Virgilia; or, Out of the Lion's Mouth Part 8

The young girl was sad on this beautiful October day when the air was spicy with the whiffs of ripe grapes and pomegranates in the gardens and vineyards. She was thinking of what it would mean to go away from her home, to leave her parents and Martius, to take up another life, and be obedient to the old Senator, who, kind and indulgent as he might be, was, nevertheless, little more than her master, or she, little better than one of her own slaves. Not once, however, did the thought enter her mind that she was a free being, at liberty to rebel and decline this marriage so suddenly arranged for her. It was for her parents to decide what her future should be, and for her to obey.

Early in the morning of the day which they were to pa.s.s in the lovely gardens of Octavia, Virgilia ascended a narrow steep staircase and went out upon the flat roof. It was like a garden up here, with trellises and vines. Some late tea-roses were in bloom. The girl broke off one and placed it in the folds of her gown. She could breathe in its sweetness.

Over at one end of the roof--or terrace, as it is called--sat the Old One, making a carpet. Above her head was a gay scarlet and blue awning, to protect her from the sun, still hot, even in cool October.

The slave looked up and smiled when Virgilia came near, motioning to a pile of cushions.

"Ever busy, Mother?" said the young girl, examining the work.

The rug was very handsome. It had five borders wrought in dull blues, white and yellow, covered with conventional designs, and the centre was exquisite, a white ground on which loose flowers were thrown negligently, carelessly, without regular form, yet the whole was perfect.

"It is almost finished, my child, and when it is done, it shall be for thee, to adorn thy home."

"For me?"

"My wedding gift to thee. On the day that thou wast born, I began it, and all through these seventeen years I have worked at it, thinking that on the day when thou shouldst go away to thy husband, the rug would go with thy household goods to remind thee of the aged woman whose gnarled and withered hands wrought it for thee."

"I shall ever hold it precious."

Virgilia sank down on the cushions, listlessly. Far away she could see the blue lines of mountains, bordering the fields where Lucius the Water-Carrier lived, where were the marvellous tombs of the great on the Appian Way; where stately homes bordered the fashionable Ostian Way, and where were the Catacombs where the Christians buried their dead and gathered for worship.

She looked with some curiosity at the placid, gentle face of the old woman. That night, when she had burst in upon the betrothal feast with her dire prophecies, she had been transformed, a creature of whom they were afraid. Had she been conscious of what she said then? Virgilia thought not.

"Mother," she said, "thy many years of life have brought to thee wisdom. Should one tell everything to one's husband? Even when it may be dangerous?"

The Old One held a yellow thread suspended from her ivory hook and looked keenly at Virgilia.

"Thou hast a secret, my child?"

"Yes, mother."

"One of which thou art ashamed?"

"No, no. But it involves others."

The bricks were sprinkled with sand. Virgilia stopped and drew a fish in the sand. She had for some time suspected that the Old One was a Christian. If she were, she would recognize the symbol of Christ, the "Icthus." If she were not, it would do no harm.

"And thou, too, art a little fish," murmured the Old One. "Thanks be to His holy name, when the Lord Christ was born, I was a Princess in the court of Herod, the King, who was sore afraid, because it was told him that a new King had come to reign over Israel. The angels sang at His birth and the kings from the East brought presents of frankincense and myrrh. I fell into the hands of the Romans, and here I am, a slave. But it was a plan of G.o.d. In Rome, I learned to know Christ."

"Virgilia! Virgilia!" Martius called. "It is time to go. Hurry! The chair is at the door."

"If the time comes when for conscience' sake thou must disclose that thou art a follower of Christ, do so. If not, keep silence and worship Him in thine heart lest evil come upon the thousands who love Him,"

said the Old One. Her eyes grew filmy and she stretched out her hands, tremblingly. "I see--I see--a shadow of death--approaching. But in the shadow--shines the face--of our--Risen Lord."

"Mother, Mother!" said Virgilia, alarmed.

"Was I speaking? What did I say? This work must be finished soon, for the marriage."

"Virgilia!" came Martius' peremptory summons.

"Yes, I am coming."

Stopping only to call Sahira to bring the Old One a refreshing drink, Virgilia veiled herself, entered her chair, and with Martius walking by her side, was borne out of the city gate guarded by men in full uniform, armed with staves and knives, and through the road leading to the Lady Octavia's house.

What a day that was! The vines, festooned gracefully between dwarf mulberry trees, were loaded with huge bunches of purple and white grapes. The men and women slaves were gathering them and heaping them up in baskets. The red juice escaped and ran in streams over the yellow earth.

Laughing and merry the four young people pa.s.sed among the servants eating grapes to their heart's content, telling stories of other days, leaving the future to unfold for itself. They did not try to foresee it.

At noon, they went to the cool, shady room overlooking the garden and ate the cold meats and fresh green salad, luscious fruit and white goat's cheese, finishing the meal with sweet cakes and a delicious drink made from the fresh juice of the grapes just gathered.

Before they ate, the freedmen stood, respectfully waiting, while Octavia, in a low voice, offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the food so bountifully provided. Only a small part of the servants, formerly slaves, were Christians, and Octavia had often been warned that her life and that of her children was in danger through her open defiance of the priests and declaration of her own Christian faith.

"I trust in G.o.d," was all that she would say.

In her house were no G.o.ds, no images. Flowers there were, in abundance, the rooms were bowers of beauty, the table, with its spotless cloth of fine white linen, bore silver vases filled with roses and autumn blossoms, but there were no shrines and no statutes.

On this Feast of the Grapes around Rome Bacchus was worshipped and much wine was drunk, until the people lost their senses and became brutes. In Octavia's home, the feast was observed with games and songs and merriment, but all was done decently and in order. It was because her views were not theirs that many of the friends who had visited them when the Senator was alive--now refused to a.s.sociate with the Lady Octavia, although they could not openly ignore her on account of her great wealth.

It drew toward evening. The days were still long, and Martius planned to return home by moonlight. At seven o'clock, they were eating supper in an arbor at the side of the Villa. The big, round moon was rising over the Alban Hills, soon it would be a great lamp in the sky.

All over the Campagna the Feast of the Grapes had been celebrated that day. The sounds of boisterous laughter, of loud singing, came to their ears from the crowds who were pa.s.sing outside the high walls surrounding the entire estate.

"There is more noise than usual," remarked Octavia.

The sounds had changed. They grew menacing. People were quarreling with each other. "It is nothing," replied Marcus. "Always on this Feast, there is much drunkenness and revelry."

But his mother was uneasy.

"It is wiser for thee to return home at once, Martius," she said. "I will carry thy chair, Virgilia. The bearers have been resting long."

"I have a strong stick," Martius said, laughing, "and Alexis is armed.

We can easily protect Virgilia."

"Is it not better for you to remain here," suggested Marcus. "We will send a messenger to thy father."

"Nonsense. There is no danger. But it is wiser that we should start at once. Later, there will be thousands returning home."

At that moment, the porter from the gate came running toward the arbor. He was, plainly, very much excited. With him was a man of dark swarthy skin, and a scar across his forehead.

"Thou, Alyrus?" exclaimed Martius, surprised to see the Moor here.

"I have a message for you, my young master." Martius failed to observe the bitterness in which he spoke the last words, or the glow of his dark eyes, resting by turns on each member of the group. "You and the Lady Virgilia are to return home at once. Your father desired me to tell you that the people are enraged at an insult offered by some Christians to one of the holy G.o.ds."

"Go, go!" said Octavia.

Martius stopped a moment to speak to Hermione, while Marcus a.s.sisted Virgilia into her chair.

"Is it safe for thee?" he asked. "We cannot tell what may happen."