“Yes,” he said, “there is a hope that you may succeed; but the first difficulty will be to persuade my lady. Her own inclination would be to stay here and face the danger, whatever it was.”
“Shall I see her?”
“Not, I should say, before I have told her the story. The affair is enough to confound any one, much more a woman who has lived out of the world for many years, and it must be broken to her.”
“Very good; arrange it as you think best. But remember that there is no time to be lost. I should be starting in an hour at the most, if I am to get to Rome before sunrise to-morrow, and I ought not to be later.”
The old man hastened away at once to seek an interview with Pomponia. In about half an hour he returned.
“Come with me,” he said. “My lady wishes to speak with you.”
Pudens followed him to a room where the two [163] ladies were sitting together. Ushered into their presence, he felt, and was ashamed of feeling, somewhat embarrassed by the consciousness of a ludicrous disguise, all the more when he perceived that Claudia, notwithstanding the gravity of the situation, could not resist a little smile.
“You have my thanks,” began Pomponia, “for all the trouble that you have taken and the risk that you have run. But I must confess that I would sooner await here whatever God may please to send.”
The steward broke in with the freedom of speech often accorded to, or at least assumed by, an old servant.
“Madam, if I may be permitted to say so much, there spoke the wife of a Roman Consular rather than the handmaid of Christ.”
Pomponia flushed at the rebuke, but answered gently, “How so? I would not willingly forget my duty.”
“Madam,” went on the old man, “it seems to me that what God has sent, as far as we can see at present, is this young man. He comes with a well contrived scheme which he has taken much pains to carry out so far. But because it does not suit your dignity to fly from your enemies, or to put on a disguise, you refuse to avail yourself of it. Did the blessed Paul think it below his dignity to be let down in a basket out of a window in the wall of Damascus? Not so; he took the means of deliverance that God sent him, and did not wait for some- [164] thing else that might be more to his taste. And let me say again, madam, what I have said before. You may think it right for yourself to stop here and face the enemy; but you have no right to involve others, this dear young lady for instance, with you. She is young; she is new in the faith,�she will pardon an old man for speaking his mind,�and she may not have your strength when she is brought to the fiery trial. Nay, madam,”�he hesitated a moment before he uttered words that might imply possible doubt of his mistress’ own courage and endurance,�“Nay, madam, who knows but what your own strength may fail, if you persist in trying it in a place to which you are not called.”
The last two arguments affected Pomponia powerfully. What if this were a call? It would be a sin if she did not follow it, for herself and her young companion.
“Phlegon is right,” she said after a short pause; “we will do as you think best.”
It was arranged that the two female attendants who had accompanied the visitors should remain where they were. It was difficult, if not impossible, otherwise to dispose of them. Probably they would escape unmolested, passing as part of the small establishment which the owner of the house was accustomed to maintain. Phlegon would find shelter with friends in Rome, and would keep up, if possible, some communication with his mistress.
[165] It is needless to describe the journey to Rome. It was affected without any difficulty; but one incident that occurred in the course of it proved how narrow an escape the fugitives had had. When about half the distance had been traversed, Pudens halted at a wayside inn to rest and bait the horses. At the very moment that he did so, a party of horse soldiers which was travelling the other way drew up before the door of the hostelry. It consisted of two troops, numbering together about sixty men, and was commanded by an officer of some rank, who was accompanied by a civilian. Pudens guessed their errand in a moment. They had come, he was sure, to arrest Pomponia, and it was quite possible that they might insist on searching the wagon. Boldness, he felt, was the only policy. Any attempt to escape would certainly be fatal. He came forward, made a clumsy salutation to the officer in command, and began to converse with some of the troopers. He ordered a flagon of the coarse wine of the country, and shared it with the newcomers. The liquor set the men’s tongues wagging, and Pudens soon learnt that his suspicions were correct. They were bound, said one of the men, for an old country house to arrest some prisoners.
“Who are they? What have they done?” asked the supposed wagoner.
“By Bacchus!” cried the man; “I know nothing about it. I heard something about their being Chris- [166] tians, whatever that may mean. All that I can tell you is that it is some affair of Popp?a. You see that fat man by our chief’s side? He has had a bad time of it, I fancy. He is not used to riding, I take it, and we have been pushing on at a good rate. Well, he is one of Popp?a’s freedmen. That fellow there,” he pointed as he spoke to a slave who was evidently in charge of a couple of troopers,” is our guide. He knows, it seems, where the parties whom we want are, and was to have a turn on the ‘little horse’ if he didn’t tell.” (Footnote: The “Little Horse” (eculeus or equuleus) was an instrument of torture. Little is known of its form, beyond that the sufferer’s limbs were unnaturally prolonged by weights attached to them. Seneca talks of some one “being made longer by the eculeus” (eculeo longior factus).)
This, Pudens imagined, must be some poor wretch belonging to Pomponia’s household in Rome, who had been unlucky enough to overhear the name of the place where his mistress was to find shelter.
The easy bearing of Pudens had exactly the effect which he hoped from it, while the accident of the two parties meeting at the halting-place was all in favour of his escape. Probably, had the soldiers encountered him on the road, they would have challenged him, and overhauled the contents of his wagon. As matters turned out, the idea never occurred either to the officer in command or to any of his men. He acted his part so thoroughly well, that no notion of his being [167] anything more than a countryman on his way to the Roman market with a load of produce, crossed any one’s mind. Anxious to avoid the remotest cause of suspicion, he purposely prolonged his halt, though, it need not be said, intensely anxious to be off, till the soldiers had started again. It was with intense relief that he heard the officer in command give the order to mount. When the last of the troopers had disappeared in the darkness, he climbed to the driver’s seat, tossed the hostler his fee,�which he was careful not to make the smallest fraction larger than usual,�and set his horses in motion. The two women, who had sat all this time under the covering of the wagon, hand clasped in hand, in a perfect agony of suspense, breathed a fervent thanksgiving when they felt themselves to be once more upon the way.
Nothing else happened to alarm the travellers during the rest of their journey; but the most critical time was yet to come. While they were still out of sight of the inn where the wagon and horses were to be put up, the two ladies alighted. Each was disguised beyond recognition, Pudens hoped, in the coarse cloaks usually worn by the market-women when they travelled by night, and each carried a large basket filled, or apparently filled, with goods that they were about to offer for sale. At the inn, of course, the wagon and the horses were well known, but Pudens, as a stranger, excited some curiosity.
[168] “Well,” he said, in answer to some question, “old Caius has a touch of fever,”�he had taken the precaution of ascertaining the name of the man whom the farmer usually employed,�“and I am taking his place. It is not to my liking at all,” he went on; “I had sooner be in my bed, by a long way.”