Valerius. A Roman Story

by J. G. Lockhart

“The late example,” said I, “must indeed have alarmed him.”—“What,” said he, “do you speak of that fanatic Syrian? You know little of Cotilius. No, no—had the worst of his fears been the necessity to worship all the deities between Euphrates and Rhine, he would have slept soundly.”—“But surely,” said I, “you do not believe that Athanasia had any knowledge of the man’s secret designs, if he had any. He may have used Christianity, or desired to use it, as a weapon against the State; but be certain, neither she nor any of those really attached to their religion, had any notion of his purpose.”

“It may be so, indeed,” he answered;—“Heaven grant it may. As for Cotilius, I will speak to you more at length of him anon. I will bid adieu to my sister, and take order about my daughter; and then, if it so please you, we shall walk together to the city.”

To this I agreed, but Sabinus rode on to the camp of the Prætorians. He whispered to me, however, that unless he were most necessarily detained, he should be, ere long, at the house of Licinius.

“To you,” said the Senator, as we went on, “who have so lately come from your island, the whole of this expiatory spectacle is probably quite new; but I am sure Sabinus could not have been aware what was its purpose, otherwise he would not have been guilty of so grievously offending the feelings of my sister, and some of the rest of my kindred, by remaining a witness of these most private rites. The Priestess is indeed inconsolable, and her grief has set half her other passions in motion like[pg 275]wise. Athanasia was as dear to her as if she had been her daughter; so, in truth, she was to us all, ever since her parents died. But Cotilius, this knave Cotilius, has, I fear, blasted her hopes and ours.”—“It occurs to me,” said I, “and I should have mentioned it to you before, that there seemed to be no great understanding between this Cotilius and Athanasia. She was evidently displeased with many things he both said and did; and he, on his part, did not appear to relish her interference.”—“True,” he continued, “you have already hinted as much; and I assure you, these are some of the circumstances in the whole case that tend most to excite my hopes. Great Heavens! what would Caius have said had he dreamt that his orphan was to be suspected of having sympathy with any of the dark designs of that shame to Roman knighthood! But you, of course, are a stranger to this man’s history.”—“With its end, at least,” I replied, “it is like we may all be soon enough acquainted.”

“Yes,” said he, “Heaven grant we have not cause too deeply to remember it! but I have known him from the beginning. I told you already that he was in great favour with Domitian.”—“And the reverse, of course,” said I, “both with Nerva and Trajan.”

“Even so,” he continued, “and with reason; for in all the disturbances which occurred on the accession of the last sovereign, and, in particular, in those foul intrigues among the Prætorians, which at one time brought Nerva’s own life into immediate danger and compelled him to bare his neck to the soldiery at his gate, this Cotilius was more than suspected to have had a deep concern. When Petronius and Par[pg 276]thenius[2] were hacked in pieces, it needed no great witchcraft to detect some of the moving spirits that produced their catastrophe; but proof there was none at the time; and even had there been proof enough, the good old man would have been too timid to act upon it. These things, however, could not be forgotten either by Nerva or his successor. Hitherto, the strong hand has repressed every rebellious motion; but be sure that no man ever lived more an object of suspicion, than this man has done ever since Nerva adopted Trajan.”

“And you think,” said I, “that, among other intrigues, it had occurred to this man to make his own use of the Christians; despised and persecuted though they be, there can, indeed, be no doubt that their numbers are considerable, and that their faith is a strong bond of cohesion.”

“It is even so,” said the Senator. “But as yet the treason even of Cotilius rests on suspicion only, and report; and, after all, even if he were proved guilty of having nourished such schemes, the account you give of what you saw and heard at their assembly, inspires me with considerable doubts whether he can be supposed to have ever as yet ventured to invite their participation;—unless, indeed, they practised deception while you were with them. The moment I heard of what had happened, I went to the Palatine, in hopes of [pg 277]attaining either assistance from Urbicus, or mercy, if that were all we could look for, from Trajan. But Urbicus could give me no satisfaction, except that my niece was in a solitary and safe place. The charges, he said, against one of the leaders (he meant Cotilius) were heavy; and until these were sifted, it was impossible that access could be afforded to any one who had been thrown into confinement. The Emperor had shewn unusual symptoms of anxiety, and had even, so he hinted, been in person investigating the matter at a distance from the city, during great part of the preceding night and day. To tell you the truth, Valerius, till this thing fell out, I was wont to consider the new violence about the Christians as somewhat unworthy of the enlarged intellect of Trajan: it had not occurred to me, how easily the resources of such a superstition might be enlisted in the cause of discontent.”

“Of course,” said I, “nothing will be done in regard to Athanasia until all circumstances have been examined.”

“Done!” said he; “has not enough been done already to justify almost in a man more than you have seen among our women? Has not a whole family been disgraced? Has not the mausoleum of their fathers been prostituted for the unholy purposes of this barbarian sect? If the Senate should be summoned, with what countenance should I shew myself among my friends?—Unhappy girl! How little did she know in what trouble she was to involve those that love her the best.”