So dark was it that Alyrus did not observe that he was followed; did not see a strange figure with a sheep-skin flung over his back not far behind him, slipping from one doorway to another, hiding behind pillars, keeping the Moor ever in view.
Lucius the shepherd knew only one thing, intelligently, and that was the knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. Even the most ignorant can learn this. The knowledge had been obtained one day, when, seeing a company of men and women crossing the Campagna, he had, out of curiosity, followed them to their gathering-place, where he had learned the truth about Jesus. Outside of this Lucius was absolutely unlearned, and almost as stupid as his own sheep. He had not wit enough to know that when he sang a Christian hymn where any and all could hear it his life was in the greatest danger. He was stupid, downright stupid, but he had a keen eye, knew whom to trust and was possessed of an insatiable curiosity.
Because, by instinct, he knew that Alyrus was up to some mischief, he followed him to see where he went. There was another reason. In the house of Aurelius Lucanus dwelt a small scullery maid, who assisted the slaves in the kitchen, doing all the dirty work and being struck and sworn at for any mistake. She earned a few cents a day. Lucius was waiting outside in the alley-way, as was his daily custom after finishing his work, to exchange a word with his daughter, whom he dearly loved.
I have said that in the lawyer's household were three Christians, one was Alexis, the Greek, and another was Lidia, the scullery-maid, who had been baptized by the white-haired elder in the Catacomb, beside her father.
Through her Lucius had learned that Martius and Virgilia were, also,
Christians and, with his usual genius for following people, he had
gone behind them to the Christian meeting place. He knew how wicked
Alyrus was, how ill the Lady Claudia had been and for what reason.
Lidia had poured out the whole story to him.
Lucius crouched down near the temple door at the side of the huge white building with its many columns, after he had heard the knock Alyrus gave at the small portal, and had heard the door clang behind the porter. No good could come from that temple and its priests. Even though they bowed before the statue of the god and burned incense, the Romans did not trust the priests. They regarded them as intriguers, trying to get their hands on everything, ready to worm out secrets for their own profit and obtain private and political power whenever possible.
The great black cloud enveloped Rome. It belched out lightning and thunder, the flashes revealing the groups of stately buildings in the Forum and Caesar's palace on the Palatine Hill. The rain poured in torrents and it hailed, the ground was white with stones, some as large as pigeon eggs.
Still, Lucius waited, calmly. He was accustomed to all sorts of weather and his finery could not be spoiled. He drew his bare legs up under him, threw the skin water bag over his head and shoulders and waited.
Neither did Alyrus trust the priests. After all, these were not his gods, nor his priests. He worshipped Baal, a greater god than Jupiter. As a matter of personal safety, however, he bowed the knee to those strange and worthless gods of Rome.
He kept his eyes well open, having been admitted to the temple by a young priest, who, carrying a taper, led him through several winding passages. A man could get into this gruesome building and never find his way out, thought Alyrus, and though a brave chieftain in his own country, he shivered here in the black corridors, echoing with every footfall.