Suddenly an idea struck him. There was a certain grotesqueness about it which made him laugh in spite of the gravity of the situation. A little consideration showed him that this very grotesqueness was no small recommendation. His foster-mother was the wife of a temple servant who had the charge of a temple dedicated to one of the minor deities with which the Roman Pantheon was crowded. The temple itself, which had stood near the Circus, had [156] perished in the fire, but the residence, which was at a considerable distance, had escaped, and as it did not come within the area of the projected improvements of the city, was not likely to be disturbed. It was here, then, that Pudens fancied he could find a fairly safe hiding-place for the two ladies. In his foster-mother’s fidelity and devotion to him he could implicitly trust. Childless herself,�for she had lost all her offspring in their infancy,�she lavished all her mother’s love upon her foster-child. Nothing that he could do was wrong in her eyes. She would give, he was sure, an asylum to the worst of criminals, if only he came with a recommendation from him. Her husband was an easy, good-natured man, accustomed to follow without a question the guidance of his wife, and not more zealous for the honour of the deity whom he served, than those who were behind the scenes of any temple commonly were.
Pudens’ idea was to tell the wife the truth about her inmates, and to leave it to her to decide how much she would communicate to her husband. There was no time to be lost. He had one day before him, but no more. The Christian assembly had been held as usual in the very early morning, and it still wanted several hours to noon. All arrangements would have to be made before sunset; as soon as it was dark the ladies must leave their present abode, and they would have to be in their new asylum before the next morning.
[157] The first thing to be done was to provide the shelter. Pudens made the best of his way to his foster-mother’s house, and was lucky enough to find her before she went out to make her daily purchases in the market.
The good woman’s astonishment when she heard the errand on which he had come was great. She had just heard of the Christians, but had the very vaguest ideas as to what they were. These ideas naturally reflected the popular prejudices.
“Of course,” she said, “we will do anything that we can.” Like the wise woman that she was, she always associated her husband with herself as far as words went. “We will do anything that we can for friends of yours; but I have heard that these Christians are very wicked people.”
“Wicked, mother!” cried the young man; “these are two of the best women that ever lived.”
“But why does the Emperor want to harm them, then?”
“Need you ask, mother, when you have such a woman as Popp?a stirring him up to all kinds of wickedness?”
There was still such a prestige about the Emperor that it was still the custom, at least in speaking, whatever the real belief may have been, to attribute his misdoings to bad advisers.
Statia�this was the foster-mother’s name�had all the dislike that a good woman would be likely to [158] feel for Popp?a, while she had a certain weakness for the handsome young Emperor, of whom she was ready to believe as much good and as little evil as the utmost stretch of charity would allow.
“Ah!” she cried; “so it is one of that mischievous woman’s doings.”
“And how about your husband?”
“Oh, it will be all right with him. I shall tell him that the ladies are people whom Popp?a hates. That will be enough for him. He thinks as ill of her as I do. You see it was Otho, her first�no, I am wrong, her second husband, that got him his present place, and he thinks that she has treated him very badly.”
This matter satisfactorily settled, the next thing was to provide for the safe conveyance of the fugitives from the one place to the other. Here Pudens found himself face to face with a huge difficulty. The litter in which they had journeyed from Rome was out of the question. A secret known to eight bearers would hardly be a secret long. The younger woman would certainly be able to ride, and possibly to walk, for the distance was not beyond the strength of an active girl. The elder would as certainly be incapable of either exertion.
“What is to be done, Statia?” he asked, after turning the matter over for some time in his own mind.
For a time the good woman was utterly perplexed. At last an idea occurred to her.
[159] “The ladies will come as early as possible to-morrow,” she said. “That is your plan, is it not?”
“Just so,” replied the young man.
“When the market carts come in from the country.”
“Exactly.”
“Then they must come in a market cart.”
“Admirably thought of, mother; but how about the cart?”
“My brother Marcus, who has a farm for vegetables in the suburbs, will lend me one. I shall tell him that I am borrowing it for a friend who is moving her goods into the city. You will have to act the wagoner.”
“That I can manage easily enough. It is not the first time that I have done it.”
It had been a favourite frolic with Pudens, in his somewhat turbulent youth, to seek adventures in the disguise of a countryman. He had still the rough smock frock and leggings laid up somewhere in his house.
“I shall go to my brother this afternoon, and make everything ready for you. You must come dressed as a wagoner; and mind, you must not have the dress only, but the speech also. Can you manage this? Let me hear you try.”
Pudens gave so excellent an imitation of rustic speech that the woman burst out laughing. “That will do,” she cried; “nothing could be better.”
Shortly after noon Pudens might have been seen [160] starting from his house. He was on horseback, and was apparently bound on a journey, for he carried behind him a travelling valise. It contained, besides his own disguise, two plain cloaks, such as the country women commonly wore when they came into Rome; these were intended for the use of the two ladies. When he had got about six miles from the city, he dismounted, concealed the valise in a little wood by the wayside, and then mounting again, rode on to a little inn, a haunt of his earlier days, where he was consequently well known, and where no questions would be asked, and scarcely any curiosity felt about his proceedings. Here he put up his horse; and then, retracing his steps to the wood, assumed the wagoner’s dress. Pudens had a certain genius for acting, and no one would have recognized the elegant and fashionable young soldier in the middle-aged, slouching countryman, a rustic of the rustics, as any one would have thought him, who plodded along the road in the direction of the farm where he was to find the vehicle.
Everything went well. Statia had been better than her word. She had induced her brother to provide a covered wagon, as being far more convenient for the purpose than a common cart. It was drawn by a couple of horses, about whose welfare the farmer gave many cautions to the supposed wagoner. “My sister tells me,” he said, “that you are a careful man, who knows how to treat a good beast as he deserves. [161] Don’t you overdrive the poor creatures; be gentle with them up the hills if you have much of a load; see with your own eyes that they get their food when you put them up at the tavern�you know the place, the Ph?nix, just outside the gate; an honest place enough, but hostlers will have their little tricks everywhere.”
Pudens, who had commended himself to the farmer by some judicious praise of his animals, promised to take all imaginable care of wagon and horses, and had the satisfaction of getting away, without exciting, as he hoped, the slightest suspicion as to his real character. His promise, however, did not prevent him from putting the animals to a sharp trot, that would probably have struck dismay into their owner’s heart, as soon as he was well out of sight of the farm. Time, indeed, was precious. He had to reach the old fort, to tell his story, to persuade the ladies to follow his advice, itself likely, he fancied, to be a task of some difficulty, and to get back to Rome before sunrise the next day.
The sun was just setting when he reached the fort. Tying up the horses to a tree he approached the building, knocked, or to speak more accurately, kicked at the door, and asked for the old steward. The old man came to the door, expecting to be interviewed on some ordinary business, and of course failed to recognize his visitor, whom, indeed, he had seen once only in his natural semblance. Pudens intimated [162] that his business was of a private kind, and on finding himself alone with the steward revealed his name, recalling to the old man’s recollection the occasion on which they had met before. Nothing could exceed his astonishment. But when the soldier went on to unfold his errand, describing the imminent danger in which Pomponia and her young companion were placed, and the scheme by which he hoped to rescue them, the old man became cool and practical at once.