The Mother of St. Nicholas Part 4

On the departure of Tharsos, Myrtis had turned and said--

"Thy brother's signal, as thou hast told me, Coryna. Come! let us go."

"It is, but--not yet, dear Myrtis," was the answer in a voice of gentle firmness.

"And in the face of thy brother's strong desire thou art waiting to witness the foul torture and death of a lady refined and good--our fellow-countrywoman too!"

"I shall not behold that," replied the maiden with earnest, hopeful light in her dark hazel eyes: "some brave man will appear; but if not, then I shall turn my back or fly when"--She dared not finish, and Myrtis added--

"When the lion springs. Oh! my Coryna, let us go. This is the work of demons."

"I cannot, Myrtis, I cannot. I shall know the end sooner here."

"There can be but one end, my dear. The cruel crafty managers, bribed to get rid of the maiden without more delay, as Tharsos informed thee, planned this well. What man with a mere dagger could slay a lion? A naked man too. Coryna, the whole work is contemptible, contemptible!"

And the deep blue eyes of Myrtis flashed forth her scorn, as she looked down into the arena and scanned it swiftly round till her attention rested anxiously at the eastern end.

"The Romans love effect," Coryna answered bitterly, as she unconsciously twisted her long gold necklace around her thumb,--"The solitary fight will be a striking contrast to the battle that has been."

"There will be no fight, my dear. Who would take such a risk for a woman, a Christian too? But I shall wait with thee, Coryna, and get a glimpse of the poor maiden, and let us hope that her G.o.d will help her."

Coryna did not speak, but her expressive face told her grat.i.tude and hope.

The conversation was stopped by the loud blast of trumpets, indicating that another awful act was to begin; and the great hum of voices ceased. The sand was clear of everything, as if a bare, vast, oval table, and all faces were turned toward the eastern extremity of the arena, morbidly hungering for more scenes of skill and blood.

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE ARENA.

Pathema was taken from prison, where she had been shut up for a long time; and the officer in charge was about to open a small door into the arena to lead her in, when a dark-haired boy, the son of ill.u.s.trious parents, came forward with tears streaming down his n.o.ble face, and presented her with a cl.u.s.ter of white lilies. Accepting the flowers speechlessly but gracefully, the doomed maiden bent down with a full heart and kissed him. The lilies reminded her of Him who was made perfect through suffering, and they gave her renewed strength.

"Thy name, my darling?"

"Carnion," was the answer, broken and low.

Stooping down, Pathema put a gentle trembling arm around the boy and kissing him again, she said--

"My lovely one, G.o.d bless thee!"

The guard in uniform opened the door and led the innocent victim into the great arena.

"The maiden comes: see, yonder," said Coryna, looking intently towards her.

Myrtis spoke not, but strained her eyes to see.

The Christian maiden approached slowly in charge of the guard till she was placed in front of the pavilion where sat the emperor, clothed in a purple robe and on his head a laurel crown. Leaving her there, the guard withdrew without delay that the keeper might unbar a heavy iron gate for the wild beast to enter in and devour.

Pathema stood alone, a graceful form in flowing garments, within those s.p.a.cious walls. Clothed in mockery in the white robe of a vestal virgin, yet she was a chaste virgin of Jesus Christ. Bound with a white fillet, her rich black hair, of lavish length, lay back in glistening waves. Her soft dark eyes were modestly towards the ground; once only were they raised, and then to a purer region than earth. Her face was pale and worn but eminently beautiful, with the light of heaven on her thoughtful brow. All around, thousands upon thousands of human eyes, gazing with inhumane curiosity, were an abas.h.i.+ng and disturbing sight themselves. But with the solitary object of their gaze, the flow of mental energy was smoothly but strongly and consumingly in the channel of the spiritual emotions. The hidden struggle with conflicting streams of feeling was all gone through in the bitterness and supplications of the dungeon. The agony was past, and Pathema was resigned.

"That sad sweet countenance entrances me," said Myrtis, deeply moved.

"Oh Coryna, I go, and yet I cannot! Whence that light and peace?"

Coryna replied not, for she could not. But from among the _pullati_ or poor people, immediately below, an answer of a kind came. It was in the subdued voice of a shepherd from the mountains of Lycia. Orestes had nimbly escaped while Pathema was being removed from the prison not long before; but at the risk of recapture he had entered the amphitheatre, determined, like Peter, to see the end, not out of curiosity but of Christian love, hoping against hope. He sat at the end of a seat near one of the _vomitoria_ or doors of entrance from the internal lobbies in the sh.e.l.l of the building. Although his garb was soiled and worn, his face was thoughtful, humane and resolute, like the rugged rocks of Taurus. His remarks were not intended for other ears, but were the half-audible, broken sentences of an intense mind.

"Listen!" said Coryna, recovering herself, "he speaks in our own tongue; and they heard such expressions as--

"The peace of G.o.d, which pa.s.seth all understanding.

Enduring--enduring! Life is but a fleeting breath at best.

Corrupt--corrupt! Is not this foul spectacle around her the proof?

She would not live for a human name--worthless from the low-viewed mult.i.tude--nor for pleasure, nor for mere living, at the price of loyalty to Christ. Yet she would live--live that she might humbly aid these people to rise up from the pit of the sensual savage mind--into the light, the glorious light. But she is rejected and despised. Like her Master, she must be sacrificed--in cruelty and shame. If it be possible, let this cup pa.s.s from her, I beseech Thee, O G.o.d!"

Pathema knew not that in the vast mult.i.tude above there was one--her fellow-countryman and co-worker, the humble shepherd of mount Taurus--pleading for her life with all the intensity of agonising pity.

To her, mercy was a stranger within those living walls, yet with meekly bended head in steadfast trust she stood, bearing her awful cross in the footprints of the Nazarene.

CHAPTER X.

THE LION.

The great iron gate was opened up. Into the arena proudly leaped a glowing-eyed gigantic brute, with tawny coat and heavy mane, the hungry king of the forest.

All eyes were directed towards him, but Pathema moved not.

"Now may her G.o.d help her!" exclaimed Myrtis, bending her head and burying her face in her hands; but unable to bear the strain, she rose up and left, leaving her companion absorbed and pained, and her husband down on the _podium_, transfixed yet ashamed.

No wild-beast fighter having appeared--no one to gratify the craving for excitement--a great hum of disappointment soon ascended and rolled round the amphitheatre.

The lion raised his ma.s.sive head as if in defiance, and uttered a mighty, vibrant roar.

The hum of voices stopped.

Pathema's heart trembled in the balance, as a topmast twig before the first breath of darkening storm. The mere finite fabric would surely have given way. But if the tremor lasted in varying degree, hesitation had perched for a moment only. Prolonged habit, woven in as metal cord, called forth the virtue told in the oft-read words--"What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee." Strengthened from above, she calmly turned her head and, as if also in defiance, fixed her eyes full upon the distant savage brute.

The hungry lion saw the human form--ah! this was strange choice game.

He trod forward with swaying tail--he crept--he crouched low--he would soon spring--and that fair image of the divine would be struck down, torn asunder, bled and crunched in pieces!

Was there no eye to pity, none to save?

"Oh that I were a soldier, a gladiator,--no, just a man, a man!" said Coryna from the depth of a throbbing heart, "then would I rush to the rescue and save her or die!"

The shepherd could not stand the sight, and as he rose to go away his face was ghastly white. As he turned with vacant eyes to walk up the _scalaria_ or steps to the door in the _balteus_ or wall behind, a voice at his elbow said in the Greek language--

"Here! take this true dagger, friend."