“The Vestal Maxima!”
“They are saved then,” exclaimed Rebekah; “all prisoners on their way to execution have a free pardon if they are met by a vestal. And this is the Vestal Maxima.”
Anna looked earnestly, as if she could never look away, at the stately figure of Terentia Rufilla and the young disciple at her side, Hyacintha Severa, as she was called.
The vestals who were in attendance were all dressed in their long stoles of dazzling whiteness, and they were preceded by a guard of lictors.
The child, Hyacintha, had in her hands a large quantity of flowers, which had been gathered from the grounds of one of the spacious palaces where Terentia Rufilla had been paying a visit.
So high was the esteem in which the priestess of Vesta was held that the members of the Imperial family could not receive greater homage. Those who were guarding the prisoners halted, and knelt, and Terentia asked, in a clear ringing voice—
“Who are the prisoners, and of what rank?”
The chief lictor replied that they were peasant women of no rank or name, and that they were obstinate followers of the false religion.
Terentia’s beautiful expressive face showed but little sign of pity, for the Christians were enemies of her goddess, and ought to perish, and there was in the heart of the Vestal Maxima only a sense of duty and scarcely of satisfaction as she said—
“It is our pleasure that the captives be set free.”