Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz [e book reader android .TXT] 📗

galleries from which there were entrances to

lodgings. There were lodgings on the ground, also; some provided with

wooden doors, others separated from the yard by woollen screens only.

These, for the greater part, were worn, rent, or patched.

 

The hour was early, and there was not a living soul in the yard. It was

evident that all were asleep in the house except those who had returned

from Ostrianum.

 

“What shall we do, lord?” asked Croton, halting.

 

“Let us wait here; some one may appear,” replied Vinicius. “We should

not be seen in the yard.”

 

At this moment, he thought Chilo’s counsel practical. If there were

some tens of slaves present, it would be easy to occupy the gate, which

seemed the only exit, search all the lodgings simultaneously, and thus

come to Lygia’s; otherwise Christians, who surely were not lacking in

that house, might give notice that people were seeking her. In view of

this, there was risk in inquiring of strangers. Vinicius stopped to

think whether it would not be better to go for his slaves. Just then,

from behind a screen hiding a remoter lodging, came a man with a sieve

in his hand, and approached the fountain.

 

At the first glance the young tribune recognized Ursus.

 

“That is the Lygian!” whispered Vinicius.

 

“Am I to break his bones now?”

 

“Wait awhile!”

 

Ursus did not notice the two men, as they were in the shadow of the

entrance, and he began quietly to sink in water vegetables which filled

the sieve. It was evident that, after a whole night spent in the

cemetery, he intended to prepare a meal. After a while the washing was

finished; he took the wet sieve and disappeared behind the screen.

Croton and Vinicius followed him, thinking that they would come directly

to Lygia’s lodgings. Their astonishment was great when they saw that

the screen divided from the court, not lodgings, but another dark

corridor, at the end of which was a little garden containing a few

cypresses, some myrtle bushes, and a small house fixed to the windowless

stone wall of another stone building.

 

Both understood at once that this was for them a favoring circumstance.

In the courtyard all the tenants might assemble; the seclusion of the

little house facilitated the enterprise. They would set aside

defenders, or rather Ursus, quickly, and would reach the street just as

quickly with the captured Lygia; and there they would help themselves.

It was likely that no one would attack them; if attacked, they would say

that a hostage was fleeing from Cæsar. Vinicius would declare himself

then to the guards, and summon their assistance.

 

Ursus was almost entering the little house, when the sound of steps

attracted his attention; he halted, and, seeing two persons, put his

sieve on the balustrade and turned to them.

 

“What do ye want here?” asked he.

 

“Thee!” said Vinicius.

 

Then, turning to Croton, he said in a low, hurried voice:

 

“Kill!”

 

Croton rushed at him like a tiger, and in one moment, before the Lygian

was able to think or to recognize his enemies, Croton had caught him in

his arms of steel.

 

Vinicius was too confident in the man’s preternatural strength to wait

for the end of the struggle. He passed the two, sprang to the door of

the little house, pushed it open and found himself in a room a trifle

dark, lighted, however, by a fire burning in the chimney. A gleam of

this fire fell on Lygia’s face directly. A second person, sitting at

the fire, was that old man who had accompanied the young girl and Ursus

on the road from Ostrianum.

 

Vinicius rushed in so suddenly that before Lygia could recognize him he

had seized her by the waist, and, raising her, rushed toward the door

again. The old man barred the way, it is true; but pressing the girl

with one arm to his breast, Vinicius pushed him aside with the other,

which was free. The hood fell from his head, and at sight of that face,

which was known to her and which at that moment was terrible, the blood

grew cold in Lygia from fright, and the voice died in her throat. She

wished to summon aid, but had not the power. Equally vain was her wish

to grasp the door, to resist. Her fingers slipped along the stone, and

she would have fainted but for the terrible picture which struck her

eyes when Vinicius rushed into the garden.

 

Ursus was holding in his arms some man doubled back completely, with

hanging head and mouth filled with blood. When he saw them, he struck

the head once more with his fist, and in the twinkle of an eye sprang

toward Vinicius like a raging wild beast.

 

“Death!” thought the young patrician.

 

Then he heard, as through a dream, the scream of Lygia, “Kill not!” He

felt that something, as it were a thunderbolt, opened the arms with

which he held Lygia; then the earth turned round with him, and the light

of day died in his eyes.

 

Chilo, hidden behind the angle of the corner house, was waiting for what

would happen, since curiosity was struggling with fear in him. He

thought that if they succeeded in carrying off Lygia, he would fare well

near Vinicius. He feared Urban no longer, for he also felt certain that

Croton would kill him. And he calculated that in case a gathering

should begin on the streets, which so far were empty,—if Christians, or

people of any kind, should offer resistance,—he, Chilo, would speak to

them as one representing authority, as an executor of Cæsar’s will, and

if need came, call the guards to aid the young patrician against the

street rabble—thus winning to himself fresh favor. In his soul he

judged yet that the young tribune’s method was unwise; considering,

however, Croton’s terrible strength, he admitted that it might succeed,

and thought, “If it go hard with him, Vinicius can carry the girl, and

Croton clear the way.” Delay grew wearisome, however; the silence of

the entrance which he watched alarmed him.

 

“If they do not hit upon her hiding-place, and make an uproar, they will

frighten her.”

 

But this thought was not disagreeable; for Chilo understood that in that

event he would be necessary again to Vinicius, and could squeeze afresh

a goodly number of sestertia from the tribune.

 

“Whatever they do,” said he to himself, “they will work for me, though

no one divines that. O gods! O gods! only permit me-”

 

And he stopped suddenly, for it seemed to him that some one was bending

forward through the entrance; then, squeezing up to the wall, he began

to look, holding the breath in his breast.

 

And he had not deceived himself, for a head thrust itself half out of

the entrance and looked around. After a while, however, it vanished.

 

“That is Vinicius, or Croton,” thought Chilo; “but if they have taken

the girl, why does she not scream, and why are they looking out to the

street? They must meet people anyhow, for before they reach the Carinæ

there will be movement in the city—What is that? By the immortal

gods!”

 

And suddenly the remnant of his hair stood on end.

 

In the door appeared Ursus, with the body of Croton hanging on his arm,

and looking around once more, he began to run, bearing it along the

empty street toward the river.

 

Chilo made himself as flat against the wall as a bit of mud.

 

“I am lost if he sees me!” thought he.

 

But Ursus ran past the corner quickly, and disappeared beyond the

neighboring house. Chilo, without further waiting, his teeth chattering

from terror, ran along the cross street with a speed which even in a

young man might have roused admiration.

 

“If he sees me from a distance when he is returning, he will catch and

kill me,” said he to himself. “Save me, Zeus; save me, Apollo; save me,

Hermes; save me, O God of the Christians! I will leave Rome, I will

return to Mesembria, but save me from the hands of that demon!”

 

And that Lygian who had killed Croton seemed to him at that moment some

superhuman being. While running, he thought that he might be some god

who had taken the form of a barbarian. At that moment he believed in

all the gods of the world, and in all myths, at which he jeered usually.

It flew through his head, too, that it might be the God of the

Christians who had killed Croton; and his hair stood on end again at the

thought that he was in conflict with such a power.

 

Only when he had run through a number of alleys, and saw some workmen

coming toward him from a distance, was he calmed somewhat. Breath

failed in his breast; so he sat on the threshold of a house and began to

wipe, with a corner of his mantle, his sweat-covered forehead.

 

“I am old, and need calm,” said he.

 

The people coming toward him turned into some little side street, and

again the place round about was empty. The city was sleeping yet. In

the morning movement began earlier in the wealthier parts of the city,

where the slaves of rich houses were forced to rise before daylight; in

portions inhabited by a free population, supported at the cost of the

State, hence unoccupied, they woke rather late, especially in winter.

Chilo, after he had sat some time on the threshold, felt a piercing

cold; so he rose, and, convincing himself that he had not lost the purse

received from Vinicius, turned toward the river with a step now much

slower.

 

“I may see Croton’s body somewhere,” said he to himself. “O gods! that

Lygian, if he is a man, might make millions of sestertia in the course

of one year; for if he choked Croton, like a whelp, who can resist him?

They would give for his every appearance in the arena as much gold as he

himself weighs. He guards that maiden better than Cerberus does Hades.

But may Hades swallow him, for all that! I will have nothing to do with

him. He is too bony. But where shall I begin in this case? A dreadful

thing has happened. If he has broken the bones of such a man as Croton,

beyond a doubt the soul of Vinicius is puling above that cursed house

now, awaiting his burial. By Castor! but he is a patrician, a friend of

Cæsar, a relative of Petronius, a man known in all Rome, a military

tribune. His death cannot pass without punishment. Suppose I were to go

to the pretorian camp, or the guards of the city, for instance?”

 

Here he stopped and began to think, but said after a while,—“Woe is me!

Who took him to that house if not I? His freedmen and his slaves know

that I came to his house, and some of them know with what object. What

will happen if they suspect me of having pointed out to him purposely

the house in which his death met him? Though it appear afterward, in

the court, that I did not wish his death, they will say that I was the

cause of it. Besides, he is a patrician; hence in no event can I avoid

punishment. But if I leave Rome in silence, and go far away somewhere,

I shall place myself under still greater suspicion.”

 

It was bad in every case. The only question was to choose the less

evil. Rome was immense; still Chilo felt that it might become too small

for him. Any