“But Athanasia——”
“True,” said he, “I had not thought of it. There was but one female besides herself. That will furnish a clue. You may rely on it, I shall easily find out the place to which they have taken her; but then where, and at what distance that may be, Heaven only knows; for it seemed as if every prisoner were to be carried to a separate place of confinement. At all events, even if we knew where she is, we could do nothing at present. [pg 241]Come, cheer up, now you have unburdened yourself of all this load. I shall be ready to start as early as ever you please in the morning.”
By this time the moon was in full splendour, and nothing could be more beautiful than the scenery of the native place of Sabinus, as we drew near to its precincts. A little gentle stream, which kissed our path, did not desert us as we entered the village, but murmured all through its humble street. Street, indeed, I should not say; for there were dwelling-houses on the one side only, the other being occupied with gardens, in the midst of which I saw the Doric portico of a small temple. In front of this a bridge crossed the stream, and there we were met by a troop of maidens, who seemed to be moving toward the sacred place with some purpose of devotion, for they were singing in alternate measures, and in their hands they carried garlands. Some recognized Sabinus, and, without interrupting their chant, saluted him with their laughing eyes. We halted our horses, and saw them proceed all together into the hallowed enclosure, which they did, not by means of the bridge, although they were close by it, but by wading hand in hand through the stream below; whose pebbles, as it appeared from the evenness of their motion, dared not to offer any violence to the delicate feet that trod upon them. “Happy creatures,” said I to the Centurion; “of a surety they think these moonbeams shine on nothing but glad faces like their own. Alas! with what heart does poor Athanasia at this moment contemplate this lovely heaven!”—“Nay, Valerius,” quoth he, “if people were not to be contented with their own share of sorrow, would the world, think ye, [pg 242]be worth living in? I hope Athanasia herself will ere long sing again by the moonlight.—But stop, here is my own old haunt, the abode of our village barber, and now I think of it, perhaps it might be as well that you and Dromo should remain here for a moment, till I ride on to the house, and let them know you are coming, for the sudden sight of strange faces might alarm the old folks at this hour.”
He had scarcely said so, when the tonsor himself, hearing, I suppose, the sound of our horses’ feet, ran out with his razor and basin in his hand, to see what might be the matter. “Ah, good Virro,” quoth the Centurion, “with joy do I once more behold your face. Well, the girls still sing, and Virro still shaves; so every thing, without question, goes well.”—“The Centurion himself!” replies the barber; “so Venus smile upon me, it is Kæso Sabinus, who I began to think would never come back again.—Here, boy, bring out a cup of the best. Alight, I pray you—well, at least, you shall kiss the rim of the goblet.”—“I will,” said he, “I promise you, my good friend, and that in a minute or two; but I must first salute my father; and, in the meantime, I leave with you in pledge, good Virro, my excellent friend here, and the most knowing Cretan that ever landed at Brundusium.—Dismount, Valerius, I shall be with you again ere Virro can half smoothen the chin of Dromo, which even this morning shewed no small need of trimming.”—“Well, well,” said the tonsor, “eagles will have their own way. Be speedy.”
The Centurion had set the spur to his charger; and we, in obedience to his command, submitted ourselves [pg 243]to the guidance of the oily-faced little barber. A stripling was already holding two horses at the door, but another came out and took care of our animals, and we entered, exchanging courteous salutations, the tonsorial penetralia.
They were occupied by as various and talkative a company, as the imagination of Lucilius ever assembled in such a place. In the middle of the room, which was spacious, though low-roofed, hung a huge shield of brass, with a dozen mouths of flame blazing around the edge of its circumference, close beside which sat a man with a napkin tucked about his neck, the one side of whose visage, still besmeared with a thick coat of lather, testified that the curiosity of Virro had induced him to abandon a yet uncompleted job. The half-trimmed physiognomy, however, displayed no sign of impatience, and the barber himself seemed not to think any apology necessary, for he resumed his operations with an air of great cheerfulness, saying, “Neighbours all, here is Kæso Sabinus, that is now the Centurion, come once more to gladden the old village with his merry face, and that, I promise you, is prettily tanned since we knew him first.”
This piece of news appeared not a little to interest several of those who were sitting under the tonsor’s roof. “Ha!” said one, “the noble Centurion! Well, has he brought home a wife with him at last? for the talk was, that he had been seen at the Amphitheatre, paying great court to one of the richest ladies in Rome.”
“A wife?” says Virro, “no, no, centurions and barbers can do without wives. But if he is to have one, I shall be happy to hear she is rich; for centurions, [pg 244]after all, sometimes carry most of their silver upon their helmets, as we do most of our brass on our basins.”—“Indeed,” said I, “I never heard of it before.”
“If it please you, friend,” said another of them, “is this the same Sabinus that has lately been in Britain?”—“Britain,” quoth an ancient dame; “I never heard that name before—Britain! I know it not—I know not where he hath been, but they told me it was over the sea, perhaps in Palestine.”—“Tut, dame,” interrupted the barber, (who was now busy on Dromo,) “you think every one goes to Palestine, because your own boy carried a spear with Titus; but you know they ruined the city, and killed all the Jews and Christians, and there is no occasion for sending Centurions thither now.”—“Killed all the Jews and Christians, said you?” quoth another. “I think the old dame has the better of you as to that point at least, Virro. Not Trajan himself will ever be able to kill them all; the superstition spreads like a pestilence. It was but last night that a hundred of them were taken together in one place, eating human flesh.”—“Human flesh!” quoth the barber. “Oh, ye gods, why do ye endure such barbarians!”
“Human flesh!” echoed Dromo, springing from his seat, and I looked at him, and saw that the barber in his horror had made in truth a deep incision upon the cheek of the poor man. The blood, oozing from the cut, had already traced a river of crimson upon the snowy surface of his well-soaped chin. It was this that had deranged the philosophic composure and customary phlegm of my Cretan; and no wonder; but the enthusiastic tonsor took no notice of what had occurred.—[pg 245]“Great Jove,” he proceeded, and he pointed to the roof with his razor as he spake—“Great Jove! I adjure thee! are all thy lightnings spent; is there never a thunderbolt remaining?”