Returning through the court, in obedience to the prince’s orders, to collect men and procure water, if possible, for the extinction of the conflagration, Hirpinus had recognised his young friend Esca with no little surprise and delight. Seeing Calchas, too—for whom, ever since his bold address to the gladiators in the training-school, he had entertained a sincere admiration—lying half suffocated, and at his last gasp, on the stones, the old swordsman’s heart smote him with a keen sense of pity, and something between anger and shame at his own helplessness to assist the sufferer. He said nothing but truth, indeed, when he declared that he would give all his share of spoil for a helmetful of water; but he might have offered the price of a kingdom rather than a province, with as little chance of purchasing what he desired. Blood there was, flowing in streams, but of water not a drop! It was more in despair than hope that he told his sad tale to Licinius, on whom it seemed natural for every soldier in the army to depend when in trouble, either for himself or for others. Giving his orders, clear, concise, and imperative to his tribunes, the Roman general accompanied Hirpinus to the corner of the court where Calchas lay. Fallen beams and masses of charred timber were smouldering around, dead bodies, writhed in the wild contortions of mortal agony, in heaps on every side—he was sick and faint, crushed, mangled, dying from a painful wound, yet the Christian’s face looked calm and happy; and he lay upon the hard stones, waiting for the coming change, like one who seeks refreshing slumber on a bed of down.
As the kind eyes turned gently to Licinius, in glance of friendly recognition, they were lit with the smile that is never worn but by the departing traveller whose barque has already [pg 456]cast off its moorings from the shore—the smile in which he seems to bid a hopeful, joyful farewell to those he leaves for a little while, with which he seems to welcome the chill breeze and the dark waters because of the haven where he would be. Mariamne and Esca, bending over with tender care, and watching each passing shade on that placid countenance, knew well that the end was very near.
His strength was almost gone; but Calchas pointed to his kinswoman and the Briton, while looking at Licinius he said, “They will be your care now. I have bestowed on you countless treasures freely yonder in the camp of the Assyrians.[27] This you shall promise me in return.”
Licinius laid his shield on the ground and took the dying man’s hand in both his own.
“They are my children,” said he, “from this day forth. Oh! my guide, I will never forget thy teaching nor thy behest.”
Calchas looked inquiringly in the face of Hirpinus. The gladiator’s rugged features bore a wistful expression of sorrow, mingled with admiration, sympathy, and a dawning light of hope.
“Bring him into the fold with you,” he murmured to the other three, and then his voice came loud and strong in full triumphant tones. “It may be that this man of blood, also, shall be one of the jewels in my crown. Glory to Him who has accepted my humble tribute, who rewards a few brief hours of imperfect service; a blow from a careless hand with an eternity of happiness, an immortal crown of gold! I shall see you, friends, again. We shall meet ere we have scarcely parted. You will not forget me in that short interval. And you will rejoice with me in humble thankful joy that I have been permitted to instruct you of heaven, and to show you myself the way.”
Exhausted with the effort, he sank back ere he had scarce finished speaking, and his listeners, looking on the calm dead face, from which the radiant smile had not yet faded, needed to keep watch no longer, for they knew that the martyr’s spirit was even now holding converse with the angels in heaven.
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