The Martyr of the Catacombs Part 3

Buildings of all sizes, walls, tombs, and temples were all around, but he saw no place that seemed at all connected with the Catacombs. He was quite at a loss what to do.

He went down into the street and walked slowly along, carefully scrutinizing every person whom he met, and examining closely every building. Yet no result was obtained from this beyond the discovery that the outward appearance gave no sign of any connection with subterranean abodes. The day pa.s.sed on, and it grew late; but Marcellus remembered that there were many entrances to the Catacombs, and still he continued his search, hoping before the close of the day to find some clue.

At length his search was rewarded. He had walked backward and forward and in every direction, often retracing his steps and returning many times to the place of starting. Twilight was coming on, and the sun was near the edge of the horizon, when his quick eye caught sight of a man who was walking in an opposite direction, followed by a boy. The man was dressed in coa.r.s.e apparel, stained and damp with sand and earth. His complexion was blanched and pallid, like that of one who has long been imprisoned, and his whole appearance at once arrested the glance of the young soldier.

He stepped up to him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder said,

"You are a fossor. Come with me."

The man looked up. He saw a stern face. The sight of the officer's dress terrified him. In an instant he darted away, and before Marcellus could turn to follow he had rushed into a side lane and was out of sight.

But Marcellus secured the boy.

"Come with me," said he.

The poor lad looked up with such an agony of fear that Marcellus was moved.

"Have mercy, for my mother's sake; she will die if I am taken."

The boy fell at his feet murmuring this in broken tones.

"I will not hurt you. Come," and he led him away toward an open s.p.a.ce out of the way of the pa.s.sers-by.

"Now," said he, stopping and confronting the boy, "tell me the truth.

Who are you?"

"My name is Pollio," said the boy.

"Where do you live?"

"In Rome."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was out on an errand."

"Who was that man?"

"A fossor."

"What were you doing with him?"

"He was carrying a bundle for me."

"What was in the bundle?"

"Provisions."

"To whom were you carrying it?"

"To a dest.i.tute person out here."

"Where does he live?

"Not far from here."

"Now, boy, tell me the truth. Do you know anything about the Catacombs?"

"I have heard about them," said the boy quietly.

"Were you ever in them?"

"I have been in some of them."

"Do you know any body who lives in them?"

"Some people. The fossor stays there."

"You were going to the Catacombs then with him?"

"What business would I have there at such a time as this?" said the boy innocently.

"That is what I want to know. Were you going there?"

"How would I dare to go there when it is forbidden by the laws?"

"It is now evening," said Marcellus abruptly, "come with me to the evening service at yonder temple."

The boy hesitated. "I am in a hurry," said he.

"But you are my prisoner. I never neglect the worship of the G.o.ds. You must come and a.s.sist me at my devotions."

"I cannot," said the boy firmly.

"Why not?"

"I am a Christian."

"I knew it. And you have friends, in the Catacombs, and you are going there now. They are the dest.i.tute people to whom you are carrying provisions, and the errand on which you are is for them."

The boy held down his head and was silent. "I want you now to take me to the entrance of the Catacombs."

"O, generous soldier, have mercy! Do not ask me that. I cannot do it!"

"You must."

"I will not betray my friends."

"You need not. It is nothing to show the entrance among the many thousands that lead down below. Do you think that the guards do not know every one?"