Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero by Henryk Sienkiewicz (good novels to read .TXT) 📗

“Condemn me to death, O divinity, if I deceive thee; but thou wilt not terrify me, for the gods know best of all if I fear death.”

And while speaking he looked straight into Cæsar’s eyes, who answered after a while,—

“Be not angry; thou knowest that I love thee.”

“A bad sign!” thought Petronius.

“I wanted to invite thee to-day to a feast,” continued Nero, “but I prefer to shut myself in and polish that cursed line in the third strophe. Besides thee Seneca may have noticed it, and perhaps Secundus Carinas did; but I will rid myself of them quickly.”

Then he summoned Seneca, and declared that with Acratus and Secundus Carinas, he sent him to the Italian and all other provinces for money, which he commanded him to obtain from cities, villages, famous temples,—in a word, from every place where it was possible to find money, or from which they could force it. But Seneca, who saw that Cæsar was confiding to him a work of plunder, sacrilege, and robbery, refused straightway.

“I must go to the country, lord,” said he, “and await death, for I am old and my nerves are sick.”

Seneca’s Iberian nerves were stronger than Chilos; they were not sick, perhaps, but in general his health was bad, for he seemed like a shadow, and recently his hair had grown white altogether.

Nero, too, when he looked at him, thought that he would not have to wait long for the man’s death, and answered,—

“I will not expose thee to a journey if thou art ill, but through affection I wish to keep thee near me. Instead of going to the country, then, thou wilt stay in thy own house, and not leave it.”

Then he laughed, and said, “If I send Acratus and Carinas by themselves, it will be like sending wolves for sheep. Whom shall I set above them?”

“Me, lord,” said Domitius Afer.

“No! I have no wish to draw on Rome the wrath of Mercury, whom ye would put to shame with your villainy. I need some stoic like Seneca, or like my new friend, the philosopher Chilo.”

Then he looked around, and asked,—

“But what has happened to Chilo?”

Chilo, who had recovered in the open air and returned to the amphitheatre for Cæsar’s song, pushed up, and said,—

“I am here, O Radiant Offspring of the sun and moon. I was ill, but thy song has restored me.”

“I will send thee to Achæa,” said Nero. “Thou must know to a copper how much there is in each temple there.”

“Do so, O Zeus, and the gods will give thee such tribute as they have never given any one.”

“I would, but I do not like to prevent thee from seeing the games.”

“Baal!” said Chilo.

The Augustians, delighted that Cæsar had regained humor, fell to laughing, and exclaimed,—

“No, lord, deprive not this valiant Greek of a sight of the games.”

“But preserve me, O lord, from the sight of these noisy geese of the Capitol, whose brains put together would not fill a nutshell,” retorted Chilo. “O first-born of Apollo, I am writing a Greek hymn in thy honor, and I wish to spend a few days in the temple of the Muses to implore inspiration.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Nero. “It is thy wish to escape future games. Nothing will come of that!”

“I swear to thee, lord, that I am writing a hymn.”

“Then thou wilt write it at night. Beg inspiration of Diana, who, by the way, is a sister of Apollo.”

Chilo dropped his head and looked with malice on those present, who began to laugh again. Cæsar, turning to Senecio and Suilius Nerulinus, said,—

“Imagine, of the Christians appointed for to-day we have been able to finish hardly half!”

At this old Aquilus Regulus, who had great knowledge of everything touching the amphitheatre, thought a while, and said,—

“Spectacles in which people appear sine armis et sine arte last almost as long and are less entertaining.”

“I will command to give them weapons,” answered Nero.

But the superstitious Vestinius was roused from meditation at once, and asked in a mysterious voice,—

“Have ye noticed that when dying they see something? They look up, and die as it were without pain. I am sure that they see something.”

He raised his eyes then to the opening of the amphitheatre, over which night had begun to extend its velarium dotted with stars. But others answered with laughter and jesting suppositions as to what the Christians could see at the moment of death. Meanwhile Cæsar gave a signal to the slave torch-bearers, and left the Circus; after him followed vestals, senators, dignitaries, and Augustians.

The night was clear and warm. Before the Circus were moving throngs of people, curious to witness the departure of Cæsar; but in some way they were gloomy and silent. Here and there applause was heard, but it ceased quickly. From the spoliarium creaking carts bore away the bloody remnants of Christians.

Petronius and Vinicius passed over their road in silence. Only when near his villa did Petronius inquire,—

“Hast thou thought of what I told thee?” “I have,” answered Vinicius.

“Dost believe that for me too this is a question of the highest importance? I must liberate her in spite of Cæsar and Tigellinus. This is a kind of battle in which I have undertaken to conquer, a kind of play in which I wish to win, even at the cost of my life. This day has confirmed me still more in my plan.”

“May Christ reward thee.”

“Thou wilt see.”

Thus conversing, they stopped at the door of the villa and descended from the litter. At that moment a dark figure approached them, and asked,—

“Is the noble Vinicius here?”

“He is,” answered the tribune. “What is thy wish?”

“I am Nazarius, the son of Miriam. I come from the prison, and bring tidings of Lygia.”

Vinicius placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and looked into his eyes by the torchlight, without power to speak a word, but Nazarius divined the question which was dying on his lips, and replied,—

“She is living yet. Ursus sent me to say that she prays in her fever, and repeats thy name.”

“Praise be to Christ, who has power to restore her to me,” said