The old nurse by this time had regained her feet.
“You are the nurse of this young lady,” Beric said to her sternly, “and should know better than to bring her into danger. If Norbanus knew what you have done he would have you cut in pieces.”
“It is not the fault of Lycoris. She begged and entreated me not to come, but I would not listen to her. You are angry with me, Beric, but you would not be angry if you knew what it was to me. Younger than I have died for the Faith, and I would die too if it were necessary.”
Beric made no reply, he was indeed deeply vexed at what he considered an act of mad folly. The daughters of Norbanus had been very friendly and kind to him at Massilia, and he felt a debt of gratitude to their father; and this escapade on the part of Ennia, who was as yet scarce sixteen, vexed him exceedingly. He was not sure, indeed, but that he ought to go straight to Norbanus and tell him what had happened, yet he feared that in such a case the anger of the magistrate would be so great that Ennia would be forced by him into becoming one of the vestal virgins, or be shut up in strict imprisonment. Scarce a word was spoken as they passed down the hill and into the streets, now almost deserted. At last Ennia stopped at the entrance used by the slaves to her father's house.
“Will you give me your promise,” he asked, “about going out at night again? I implore you, I beseech you do not again leave the house of your father at night unknown to him. You cannot tell the dangers you run by so doing, or the misery you may bring, not only on yourself, but on your parents.”
“I promise you,” Ennia said. “I owe you so great a debt of gratitude that even your harsh words do not anger me. I will think over what you have said, and try to do what may seem to me my duty.”
“That is all I ask,” Beric said more gently; and then turning walked away with Boduoc, who had but faintly understood what was being said, but was surprised at the recognition between Beric and this girl, whom he had not particularly noticed when at Massilia.
“That is Pollio's cousin, the younger daughter of the magistrate I stayed with at Massilia. It was well for her that it was not Pollio who came to her rescue instead of us.”
“I should say so,” Boduoc said dryly. “Pollio would scarcely be a match for eight cutthroats.”
“I did not mean that, Boduoc. I meant that he would have rated her soundly.”
“It seemed to me that you were rating her somewhat soundly, Beric. I scarce ever heard you speak so harshly before, and I wondered the more as you are neither kith nor kin to her, while by the heartiness with which you scolded her you might have been her own brother.”
“I did not think whether I had a right to scold her or not, Boduoc. I liked both the maiden and her sister, and their father was very kind to me. Moreover, after all Pollio has done for us, the least I could do was to look after his cousin. But even if I had known nothing whatever of her or her friends, I should have spoken just as I did. The idea of a young girl like that wandering about at night with no one but an old slave to protect her in an unfrequented quarter of Rome! It is unheard of.”
“But what were they doing there, Beric?”
“They were going to a meeting place of a new religion there is in Rome. The people who belong to it are persecuted and obliged to meet in secret. The old woman belongs to it, and has, I suppose, taught Ennia. I have heard that the sect is spreading, and that although most of those who adhere to it are slaves, or belong to the poorer class, there are many of good family who have also joined it.”
“Well, I should have thought,” Boduoc said, “that the Romans had no cause to be dissatisfied with their gods. They have given them victory, and dominion, and power, and wealth. What more could they want of them? I could understand that we, whose god did nothing to assist us in our fight against the Romans, should seek other gods who might do more for us. But that a Roman should have been discontented with his gods is more than I can understand. But what is that sudden flash of light?”
“It is a fire, and in these narrow streets, with a brisk wind blowing, it may well spread. There, do you hear the watchmen's trumpets giving the alarm? Let us get back quickly, Boduoc. It may be that we shall be all turned out to fight the fire if it spreads.”
They were not far from the school now, and a few minutes' run took them there. The house was quiet, but a few oil lamps burning here and there enabled them to make their way to the broad planks, arranged like a modern guard bed, on which they slept with their three comrades.
“Is that you, Beric?” Scopus, who slept in a cubicule leading off the great room, asked.
“Yes it is; Boduoc and I.”
“You are very late,” he growled. “Late hours are bad for the health. Are you sober?”
Beric laughed.
“No, I need not ask you,” Scopus went on. “If it had been some of the others who had been out so late, I should have been sure they would have come home as drunk as hogs; but that is not your way.”
“There is a fire not very far off, Scopus, and the wind is blowing strongly.”
Scopus was at once on his feet and came out into the room. “I don't like fires,” he said uneasily. “Let us go up on the roof and see what it is like.”
Short as the time had been since Beric first saw the flash of light the fire had already spread, and a broad sheet of flame was shooting up into the air. “It is down there in the most crowded quarter, and the wind is blowing strongly. It is likely to be a big fire. Listen to the din.”
A chorus of shouts, the shrieks of women, and the tramp of many feet running, mingled with the sounding of the watchmen's horns.
“The soldiers will soon be there to keep order,” Scopus said. “As every household is obliged to keep a bucket in readiness, and there is an abundance of water; they will cope with it. At any rate the wind is not blowing in this direction. It is half a mile away fully.”
“Can we go down and see if we can be of any assistance?” Beric asked. “We might help in removing goods from the houses, and in carrying off the aged and sick.”
“You can if you like, Beric. I would not say as much for those who are training hard, for the loss of a night's rest is serious; but as it will be some months before you Britons are ready for the arena, it will do you no harm.”
Beric went below, aroused his countrymen, and went with them and Boduoc. The streets were alive. Men were running in the direction of the fire carrying buckets; women were standing at the doors inquiring of the passersby if they knew what street was on fire, and whether it was likely to spread. The sound of military trumpets calling the soldiers to arms rose in various parts of the city, and mingled with the hoarse sound of the watchmen's horns. As they approached the fire the crowd became thicker.
Beric admired the coolness shown and the order that already reigned. The prefect of the 7th Cohort of the Night Guard, always on duty to guard the streets from thieves or fire, was already on the spot, and under his directions, and those of several inferior officials, the men, as fast as they arrived, were set to pass buckets along from the fountains and conduits.
“Who are you?” the magistrate asked, as the five tall figures came up the street in the light of the fire.
“We belong to the school of Scopus,” Beric said. “We have come down to see if we can be of assistance. We are strong, and can move goods from houses threatened, or carry off the sick should there be any; or we can throw water on the flames.”
“The soldiers will do that,” the magistrate said, “that is their business; but, as you say, you may be of use in helping clear the houses outside their lines. The flames are spreading. Come with me, I will take you to the centurion commanding a company of the Night Guard here, for if he saw you coming out of the house with goods he might take you for plunderers.”