“I must apologize to you, my friends,” Norbanus said calmly, “for having brought you to be present at an unpleasant family scene, but I had not expected it, and know not through whom Lesbia obtained the news of what was doing here. I suppose one of the slaves carried it to her. But these things trouble not a philosopher; for myself I marvel at my long patience, and feel rejoiced that at last I shall be free to live my own life.”
“You have done well, Norbanus,” one of his colleagues said, “though I know not what Nero will say when he hears of it, for severity among husbands is not popular at present in Rome.”
“I can open my veins as Seneca did,” Norbanus said calmly; “neither death nor exile have any terrors for me. Rome has gone mad, and life for a reasoning being is worthless here.”
“I shall represent the matter to Nero,” Beric said, “and as it is seldom that I ask aught of him, I doubt not he will listen to me. When he is not personally concerned, Nero desires to act justly, and moreover, I think that he can weigh the advantages of the friendship of a faithful guard against that of his boon companions. I will speak to him the first thing in the morning. He frequently comes into the library and reads for an hour. At any rate there is no chance of Lesbia being beforehand with me. It is too late for her to see Rufinus and get him to approach Nero tonight.”
“Let us talk of other matters,” Norbanus said, “all these things are but transitory.” He then began to talk on his favourite topic—the religions of the world, while Beric drew Aemilia, who had been weeping since the scene between her parents, into the tablinum.
“It is unlucky to weep on the day of your betrothal, Aemilia.”
“Who could help it, Beric? Besides, as it is not for my own troubles the omen will have no avail. But it is all so strange and so rapid. This morning I was in trouble, alarmed at what my mother told me of her intentions, fearful that my father, who has so long yielded to her, would permit her to have her own way in this also. Then came the great joy when he told me that he would give me to you—that you, who of all men I thought most of, was henceforth to be my lord. Then, just when my happiness was complete, and I was formally bound to you, came my mother. Ennia and I always loved our father most, he was ever thoughtful and kind to us, while even as children our mother did not care for us. As we grew up she cared still less, thinking only of her own pleasures and friends, and leaving us almost wholly in charge of the slaves; but it was not until Ennia was seized as a Christian that I knew how little she loved us. Then she raved and stormed, lamented and wept, not because of the fate of Ennia, not because of the terrible death that awaited her, but because of the disgrace it brought upon herself. Even after she was brought here she scarce came in to see her, and loudly said that it would be best for her to die. Lately, as you know, I have seen little of her; she spends all her time abroad, has defied my father’s authority; and brought grief and trouble upon him. Still, to a daughter it is terrible that her mother should be divorced.”
“Let us not think of it now, Aemilia. Your father has acted, as he always does, rightly and well. I know much more of what is going on than you do, and I can tell you that Lesbia, who was so jealous of the honour of her name when Ennia was concerned, is bringing far greater dishonour upon her name by her own actions. And now let us talk of ourselves. The act you have just done, dear, may bring all sorts of sacrifices upon you. At any moment I may be a fugitive, and, as you know, the families of those who incur Nero’s wrath share in their disgrace; and if I am forced to fly, you too may be obliged to become a fugitive.”
She looked up brightly. “I shall not mind any hardships I suffer for your sake, Beric. Rome is hateful to me since Ennia stood in the arena. I would rather share a hut with you among the savage mountains of the north than a palace here.”
“I trust that trouble is still far distant, but I shall, as soon as I can, find a retreat where, in case I fall under Nero’s displeasure, you can lie hid until I can send for you.”
“I have such a retreat, Beric. Since Ennia’s death I have seen a good deal of the Christians. Lycoris, you know, was captured at the same time as Ennia, and was put to death by fire; but her daughter, married to a freedman who had purchased her liberty from my father, managed to escape with her husband when the place was surrounded. I have met her several times since. She and her husband are living hidden in the catacombs, where she tells me many of their sect have taken refuge from the persecutions.
“The last time I saw her she said to me, ‘No one’s life is safe in this terrible city, and none, however high in station, can say that they may not require refuge. Should you need an asylum, Aemilia, go to the house of a freedman, one Mincius, living in the third house on the right of a street known as the Narrow one, close behind the amphitheatre at the foot of the Palatine Hill, and knock thrice at the door. When they open, say, ‘In the name of Christ,’ then they will take you in.
