It was the first day of the week, and the minister celebrated, according to custom, the rite of the Holy Eucharist. It was the first time that Claudia was admitted to partake of the Elements. It had been arranged some months before, immediately, in fact, after her arrival at Rome, that she should present herself at the Communion, but no opportunity had occurred for her to carry out her intention. The delay, though it had troubled her much, was not without its use. Her feelings had been deepened and strengthened in no common degree by all that she had gone through. As she knelt by the side of her adopted mother to receive the bread and wine from the hands of the minister, she felt raised to a spiritual height which it is seldom granted to human nature to attain.
To one who watched the rite from without�for he was not privileged to enter the sacred precincts�Claudia seemed to wear a look of more than human sanctity. This observer was Pudens. He had carried out the instructions of Subrius to the letter, had parted with his chief on the friendliest terms, and, [296] after concealing himself during the day, had managed, but not without meeting with one or two dangerous adventures, to reach the spot indicated by the freedman. Here the password, communicated to him by Linus, had secured his admission from the guardians of the entrance. He had arrived in time to witness the solemn scene just described, and to listen to the address, partly of thanksgiving, for the deliverance vouchsafed in the past, partly of exhortation to courage and faithfulness in the future, which the minister addressed to his little congregation at the close of the holy rite.
The days which followed, were full, for the young man, of curiously mingled emotions.
It was a delight to be near the woman whom he loved, and yet how remote she seemed from him! The follies of his youth, even the scheme in which he had been lately engaged, with its self-seeking and the pettiness of its motives and aims, as he now looked upon them, seemed to separate her hopelessly from him. The girl herself, on the few occasions which he had of seeing her, was friendly; she was more than friendly, she was profoundly grateful. But her looks, her demeanour, everything about her showed plainly enough that he was not in her thoughts in the way in which he wished to be.
Happily for him this painful ordeal�for such he felt it to be�did not last very long. About a week after his arrival there came tidings from the upper [297] world, if so it may be called, which materially altered the prospects of the refugees. The intelligence was brought by a slave from the palace, one of the sympathizers whose presence at headquarters was, as we have already seen, often useful to the Christian community.
The main fact which the newcomer had to communicate to his friends was the death of Popp?a. Every one felt that the worst enemy of the Church was removed.
“When did she die?” asked one of the Elders.
“Yesterday,” said the messenger.
“And how?”
“C?sar struck her a violent blow with his foot. He had been driving his chariot, and came into the room where she was sitting, in his charioteer’s dress. She was sick and suffering. Something, too, had happened to cross her temper. She taunted him. ‘A pretty dress for C?sar!’ she said. ‘I shall dress as I please,’ he answered. ‘At least you should do such things well,’ she went on. That touched him to the quick, you may be sure. To be a charioteer does not trouble him, but to be a bad charioteer�that is intolerable. He fell into a furious rage, and kicked her. Three hours afterwards she died. The physicians could do nothing for her. I believe that she never spoke again. Indeed, she was not conscious. C?sar, when his rage was over, was fairly mad with grief. He could not endure to [298] be present at the Conclamatio, (Footnote: The Conclamatio was a ceremony at which the name of the deceased was cried aloud three times. It is still observed at the burial of Spanish kings.) which was made last night.”
“Poor creature!” said one of the audience. “May God show her more mercy than she showed to others!”
“She is to be embalmed and buried in the Mausoleum of Augustus, but there is to be a great burning all the same. Orders have been given for an image of the deceased to be made, and this to be burnt on the pyre. And C?sar is to pronounce her funeral oration himself.”
“Will this affect us?” asked the Elder who had first spoken.
“Greatly,” replied the slave. “I have with me a copy of an edict which will be published in the course of a few days.”
The edict was produced and read.
“Seeing that the people called Christians have already suffered sufficiently for their misdeeds, C?sar decrees that they shall henceforth be permitted to live in peace, provided that they do not again offend against the safety of the Roman people.”
THE CONCLAMATIO
As soon as the edict was posted up in the city�and this was done on the day of the funeral oration�the refugees returned to their homes. Pudens took the same opportunity of making his escape from Rome.
[299] His original intention was, as has been said, to return to the army of Corbulo; but this plan, fortunately for him, was not carried out.
The causes that prevented it, however, very nearly cost him his life. He arrived at Antioch, on his way eastward, just at the beginning of the summer heats. Malarial fever, following the subsidence of the spring floods, was rife in the city, and Pudens, predisposed to infection by the fatigue of a very rapid journey, as well as by anxiety and distress, was soon prostrated by it. Happily a travelling companion, whom he had joined at Corinth, and who had found out that they possessed many mutual acquaintances, had hospitably invited him to take up his quarters at his house. Pudens, who could hardly have survived the neglect that would probably have been his lot at the public inn, was carefully nursed. Even then he had a hard fight for his life, and summer was passing into early autumn before he could be said to be on a fair way to recovery.
One day, about the middle of September, he was taking a walk in the garden, when he was joined by his host, a Roman knight, it may be said in passing, who managed some extensive affairs connected with the public revenue of the province of Syria.
“I must be thinking of going on,” said Pudens, after the usual inquiries about health had been duly answered.
“That is exactly what I wanted to talk to you [300] about,” returned his host. “Of course you know that the longer you stay with me as my guest the better pleased I shall be. But you have your own plans, and naturally want to carry them on. Now let me be frank, and tell you exactly what I know, and what I think you ought to do. It would not surprise you to hear that you have been delirious?”
Pudens nodded assent. There were blank spaces in his memory, and other spaces all but blank, but haunted with a dim sense of disturbance and trouble. Without any remembrance of actual pain he could easily believe that he had been in the condition which his host described.
“No, indeed,” said our hero. “It is no surprise to me; I must have given you a world of trouble.”
“Not a word of that; but hark!” and the speaker dropped his voice to a whisper, “you said things which made me take care that no one should watch you but myself and my wife.”
Pudens could not help starting.
“Yes!” went on the other, “high matters of State which would touch a man’s life. Now I do not ask for your confidence, but if there is anything in which I can help you, I am at your service.”
Pudens saw at once that absolute frankness was his best policy, and related the story of the conspiracy.
“That is exactly what I supposed,” returned his host, “and you thought of taking up again your service with Corbulo.”
[301] “That was my idea,” said Pudens.
“And not a bad idea either, in some cases. There are camps where you would be safe, even though you were known to have had a hand in the conspiracy, supposing, I mean of course, the general-in-command wished it to be so. You would be safe with Verginius on the Rhine, or with Galba in Spain. They are too big men for the Emperor to disturb, and if they don’t choose to give a fugitive up, he has to be content. Corbulo is big enough in one way, but he has no idea of disputing the Emperor’s will. It is more than fidelity with him. It is subservience, except that he does not think of getting anything by it. If Nero sends a Centurion for Corbulo’s head, he will put out his neck, mark my words, without a murmur. And they are after you; that I know. While you were lying insensible, a Centurion passed through here with a warrant for the arrest of a conspirator, whose name I happened to hear,�indeed, I was applied to for my help,�and the name was Caius Pudens. No! you must not go back to Corbulo; it would be putting your head into the lion’s mouth.”