



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.










VIRGILIA

_or_

OUT OF THE LION'S MOUTH

_By_

FELICIA BUTTZ CLARK


1917






CONTENTS


CHAPTER   I. A confession of faith

CHAPTER  II. The "Little Fish"

CHAPTER III. The hymn of the water-carrier

CHAPTER  IV. The inner shrine of Jupiter

CHAPTER   V. The Old One speaks

CHAPTER   VI. The Feast of Grapes

CHAPTER  VII. Enter, Lycias, the gladiator

CHAPTER VIII. The symbol of the lizard




I.

A CONFESSION OF FAITH.


The Circus in Rome was thronged with an enormous crowd of persons on a
day in June, about two thousand years ago. One hundred thousand men
and women sat on its tiers of white marble seats, under the open sky
and witnessed a gladiatorial contest in the arena, beneath.

At the western end of the oval amphitheatre was the Emperor's box,
flanked with tall Corinthian pillars, on which were hung the
coat-of-arms of the Roman people. Here sat one of the most cruel
emperors Rome has ever suffered under. His cloak was royal purple,
and was thrown carelessly back, on this warm June afternoon, to
disclose a white tunic, embroidered in scarlet.

Beside him were several ladies, elaborately gowned in the manner of
the day, with hair dressed high, studded with jewels brought from
Oriental lands, while their necks and arms were loaded with strings of
pearls and emeralds, armlets of tawny gold in Etruscan designs, in
which were set cameos of extraordinary delicacy and diamonds, only
partially polished, as large as the half of a hen's egg.

To every class of Romans, the gladiatorial show was open. Senators and
Patricians, artists and mechanics, poets and artisans, women of every
rank, from the highest lady of the land to the humblest washerwoman
who beat her clothes on the rounded stones of the River Tiber, were
here to gloat over the hideous contest in the arena.

In the third row, about half way in the long side of the oval
amphitheatre sat two women and a man. The women were unusually
beautiful. They were mother and daughter. The man was plainly the
father, a stalwart Roman, a lawyer, who had his office in the courts
of the Forum, where business houses flanked the splendid temples of
white marble, where the people worshipped their gods, Jupiter and
Saturn, Diana and Cybele.

"See," said Claudia, pointing a finger on which blazed on enormous
emerald, "the Vestals are giving the signal. Their thumbs are
reversed. The Emperor, also, is signalling for a cessation of the
fight. How proud Lycias, the gladiator, is to-day, for he won the
victory. Well, we must go. Come, Virgilia."

The young girl arose, obediently, but her father noticed that her eyes
were full of tears and that she shivered slightly in spite of the
warm, scented June air.

As the three mingled with the thousands who were in a very leisurely
manner wending their way down the steps to the ground, Aurelius
Lucanus drew her frail hand through his arm and said, gently: "What
hast thou, dearest? Art thou not well?"

"I am quite well, father dear," and as she spoke, she drew over her
face a light, filmy veil, effectually shielding her from the too
curious gaze of the laughing throng of merry-makers.

"Why, then, dost thou cry, my daughter?"

Virgilia glanced at her mother and noticing that she was out of
hearing, whispered in his ear: "I hate it, father. Do not bring me
again."

He looked at her with surprise, then, remembering that girls have
strange fancies, he was silent, and guided her safely out into the
blazing sunshine. The sun was still an hour above the horizon; the
pine-trees on the Palatine Hills, where Caesar's palaces were, stood
up like giant sentinels against a sky of limpid blue.

Aurelius Lucanus led the way through the Forum, where his wife, an
ardent worshipper of the gods, stopped to lay a bunch of roses on the
base of a large statue of Ceres, standing near the Temple and a
building dedicated to the use of the Vestal Virgins.

The Chief Virgin was being carried to the entrance in her chair, borne
by four bearers, while in front of her walked the two men who held
high the symbols of her priestly office. Claudia fell upon her knees
as the holy vestal went by, until her chair had been carried through
the iron gates.

Virgilia watched her mother, with an anxious look on her young face.

"Why didst thou not also kneel before the holy one?" her mother said,
in a stern tone. "Dost not know that in her hands she holds such power
that even the emperor himself trembles before her and does her
bidding, lest the gods send upon him disaster and ruin?"

Virgilia made no reply, but walked quietly by her mother's side
through the Forum, beneath the great arches, up over the Capitoline
Hill where Jupiter's Temple arose in grandeur, its ivory-tinted
marbles beginning to turn a dull rose in the rays of the fast-lowering
sun.

They descended on the other side and entered a labyrinth of narrow
streets, winding in and out between rows of houses, most of them
showing a plain, windowless front, the only decoration being over and
around the door.

With a quick double-knock at one of these doors, the lawyer summoned a
servant, who bowed deeply as the two ladies and his master entered.

Aurelius Lucanus lingered a moment, while his wife passed on into the
atrium, but here, it was hot, so she went further, into a court,
transformed into a beautiful garden. Around the fountain, which cooled
the air, bloomed literally hundreds of calla lilies, masses of stately
blossoms with snowy chalices and hearts of gold. Around the pillars
twined the June roses, pink and yellow, and mixed with them were
vines, of starry jessamine, shedding forth a faint, delicious odor,
akin to that of orange-blossoms.

Here were chairs of rare woods inlaid with ivory, and couches,
gracefully formed, covered with soft silks and cushions embroidered in
gold.

Claudia sank down, as if she were weary, and a slave sprang forward to
remove the white outer garment, worn upon the street to cover the
costly silk one, and the jewels which she had worn in the
amphitheatre.

Aurelius was conversing with the dark-skinned porter.

"Has Martius returned?" he asked.

"Yes, master. He came in about two hours after noon, but went out
again almost immediately."

"Leaving no word?"

"No, master."

The porter stood watching his master as he walked away. There was a
strange expression on his strongly marked face. He was pitted with
small-pox, and over one eye was a deep scar. He had never forgotten
how he got that scar, how he had fallen beneath a blow struck by that
man's hand, the man who owned his body, but not his soul. In falling,
he had struck his head against the corner of the marble pedestal
supporting the statue of the god who ruled in this household, and had
been carried away unconscious.

Ah, no, he had not forgotten!

Aurelius entered the court just in time to hear his wife saying
To Virgilia in her severest tone: "Thou art exactly like thy
step-brother, Martius, self-willed and foolish. Why else has he
been exiled from Rome by thy father? He has worshipped strange gods,
has followed after a man named Christus, a malefactor, a thief,
crucified with thieves--"

"Mother!" exclaimed Virgilia, and there was that in her voice which
stopped the stream of language, and made Claudia sit up straight and
grasp the griffin-heads on the arms of her chair.

"Wilt tell me that thou, too, art mad over the dead Christus?" she
shrieked. "Then art thou no daughter of mine! Thou shall go forth from
here, homeless, an outcast. Join thyself with the beggarly band of men
and women who hide in the dark places of the earth that they may work
their spells--"

"Claudia, cease thy talking," exclaimed Aurelius, taking his daughter
in his arms. "Canst thou not see that the child is fainting? She is
ill. I saw it but now in the Circus. Hast thou no heart?"

"What, thou, too, Aurelius! Thou art but half a man, and worshipeth
the gods only in form. Long have I suspected that Virgilia had been
infected by this poisonous virus, this doctrine of a malefactor. Thy
son taught it to her, thy son, Martius, who is, thanks to Jupiter, far
away from here."

"Not so, dear mother," said a cheerful voice, "Martius has returned to
his father's house, and to thee and Virgilia."

A tall youth, about nineteen years of age, full of manly vigor
speaking in a rich voice, vibrant with feeling, sprang forward, knelt
at Claudia's feet and kissed her hand, then he embraced his father and
sister.

Claudia's expression relaxed. Had it not been for his absurd belief in
the Jew, who seemed to have set the world mad, she could have loved
this fine-looking young man, whose auburn curls fell over a white
forehead, whose brown eyes gleamed with a mixture of earnestness and
merriment. He was, indeed, a lovable youth.

"Hast thou come back cured, Martius? Then art thou indeed welcome."

"Cured of what, mother