And yet even that must end. Hyacintha must die and pass away from the temple; her beauty must fade, her powers fail; death would not spare the vestal virgin any more than the humblest peasant woman, like those who had knelt with bowed heads and uplifted hands before the priest, when he had given thanks for their preservation from the lions.
Yes, death must pass on all men, and Anna, the British slave, had been very near death; but she looked beyond, to the crowd of invisible witnesses, to Jesus, who had, so the priest said, “Overcome death, and opened the gates of the kingdom.”
Casca remembered Ebba in the days that were past—uncertain, trembling, fearful; but now that she had confessed Christ openly, she had a look of resolute purpose on her face, and her plain features were often shining with a light which Casca felt was the light of a steadfast faith, which no cruel death, no terrible torture, could extinguish.
When the boy reached the villa of Antonius it was broad daylight, and the outer court was filled with slaves and servants preparing for the morning meal and the day’s pleasure.
Several young men were returning from the night’s carousal, and jested with each other on the speed with which the young Casca had assumed all the privileges of his manhood. They made many allusions which Casca did not understand, and he passed through the atrium, anxious to find his way to the rooms which had been appointed for him.
Two attendants or slaves were waiting for him, and prepared to conduct him to the bath, which, with its rich mosaic pavement, was a necessary appendage to every Roman villa.
The visit to the public baths came later in the day, for these baths were the resorts of fashion and pleasure. The two slaves helped Casca to lay aside his dress, and as the toga slipped off the manuscript roll fell out.
The elder slave picked it up, and a curious expression flitted over his face, but he was silent. Indeed, unless permitted to speak, these household slaves were generally silent in the presence of their superiors.
All Casca’s possessions of books and rolls and pens and parchments were placed in a large coffer, and the slave, lifting the lid, dropped the manuscript into it.
Then the work of the morning proceeded. Casca was conducted to the bath, and when he had bathed his limbs in the clear water, he was rubbed with some sweet-scented ointment, and then sprinkled with perfume.