But he began also to fear that some outside force might disturb his delight. Chilo might give notice of his disappearance to the prefect of the city, or to his freedmen at home; and in such an event an invasion of the house by the city guards was likely. Through his head flew the thought, it is true, that in that event he might give command to seize Lygia and shut her up in his house, but he felt that he ought not to do so, and he was not capable of acting thus. He was tyrannical, insolent, and corrupt enough, if need be he was inexorable, but he was not Tigellinus or Nero. Military life had left in him a certain feeling of justice, and religion, and a conscience to understand that such a deed would be monstrously mean. He would have been capable, perhaps, of committing such a deed during an access of anger and while in possession of his strength, but at that moment he was filled with tenderness, and was sick. The only question for Vinicius at that time was that no one should stand between him and Lygia.

He noticed, too, with astonishment, that from the moment when Lygia had taken his part, neither she herself nor Crispus asked from him any assurances, just as if they felt confident that, in case of need, some superhuman power would defend them. The young tribune, in whose head the distinction between things possible and impossible had grown involved and faint since the discourse of the Apostle in Ostrianum, was also not too far from supposing that that might take place. But considering things more soberly, he remembered what he had said of the Greek, and asked again that Chilo be brought to him.

Crispus agreed, and they decided to send Ursus. Vinicius, who in recent days, before his visit to Ostrianum, had sent slaves frequently to Chilo, though without result, indicated his lodgings accurately to the Lygian; then writing a few words on the tablet, he said, turning to Crispus—“I give a tablet, for this man is suspicious and cunning. Frequently when summoned by me, he gave directions to answer my people that he was not at home; he did so always when he had no good news for me, and feared my anger.”

“If I find him, I will bring him, willing or unwilling,” said Ursus. Then, taking his mantle, he went out hurriedly.

To find anyone in Rome was not easy, even with the most accurate directions; but in those cases the instinct of a hunter aided Ursus, and also his great knowledge of the city. After a certain time, therefore, he found himself at Chilo’s lodgings.

He did not recognize Chilo, however. He had seen him but once in his life before, and moreover, in the night. Besides, that lofty and confident old man who had persuaded him to murder Glaucus was so unlike the Greek, bent double from terror, that no one could suppose the two to be one person. Chilo, noticing that Ursus looked at him as a perfect stranger, recovered from his first fear. The sight of the tablet, with the writing of Vinicius, calmed him still more. At least the suspicion that he would take him into an ambush purposely did not trouble him. He thought, besides, that the Christians had not killed Vinicius, evidently because they had not dared to raise hands on so noted a person.

“And then Vinicius will protect me in case of need,” thought he; “of course he does not send to deliver me to death.”

Summoning some courage, therefore, he said: “My good man, has not my friend the noble Vinicius sent a litter? My feet are swollen; I cannot walk so far.”

“He has not,” answered Ursus; “we shall go on foot.”

“But if I refuse?”

“Do not, for thou wilt have to go.”

“And I will go, but of my own will. No one could force me, for I am a free man, and a friend of the prefect of the city. As a sage, I have also means to overcome others, and I know how to turn people into trees and wild beasts. But I will go, I will go! I will only put on a mantle somewhat warmer, and a hood, lest the slaves of that quarter might recognize me; they would stop me every moment to kiss my hands.”

He put on a new mantle then, and let down a broad Gallic hood, lest Ursus might recognize his features on coming into clearer light.

“Where wilt thou take me?” asked he on the road.

“To the Trans-Tiber.”

“I am not long in Rome, and I have never been there, but there too, of course, live men who love virtue.”

But Ursus, who was a simple man, and had heard Vinicius say that the Greek had been with him in Ostrianum, and had seen him with Croton enter the house in which Lygia lived, stopped for a moment and said—“Speak no untruth, old man, for today thou wert with Vinicius in Ostrianum and under our gate.”

“Ah!” said Chilo, “then is your house in the Trans-Tiber? I have not been long in Rome, and know not how the different parts are named. That is true, friend; I was under the gate, and implored Vinicius in the name of virtue not to enter. I was in Ostrianum, and dost thou know why? I am working for a certain time over the conversion of Vinicius, and wished him to hear the chief of the Apostles. May the light penetrate his soul and thine! But thou art a Christian, and wishest truth to overcome falsehood.”

“That is true,” answered Ursus, with humility.

Courage returned to Chilo completely.

“Vinicius is a powerful lord,” said he, “and a friend of Caesar. He listens often yet to the whisperings of the evil spirit; but if even a hair should fall from his head, Caesar would take vengeance on all the Christians.”

“A higher power is protecting us.”

“Surely, surely! But what do ye intend to do with Vinicius?” inquired Chilo, with fresh alarm.

“I know not. Christ commands mercy.”

“Thou hast answered excellently. Think of this always, or thou wilt fry in hell like a sausage in a frying-pan.”

Ursus sighed, and Chilo thought that he could always do what he liked with that man, who was terrible at the moment of his first outburst. So, wishing to know what happened at the seizing of Lygia, he asked further, in the voice of a stern judge—“How did ye treat Croton? Speak, and do not prevaricate.”

Ursus sighed a second time. “Vinicius will tell thee.”

“That means that thou didst stab him with a knife, or kill him with a club.”

“I was without arms.”

The Greek could not resist amazement at the superhuman strength of the barbarian.

“May Pluto—that is to say, may Christ pardon thee!”

They went on for some time in silence; then Chilo said:

“I will not betray thee; but have a care of the watches.”

“I fear Christ, not the watches.”

“And that is proper. There is no more grievous crime than murder. I will pray for thee; but I know not if even my prayer can be effective, unless thou make a vow never to touch anyone in life with a finger.”

“As it is, I have not killed purposely,” answered Ursus.

But Chilo, who desired to secure himself in every case, did not cease to condemn murder, and urge Ursus to make the vow. He inquired also about Vinicius; but the Lygian answered his inquiries unwillingly, repeating that from Vinicius himself he would hear what he needed. Speaking in this way, they passed at last the long road which separated the lodgings of the Greek from the Trans-Tiber, and found themselves before the house. Chilo’s heart began to beat again unquietly. From dread it seemed to him that Ursus was beginning to look at him with a kind of greedy expression.

“It is small consolation to me,” said he to himself, “if he kills me unwillingly. I prefer in every case that paralysis should strike him, and with him all the Lygians—which do thou effect, O Zeus, if thou art able.”

Thus meditating, he wrapped himself more closely in his Gallic mantle, repeating that he feared the cold. Finally, when they had passed the entrance and the first court, and found themselves in the corridor leading to the garden of the little house, he halted suddenly and said—“Let me draw breath, or I shall not be able to speak with Vinicius and give him saving advice.”

He halted; for though he said to himself that no danger threatened, still his legs trembled under him at the thought that he was among those mysterious people whom he had seen in Ostrianum.

Meanwhile a hymn came to their ears from the little house.

“What is that?” inquired Chilo.

“Thou sayest that thou art a Christian, and knowest not that among us it is the custom after every meal to glorify our Saviour with singing,” answered Ursus. “Miriam and her son must have returned, and perhaps the Apostle is with them, for he visits the widow and Crispus every day.”

“Conduct me directly to Vinicius.”

“Vinicius is in the same room with all, for that is the only large one; the others are very small chambers, to which we go only to sleep. Come in; thou wilt rest there.”

They entered. It was rather dark in the room; the evening was cloudy and cold, the flames of a few candles did not dispel the darkness altogether. Vinicius divined rather than recognized Chilo in the hooded man. Chilo, seeing the bed in the corner of the room, and on it Vinicius, moved toward him directly, not looking at the others, as if with the conviction that it would be safest near him.

“Oh, lord, why didst thou not listen to my counsels?” exclaimed he, putting his hands together.

“Silence!” said Vinicius, “and listen!”

Here he looked sharply into Chilo’s eyes, and spoke slowly with emphasis, as if wishing the Greek to understand every word of his as a command, and to keep it forever in memory.

“Croton threw himself on me to kill and rob me, dost understand? I killed him then, and these people dressed the wounds which I received in the struggle.”

Chilo understood in a moment that if Vinicius spoke in this way it must be in virtue of some agreement with the Christians, and in that case he wished people to believe him. He saw this, too, from his face; hence in one moment, without showing doubt or astonishment, he raised his eyes and exclaimed—“That was a faith-breaking ruffian! But I warned thee, lord, not to trust him; my teachings bounded from his head as do peas when thrown against a wall. In all Hades there are not torments enough for him. He who cannot be honest must be a rogue; what is more difficult than for a rogue to become honest? But to fall on his benefactor, a lord so magnanimous—O gods!”

Here he remembered that he had represented himself to Ursus on the way as a Christian, and stopped.

“Were it not for the sica, which I brought, he would have slain me,” said Vinicius.

“I bless the moment in which I advised thee to take a knife even.”

Vinicius turned an inquiring glance on the Greek, and asked—“What hast thou done today?”

“How? What! have I not told thee, lord, that I made a vow for thy health?”

“Nothing more?”

“I was just preparing to visit thee, when this good man came and said that thou hadst sent for me.”

“Here is a tablet. Thou wilt go with it to my house; thou wilt find my freedman and give it to him. It is written on the tablet that I have gone to Beneventum. Thou wilt tell Demas from thyself that I went this morning, summoned by an urgent letter from Petronius.” Here he repeated with emphasis: “I have gone to Beneventum, dost understand?”

“Thou has gone, lord. This morning I took leave of thee at the Porta Capena, and from the time of thy departure such sadness possesses me that if thy magnanimity will not soften it, I shall cry myself to death, like the unhappy wife of Zethus in grief for Itylos.”

7

Vinicius, though sick and accustomed to the Greek’s suppleness, could not repress a smile. He was glad, moreover, that Chilo understood in a flash; hence he said—

“Therefore I will write that thy tears be wiped away. Give me the candle.” Chilo, now pacified perfectly, rose, and, advancing a few steps toward the chimney, took one of the candles which was burning at the wall. But while he was doing this, the hood slipped from his head, and the light fell directly on his face. Glaucus sprang from his seat and, coming up quickly, stood before him.

“Dost thou not recognize me, Cephas?” asked he. In his voice there was something so terrible that a shiver ran through all present.

Chilo raised the candle, and dropped it to the earth almost the same instant; then he bent nearly double and began to groan—“I am not he—I am not he! Mercy!”

Glaucus turned toward the faithful, and said—“This is the man who betrayed—who ruined me and my family!”

That history was known to all the Christians and to Vinicius, who had not guessed who that Glaucus was—for this reason only, that he fainted repeatedly from pain during the dressing of his wound, and had not heard his name. But for Ursus that short moment, with the words of Glaucus, was like a lightning-flash in darkness. Recognizing Chilo, he was at his side with one spring, and, seizing his arm, bent it back, exclaiming—“This is the man who persuaded me to kill Glaucus!”

“Mercy!” groaned Chilo. “I will give you—O lord!” exclaimed he, turning his head to Vinicius, “save me! I trusted in thee, take my part. Thy letter—I will deliver it. O lord, lord!”

But Vinicius, who looked with more indifference than anyone at what was passing, first because all the affairs of the Greek were more or less known to him, and second because his heart knew not what pity was, said—“Bury him in the garden; someone else will take the letter.”

It seemed to Chilo that those words were his final sentence. His bones were shaking in the terrible hands of Ursus; his eyes were filled with tears from pain.

“By your God, pity!” cried he; “I am a Christian! Pax vobiscum! I am a Christian; and if ye do not believe me, baptize me again, baptize me twice, ten times! Glaucus, that is a mistake! Let me speak, make me a slave! Do not kill me! Have mercy!”

His voice, stifled with pain, was growing weaker and weaker, when the Apostle Peter rose at the table; for a moment his white head shook, drooping toward his breast, and his eyes were closed; but he opened them then, and said amid silence—

“The Saviour said this to us: ‘If thy brother has sinned against thee, chastise him; but if he is repentant, forgive him. And if he has offended seven times in the day against thee, and has turned to thee seven times, saying, “Have mercy on me!” forgive him.’ ”

Then came a still deeper silence. Glaucus remained a long time with his hands covering his face; at last he removed them and said—“Cephas, may God forgive thy offenses, as I forgive them in the name of Christ.”

Ursus, letting go the arms of the Greek, added at once:

“May the Saviour be merciful to thee as I forgive thee.”

Chilo dropped to the ground, and, supported on it with his hands, turned his head like a wild beast caught in a snare, looking around to see whence death might come. He did not trust his eyes and ears yet, and dared not hope for forgiveness. Consciousness returned to him slowly; his blue lips were still trembling from terror.

“Depart in peace!” said the Apostle, meanwhile.

Chilo rose, but could not speak. He approached the bed of Vinicius, as if seeking protection in it still; for he had not time yet to think that that man, though he had used his services and was still his accomplice, condemned him, while those against whom he had acted forgave. This thought was to come to him later. At present simply astonishment and incredulity were evident in his look. Though he had seen that they forgave him, he wished to bear away his head at the earliest from among these incomprehensible people, whose kindness terrified him almost as much as their cruelty would have terrified. It seemed to him that should he remain longer, something unexpected would happen again; hence, standing above Vinicius, he said with a broken voice—

“Give the letter, lord—give the letter!”

And snatching the tablet which Vinicius handed him, he made one obeisance to the Christians, another to the sick man, pushed along sidewise by the very wall, and hurried out through the door. In the garden, when darkness surrounded him, fear raised the hair on his head again, for he felt sure that Ursus would rush out and kill him in the night. He would have run with all his might, but his legs would not move; next moment they were perfectly uncontrollable, for Ursus stood near him really.

Chilo fell with his face to the earth, and began to groan: “Urban—in Christ’s name—”

But Urban said: “Fear not. The Apostle commanded me to lead thee out beyond the gate, lest thou might go astray in the darkness, and, if strength failed thee, to conduct thee home.”

“What dost thou say?” asked Chilo, raising his face. “What? Thou wilt not kill me?”

“No, I will not; and if I seized thee too roughly and harmed a bone in thee, pardon me.”

“Help me to rise,” said the Greek. “Thou wilt not kill me? Thou wilt not? Take me to the Street; I will go farther alone.”

Ursus raised him as he might a feather, and placed him on his feet; then he conducted him through the dark corridor to the second court. From there was a passage to the entrance and the street. In the corridor Chilo repeated again in his soul, “It is all over with me!” Only when he found himself on the street did he recover and say, “I can go on alone.”

“Peace be with thee.”

“And with thee! and with thee! Let me draw breath.”

And after Ursus had gone, he breathed with a full breast. He felt his waist and hips, as if to convince himself that he was living, and then moved forward with hurried step.

“But why did they not kill me?” And in spite of all his talk with Euricius about Christian teaching, in spite of his conversation at the river with Urban, and in spite of all that he had heard in Ostrianum, he could find no answer to that question.