, and hiding her weary little head in the folds of his cloak, remained there in silence. Peter said, Peace be with your souls! And seeing the child at his feet he inquired what had happened. Then Christmas told of Ligia's confession of her sinful love, of her intended flight from Miriam's abode, and his sorrow that the soul which he had wished to offer to Christ as pure as a tear had been contaminated by earthly feelings for a participant in all those crimes in which the heathen world was sunk and which called for the avenging wrath of God. While he spoke, Ligia clung the more closely to the apostle's feet, as if seeking a refuge there, and to supplicate for mercy. The apostle listened till the end. Then bending down and placing his emaciated hands on her head, he turned his eyes upon the aged presbyter, and said, Christmas, hast thou not heard that our beloved master was present at the wedding in Cana, where he blessed the love between woman and man? Christmas's hands fell. He stared with amazement at the speaker powerless to utter a word. After a moment of silence Peter continued, Christmas, thinkest thou that Christ who suffered Mary Magdalene to lie at his feet and forgave the adulterous, would turn from this child who is as pure as a lily of the field? Ligia, sobbing, nestled closer to Peter's feet, understanding that she had not sought a refuge in vain. The apostle, lifting up her tear-stained face, said, Until the eyes of him thou lovest are opened to the truth, shun him lest he induce thee to sin, but pray for him, and know that there is no guilt in thy love. Nay, since thou wishes to flee temptation, this will be accounted a merit to thee. Grieve not, weep not. I say to thee that the grace of the Saviour hath not left thee, and that thy prayers will be heard, and that after sorrow will come days of joy. With these words he laid his hands on her head, lifting up his eyes he blessed her, from his face shown a supernatural charity. Christmas, repentant, now sought humbly to justify himself. I have sinned against charity, he said, but I thought that the admission of an earthly love in her heart was a denial of Christ. Thrice, I denied him, interrupted Peter, yet he forgave me and commanded me to feed his sheep. And because Vinicius is an Augustali, continued Christmas, Christ hath softened stonier hearts than his, urged Peter. Then Paul of Tarsus, who had hitherto kept silent, put his finger to his breast as pointing to himself, and said, I am he that persecuted and harried to death the servants of Christ. I am he who at the stoning of Stephen kept guard over the garments of the stoners. I am he who would have rooted out the truth in all parts of the inhabited earth, yet none the less the Lord foreordained me to preach it all over the earth. I have preached it in Judea, in Greece, on the islands, and in this godless metropolis, whereon my first visit I was cast into prison, and now when Peter, my superior, hath summoned me, I will enter this dwelling to bow this proud head before the feet of Christ, and sow the seed within that stony soil which the Lord will fertilize so that it may yield an abundant harvest. He raised himself to his full height. To Christmas this little hunchback seemed at that moment what he was in reality, a giant who was to shake the world to its center and win over the nations and the countries. End of Part 2, Chapter 5 Part 2, Chapter 6 of Quo Vadis, a tale of the time of Nero. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis by Henrik Sinkhevich, translated by Benion and Malewski. Part 2, Chapter 6 Petronius Tuvanisius, have mercy, o best beloved! Do not in thy letters pattern after the Lacedemonians or Julius Caesar! Of course couldst thou like him write, I came, I saw, I conquered, I might understand a Laconism of this sort. But thy letter means only this, I came, I saw, I fled. But such an outcome to any affair of thine would not consort with thy nature. Therefore as thou art wounded, and as strange things have happened to thee, I seek a fuller explanation. Perhaps could I believe my eyes when I read that the Lydian had strangled Croto as easily as a scotch dog would kill a wolf in the ravines of Ireland. That man is worth his weight in gold. If he wills, he may easily become a favorite with Caesar. When I return to the city I shall seek a closer acquaintance with him, and shall order him to be cast in bronze. Bronzebeard will burst with curiosity when I tell him the figure has been cast from nature. Really athletic bodies are becoming rare in Italy and Greece to say nothing of the Orient. The Germans, though of large stature, have muscles covered with fat and are big rather than strong. Ask the Lydian if he be an exception, or if there are other men like him in his own country. If thou or I were ever officially entrusted with the organization of the public games, it would be a good thing to know where to seek for the best bodies. But praise be to the gods both of the east and of the west, that thou hast escaped alive from such hands. Of course thou didst escape, because thou art a patrician and a man of consular dignity, nevertheless all that has happened fills me with the greatest surprise. That cemetery where thou foundest thyself among the Christians, they themselves their behavior toward thee, and later the escape of Lydia, finally that peculiar melancholy and unrest which pervaded thy short letter. Explain thyself fully, for there are many things which I cannot understand. Thou wishest the candid truth, I will add therefore that I can understand neither the Christians, nor thyself, nor Lydia. Marvel not that I, who find interest in few things on earth save myself, question thee so eagerly. I am the cause of all that has happened, so it is in some sort my affair. Right at once, for I know not with certainty when we shall meet again. Bronzebeard's plans are as uncertain as autumn breezes. He is now in Benevent. He announces that he will go to Greece and not to Rome. Tijellinus, however, advises him to return for a brief period, as the people yearning for his presence, read for games and bread, may happily find relief in rebellion. So I know not what may happen. Should we decide on Akia, we may then want to see Egypt. I should urge thee as strongly as possible to come here, for I see that in thy present mood the journey hither and our recreations would benefit thee. But thou runst the risk of not finding us. Consider therefore whether it would not be better for thee to seek rest on thy Sicilian estates than to remain in Rome. I send no wishes save for thy health, because by Pollux I know not what to wish thee. On receipt of this letter, Vinicius felt at first no desire to answer it. An answer seemed useless. It would benefit no one. It would explain nothing. Discouragement and a sense of the utter futility of human life weighed him down. In any case, Petronius would be utterly incapable of understanding him. A great gulf seemed to have opened between them. He could not adjust his own mind to his present mood. After his return from the trans-Tiber to his beautiful island in Carinas, he was still weak and exhausted. For the first few days he found some enjoyment in mere rest amid the comfort and plenty that surrounded him. But this enjoyment was short-lived. Again he felt the emptiness of his life. All which had formerly interested him had either ceased to exist for him, or had shrunk to infinitesimal proportions. He felt that all the soul ties which had bound him to life had been cut, and that no new ones were possible. At the thought of going to Beneventum and then to Achaea, to immerse himself in that life of luxury and mad excess, a sense of emptiness overcame him. Wherefore should I do this? What shall I gain? These were the questions that suggested themselves. And for the first time in his life the thought of the conversation of Petronius, his very wit, his brilliancy, his exquisite precision of thought and phrase, wearied him. But solitude also wearied him. All his friends were with Nero in Beneventum. He was condemned to loneliness at home with a head full of thoughts and his heart full of emotions which he could neither analyze nor explain. There were times when he longed for someone to whom he might pour out all these thoughts and sensations, in the hope that he might be able to grasp them, to coordinate them, and to make them yield up their meaning. Under this hope, after some days of hesitation, he decided to answer Petronius, and though uncertain whether another letter would come in return, he put his into the following words. It is thy wish that I should answer thee more fully, so be it. But as to whether I can do this clearly I know not, for there are many snarls which I find it impossible to disentangle. I have told thee of my stay among the Christians, of their treatment at their enemies, among whom myself and Kylo might be rightly reckoned, finally of the kindness with which they nursed me and of the disappearance of Ligia. No, dear friend, I was spared, not because I am a man of consular dignity. Such considerations have no weight with them. They forgave even Kylo whom I had counseled them to bury in the garden. These are people whose like the world has never seen, their creed is one whose like the world has never heard. I can say nothing more, but he who measures them with our measures will fall into error. Why I tell thee that had I been lying with a broken arm in my own home, nursed by my own people, or even by my own family, I might certainly have enjoyed greater comfort, but not half the care which I received from them. Know this also that Ligia is such as they. Were she my sister or my wife, she could not have nursed me with greater tenderness. More than once Joy filled my heart, for I thought love and love alone could inspire such tenderness. More than once I have read it in her face, and then will thou believe me, among these plain people, in that poverty-stricken chamber, kitchen at once and dining-room, I felt more happiness than I had ever known. No, her feeling toward me is not of indifference. To this day I cannot think it, and yet that same Ligia escaped secretly from Miriam's house on my account. I sit all day with my head buried in my hands, pondering why she did this. Have I told you that I myself offered to return her to the Auli? She answered that this was now impossible, as the Auli had gone to Sicily, and as the news of her return carried from house to house by the slaves would finally reach the Palatine so that Caesar might demand her again from the Auli. But she knew well that I would make no further attempts on her, that I had abandoned all thought of force, that, unable to cease from loving her, unable also to live without her, I would willingly lead her to my house through a garlanded door, and seat her on a sacred skin at my hearth. And still she disappeared. Wherefore, no further danger menaced her. If she loved me not, she could reject me. Only the previous day I had met an extraordinary man, one Paul of Tarsus, who spoke to me of Christ and his creed, and spake with such forcefulness that it seemed to me that every word would unwittingly reduce to ashes the very bases of our world. The same man visited me after her flight, and said to me, When God opens thine eyes to the light and removes the scales from them as he removed them from mine, then thou wilt see that what she did was right, and then, perchance, thou wilt find her again. And I am puzzling over those words as though I had heard them from the lips of the Pythons at Delphi. Sometimes a faint comprehension visits me. These people, though loving humanity, hate our life, our gods, and our crimes. So she fled from me as a man belonging to this world, and one with whom she could at best but share a life that was criminal in the eyes of Christians. Thou wilt say that as she might reject me she had no need for flight, but suppose she loves me. In that case she sought to flee from love. At the very thought of this the wish fills me to send my slaves into every alley in Rome, crying in every house, Ligia come back. But again I fail to understand why she did this. I would not have forbidden her to worship Christ. Nay, I myself would have created an altar to him in the Great Hall. One more God, what harm could he do me? Why might I not believe in him, I who have scant faith in the old gods? I am certain that the Christians never lie, and they say that he rose from the dead. No man could do this. Paul of Tarsus, who is a Roman citizen, but who as a Jew is conversant with the ancient Hebrew scriptures, has declared to me that the advent of Christ was foretold for thousands of years by the prophets. All these are uncommon things, but does not the uncommon environs us on all sides? The fame of Apollonius of Tyanna is not yet dead. What Paul affirms that there is but one God, and not a crowd of them, seems rational to me. Micah probably holds the same opinion. Many others held it before him. Christ was, he allowed himself to be crucified for the redemption of the world. He rose again from the dead. All this is certain. I see no reason therefore why I should stubbornly insist on a contrary opinion, why I should not erect an altar to him, when I am quite ready to erect one, for example, to Serapis. Nor would it be difficult for me to renounce all the other gods, for no rational intellect now accepts them. But all this it seems does not suffice the Christians. It is not enough to render homage to Christ. One must live in accordance with his teachings, and so one stands as on the shore of a sea which one is ordered to walk on a foot. Should I promise to do so, they themselves would feel the promise to be a mere empty sound upon my lips. Paul openly acknowledged this. Thou knowest I love Ligia, that there is not I would deny her. But even at her bidding I could not lift Soracti or Vesuvius upon my shoulders, nor hold Lake Thrasinami in my palm, nor change my eyes from black to blue like those of the Ligians. At her behest I might be willing, but these things are beyond my powers. I am no philosopher, and I am no fool, either, though I may appear so to thee. But I know this, that where Christian teaching begins, Rome's dominion ends, Rome ends, the old life ends, the distinction between vanquished and victor, between the mighty and the poor, between master and slave ends, government ends, Caesar, law and the order of the world end. And in lieu of all this comes Christ, with a charity never before extant, and a kindliness opposed to all human and all Roman instincts. True, I care more for Ligia than for all Rome and all its dominions. Let the whole world fall so long as I possess her in my own home. But that is another matter. For the Christians a mere verbal consent will not suffice. One must feel that their creed is right. One must banish all things else from one's soul. And the gods be my witnesses. This to me is impossible. Thus thou comprehend what I mean. There is something in my nature which revolts from this creed. Though my lips praised it, though I conformed my life to its precepts, my reason and my soul would tell me that I did so for love's sake, for Ligia's sake, and were it not for her, nothing in the world would be more abhorrent to me. Strange to say Paul of Tarsus understands this, and Peter understands this. Peter, who despite his simplicity and his lowly origin, is the greatest among them. Peter, who was the disciple of Christ, notice now what they are doing. Lo! They are praying for me. They are imploring for me the gift of something they call grace. Yet nothing came from it at all so far as I am concerned. Save a strange unrest and a wilder longing for Ligia. I told thee she fled secretly, but she left behind her a cross which she had made for me out of two bits of boxwood. On awakening I found it by my bed. I now keep it in my sanctuary, and I cannot tell what strange feelings of awe and reverence come over me when I approach it. I love it because her hands bound it. I hate it because it divides us. At times it seems to me as if there were some sorcery at the bottom of this whole affair, and that this Peter, though he styles himself a simple fisherman, is mightier than Apollonius, and than all of his predecessors, and that it was he who cast a spell upon all of us, upon Ligia, Pomponia, and myself. Thou hast noticed in my previous letters signs of disquietude and melancholy. Melancholy there must be because I have lost her again, and disquietude because a great change has come over me. I tell thee frankly that nothing can be more repugnant to my nature than this creed, yet from the time that I first encountered it I have failed to recognize my old self. Is this sorcery or is it love? Cersei transformed human bodies by a touch. By a touch my soul has been transformed. Only Ligia could do this, or rather Ligia, acting through the strange creed that she professes. When I returned home from the Christians no one expected me. It was thought that I was in Beneventum, and would be away for a while. Disorder reigned. I found the slaves drunk at a banquet which they had spread in my dining-room. Death was sooner expected than I, and would have affrighted them less. Thou knowest with how strong a hand I rule my house. All threw themselves on their knees. Some fainted from fright. Can't thou guess what I did? My first thought was to call for rods and hot irons. Immediately shame seized me. Can't thou believe it? I absolutely felt pity for those wretches. Among them are old slaves, whom my grandfather, Marcus Venisius, brought from the banks of the Rhine in the days of Augustus. I locked myself up alone in the library, and still stranger thoughts visited me, namely that after all I had heard and seen among the Christians it was not meet for me to act as formerly I had acted toward my slaves, that slaves also are human beings. For several days they moved around in mortal fear, believing that I had suspended punishment only in order to devise some still more ingeniously cruel one, but I did not punish them. I did not, because I could not. On the third day I summoned them to my presence. I forgive you, I said, strive ye now with loyal service to make amends for your offence. With streaming eyes they fell upon their knees, moaning they stretched out their hands, they called me master and father, and I, I say this with shame, I was equally moved. At that moment it seemed as if I saw the sweet face of Ligia. Her eyes were moist with tears, thanking me for that deed, and betrue me if I did not feel my eyes moistened in turn. Canst thou guess what I am about to confess to thee, that I am lost without her, that all is ill with me, that I am in simple fact unhappy, and that my sorrow is greater than thou canst conceive? As to my slaves one thing struck me. The forgiveness they had received did not make them insolent, nor weakened discipline among them. On the contrary fear has never aroused them to such willing service as gratitude. They do not merely serve now, they seem to vie with one another in the effort to divine my very wishes. I mention this for the reason that on the day previous to my departure from the Christians I had said to Paul that society would fall apart as a result of his teachings, like a cask without hoops. Paul returned, love is a stronger hoop than fear. And now I see that in some cases he may be right. I have verified it in the case of certain clients who flocked to greet me on my return. You know I have never been niggeredly with my clients, but my father on principle acted arrogantly toward them and taught me the same behavior. But now, taking note of their threadbare cloaks and hungry faces, I had a feeling for them akin to pity. I ordered food to be brought them. I conversed familiarly with them. I asked them after their wives and children. I saw tears spring to their eyes. And again I felt that Lydia saw all this, that it gave her pleasure, that she praised it. Am I losing my mind? Or is love bewildering me? I know not. I only know that I have a constant feeling that she is gazing on me from afar, and I am afraid to do anything that might pain or offend her. Yes, kaius, my soul is changed. Sometimes I am glad of it. Sometimes I torment myself with the fear that I am losing my old-time manliness, my old-time energy, and that perchance I am already unfit, not only for counsel, for the judgment seat, not for the banqueting hall, but even for the battlefield. Doubtless here is some strange sorcery. So greatly am I changed that I even own to thee what passed through my mind as I lay sick, that if Lydia were like to Nidgidia, Papia, Crispinilla, or to others of our divorced women, were she similarly vile, merciless, and light-minded? I could not love her as I do. But as I love her for the sake of that which divides us, now wilt divine what chaos has arisen in my soul, what darkness environs me, how hidden is the path before me, how uncertain my future. If my life be compared to a spring, unrest instead of water flows in that spring. I live only in the hope of seeing her. Sometimes I think this sight must be vouchsafed me. But what will happen during the next year or two I know not, nor can I guess. I will not leave Rome. I could not abide the society of the Augustalis. Besides the only comfort in my melancholy and my unrest is the thought that I am near Lydia, and that through Glocus, who promised to visit me, or through Paul of Tarsus, I may occasionally gain some news of her. Nay, I would not leave Rome even were ye to offer me the governorship of Egypt. Know also that I ordered a sculptor to carve a stone monument for Gullo, whom I slew in my wrath. Too late came the thought that he had borne me in his arms, and had been the first to teach me how to put the arrow to the bow. I know not why the memory of him arose in me, a memory resembling reproach and remorse. If thou marvelest at what I write, I reply to thee that I marvel no less, but I write the candid truth. Farewell. Notice of Part 2, Chapter 6.