Dazed, scarcely knowing where they were or what they were doing, the women, clinging to the men; walked along the narrow way. In the circus, there were more shouts and cries. Hermione trembled in the strong arms of Lycias. He soothed her gently.

"Pray to your G.o.d," he said, "that He may bring us safely through."

"Who are you?"

"I am Lycias, a friend of Christians, and I, too would learn of the faith."

One great danger lay before them. It was the guard at the outer doorway, which opened on the street. He opposed their exit.

"No one pa.s.ses here," he said.

"No one except me and my friends," responded the gladiator, boldly.

"Dare you say to Lycias that he may not pa.s.s?"

The soldier's face relaxed, but still he stood in the path.

"To-day, I have specially strict orders lest some of the Christians escape. For my part, I would willingly let some of those poor creatures flee, but I value my head."

"Perhaps thou wilt not gainsay me when thou seest my pa.s.s."

Lycias held up the bronze lizard. Really, the big gladiator himself doubted the power of this symbol. He began to fear that they would all be forced back into the arena, which was sure death, not only for those whom he wished to save, but for himself, also. He would receive no mercy, even though he had been the idol of the people but an hour before and the air had rung with his praises. It would count him little, if he were caught helping the victims to escape.

The soldier looked at him with staring eyes.

"The symbol of the chief-priest," he whispered. "In the name of Jupiter, go by in peace, and may his wrath not fall upon me and mine."

A few paces more, and the light of air of the blessed day bathed them in warmth and gave them courage.

The gladiator set Hermione on her feet and wiped his dripping forehead.

"Barely escaped," he muttered.

No one was in this part of the street by the amphitheatre. All the interest was in the interior. So great had been the number of Christians that Octavia and the others in this little group had not been missed.

Where they were going, they knew not; but that, for the moment, they were safe, they all thankfully realized and that they owed it to this big stranger with the honest face.

"Let us, for one moment, thank G.o.d for our deliverance," said Octavia.

Not daring to kneel, they turned their faces toward Heaven while Octavia breathed forth a fervent prayer.

"We must hurry," said Lycias, leading the way to the Forum, to-day deserted for the greater amus.e.m.e.nts of the games, in which the Christians were the chief attraction.

It was a long, hard walk to the marble wharf where the ship lay on which Alyrus and his daughter were soon to set sail, as Lycias well knew. His great fear was lest the Moor might have decided to go earlier and not wait for the conclusion of the games. Suppose they arrived at the wharf and found the ship gone? What should they do?

Lycias' brain studied this problem. All these people were homeless, except the shepherd. Ah! that was it! If the ship had sailed, he would take these delicately nurtured women to the cave on the Campagna.

It grew necessary for the men to help the women, who were very weary and weak from excitement; although Lycias did not wish to call any more attention to them than was necessary, for fear that the ladies, especially Octavia, who was well known, might be recognized. All the Romans had not gone to the Circus, some were sitting in the eating-places, and women were knitting in the doorways. Fortunately, it was getting toward evening, but that would be a signal for the thousands to leave the amphitheatre and scatter to their homes.

There was need for haste.

They approached the sh.o.r.es of the Tiber, turned into gold by the sunlight from the setting sun. The masts were visible now.

Lycias gave a sigh of satisfaction as he saw, sitting on a gra.s.sy bank a man and a woman, who was heavily veiled. Standing beside them was a slender girl. It was Lidia, the daughter of the shepherd, who sprang forward and put her arms around her father's neck, while great tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

"At last! at last! thou art come. Thanks be to our G.o.d."

It had not been a difficult matter for the little scullery-maid to persuade the lawyer to venture upon a scheme as bold as it was doubtful in its outcome. Aurelius Luca.n.u.s was a broken man. He had lost his children. He had not known how dear they were to him until they disappeared. What mattered it if they were followers of Christians, members of a despised sect? They were his own, and he loved them. His business was ruined, his home deserted, the emperor no longer looked on him with favor. All was gone.

In the room near by, Claudia lay weeping. She, too, was broken-hearted.

Her daughter, her ambitions, all those things which formed her life had vanished as suddenly as the dew dries upon the green gra.s.s in midsummer.

The lawyer was sitting in the garden. Bright yellow and scarlet dahlias bloomed around him; plumy lavender and rose colored asters nodded cheerfully in the chill breeze of this first of November. The water in the fountain rippled as musically as in those happy days, now gone.

That morning early, Aurelius had gone again to the Senator Adrian Soderus, to whom Virgilia had so cruelly been betrothed. It was a sign that no longer was the lawyer held in high esteem, when he was kept waiting in the outer chamber, and a message was brought him by a young slave that the Senator could no longer receive him. He would have no dealings with the parents of Christians.

Then he, too, knew their disgrace. It must have been noised--abroad in the city. Aurelius hurried home and sitting down where Claudia had rested, looking so beautiful, on her return from the amphitheatre on the Spring day which seemed so long ago, he buried his face in his hands.

An awful fear haunted him. To-day had been fixed for the games. Could it be possible that Virgilia, so fair, so delicate, shielded all her life from the rough and hard things, protected and loved, was among those Christians whom Caesar had, in his cruelty, doomed to death?

And Martius, where was he?

He felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked up with dull eyes, clouded with misery and loneliness, into the dark, sallow face of the kitchen-maid, whom he had never noticed before until he saw her tenderly ministering to his wife.

In a few concise sentences, she told him all.

Virgilia and Martius were to be sacrificed, with hundreds of other Christians that afternoon. It was known that Octavia, and her children were also condemned. Lycias, the gladiator, would try to save them.

Perhaps he could succeed; there was a little hope. In any case, he would try. Aurelius and Claudia, with herself, would go to a quiet place near the marble quarry, and wait for them. If they did not come, all was lost, and there remained nothing but to return to this house.

If they came, there was a chance of escape for them all. She told him of the ship belonging to Alyrus, his porter, now a freedman. It was he who had wrought the mischief. If possible--G.o.d only knew!--they would all sail away together. Whither, who could tell? Away from Rome, away from all this trouble and sorrow.

Lidia possessed a lovely voice, thrilling sweet. As she talked, the lawyer's brain cleared. He was more himself than he had been since the children had disappeared. Now, he knew the worst. Sometimes certainty, even though bad, is better than the agony of suspense. There was a chance, and if they escaped--a thought came to him.

"Thou wilt dress thy Lady."

Lidia nodded.

"And gather together the jewels. Bring the diadem sent by the emperor to Virgilia and the necklace, the gift of Adrian."

Even in his anguish of soul, the lawyer smiled, grimly. When the Senator sent to reclaim his valuable gift, he would not find it. At least, he would have contributed that much to Virgilia's future happiness. His wealth was so great that he would not miss the game.

"I will gather together all the jewels, my master, also those of the Lady Claudia, and will hide them in my bosom. No one will imagine that the kitchen-maid carries such treasures."

"A quick-witted girl," muttered Aurelius, "and now for my part. If the G.o.ds please, they will escape, and we shall be happy again. If not--then we will never return to this house."

It took him until noon to examine the papers in his strong-box. Three of the doc.u.ments he placed in his toga. The others, he burned.

It was a long and difficult matter to bring the Lady Claudia, in her weakness, to the place agreed upon. Here, they waited, while the sun, burning hot in Rome even in October, beat upon them pitilessly, for there was no shade here.

The whole story had not been told Claudia, who was saved that suffering. She knew, only, that they were to set sail in a ship and leave this city where she had been so happy. She was utterly apathetic, caring nothing where they went.