“Tell me why, good Sebastian, I pray.”
“It must be a secret as yet.”
“What, another secret?”
“Call it the same, to be revealed at the same time. But I can tell you what I want you to do, and that I think will satisfy you. Corvinus has got orders to seize on Chromatius and all his community, yet young in the faith, as the wretched example of Torquatus has shown us; and, what is worse, to put your old master Cassianus, at Fundi, to a cruel death. I want you to hasten before his messenger (perhaps he may go himself), and put them on their guard.”
Pancratius looked up brightly again; he saw that Sebastian trusted him. “Your wish is enough reason for me,” said he, smiling; “but I would go the world’s end to save my good Cassianus, or any other fellow-Christians.”
He was soon ready, took an affectionate leave of his mother; and before Rome had fully shaken off sleep, he and Quadratus, each with well-furnished saddle-bags on their powerful steeds, were trotting across the campagna of Rome, to reach the less-frequented, and safer, track of the Latin way.
Corvinus having resolved to keep the hostile expedition in his own hands, as honorable, lucrative, and pleasant, it was delayed a couple of days, both that he might feel more comfortable about his shoulders, and that he might make proper preparations. He had a chariot hired, and engaged a body of Numidian runners, who could keep up with a carriage at full speed. But he was thus two days behind our Christians, though he, of course, travelled by the shorter and more beaten Appian road.
When Pancratius arrived at the Villa of Statues, he found the little community already excited, by the rumors, which had reached it, of the edict’s publication. He was welcomed most warmly by all; and Sebastian’s letter of advice was received with deep respect. Prayer and deliberation succeeded its perusal, and various resolutions were taken. Marcus and Marcellianus, with their father Tranquillinus, had already gone to Rome for the ordination. Nicostratus, Zoë, and others followed them now. Chromatius, who was not destined for the crown of martyrdom, though commemorated, by the Church, with his son, on the 11th of August, found shelter for a time in Fabiola’s villa, for which letters had been procured from its mistress, without her knowing the reason why; for he wished to remain in the neighborhood a little while longer. In fine, the villa ad Statuas was left in charge of a few faithful servants, fully to be depended upon.
When the two messengers had given themselves and their horses a good rest, they travelled, by the same road as Torquatus had lately trodden, to Fundi, where they put up at an obscure inn out of the town, on the Roman road. Pancratius soon found out his old master, who embraced him most affectionately. He told him his errand, and entreated him to fly, or at least conceal himself.
“No,” said the good man, “it must not be. I am already old, and I am weary of my unprofitable profession. I and my servant are the only two Christians in the town. The best families have, indeed, sent their children to my school, because they knew it would be kept as moral as paganism will permit; but I have not a friend among my scholars, by reason of this very strictness. And they want even the natural refinement of Roman heathens. They are rude provincials; and I believe there are some among the elder ones who would not scruple to take my life, if they could do so with impunity.”