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From A Roman Reporter, by Arthur Aikin Brodribb, London: The Society for The Promotion of Christian Knowledge, New York: E. & J. B. Young & Co.; [c. 1893], pp. 44-58.

A ROMAN REPORTER

by A. A. Brodribb

CHAPTER  III.

RISCILLA having been safely conducted to her friends, Cassianus lost no time in preparing for his journey, and the next morning found him ready and eager to set out. The hired mule carriage which he always used on these occasions was at the door, and in another five hours, or six at the most, he would be at Ravenna. His difficulties, however, would only begin with his arrival. Every moment in the day he debated with himself the question in what way he could best serve his rash and unhappy friend, though he was not sure whether the epithet “unhappy” could be applied to him. He had had too much experience of the obstinacy of the Christians under persecution not to 45 know that many of them suffered death gladly, and nearly all of them with fortitude. The words of the messenger still rang in his ears, and he went about the house with the uncomfortable conviction that the centurion would die like a man, but like a very obstinate and unreasonable one, and would refuse all conditions of mercy. Such a catastrophe was to be avoided at all risks, if only for Priscilla’s sake. No doubt he would be admitted to see the centurion, but if he failed to induce him to make submission — if indeed submission to the authorities would save him — what other hope had he? His acquaintances at Ravenna were not influential, and Marcellinus’s offence was obviously so serious that very influential intercession would be wanted. “He will die like the others,” thought Cassianus, shuddering, “and he will not say a single word to save himself.” Altogether, the poor man was in a very miserable and doubtful frame of mind as he stepped into his carriage.

The mules, traversing the narrow street of Imola with much deliberation, had nearly reached the open country when a voice saluted 46 the traveller and begged him to halt. Ill news speedily becomes known, and in a very few hours Florus had learned the cause of Cassianus’s journey. Geta, perhaps, had overheard part of the story, or perhaps old Nanna, the nurse, had been indiscreet. At any rate, Florus and some of the other pupils, had soon heard what had happened; and it was Florus who now offered his condolences.

“Much obliged, much obliged,” said Cassianus formally, as the young man expressed his sympathy.

“Nay,” said Florus, standing by the vehicle, “it is more than that. Who could see you thus grieved, and not be sorry? But I came, not to sympathise, but to help; and I think I have some influence where, perhaps, you may want it.”

“Eh!” replied Cassianus, dolefully, “how is that, my young friend?”

“Do you know Numerius, the newly-appointed Judge?”

“No; what of him? I do not know him.”

“But I do. He is my uncle. Shall I go with you?”

“A good lad,” exclaimed Cassianus with enthusiasm; “a very good lad; and I withdraw all I said about Anticyra, and I will make no more Greek jokes. Jump up. A very good lad indeed. We shall pull him through yet, if we go to work properly. Counsel at the bar is good, and that he shall not lack, but counsel behind the judge’s chair is better still. Off we go, my good, my excellent Florus.”

Florus smiled, noticing that this time his name was properly pronounced, and took his place beside the elder traveller, whom he did his best to entertain and impress with stories of his aristocratic connections. It was a bad road, and Cassianus repeatedly cursed the bad luck that had unexpectedly inflicted on him so uncomfortable a journey; but at length Ravenna was reached, and the travelling companions separated, Florus betaking himself to his uncle’s house, and Cassianus to that of his deputy and colleague of the official law reports.

The judicial system of the day was by no means so harsh as to refuse a prisoner ample opportunities for arranging his defence. In 48 some instances, not only was considerable breathing time allowed, but the actual escape of the accused was connived at, the authorities not being beyond the influence of the Diva Pecunia. But the chief factor in the situation was the temper of the Judge himself, and in the present case this was an unknown quantity to Cassianus. He ascertained from his deputy that the new judge, Numerius, was reputed to be an accomplished and learned man, strict, but not inhumane, and that no pecuniary offers would move him by a hair’s-breadth. Those who had watched his demeanour on the bench declared that he was a man of few words, and that his frigid reserve was no mask, but indicated his real indifference to the fate of a prisoner. He would pronounce, equally unmoved, a sentence of condemnation or acquittal, never aggravating the feelings of the guilty, but occasionally wounding by some cutting sarcasm those who were so fortunate as to escape. The law had made him a Judge, and he did his duty in his own cynical manner, and, on the whole, was not unpopular. Cassianus was well aware 49 that it would be worse than useless to seek an interview with such a Judge, and made no efforts in that direction. Florus, however, readily undertook to speak as many words in season as his uncle could be induced to hear, and in a day or two reported that the great man had heard of the case and was not disposed to treat the offence very seriously.

Heartily thanking his young friend for his zeal, Cassianus repaired to the prison. If only the centurion could be brought to make some acknowledgement of his error, some small concession to public opinion, he might at least save his head. The question was, whether he would condescend to do this. Marcellinus was strictly confined, but without suffering any indignity, and was freely allowed to see his friends. Several of them had already seen him, and had exhorted him, very needlessly, to stand firm; nor, in spite of the tender ties that bound him to Imola, was there the smallest chance of his apostasy. It was exactly as Cassianus had feared; the man was obstinate and self-possessed, and appeared to welcome the prospect of martyrdom.

“Nay,” said he, as Cassianus condoled with him on the close air of the gaol, “it is not like the free air of Heaven, but yet I am free even now. My soul, my thoughts, my prayers are free, and no Cæsar can restrain them for one moment.”

“True,” returned Cassianus, “all very true; but I am thinking of your bodily freedom. That is more to the purpose at present. Surely you know your danger?”

“I do know it,” said Marcellinus, smiling; “and so have many known it who have suffered, as I shall suffer, in this good cause.”

“And yet you would wreck your life for the sake of the impulse of the moment? Come, now; it was said and done, was it not, in the heat of the moment? Let the Judge know that, and be restored to your friends. He is just, I hear, and not cruel.”

“I spoke hastily, no doubt.”

“Of course you did, of course,” interrupted Cassianus.

“But,” continued the other, “I cannot say that I spoke wrongly.”

“Man alive!” exclaimed Cassianus, using his 51 favourite phrase, “you would not go to death for a hasty word? It was all a mistake, a terrible mistake.”

“No. It was my duty.”

“But you do not reflect, you do not think, you do not see what you are doing. Just a few sensible words, or perhaps a few grains of incense on the altar, would make all the difference. I did think you were a reasonable man of the world.”

“I have reflected,” said Marcellinus, emphatically, “and prayed — prayed for strength for myself, and for her in her trials; for her who was to have been my wife. But I cannot repent of what I did, and God has opened to me no door but that by which he that saveth his life shall lose it.”

“I will not argue about religion,” replied Cassianus, very much vexed and annoyed, “but it will be terrible for my daughter, and something is due to her feelings.”

“Would she receive me, do you think, if I came as a disgraced deserter from both armies; — from God’s army as well as Cæsar’s? I had 52 hoped to bring her not dishonour, but happiness. If I have failed in one duty, I will not — I dare not — fail in another. You forget that she, too, is a Christian. Would she take a husband who had so publicly shown himself a coward and a renegade? I trow not. I cannot live so, even with her, an outcast from God and men. My friend, you must tell her this; I die — if is die — true to her and to the faith, like an honourable soldier. Nay, if I had not loved honour I should never have loved Priscilla.”

Cassianus, little as he sympathised with Marcellinus’s opinions, recognised his sincerity, and was touched by the melancholy and broken voice with which his friend had pronounced his Priscilla’s name. But how obstinate the man was! On any less serious occasion Cassianus would have freely quarrelled with him; as things were, the prisoner turning a deaf ear to every argument, and regarding with almost perfect composure the probability of a violent death, there was no use in prolonging the interview. Perhaps when the day of the trial came, the solemnity of the scene might break down his resolution. 53 Cassianus hoped it would have that effect, but was not sanguine. He left the prison with a very heavy heart.

At his lodgings he found Florus waiting for him, and confided to him all his sorrows.

“Cheer up,” said the young man; “I have seen my uncle again, and have told him all the facts — the interesting facts — of the case. He has a human heart, whatever people may say.”

“But the man is so obstinate,” sighed Cassianus.

“Oh, I dare say. I believe they all are, at first. Wait and see how he will behave when the day comes.”

“If I could see Numerius myself ——”

“Impossible! He would never allow it; besides, it would have the very worst effect. You don’t know what difficulty I have had myself to get him to listen. It was after supper last night — such a supper! such oysters! — that I managed to lead the conversation in the right direction. We were speaking of the Christians and their extraordinary superstitions, and gradually, very gradually, I introduced the subject of Marcellinus. At first he was very unwilling to hear a word 54 and I had to own frankly that I was under great obligations to you, and that what I asked was a favour to myself. I can tell you I had to use al my diplomacy, but I think I have not been quite unsuccessful.

“My good lad,” said poor Cassianus, “how can I repay you? I have been very harsh sometimes.”

“Oh, dear no,” said Florus lightly, “not more so than was necessary.”

“I have indeed. I know I have; but never again after this kindness. Your good offices are very welcome in time of trouble.”

“Would that I could do more,” said Florus; “but it is something to have the private ear of the Judge.”

“Indeed it is, my dear good friend. It is everything in such a case as this. I can never thank you enough.”

So they parted for the rest of the day, with many protestations of friendship; and Florus, as soon as he was out of sight, smiled to think of the extreme simplicity of a certain person. As he turned into the main street of the town, he 55 said to himself, “We shall soon be quits, my dear Cassianus; and then you will be able to thank me sufficiently. What an advantage it is to have a friend at court!” As for Cassianus, he suspected nothing, but only thought himself mistaken in his original estimate of the young man who was now making himself so useful. If he had known all it would have gone hard with Florus. His distress and perplexity, however, made him blind to motives that he would ordinarily have perceived, though he could not have anticipated such treachery as was now working against him. Except as regards he excellence of the oysters, there had not been one word of truth in all that Florus had said of his supper with his uncle on the previous evening. Numerius and Florus had supped alone together, and when the great man had exhausted the usual commonplaces, and had duly lamented the difficulty of procuring good wine at Ravenna, and, what was equally important, good water, Florus artfully turned the conversation on the Christians, inquiring deferentially what his uncle thought of the new policy of toleration. Then, 56 by easy stages, their virtues and vices were discussed, and Florus, with a great show of morality, deplored the fact that the honest old pagan creed was being ousted by a new-fangled and hypocritical religion.

“The very worst feature of it all,” said Florus, “is their hypocrisy. Unless you have lived among them you cannot conceive how hypocritical they are.”

Numerius smiled at this moral young man of the world.

“Yes,” pursued Florus, “there is no such hypocrite as a Christian. For instance, you know how peaceable they pretend to be? Well, it was only the other day that I was walking and talking with one of my fellow-students, and chanced to say something that displeased him. Instantly, and without a word of warning he aimed a blow at me with his fist. I parried it, of course, and knocked him down; but what are we to think about the religion of such a man when he boasts of being a Christian?”

An Florus sipped his wine, and, straightening his back, delivered a specimen blow with his left 57 arm at a sofa cushion, in order to show his biceps.

“There are many Christians,” remarked his uncle, “among the legionaries, and they do not fight badly.”

“I for one should never trust them,’ said Florus, with the air of a high military authority; “and that reminds me of another Christian rascal that I know of, a centurion in one of the legions here. What do you think he did? He contrived somehow to scrape acquaintance with my tutor Cassianus, and, as Cassianus has rather a pretty daughter, the fellow was always hanging about Imola whenever he could get leave. You can guess what happened. After ruining the girl, our worthy Christian centurion refused to marry her, though he would soon be discharged. There’s a saint for you! I believe, though, that this creature, Marcellinus, has just been arrested for some offence, so perhaps he will get his deserts after all.”

“If that be so,” said Numerius, coldly, “you should have told me nothing about him. A Judge must hear nothing privately.”

“I beg pardon,” said Florus, readily; “he only occurred to me as a case in point.”

“Say no more,” returned Numerius: “I am sorry to have heard so much. You should have more regard for my office.”

But the reproof fell very lightly on Florus, who only congratulated himself on his adroitness.

Next:

CHAPTER  IV.

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