Chapter VI: The Evil Tidings

The horrors of that night had not yet ended; for from the third hour after sunset till day had fully dawned, the fever of the earth raged with unabated fury. A melancholy and a ghastly group was it that soon crowned the hill where Flavia had left her daughter, when at length all those who had escaped with her from the palace were collected together round the torches. Not one half of those, indeed, who dwelt in that magnificent building, to which the earthquake gave the first severe blow, had assembled in the train of the Roman lady; but during the pause of nearly an hour which succeeded the second shock, many pale and terrified beings, some wounded and bruised with the falling masses, some nearly deprived of reason by their fears, wandered up from the palace and the neighbouring village, guided by the lights upon the hill, and with wild exclamations and bemoanings of their fate added something to the horrors of the moment.

Gradually the brief-spoken or almost silent awe subsided during that long interval of calm; and many who had been waiting with sinking hearts for the coming of a third shock began to talk together in low whispers, and even to fancy that the hour of peril had passed by. Gradually, too, serving to encourage such thoughts, the clouds rolled away; the stars looked out calm and bright, and the moon was seen just sinking into the Adriatic, but with a red and angry glow over her face, in general so calm and mild. Hope began to waken once again in all bosoms; and one, more rash than the rest, a fisherman from Aspalathus, ventured down the hill, declaring that he would go and see what had befallen his boat.

The minutes seemed hours; but very few had elapsed after his departure, ere the fierce rushing sound of the destroyer was again heard; again the earth reeled and shook, and yawned and heaved up, and burst like bubbles from a seething caldron; and lightning, without a cloud, played round the hills and over the waves. The terrified multitude clung together, and the sick faintness of despair seemed to defy all augmentation, when the voice of the fisherman was heard, exclaiming, as he hastened back up the hill, "Fly farther, to the mountains! fly farther up! the sea is rising over the land; the boats are driven into the market-place; the palace will soon be covered! Fly farther, and fly quickly, if you would save your lives!"

"Why should we fly?" cried the same voice which had before urged the multitude to stay and await death below; and at the same time a tall, gaunt man, with long streaming gray hair, and large, wild, melancholy eyes, pushed himself forward into the torchlight. "Why should we fly?" he cried; "and whither can we go to hide us from the wrath of God? Lo, I tell you, and it shall come to pass, that no sun shall ever rise again upon this earth, except the Sun of Righteousness. The last day, the last great day, is at hand, and in vain ye say to the mountains, 'Fall upon us; and to the hills, Cover us, in the great and terrible day of the Lord.' Make ready your hearts, and prepare your souls, for verily ye are called to judgment, and the Son of Man is coming, in clouds and glory, to separate the sheep from the goats."

His words, his solemn gestures, his wild and enthusiastic look, supported by his reputed sanctity of life, plunged the people in deeper despair; but Flavia again interposed, and with sweet and gentle, yet dignified and commanding eloquence, she won the people to hear, to yield, and to obey her. Lighted by a single torch, for those they had brought had burnt so far that it became necessary to spare them, the melancholy procession wound up the road which led over the mountains towards Titurum. After travelling for at least a mile, with a continual ascent, they again paused; and in order both to give new courage to the sinking hearts of those who accompanied her, and to prevent the enthusiast Mizetus from adding to their terrors, the lady besought the good priests of the palace church to guide them in praying to the Almighty in their hour of peril.

The old man had not spoken since they left the city; but the mild words of the Roman lady seemed to wake him from the stupor of anguish and terror into which he had fallen. Called upon to find words of consolation for the flock committed to his charge, he applied them first to his own heart, and instantly remembering the hopes and promises of a pure and exalted faith, he broke forth in a strain of powerful eloquence, now directing the people to put their trust in that Almighty arm which can save in the time of the most awful danger; now raising his voice in prayer to God, mingling adoration with petition, and offering at once the sacrifice of faith and supplication.

The people gathered round, slaves and freemen together, lifting their pale faces and anxious eyes by the dull torchlight to the countenance of the priest. They gained confidence and courage, however, at his words; and when he began his prayer, they kneeled around upon the still shaking earth, and rose again with hearts full of trust, calmed and strengthened by devotion. None had stood aloof, not even those who had hitherto remained firm to their ancient idolatry. In that hour of horror, they felt the need of some higher hope and more abiding trust, and they kneeled with the rest to that more mighty God whom hitherto they had not known.

Ere they rose, a light and grateful wind sprang up from the mountains; and with hope once more awakened, in a still dark and superstitious age, even so slight a change as that was received as a favourable presage. Many there were who regarded it as a sign that their prayers were heard; and when at length the calm gray dawn began to look from the eastern hills upon the wearied and anxious groups below, though the earth still shook, from time to time, with a convulsive shudder, the sight of the blessed light of returning day seemed to take the worst apprehension from their overloaded hearts, and many an eye shed tears of joy to see again those rays which they had feared were obscured for ever.

Rashness generally follows terror allayed; and scarcely had the sun fully risen, when numbers, anxious for friends whom they saw not--or, perhaps, with more sordid motives--began to hasten away towards the village and the palace. But the earth still shook, and Flavia, with her family and servants, still remained upon the hill, after striving anxiously to persuade the rest to wait till all was again completely still. Her reasoning was in vain, however, and troop after troop went off; but scarcely was the day an hour old, when another severe shock was felt, and many who had escaped the dangers of that fearful night were crushed or maimed in the ruins of the dwellings to which they had returned. That shock was the last, as it was the longest, which was felt; and when it subsided, all remained quiet; and though the ground was seen yawning in various places, though parts even of the mountains had slipped from their places, and rocks lay overthrown in the valleys; though the courses of the streams had been altered, and the whole face of the land was changed, yet it soon became evident that the earthquake was over, and mourning was all that remained--mourning unmingled with fear.

There was mourning in the hearts of all; and yet how many a glad embrace, how many a tender and affectionate caress, how many a prayer and thanksgiving, expressed the gratitude, the joy, the love, which filled the bosoms of Flavia and her family. How many an earnest and a wistful glance at the faces of each other told that, in the anguish of that long horrible night, selfish fear had been superseded by apprehensions of a nobler kind!

Bright and beautiful, calm and serene the day rose up over that scene of desolation and ruin, smiling as if to give comfort and consolation to the smitten earth; but still Flavia lingered on the hills, unwilling to trust her children or her domestics amid the ruins of the palace till she should be well assured that safety might be found within its walls. As the sun grew hot, however, she removed to the edge of a small wood of tall ilexes which hung upon the edge of the mountain road, though many of the finest trees had been uprooted and thrown down either by the wind or the earthquake; and having placed herself beneath the shade, with her children round her, several of the slaves ran hither and thither, to seek some food whereof to offer their well-loved mistress the morning's meal. Each returned with something; but each had some sad tale to tell of the ravages that were to be traced in the direction in which he had gone. Milk, and wine, and early fruits had been found in abundance among the various cottages in the neighbourhood, and a meal, plentiful, but simple as that of the night before, was spread upon the grass beneath the trees.

The earth was still, the air was fresh and sweet, and the birds had begun again their melody, forgetting in song, like the happy heart of youth, the blow of calamity as soon as it had passed away. All tended to sooth and to reassure; and the heart of Ammian, which, even during the terrible scenes of the past night, had not lost its bold and fearless daring, now broke out in light and wild fancies. He would know the causes of the earthquake; and when he found that neither his mother nor Theodore could give a satisfactory reply to all his many questions--as who in that age could have furnished any on such a theme?--he let his imagination run wild in conjectures; and many a bright poetical theory he formed, and many a wild and baseless hypothesis he raised, sporting with all the dread images of the past like a child playing with the weapons of deadly strife gathered from a field of battle.

Then he urged his mother to return quickly to the palace, in order, as he said, to see what old Ocean had been doing there during their absence. With Theodore, Flavia held more rational intercourse, taking counsel with him as to what course she had to pursue, and expressing an apprehension lest the palace, left totally unguarded, might be plundered during her absence and that of the old imperial conservator, who remained with them, his senses still bewildered with all the terrors he had gone through. Theodore, however, showed her that the faithful slaves who had followed him through the building had brought away all the valuable jewels, caskets, and gold which they had found; and for the rest, he offered to return himself, with the conservator and some of the slaves, and provide for the preservation of the palace and all that it contained.

"Go you with the rest to Salona, dearest mother," he said; "some dwellings must there have been preserved; and among the merchants and traders which it contains you will always find shelter and assistance for gold. Shaken as the palace has been, many parts may yet be standing which will soon fall, and your presence would only be dangerous, and embarrass us in ascertaining the state of the building. I will accompany you part of the way to Salona, and then turn round by the heathen cemetery towards Aspalathus and the palace."

Ildica listened, and her look seemed to say that she would fain accompany him; for hers was one of those hearts which would rather, far rather, take part in the danger and the grief of those they love than share even their happiest hours. But she said nothing; for she knew that her wishes ought not to be granted, and she would neither put her mother nor her lover to the pain of opposing her even by a word.

Eudochia, however, in the inconsiderate apprehensiveness of girlhood, clung to her brother, and besought him not to go; but Theodore soon pacified her, assuring her that he would not venture rashly where danger was apparent; and, after a few more words, orders were given to the domestics, and Flavia rose to proceed towards Salona. Weariness, indeed, was in all limbs; and with slow and heavy steps, those who had remained with Flavia on the uplands took their way along a road, which wound for some distance over the ridge of hills nearest to the sea, and then descended, separating into two branches, the one leading to the town of Salona, the other to Aspalathus and the neighbouring palace. The latter branch, with a steep declivity, wound down the hill, bordered on either hand by a long row of tall dark cypresses, which reached from the northern gate of the palace to a cemetery on the side of the hill. In that burial-ground, surrounded by a low wall not two feet high--thus built that all who passed might gaze upon the records of mortality within--lay crowded a multitude of tombs, checkered with groups of dull funereal trees. There reposed the remains of all who had died in the vicinity since Dalmatia had become a Roman province, and the frequent _Siste, viator!_ called the eye, and recorded the vain attempt to teach mankind wisdom and moderation from the common lot of all.

It was near this burial-place, just where the roads parted, that Theodore paused, and, after a few minutes' conference with the old officer of the palace, selected several of the slaves to accompany him on his way. But just as he was about to depart, the eye of Ildica rested upon a cloud of dust that rose from the point where the road towards Salona became first visible, emerging from a thick grove at the distance of perhaps half a mile from the spot where they then stood.

"Look! look!" she said; "here are people coming up from the city--perhaps to give us assistance; and I trust they may bring a chariot or a litter, for my mother is pale and weary, and Eudochia is faint also."

"And you are weary, too, my Ildica!" said her mother. "But look! Theodore, look! Do you not see armour and helmets glittering through the dust in the sun? It seems a turma of cavalry or more, for the line is long. Stay with us, my dear son, till we see what we have here: let us turn into this field opposite the cemetery while they pass by."

Her words were instantly obeyed as commands; and, winding on with a slow equal march, a small body of horse, followed by a number of stragglers on foot, ascended the hill, and then, without pause or question, took the way on towards Aspalathus. In a moment after, however, at a quicker pace, as if to overtake them, and followed by a number of soldiers and attendants, came a superior person, who paused on seeing the group seated in the neighbouring meadow, and sent a messenger to ask if much mischief had occurred at the palace in consequence of the earthquake, and whether the Lady Flavia were safe.

"She is well, and present," replied Flavia to the messenger: "who is it that sends?"

"The military tribune, Marcian," replied the attendant, and Theodore instantly sprang up, exclaiming, "My father's dear and noble friend!" and without other comment he ran down the field. As soon as the tribune beheld him he leaped from his horse and pressed him in his arms, and after a few brief words gave some orders to his attendants, and advanced with Theodore to the spot where Flavia sat.

He was a man already in the middle stage of life, tall and powerful in frame, and of mild, but firm and serious countenance. He was not, perhaps, what would generally be reputed handsome, but his features were good; and there was the fire of genius in his large dark eye, the consciousness of energy on his broad square brow. Dignity was in his aspect and his whole demeanour; and, as he saluted the Lady Flavia, lamented with her the events of the preceding night, and inquired in tones of deep interest into all the perils through which she and her family had passed, there was that calm and graceful suavity in his deportment which inexpressibly won and struck every one who listened. Nevertheless, there was a cloud, as if of some deep melancholy, hung upon his brow; and when Flavia informed him of her purpose of proceeding to Salona, he shook his head mournfully, saying, "You had better not, lady! I think you had better not! It is a melancholy place," he added, a moment after; "much shaken and ruined, and a great number of people have lost their lives there. I fear that accounts from other parts of the empire will be sad indeed."

There was something gloomy and thoughtful in the manner of the tribune that surprised and somewhat alarmed the Roman lady; for so much habitual self-command had the soldiers of the empire, that it was rare to see any one, especially of such rank and renown as Marcian, display upon the occasion of any misfortune like the earthquake, the natural feelings which were not the less busy at their hearts. The marble exterior of the old republicans was much affected by all who sought to distinguish themselves in the Roman armies; and Marcian was famed for a temperate but unyielding firmness, which admitted not the semblance of grief or apprehension.

"Think you, then," she asked, "that we had better return to the palace? A report reached us in the night that the sea had nearly covered it."

Marcian paused for several minutes, as if meditating what were best to do, and then replied, "Lady, I will send to see the condition of the palace, and in the mean time bid them pitch me a tent here to give you a shelter from the sun. We have provisions with us too, and can offer you a meal, such as, perhaps, this great disaster may not have left at Aspalathus."

"I thank you," replied Flavia; "we have already eaten. We found no want of food among the cottages upon the hills."

But Marcian pressed upon them his hospitality so earnestly, that Flavia yielded, feeling that there was something more beneath his grave and thoughtful air than he suffered at first to appear; and while the tent was being raised by his attendants, he sent a messenger to the palace, with orders for such minute examination as showed that the day would be high ere he could return. Food already dressed was soon spread out under the tent; and one or two vessels of wine were produced, with several rich cups and vases, carved with the exquisite workmanship of an earlier age, and shining with many a precious stone. With grave suavity the tribune did the honours of the meal, and spoke much, and of many things, but with a wandering and discursive spirit, as if his mind was forcing itself to the task, and seeking more largely the aid of imagination than might have been the case had the heart been itself at ease.

"How magnificent are those cypresses!" he said, looking towards the long avenue which led down the hill; "I never beheld finer, except, perhaps, some that grow on the hill above Byzantium. But those stand solitary, as if to mark the tomb of some warrior who has died afar from his own land; these sweep down in a long row, like a line of departed monarchs seen in the shady grandeur of tradition. There they stood, centuries before Diocletian laid the first stone of his palace; there they stand now, when his history is almost forgotten; there they will stand, when we are as he is. Well are they placed between the palace and the sepulchre--those witnesses of the mortality of ages. The common lot of man! why should any one shrink from the common lot of man! Why should we look with hope to this world's future, or turn back our eyes with lingering grief to the past, or nurse bright hopes of such young beings as these," and he laid his hand upon the head of Ammian, "or mourn with bitter regret for those who have changed the thorny couch of mortal life for the calm bed of the tomb? Give me a cup of wine!"

"A prodigy! a prodigy!" cried one of the slaves, running into the tent; "an omen! an omen! Tribune, the eagle, which has hovered over us all the way from Salona, has settled on the pole of the tent!"

"Get ye gone!" replied Marcian; "what have I to do with omens? I may have the heart without the wings of the eagle. Out upon ambition! and yet this very Diocletian, who founded the palace hard by, was a slave before he was an emperor. But he loathed, resigned, and refused to resume the power which he had acquired and proved. That eagle haunts me: twice has it hovered for hours over me while sleeping in the open field, and now it settles on my tent. These are strange accidents, and yet nothing more than accidents. Who should dream of ambition with those tombs before his eyes? Give me some wine!"

The attendant who stood near handed the goblet, which he had held ready filled for some minutes, to his master; and Marcian,[5] yet but half a Christian, turned and poured some of the wine upon the ground. "To the dead!" he said, looking mournfully round him, "to the dead!" and his eyes fixed full and sadly, upon Theodore.

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[Footnote 5: He was at this time probably an Arian; but there is reason to believe that his family had long held their ancient religion, against all the decrees of the Christian emperors.]

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The youth started suddenly on his feet, and grasped the tribune's hand, exclaiming: "My father! I adjure thee tell me! What of my father?"

Marcian threw his arms round the slighter form of his young friend, speaking some words in a low tone. Flavia rose and gazed eagerly in the face of the tribune, who shook his head mournfully as his reply; and Theodore hid his face in his mantle, while Eudochia burst into wild and weeping lamentations. Ildica's dark eyes overflowed in silence; and though Flavia let not one drop roll over the jetty fringes of her eyelids, her pale cheek grew paler, and her lip quivered with intense emotion. Marcian said no more, but gazed down sternly upon the hilt of his sword; and the only words that were uttered for some time were: "Alas, Paulinus!" which broke from the lip of Ammian.