Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz [fox in socks read aloud .txt] 📗

Vinicius was, indeed, too much of a soldier to lose time in useless queries. He listened with frowning brows, and a face intent and terrible, but fearless. Evidently the first feeling of his nature in presence of peril was a wish to defend and give battle.

“I go,” said he.

“One word more. Take a purse of gold, take weapons, and a handful of thy Christians. In case of need, rescue her!”

Vinicius was in the door of the atrium already.

“Send me news by a slave!” cried Petronius.

When left alone, he began to walk by the columns which adorned the atrium, thinking of what had happened. He knew that Lygia and Linus had returned after the fire to the former house, which, like the greater part of the Trans-Tiber, had been saved; and that was an unfavorable circumstance, for otherwise it would have been difficult to find them among throngs of people. Petronius hoped, however, that as things were, no one in the Palatine knew where they lived, and therefore in every case Vinicius would anticipate the pretorians. It occurred to him also that Tigellinus, wishing to seize at one attempt as many Christians as possible, would extend his net over all Rome. “If they send no more than ten people after her,” thought he, “that giant Lygian will break their bones and what will it be if Vinicius comes with assistance?” Thinking of this he was consoled. True, armed resistance to the pretorians was almost the same as war with Caesar. Petronius knew also that if Vinicius hid from the vengeance of Nero, that vengeance might fall on himself; but he cared little. On the contrary, he rejoiced at the thought of crossing Nero’s plans and those of Tigellinus, and determined to spare in the matter neither men nor money. Since in Antium Paul of Tarsus had converted most of his slaves, he, while defending Christians, might count on their zeal and devotion.

The entrance of Eunice interrupted his thoughts. At sight of her all his cares and troubles vanished without a trace. He forgot Caesar, the disfavor into which he had fallen, the degraded Augustians, the persecution threatening the Christians, Vinicius, Lygia, and looked only at her with the eyes of an aesthetic man enamored of marvelous forms, and of a lover for whom love breathes from those forms. She, in a transparent violet robe called Coa vestis, through which her maiden-like form appeared, was really as beautiful as a goddess. Feeling herself admired meanwhile, and loving him with all her soul, ever eager for his fondling, she blushed with delight as if she had been an innocent maiden.

“What wilt thou say to me, Charis?” asked Petronius, stretching his hands to her.

She, inclining her golden head to him, answered⁠—“Anthemius has come with his choristers, and asks if ’tis thy wish to hear him.”

“Let him stay; he will sing to us during dinner the hymn to Apollo. By the groves of Paphos! when I see thee in that Coan gauze, I think that Aphrodite has veiled herself with a piece of the sky, and is standing before me.”

“O lord!”

“Come hither, Eunice, embrace me with thy arms, and give thy lips to me. Dost thou love me?”

“I should not have loved Zeus more.”

Then she pressed her lips to his, while quivering in his arms from happiness. After a while Petronius asked⁠—

“But if we should have to separate?”

Eunice looked at him with fear in her eyes.

“How is that, lord?”

“Fear not; I ask, for who knows but I may have to set out on a long journey?”

“Take me with thee⁠—”

Petronius changed the conversation quickly, and said⁠—

“Tell me, are there asphodels on the grass plot in the garden?”

“The cypresses and the grass plots are yellow from the fire, the leaves have fallen from the myrtles, and the whole garden seems dead.”

“All Rome seems dead, and soon it will be a real graveyard. Dost thou know that an edict against the Christians is to be issued, and a persecution will begin during which thousands will perish?”

“Why punish the Christians, lord? They are good and peaceful.”

“For that very reason.”

“Let us go to the sea. Thy beautiful eyes do not like to see blood.”

“Well, but meanwhile I must bathe. Come to the elaeothesium to anoint my arms. By the girdle of Cypris! never hast thou seemed to me so beautiful. I will give command to make a bath for thee in the form of a shell; thou wilt be like a costly pearl in it. Come, Golden-haired!”

He went out, and an hour later both, in garlands of roses and with misty eyes, were resting before a table covered with a service of gold. They were served by boys dressed as Cupids, they drank wine from ivy-wreathed goblets, and heard the hymn to Apollo sung to the sound of harps, under direction of Anthemius. What cared they if around the villa chimneys pointed up from the ruins of houses, and gusts of wind swept the ashes of burnt Rome in every direction? They were happy thinking only of love, which had made their lives like a divine dream. But before the hymn was finished a slave, the chief of the atrium, entered the hall.

“Lord,” said he, in a voice quivering with alarm, “a centurion with a detachment of pretorians is standing before the gate, and, at command of Caesar, wishes to see thee.”

The song and the sound of lutes ceased. Alarm was roused in all present; for Caesar, in communications with friends, did not employ pretorians usually, and their arrival at such times foreboded no good. Petronius alone showed not the slightest emotion, but said, like a man annoyed by continual visits⁠—

“They might let me dine in peace.” Then turning to the chief of the atrium, he said, “Let him enter.”

The slave disappeared behind the curtain; a moment later heavy steps were heard, and an acquaintance of Petronius appeared, the centurion Aper, armed, and with an iron helmet on his head.

“Noble lord,” said he,