Several days passed by, and no information could he obtain as to where the fugitives were concealed. From a few words let drop by Coecus, he at length began to hope that he might recover Jovinian. The chief pontiff had heard that the man he hated above all others on earth—the presbyter Severus—was again in the neighbourhood of Rome; and from the friendship which had existed between his sister and Eugenia, he suspected that Jovinian, if he knew of her abode, would have gone there. What Coecus intended to do he did not say, but the muttered threats of vengeance in which he indulged showed the evil feelings rankling in his bosom. Assassins were to be found, even in those days, to perform any deed of blood required of them; vice was rampant; and crimes of all soils were committed with comparative impunity. But Rome even thus was purer than it became in after ages; the people had been taught to respect the laws, criminals did not always escape the arm of justice, and no inconsiderable Christian community, leading pure and faultless lives, leavened the mass, and contributed to keep the heathen in check.
Coecus had to proceed with more caution than suited his bold and impulsive character. He succeeded, however, in persuading the chief civil authorities that there were some persons with designs dangerous to the state concealed in the underground galleries in the neighbourhood of the city, and in obtaining a guard of soldiers to search for them. He, with some difficulty, obtained a guide who professed to be acquainted with all the intricate turnings of the galleries, and, moreover, to know Severus and Eugenia by sight. Coecus, who was well aware that considerable danger might attend the expedition, had no intention of accompanying it, but remained in Rome, indulging himself in the hope that he should at length destroy his old rival, or get him into his power, while he at the same time exulted in the idea that, from the measures he was taking, he should prolong the existence of idolatry as the religion of the state. One of his plans was to organise another procession in honour of one of the gods, similar to that which has been described; for such spectacles, he knew, were at all times attractive to the populace, and it mattered little to them whether Bacchus, Apollo, Venus, or any other divinity had the most prominent position in the exhibition.
He had given directions to the vestals to prepare for the ceremony, in which, as usual, they would be expected to take a leading part; and he guessed that, should any besides Coelia be tainted with the new doctrines, they would endeavour to escape appearing on the occasion. Coelia herself remained under the strict charge of the Vestalis Maxima, whose office was in later days to be represented by that of the mother superior of a nunnery. The Vestalis Fausta being long past her prime, and having spent her life within the walls of the temple, had no interests beyond them. Her temper had become soured, her better feelings seared; and being thus a willing instrument in the hands of the pontiffs, she was ready to execute any act of tyranny and cruelty they might direct. Her mind, narrowed by the dull routine of duties she had so long performed, she was a devout worshipper of the goddess she served; and she heard with the utmost horror and dismay that one of those under her charge had embraced the hated doctrines of those whom she called the atheist Nazarenes. Poor Coelia had no hope of mercy from such a person. Marcia, finding that she herself was not suspected, kept her own counsel, determined at all costs to rescue her friend. It was a sore trial to her, for she felt herself guilty of dishonouring Christ while continuing to serve in the temple of a false deity.
The pontiffs, meantime, were busily engaged in arranging the details of the procession. Gaius troubled himself less than the other pontiffs about the matter. He especially disliked the exertion of the long march through the city, and he doubted whether the result would be as satisfactory as Coecus anticipated. He was seated in the college, when it was announced that a female slave desired to see him. He directed that she should be admitted, when Rufina entered. Taking a bag of coin from under her cloak, she, without hesitation advanced to where he sat.
“I have come to bring the price of one who was your slave, but desires manumission,” she said calmly, offering the bag of money to the pontiff. “It contains thirty solidi, the full value you can claim for Eros, he of whom I speak,” she continued, seeing that Gaius did not put forth his hand to receive the bag. “Me might have escaped beyond pursuit, and allowed you to lose his value, but, as a Christian, he knows that such would be wrong, and therefore I have been sent to pay it into your hands.”
“The Numidian Eros a Christian! such an idea is folly!” exclaimed Gaius, starting up with more animation in his tone and manner than he had hitherto shown. “If he is a Christian, he thus only adds to his crime. The money he must have stolen—probably from me; I refuse, however, to receive it. Let him return to the bondage from which he has escaped, or if I discover him he will rue the consequences. And for yourself, girl, as you have ventured in here, unless you inform me where he is hidden, and will promise to assist in his recovery, I will detain you and punish you as you deserve with the scourge.”
“I came to do the bidding of my master; and should any harm befall me, there is one to whom he will appeal for justice—the emperor,” answered Rufina, without betraying the slightest fear. “You dare not detain me. Again I offer the value of your once slave, and, though you refuse, I have fulfilled my duty, and must be gone.”
Gaius was almost speechless at what he considered the unexampled audacity of the slave girl; and as he still refused to take the bag, Rufina, while he was considering what to do, turned, and left the hall. Before her figure had disappeared among the marble columns he started up, and summoning one of his attendants, often employed in secret matters, he directed him to follow Rufina, but to keep himself concealed, to obtain what assistance he might require and not to return without bringing back Eros and Jovinian as his captives. The slave, instantly comprehending what was required of him, started off to execute his master’s orders.
The pontiff sank down again upon his couch. “Though I have lost the solidi, I shall have the satisfaction of wreaking my vengeance on the head of the Numidian,—and, what is of more consequence, shall recover my graceless nephew,” he said to himself, stretching out his arms and giving a yawn. “Ungrateful as he has been, I will still afford him another chance.”
On the appearance of Coecus, Gaius told him of the hopes he entertained of recovering Jovinian and his runaway slave.