Virgilia | Page 6

and feature went, but his expression was
full of cunning and revenge. In his ears he wore two huge gold rings,
chased in cabalistic characters of strange design. They were the
emblem of his chieftain power in that land bordering on the desert,
from which he had been so rudely carried away. It was not strange that
Alyrus, a barbarian, should bear in his heart a bitter hatred for the
Romans and all that belonged to them. A slave, he was, and Sahira, too,
but they loathed their bonds. It did not occur to Alyrus to be grateful
that when they were placed on a platform down yonder at the lower end
of the Forum, to be sold to the highest bidder, Aurelius Lucanus, who
had bought him first, being moved by pity, had also purchased Sahira,
his daughter, paying for her many sesterces of gold, because she was
very beautiful and could bring a high price. Thus, father, and daughter,
(who was somewhat superfluous in a house already well-supplied with
women-slaves) were able to dwell together, and Sahira was spared

many humiliations and dangers to which a beautiful young slave was
inevitably subjected in these degenerate days of ancient Rome.
Alyrus was not the only person who observed the "irreverence" of
Martius. A priest of Jupiter, coming out of the Temple, saw the whole
thing and made his own comments. He knew Aurelius Lucanus, the
Advocate, slightly, but not the young man with him.
He stepped quickly to the side of Alyrus, who had been very profound
in his reverence to the god, although he hated Rome's gods as he hated
her people.
"Who is that young man?" inquired the priest.
"The son of my master, Aurelius Lucanus."
"And thou?"
"I am a humble porter," responded Alyrus, with such bitterness that it
attracted the priest's attention. Being a man who understood character
at a glance, he seized the opportunity. Anything which could in any
way enable the pagans to hunt down the hated, despised followers of
that Christus who had made them so much trouble, was worth
following up. The priests knew that there were thousands of men in
Rome who had no faith at all in the gods, but there were few who
would dare neglect an outward observance. When a man did that, in the
public Forum, he was certainly possessed of that strange courage
typical of the Christians.
"Thou art a slave."
Alyrus bowed, keeping his eyes on his master and son, now
approaching the splendid white marble law-courts.
"What is thy country?"
"Beyond the seas, your reverence."
Alyrus turned a pair of black eyes on the questioner. In them
smouldered hidden passions.
"Your young master does not bow before Jupiter."
"No."
"And why, may I ask? His father is, I know, a faithful follower of our
gods. Why not his son, also?"
The portico, surmounted by a marvelous relief in marble, a copy of an
allegorical representation of jurisprudence, brought from Greece, was
in front of the slave and the priest. The lawyer and Martius had already
vanished in the cool shadows of the interior.

For one moment, Alyrus hesitated. It was an awful thing for a slave to
betray his master's son. He gave one backward thought to those days
when hundreds of horsemen acknowledged him chief, and date-palms
waved their feathery arms over his tent; he remembered that he was a
slave, bought with a price, and his master had struck him. And he
remembered Sahira and her tears.
"Because Martius, son of Aurelius, is a Christian," he replied, and in
his heart was a fearsome glee.
He was walking up the broad steps, now, while the priest, laying a
detaining hand on his arm, said: "I see that thou art a man to be trusted.
I am interested in these Christians. I would hear more. Come to me
tomorrow, at the Temple, after sundown. There is a little back entrance
in the alleyway. Ask for Lycidon, the priest of Jupiter, and show the
porter this symbol. It will admit thee."
The priest was gone, and Alyrus, half-dazed, stood under the arch
between two tall columns and gazed down at the bronze lizard he held
in his hand. The lizard leered at him, he thought.
Just at that moment a cry was heard, which drove the crowds of people
aside.
"Way! Way for the noble Lady, Octavia, widow of Aureus Cantus,
Senator of the Roman Empire. Way! I say."
Through the ranks of people was borne a large chair, gilded and
wrought in graceful form, adapted to such a woman as Octavia,
reported to be possessed of enormous wealth. The embroidered curtains
were tightly drawn, so that the passerby could not look in, but so
curious were they to see the lady whose name was