The Gladiators. A Tale of Rome and Judæa

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE ESQUILINE

  [Initial W]

  With attentive ears, and faculties keenly on the stretch, Euchenor,lurking in the corner of the porch, listened to the foregoingconversation. When he gathered that Tiber-side was the direction thefugitives meant to take, his quick Greek intellect formed its plan ofoperation at once.

  There was a post of his comrades, consisting of some of the gladiatorspurchased by Placidus, and placed there a few hours since by the orders ofHippias, in the direct road for that locality. He would follow the pair,noiseless and unsuspected, for he had no mind to provoke an encounter withthe Briton till within reach of assistance, then give the alarm, seize thewayfarers, and appeal to the club-law they all held sacred, for hisrights. Esca would be sure to defend the girl with his life, but he wouldbe overpowered by numbers, and it would be strange if he could not bequieted for ever in the struggle. There would still be time enough,thought Euchenor, after his victory to join his comrades at the tribune'stable, leaving the girl to the tender mercies of the band. He could makesome excuse for his absence to satisfy his companions, heated as theywould by that time be with wine. Indeed, for his own part, he had no greatfancy for the night's adventure, promising as it did more hard knocks thanhe cared to exchange in a fight with the German guard, fierce blue-eyedgiants, who would give and take no quarter. He did not wish, indeed, tolose his share of the plunder, for no one was more alive to the advantagesof a full purse, but he trusted to his own dexterity for securing this,without running unnecessary risk. Meanwhile, it was his method to attendto one thing at a time; he waited impatiently, therefore, till Hippiasentered the house, and left him at liberty to emerge from his hiding-place.

  No sooner was the master's back turned than the Greek sped into thestreet, glancing eagerly down its long vista, lying white in themoonlight, for the two dark figures he sought. Agile and noiseless as apanther, he skulked swiftly along under the shadow of the houses, till hereached the corner which a passenger would turn who was bound for Tiber-side. Here he made sure that he must sight his prey; but no, amongst thefew wayfarers who dotted this less solitary district he looked in vain forEsca's towering shoulders or the shrinking figure of the Jewess. In vain,like a hound, he quested to and fro, now casting forward upon a vaguespeculation, now trying back with untiring perseverance and determination.Like a hound, too, whose game has foiled him, he was obliged to slink homeat length, ashamed and baffled, to the porch of the tribune's house,inventing as he went a plausible excuse to host and comrades for his tardyappearance at the banquet. He had passed, nevertheless, within twentypaces of those he hunted, but he knew it not.

  With the first rapture of intense joy for their escape, it was in thenature of Mariamne that her predominant feeling should be one of gratitudeto Heaven for thus preserving both herself and him whose life was dearerto her than her own. In common with her nation, she believed in theconstant and immediate interposition of the Almighty in favour of Hisservants; and the new faith, which was rapidly gaining ground in herheart, had tempered the awe in which His worshipper regards the Deity,with the implicit trust, and love, and confidence, entertained for itsfather by a child. Such feelings can but find an outlet in thanksgivingand prayer. Before Mariamne had gone ten paces from the tribune's house,she stopped short, looked up in Esca's face, and said: "Let us kneeltogether, and thank God for our deliverance."

  "Not here at least!" exclaimed the Briton, whose nerves, good as theywere, had been somewhat unstrung by the vicissitudes of the night, and theapprehensions that had racked him for his beloved companion. "They mayreturn at any moment. You are not safe even now. If you are so exhaustedyou cannot go on (for she was leaning heavily on his arm, and her headdrooped), I will carry you in my arms from here to your father's house. Mylove, I would carry you through the world."

  She smiled sweetly on him, though her face was very pale. "Let us turn inat this ruined gateway," said she; "a few moments' rest will restore me;and, Esca, I must give thanks to the God of Israel, who has saved boththee and me."

  They were near a crumbling archway, with a broken iron gate that hadfallen in. It was on the opposite side of the street to the tribune'shouse; and as they passed beneath its mouldering span, they saw that itformed an entrance into one of those wildernesses, which, after the greatfire of Nero, existed here and there, not only in the suburbs, but at thevery heart of Rome. They were, in truth, in that desolate waste which hadonce been the famous Esquiline Gardens, originally a burial-ground, andgranted by Augustus to his favourite, the illustrious Maecenas, to plantand decorate according to his prolific fancy and unimpeachable taste. Thatlearned nobleman had taken advantage of his emperor's liberality to buildhere a stately palace, which had not, however, escaped the great fire, andto lay out extensive pleasure-grounds, which had been devastated by thesame calamity. Little, indeed, now remained, save the trees that hadoriginally shadowed the Roman's grave in the days of the old Republic. The"unwelcome cypresses" so touchingly described in his most reflective ode,by him whose genius Maecenas fostered, and whose gratitude paid hisprincely patron back by rendering him immortal.

  Many a time had Horace lounged in these pleasant shades, musing withquaint and varied fancies, half pathetic, half grotesque, on the businessand the pleasures, the sunshine and the shadows, the aim and the end, ofthat to him inexplicable problem, a man's short life. Here, too, perhaps,he speculated on the mythology, to the beauty of which his poeticimagination was so keenly alive, while his strong common sense andsomewhat material character must have been so utterly incredulous of itstruth. Nay, on this very spot did he not ridicule certain superstitions ofhis countrymen, with a coarseness that is only redeemed by its wit? andpreserve, in pungent sarcasm, for coming ages, the memory of an indecentstatue on the Esquiline, as he has preserved in sweet and glowing linesthe glades of cool Praeneste, or the terraced vineyards basking in theglare and glitter of noonday on Tibur's sunny slopes? Here, perhaps, manya time may have been seen the stout sleek form, so round and well-caredfor, with its clean white gown, and dainty shining head, crowned with agarland of festive roses, and not wanting, be sure, a festive goblet inits hand. Here may the poet have sat out many a joyous hour in the shade,with mirth, and song, and frequent sips of old Falernian, and a vaguedreary fancy the while ever present, though unacknowledged--like a death's-head at the banquet--that feast, and jest, and song could not last forever, but that the time must come at length, when the empty jar would notbe filled again, when the faded roses could be bound together no longer ina chaplet for the unconscious brows, and the string of the lyre, oncesnapped, must be silent henceforward for evermore. The very waterfall thathad soothed its master to his noonday slumber in the drowsy shade, was nowdried up, and in the cavity above, a heap of dusty rubbish alone remained,where erst the cool translucent surface shone, fair and smooth as glass.Weeds were growing rank and tall, where once the myrtle quivered and theroses bloomed. Where Chloe gambolled and where Lydia sang, the ravencroaked and fluttered, and the night-owl screamed. Instead of velvet turfand trim exotic shrubs, and shapely statues framed in bowers of green, thenettle spread its festering carpet, and the dock put out its pointed leaf;and here and there a tombstone showed its slab of marble, smooth and grim,like a bone that has been laid bare. All was ruin or decay--a few shortyears had done the work of ages; and whether they waked or whether theyslept, poet and patron had gone hence, never to return.

  'Her eyes grew dim, her senses seemed failing']

  Under the branches of a spectral holm-oak, blackened, withered, anddestroyed by fire, Mariamne paused, and clung with both hands to hercompanion's arm. Bravely had the girl borne up for hours against terriblemental anxiety, as well as actual bodily pain, but with relief andcomparative safety came the reaction. Her eyes grew dim, her senses seemedfailing, and her limbs trembled so that she was unable to proceed. He hungover her in positive fear. The pale face look
ed so deathlike that his boldheart quailed, as the possibility presented itself of life without her.Propped in his strong grasp she soon recovered, and he told her as much,in a few frank simple words.

  "And yet it must come at last," said she gently. "What is the short spanof a man's life, Esca, for such love as ours? Even had we everything wecan wish, all the world can give, there would be a sting in each moment ofhappiness at the thought that it must end so soon."

  "Happiness!" repeated Esca. "What is it? Why is there so little of it onearth? _My_ happiness is to be with you; and see, I win it but for an hourat a time, at a cost to yourself I cannot bear to think of."

  She looked lovingly in his face.

  "Do you suppose _I_ would count the cost?" said she. "Ever since the nightyou took me from those fearful revellers, and brought me so gently and socourteously to my father's house, I--I have never forgotten what I oweyou."

  He raised her hand to his lips, with the action of an inferior doinghomage. Alone with the woman he loved, the very depth and generosity ofhis young affection made him look on her as something sacred and apart Shehesitated, for she had yet more to say, which maiden shame repressed, lestit should disclose her feelings too openly; but she loved him well: shecould not keep silence on so vital a subject, and after a pause, she tookcourage and asked--

  "Esca, could you bear to think we were never to meet again?"

  "I would rather die at once!" he exclaimed fervently.

  She shook her head, and smiled rather sadly.

  "But _after_ death," she insisted; "after death do you believe you willsee me no more?"

  He looked blank and confused. The same question had been present almostunconsciously in his mind, but had never taken so definite a shape before.

  "You would make me a coward, Mariamne," said he; "when I think of you, Ialmost fear to die."

  They were standing under the holm-oak, where the moonlight streamed downclear and cold through the bare branches. It shone on a slab of marble,half defaced, half overgrown with moss. Nevertheless, on that surface wasdistinctly carved the horse's head with which the Roman loved to decoratethe stone that marked his last resting-place.

  "Do you know what that means?" said she, pointing to this quaint and yetsuggestive symbol. "Even the proud Roman feels that death and departureare the same,--that he is going on a journey he knows not where, but onefrom which he never shall return. It is a journey we must all take, nonecan tell how soon; for you and me the horse may be harnessed this verynight. But I know where I am going, Esca. If you had slain me an hour agowith your sword, I should have been there even now."

  "And I?" he exclaimed. "Should I have been with you? for I would have diedamongst the gladiators as I have seen a wolf die in my own country,overmatched by hounds. Mariamne, you would not have left me for ever? Whatwould have become of me?"

  Again she shook her head with the same pitiful plaintive smile.

  "You do not know the way," said she. "You have no guide to take you by thehand; you would be lost in the darkness; and I--I should see you no more.Oh! Esca, I can teach you, I can show it you. Let us travel it together,and, come what may, we need never part again!"

  Then the girl knelt down under that dead tree, with the moonbeams shiningon her pale face, and her lips moved in whispered thanksgiving for thelate escape, and prayer for him who now stood by her side, and who watchedher with wistful looks, as a child watches a piece of mechanism of whichhe sees plainly the effect, while he strives in vain to comprehend thecause. It seemed to Esca that the woman he loved must have found thetalisman that all his youth he had felt a vague consciousness hewanted--something beyond manly courage, or burning patriotism, or thedogged obstinacy that fortifies itself by defying the worst. Moreover, thecourse of his past life, above all, the trials he had lately undergone,could not but have prepared the ground for the reception of that good seedwhich brings forth such good fruit,--could not but have shown him thenecessity for a strength superior to the bravest endurance of merehumanity, for a hope that was fixed beyond the grave. A few minutes sheremained on her knees, praying fervently for herself,--for him. He feltthat it was so, and while his eyes were riveted on the dear face, so pureand peaceful, turned upward to the sky, he knew that his own being waselevated by her holy influence, that the earthly affection of a lover forhis mistress, was in his breast refined by the adoration of a worshipperfor a saint.

  Then she rose, and taking him by the arm, walked leisurely on her way,discoursing, as she went, on certain truths which she had learnt fromCalchas, and which she believed with the faith of those who have beentaught by one, himself an eye-witness of the wonders he relates. Therewere no dogmas in those early days of the Christian Church to distract theminds of its votaries from the simple tenets of their creed. The grain ofmustard-seed had not yet shot up into that goodly tree which has sinceborne so many branches, and the pruning-knife, hereafter to lop away somany redundant heresies, was not as yet unsheathed. The Christian of thefirst century held to a very simple exposition of his faith as handed downto him from his Divine Master. Trust and love were the fundamental rulesof his order. Trust that in the extremity of mortal agony could penetratebeyond the gates of death, and brighten the martyr's face with a ray ofsplendour "like the face of an angel." Love that embraced all things,downward from the Creator to the lowest of the created, that opened itsheart freely and ungrudgingly to each, the sinner, the prodigal, and thetraveller who fell among thieves. Other faiths, indeed, and other motiveshave fortified men to march proudly to the stake, to bear without wincingtortures that forced the sickening spectator to turn shuddering away. Aheathen or a Jew could front the lion's sullen scowl, or the grin andglare of the cruel tiger, in the amphitheatre, with the dignifiedcomposure that brave men borrow from despair; could behold unmoved thestraight-cut furrow in the sand that marked the arena of his sufferings,soon to run crimson with his blood. Even athwart the dun smoke, amidst theleaping yellow flames, pale faces have been seen to move, majestic andserene as spectres, with no sustaining power beyond that of a loftycourage, the offspring of education and of pride. But it was the Christianalone who could submit to the vilest degradations and the fiercestsufferings with a humble and even cheerful thankfulness; who could drinkfrom the bitter cup and accept the draught without a murmur, save ofregret for his own unworthiness; nay, who could forgive and bless the verytyranny that extorted, the very hand that ministered to, the tortures heendured.

  In its early days, fresh from the fountain-head, the Christian's was,indeed, essentially and emphatically, a religion of love. To feed thehungry, to clothe the naked, to stretch a hand to the fallen, to think noevil, to judge not, nor to condemn, in short, to love "the brother whom he_had_ seen," were the direct commands of that Great Example who had sorecently been here on earth. His first disciples strove, hard as falliblehumanity can, to imitate Him, and in so striving, failed not to attain acertain peaceful composure and contentment of mind, that no other code ofmorality, no other system of philosophy, had ever yet produced. Perhapsthis was the quality that, in his dealings with his victim, the Romanexecutioner found most mysterious and inexplicable. Fortitude, resolution,defiance, these he could understand: but the childlike simplicity thataccepted good and evil with equal confidence; that was thankful andcheerful under both, and that entertained neither care for to-day noranxiety for to-morrow, was a moral elevation, at which, with all theirpretensions, his own countrymen had never yet been able to arrive. NeitherStoic nor Epicurean, Sophist nor Philosopher, could look upon life, anddeath also, with the calm assurance of these unlearned men, leaning on ahand the Roman could not see, convinced of an immortality the Roman wasunable to conceive.

  With this happy conviction beaming in her face, Mariamne inculcated onEsca the tenets of her noble faith; explaining, not logically, indeed, butwith woman's persuasive reasonings of the heart, how fair was the prospectthus open to him, how glorious the reward, which, though mortal eye couldnot behold it, mortal hand could not take away. Promises of fu
turehappiness are none the less glowing that they fall on a man's ear from thelips he loves. Conviction goes the straighter to his heart when itpervades another's that beats in unison with his own. Under that moonlitsky, reddened in the horizon with the glare of a distant quarter of thecity already set on fire by the insurgents; in that dreary waste of theEsquiline, with its blasted trees, its shrieking night-birds, and itsscattered grave-stones, the Briton imbibed the first principles ofChristianity from the daughter of Judah, whom he loved; and the girl'sface beamed with a holy tenderness more than mortal, while she showed theway of everlasting happiness, and life, and light, to him whose soul wasdearer to her than her own.

  And meanwhile around them on all sides, murder, rapine, and violence werestalking abroad unchecked. Riotous parties of Vespasian's supporters met,here and there, detached companies of Caesar's broken legions; and whensuch collisions took place, the combatants fought madly, as it would seemfrom mere wanton love of bloodshed, to the death; whichever conquered,neither spared the dissolute citizens, who indeed, when safe out of reach,from roofs or windows encouraged the strife heartily with word andgesture. Sparks fell in showers through the streets of Rome, and blood andwine ran in streams along the pavement; nor were the deserted gardens ofthe Esquiline undisturbed by the tumult and devastation that pervaded therest of the unhappy city.