Darkness and Dawn; Or, Scenes in the Days of Nero. An Historic Tale

by F. W. Farrar

  CHAPTER XL

  _THE SPOLIARIUM_

  ‘Sanguinem quoque gladiatorum bibunt, ut viventibus poculis, comitiales morbi ... At hercule illi ex homine ipso sorbere efficacissimum putant calidum spirantemque, et una ipsam animam ex osculo vulnerum.’--PLINY, _N. H._ xxviii. 2.

  A few days before the scene described in the last chapter there hadbeen gladness in the bright but humble home of Pudens. He had risento the rank of a primipilar centurion, and was now in a position toask the British king Caradoc for the hand of his lovely Claudia. Hehad only delayed his nuptials until he felt himself able to give hisbride a secure and fitting home. Everything was fresh and beautifulin the adornments of the house. The atrium was full of flowersand statues, the door was hung with garlands, the frescoes in thetablinum and triclinium were all new. No mythological scene had beenadmitted, but the walls of the triclinium were painted with festoonsof fruit and flowers and trellises of roses, among which littlewinged genii held their sports; and the tablinum with scenes ofstreet life and the toils of agriculture, and purple vineyards, asperfect as the pencil of Dorotheus could make them. One little cornerof the fresco was universally admired as a masterpiece. Pudens hadasked the painter to imitate one of the vases of iridescent glasswhich were then in fashion, and, in honour of Claudia, to fill itwith lilies. Pudens had greatly admired a similar painting on thewall of the house of Germanicus on the Palatine (where it may be seento this day), and in reproducing it Dorotheus had surpassed himself.

  The betrothal had taken place some time before, and on that occasionPudens had given to his future bride a golden necklace of oldEtrurian workmanship, with pendants of amethyst. It gleamed roundher fair neck as she sat waiting for the bridal summons in herfather’s house, trying to dispel the gloom which fell on the old kingwhen he recalled that he was losing for a time the light of his home.

  All the ordinary conventions of a Roman marriage were carried out,except such as were purely pagan. Claudia was dressed in a long whitetunic with purple fringe, bound round the waist with an embroideredgirdle. Her bridal veil and her shoes were of bright yellow, ascustom required, and the long fair hair which fell over her shouldershad been duly parted with the point of a spear. It was evening, andthe three youths who were to accompany her stood laughing in thevestibule, and ready to start. One of them was Titus, who was tocarry before her a torch of white-thorn; the other two were FlaviusClemens and young Aulus Plautius, who walked on either side tosupport her arms. The fourth lad, who was called the camillus,and who carried in a vase some of the bride’s jewels and childishplaythings, was Marcus, the bright little son of Seneca. She herselfbore in her hand a distaff and spindle full of wool, as a type ofdomestic industry. Outside the door waited her friends, five of whomcarried wax candles and the others pine-wood torches. And so, withsongs and laughter and snatches of the old Thalassio, the happyprocession made its way through the streets till they reached thedoor of Pudens. When she had wound wool round the doorposts andtouched them with wolf’s fat, his groomsmen--who were chiefly hisbrother-officers--lifted Claudia across the threshold to preventany ill-omened stumble. Within the vestibule stood Pudens, with fireand water. These she had to touch, as symbols of purification, whichmight be regarded as Christian no less than pagan; and then she spokethe marriage formula--‘Where thou art Gaius I am Gaia.’ After thisshe was led to a seat upon an outspread sheepskin, and Pudens handedto her the keys of the house. The bridal supper followed, and itsmirth was none the less sparkling from its perfect innocence.

  By the wish of both Pudens and Claudia, the slaves of the householdwere invited to have their share in the festivities, which lasted forseveral days. But the newly wedded pair had in store for Nereus andhis daughter Junia a bliss which they had not dared to anticipate.At the close of the week of rejoicing he bade them, with a smile, toaccompany him to the Prætor’s tribunal. The order could have but onemeaning--that he meant to set them free. The tears rushed into theold slave’s eyes. Nereus and Junia had, indeed, learnt to be contentwith any condition to which God called them, but now that liberty hadspontaneously been offered they felt an almost incommunicable joy.

  Pudens sympathised with them in their emotion, and, with a fewcheering words, bade them walk behind him towards the Forum. Theceremony of emancipation was very brief. The centurion stated tothe Prætor that he wished to manumit Nereus and Junia--of whom thelatter had been born in his house--for their great merits and longfaithfulness. The Prætor’s lictor laid a rod on each of their heads,with a slight blow, and turned them each round; then the Prætordeclared them free in accordance with the right of citizens, and theybecame _liberti_. On their return home, the rest of the _familia_,formerly their fellow-slaves, received them with showers ofsweetmeats and clapping of hands and congratulations, and wereallowed to hold one more humble banquet in their honour.

  Nereus still wished to serve Pudens and Claudia as their freedman;but it was arranged that he should live in lodgings near the house.He and Junia soon made the new home of their freedom look as pleasantas their circumstances admitted, and one evening they were sittinghand in hand thanking the Lord of their life for His mercy, whena timid knock was heard. Opening the door, Junia saw a prettyslave-girl, who asked to speak with her in private. Junia had knownher as one of the slaves of Pedanius Secundus, and felt the deepestpity for her because she was afflicted with epilepsy--a disease whichamong the ancients was so ill-omened as to be the cause of endlesstrouble and distress.

  There was but one remedy for the disease which the ancients thoughtperfectly efficacious, and it is conceivable that the desperatenature of this remedy may have had some mysterious effect upon thenerves, and have proved in some cases to be a real cure through itsinfluence on the mind of the sufferer. It was to drink blood from arecent wound.

  The consequences of a fit of epilepsy were disastrous. It was calledthe comitial disease, because its occurrence put an end to themost important business of the commonwealth by necessitatingthe dissolution of any public assembly. Consequently, persons soafflicted were condemned to a life of misery, and could never moveabout with freedom. Their presence in a house was regarded as amisfortune, and they were sometimes got rid of to save trouble. Thepretty face and winning ways of poor young Syra had saved her, butsince she heard of the supposed cure for her malady her one desirehad been to avail herself of it.

  This had made her go frequently to the games of the amphitheatre, andlinger near the gate of Libitina, through which the confector, whohad, when necessary, to give the finishing stroke, dragged the deadand wounded gladiators into the spoliarium. She had thus attractedthe notice of the young slave Phlegon, who held this horrible office.

  That he did so was not his own fault. He too was a slave of Pedanius,who had cruelly degraded him to this place in the amphitheatreas a punishment for a trivial offence, followed by an outbreakof resentment, when, in his younger days, he had been a favouritecup-bearer of his master. It would be useless to aver that hischaracter had not been somewhat brutalised by the hideous dutiesforced upon him; but he regarded himself as the victim of necessity,and therefore as not responsible--a view not without a grim elementof truth in the case of a pagan slave. Seeing Syra as she lingeredabout the amphitheatre, he had been struck by her helpless prettiness,and she had learnt to admire a face which still retained its goodlooks, if not its good expression. They fell in love with each other;but when she was forced to tell him of her misfortune, he declaredall question of marriage to be impossible unless she were curedof her comitial disease. He had himself persuaded her to come thisevening to the spoliarium after the games, and to try the remedywhich alone seemed to offer any chance of success.

  But poor Syra dared not go alone through the darkening, crowded, andvicious streets, and thought that Junia, as she was now a freedwoman,could protect her. Junia was always actuated by the principle as wellas by the instinct of kindness. Not guessing the object of the girl’serrand, but knowing her hapless love for Phlegon, she consented toaccompany he
r. It cost her a pang to leave her father on that happyevening, but she knew that with him, no less than with herself, theclaims of charity were paramount, and all the more towards those whoseemed to need it most.

  ‘Could you find no better youth to love than one of so dire a trade,Syra?’ she gently asked the girl, as, with their heads covered withshawls, they went in the deepening dusk down the Via Sacra towardsthe amphitheatre.

  ‘It is not his fault, Junia. He hates it. His heart is naturallypitiful. He was brought up in the midst of luxury in the house ofPedanius, where he was a favourite. But Pedanius is a wretch, andonce he treated Phlegon so cruelly that, in a fit of rage, the boystruck him. He might have been crucified for it, or flung to thelampreys; but, instead of that, Pedanius made him take to this workin the amphitheatre. How else could he live?’

  ‘There are some lives worse than death,’ said Junia.

  ‘Well,’ answered Syra; ‘many a time he has longed to stab himselfwith his own sword; but ... he loves me.’

  ‘I did not mean that he should have killed himself,’ said Junia;‘none of us have a right to fling away the life which God gives us.I meant that it would be worth while facing any risk to escape doingwrong.’

  ‘Nothing can be wrong which our masters make us do,’ answered Syrasimply; and Junia could only sigh, for she knew that this was anaxiom with both slaves and their masters.

  By this time they had reached the outer door of the spoliarium,and, in answer to a whispered watchword, Phlegon admitted Syra, whopromised to return very speedily, while Junia waited for her outside.

  A few moments only had elapsed when Syra sprang out of the dooragitated and breathless.

  ‘Oh, Junia!’ she cried; ‘I did it! I did it!’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘I have drunk some blood from a fresh wound, and I am cured.’

  ‘Horrible!’ said Junia, with a shudder, now for the first timeunderstanding what Syra had come for.

  ‘Yes; it _was_ horrible,’ said the girl; ‘but how could I help it?Every one who saw me in a fit, however slight, used to spit so as toavert the omen. I tried everything first. I tried galbanum, garlic,hellebore; I ate some young swallows; I tried to get a bit of theliver of an elephant, or the brain of a camel, which they say is acertain remedy.[83] But how could I? Never mind! I am cured now. Butoh, Junia!’ exclaimed the girl, ‘as he lay there’--

  ‘As _who_ lay there?’

  ‘The young gladiator who fought so bravely to-day, and was draggedout by the hook as dead--well, he is not dead! His limbs were warm.I put my hand on his heart; there was a faint pulse.’

  ‘But who is he?’

  ‘I thought you knew him, for he was once a slave in your house--thatyoung Phrygian.’

  ‘Onesimus!’ exclaimed Junia, with a startled cry.

  ‘Yes; that was his name. Did you not know that he fought as anet-thrower to-day?’

  ‘No,’ she answered faintly. ‘We never go to the games. I had longlost sight of him, and thought that he had left Rome, or was dead.Syra, save him!’

  ‘Phlegon will be glad to save him, if it can be done undiscovered. Heloathes stabbing the poor gladiators when they have not quite beenkilled. Yet, if it were discovered that he spared but one of them,he would certainly be torn to pieces or crucified.’

  Junia’s mind was instantly made up. At all costs, Onesimus shouldhave such chance of life secured to him as nature rendered possible.She told Syra to let Phlegon speak with her. Entering the spoliarium,and repressing the awful sense of repugnance which almost made herfaint as the dim light of his lamp glimmered over the heap of mangledcorpses, she recognised the features of Onesimus, and convincedherself that the spark of life was not wholly quenched in him. Then,putting into the hand of the confector a gold coin which had been thegift of Claudia, she entreated him to let her come back and removethe hapless youth. He consented, and touched by her anguish, hehimself took the body of the gladiator in his arms, laid him on hisown pallet of straw, and poured some common Sabine wine down histhroat. Junia, meanwhile, thankful now for the slave-girl’s company,went to the house of Linus, which was near at hand, and implored hisaid. The good old pastor readily consented, and, when it was quitedark, took a mule and went with the two girls to the door of thespoliarium, where Phlegon awaited them.

  He had not been idle. With such rough kindness as was possible to himhe had washed away in tepid water the stains of blood from the breastand face of the poor gladiator, and had bandaged the deep wounds inhis breast.

  With tender care they lifted the still unconscious Phrygian upon abundle of soft clothes which they had laid upon the mule. Linus,though the task was not without peril, agreed to tend and give himshelter for that night.

  Then Junia fled back through the deserted streets. Nereus had begunto be anxious at her long delay, and listened to her story with agrave face. He had never liked Onesimus, and the youth’s many sinsand errors might well have shaken his confidence. But he and Juniahad read not long before the letter which Paul of Tarsus had writtento their brother-Christians in Corinth; and, if he wavered for amoment, he was decided in the cause of mercy by Junia’s whisperedwords, ‘Love suffereth long and is kind; love thinketh no evil;beareth all things; believeth all things; endureth all things;hopeth all things.’

  It was agreed that after dark next evening Nereus should remove thedreadfully wounded sufferer from the house of Linus. Pudens, to whomhe told the whole story, arranged, with Claudia’s full consent, thatOnesimus, as a former member of the household, should be concealedand tended in the hut of one of their country slaves who had chargeof a little farm not far from Aricia. This peasant was a Christian,and he carried out the injunctions of his master with faithfulkindness.

  For many weeks Onesimus hung between life and death; at last, slowly,very slowly, he began to recover. Youth and the natural strength ofhis constitution, aided by the fresh air of the country, the puremilk, the quiet, the simple wholesome food, and the fact that therewas nothing to thwart the recuperative forces of nature, won the dayin the battle, and once more Death released the victim whom he seemedto hold securely in his grasp.