Virgin priestesses ran to and fro with hair dishevelled, crying on their goddess, only to fall into the hands of Syrians, Africans, and Gauls—vile allies, a part of Nero's guard, sent with the regular Roman troops, to act as drunken jackals; and each of these, so far as he could, took a virgin priestess for his mate, and no restriction was put on them by Acratus.
The beautiful veil concealing the image of the holy goddess was pulled down. The gold and the jewels adorning it and the great statue were torn from their strong settings, and piled up on the marble floor.
On the sacred altar the soldiers lit their fires and cooked their rations, and washed themselves with the water of the holy fountain Hypelæus—the fountain ornamented by Thrason, and the altar sacred to the genius of Ionia. What cared those brutal marauders? Had not he who sent them desecrated everything, even the statue of the Syrian goddess, and laughed at it? What harm if they should do the same?
Within, the Temple was one horrible scene of lewd riot and plunder; without, the people were rising in masses, and thousands from adjacent towns were gathering around the city walls, and all crying loudly for revenge; but none could enter. The Romans held the gates, and every tower and battlement along the great red-brick walls, hard as adamant, was crowded with glistening spears. Nothing could be done from without, and there was little chance of help to come from within. A scheme was proposed to burn the fleet, but this got noised abroad too early, and the ships were moved from the wharves to the centre of the city port.
The day wore on in tumult and distress, and the people, seeing no chance of saving the treasures of their holy place, gave way to grief, loudly charging Saronia as the cause of all. The murder of the High Priest, her blasphemy in the Temple, and the want of action in not killing her right away, was the cause of the desertion of the goddess from her home.
CHAPTER XLV
REVELATION
In the Temple Varro, the Proconsul, and Acratus held counsel. They were standing near the altar, with the last light of evening falling upon them.
Near to the fallen image of the goddess Diana were the smaller statues in marble, bronze, silver, and gold—lamps and paterii, vases richly chased and candelabrii, instruments of the Temple, costly golden, jewelled things, all were piled up in heaps.
From behind this profusion of rarest art, now lying like so much rubbish, a Roman was dragging a woman who appeared quite dead. Her hair hung in masses over her face, hiding a part of it, hiding a face which was crimson with blood. Her garments were torn, and the soldier threw her down close to where the two chiefs stood.