“On, on, and let us have none of this fooling,” exclaimed the lanista, adding a stroke of his cane.
Lucina retreated; while Sebastian pressed the hand of her son, and whispered in his ear, “Courage, dearest boy; may God bless you! I shall be close behind the emperor; give me a last look there, and—your blessing.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” broke out a fiendish tone close behind him. Was it a demon’s laugh? He looked behind, and caught only a glimpse of a fluttering cloak rounding a pillar. Who could it be? He guessed not. It was Fulvius, who in those words had got the last link in a chain of evidence that he had long been weaving—that Sebastian was certainly a Christian.
Pancratius soon stood in the midst of the arena, the last of the faithful band. He had been reserved, in hopes that the sight of others’ sufferings might shake his constancy; but the effect had been the reverse. He took his stand where he was placed, and his yet delicate frame contrasted with the swarthy and brawny limbs of the executioners who surrounded him. They now left him alone; and we cannot better describe him than Eusebius, an eye-witness, does a youth a few years older:
“You might have seen a tender youth, who had not yet entered his twentieth year, standing without fetters, with his hands stretched forth in the form of a cross, and praying to God most attentively, with a fixed and untrembling heart; not retiring from the place where he first stood, nor swerving the least, while bears and leopards, breathing fury and death in their very snort, were just rushing on to tear his limbs in pieces. And yet, I know not how, their jaws seemed seized and closed by some divine and mysterious power, and they drew altogether back.”[178]
Such was the attitude, and such the privilege of our heroic youth. The mob were frantic, as they saw one wild beast after another careering madly round him, roaring, and lashing its sides with its tail, while he seemed placed in a charmed circle which they could not approach. A furious bull, let loose upon him, dashed madly forward, with his neck bent down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his head against a wall, pawed the ground, and scattered the dust around him, bellowing fiercely.
“Provoke him, thou coward!” roared out, still louder, the enraged emperor.
Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and waving his arms ran towards his enemy;[179] but the savage brute, as if a lion had been rushing on him, turned round and ran away towards the entrance, where, meeting his keeper, he tossed him high into the air. All were disconcerted except the brave youth, who had resumed his attitude of prayer; when one of the crowd shouted out: “He has a charm round his neck; he is a sorcerer!” The whole multitude re-echoed the cry, till the emperor, having commanded silence, called out to him, “Take that amulet from thy neck, and cast it from thee, or it shall be done more roughly for thee.”
“Sire,” replied the youth, with a musical voice, that rang sweetly through the hushed amphitheatre, “it is no charm that I wear, but a memorial of my father, who in this very place made gloriously the same confession which I now humbly make; I am a Christian; and for love of Jesus Christ, God and man, I gladly give my life. Do not take from me this only legacy, which I have bequeathed, richer than I received it, to another. Try once more; it was a panther which gave him his crown; perhaps it will bestow the same on me.”
For an instant there was dead silence; the multitude seemed softened, won. The graceful form of the gallant youth, his now inspired countenance, the thrilling music of his voice, the intrepidity of his speech, and his generous self-devotion to his cause, had wrought upon that cowardly herd. Pancratius felt it, and his heart quailed before their mercy more than before their rage; he had promised himself heaven that day; was he to be disappointed? Tears started into his eyes, as stretching forth his arms once more in the form of a cross, he called aloud, in a tone that again vibrated through every heart: