‘Yes; Vitalis and Celsus, the Prætorians, and, I think, Pudens the centurion, who has gone to Britain and—’
He stopped suddenly, and his face assumed a look of terror. For the soldier Urbanus who stood behind the chair of Tigellinus was one who, though not yet a Christian, had been among those who had been chained to Paul, and had acquired a kindly feeling towards the persecuted brethren. Fixing his eyes on the apostate, he made so menacing a gesture with his hand on his dagger, that Phygellus began to stammer.
‘I do not know,’ he said, ‘the names of any more soldiers.’
‘Are there any persons of rank?’
Fortunately Phygellus had never found much favour among the Christians. Their leaders had not entrusted to him their secrets. He was unaware that Pomponia was a Christian, and had not heard of the conversion of Flavius Clemens and Domitilla. But he ventured at haphazard to mention Aliturus, whom he had seen in the tumult.
But Tigellinus knew that it was not yet time to interfere with such a man as Aliturus. He laughed aloud.
‘What!’ he said; ‘do you think that on the evidence of such scum as you we are going to arrest the delight of the populace—the gayest and fairest pantomime in Rome? There, we have had enough of you.’
And, spurning him with his foot, he bade the lictors to keep him safe till more evidence was required.
There were a few others—chiefly neophytes and catechumens of unformed character—who, either from indifference and insincerity, or to escape for the moment from the tormentors, gave evidence sufficient for the nefarious purpose of the Præfect. The consequence was a wholesale series of arrests, till every prison in Rome was crowded to deadliness with innocent confessors, who, while they denied all crime, admitted themselves to be Christians, and were ready, if God so willed, to die for their faith.
Tigellinus savagely recommended to Nero that they should be executed in a mass.