Chapter X: The Pagan Sacrifice

There is even now--when the sweeping hand of ages has levelled with the earth so many of the things which in the times we speak of were in their splendour--there is even now at the foot of Pincianus a deep, shady grove of tall trees, amid the stems of which the treacherous sunshine of the Roman spring pours its mellow light with a peculiar charm. This, however, is but a small vestige of the magnificent wood that at one period covered the side of the hill, and swept over the undulating country at its base, a wood consisting solely of high upright trees, springing from a green and luxuriant turf, which their own shadow kept cool and verdant. A bright stream, long since licked up by the burning sun, then meandered round the foot of the hill full of delicious water, brawling sportively with the stones which formed its bed; and by the side thereof, every here and there an open space appeared, as if left by the taste of some skilful planter, either for wanderers through that enchanted scene to pause upon and gaze on the cool wave, or for the gay and happy to meet in and prolong the hours with feast and revelry.

At either end of the wood, nearly a mile apart from each other, the one being situated half way up the slope, the other at its base, were two villages, which, though not remote from Rome, had, from various accidental circumstances, maintained in all ages much less communication than might have been expected with the great city, and which preserved with peculiar tenacity those old manners and customs which the secluded and the rustic adhere to with such fond affection. In vain had the customs of the city changed--the villagers of Pincianus changed not with Rome. In vain had empire succeeded republic, and effeminacy and luxury flowed in with demoralizing power--the villagers retained their old simplicity, and, when they carried their produce to the town, but shrugged their shoulders at the strange and women-like men that they beheld. In vain even had the emperors put down by severe laws the poetical religion of their forefathers, and established a purer faith in its place--the villagers still loved their old deities and served their old gods. Even more, they resisted the words of truth when the ministers of truth visited them in person; and driving forth from among them the preachers of the Gospel, they returned to their old rites with persevering zeal.

Severe and more severe measures had been employed to put down paganism. Temples had been changed into churches; altars had been overthrown; the blood of the priest had been mingled with the blood of the victim, and the lives of the worshippers had been taken in the very act of sacrifice: but still the villagers adhered to their old faith, and through nearly a hundred years of persecution and suffering had retained, either openly or secretly, their reverence for the things their fathers had revered before them.

A season of comparative tranquillity had succeeded; and though the persecution of the idolaters had been cruel and virulent during the first years of the reigns of Theodosius and Valentinian, yet for the last lustre this rigour had been relaxed; and though still obliged to conceal, as far as possible, the rites and ceremonies which they practised, those who persevered in heathenism had suffered no very severe inflictions.

It was in one of those open spots, by the side of the stream which we have already described, that on a bright May day were assembled a multitude of people, clothed in white garments, and met together, apparently, for the purpose of offering sacrifice. The turf, out of which no tree grew, covered a space of nearly a hundred yards in diameter; but over a great part thereof hung the wide-spreading branches of the large oaks around, giving shade to the sylvan amphitheatre thus formed on the banks of the little river. The waters flowed on clear and sparkling; the murmurs of a distant fall filled the air with music; bright sunshine was pouring over all the scene and dancing through the leaves upon the turf below; flowers crowned the heads of all the assembly, and gemmed the verdant carpet on which they trod. Everything was smiling and beautiful; and, if the mind could be divested of the remembrance of the dark and sinful object for which the idolaters met, the whole scene had in it something so graceful, so poetical, so exciting, that one might well gaze with raised enthusiasm, even if one took no part in the rite which was about to be performed.

With such feelings stood Ammian Flavius, a little apart from the rest, leaning against one of the trees, at a little distance from which two servants held his horse. Four years had now passed since the period which the reader first beheld him; and while Theodore had expanded into a handsome and powerful man, Ammian, from the wild and beautiful boy which we at first portrayed, had grown up into a tall, graceful, manly youth. His fine features, his noble air, and his symmetrical form, might well attract attention; and many were the eyes that turned upon him among those who met to offer on that day a sacrifice to their false deity. They gazed, however, without any mingling of apprehension; for it was not uncommon for some of the wild youths of the great city to steal out in secret to behold those rites to which their concealment gave an additional charm.

The day had waned considerably, and the sun was approaching the west. The flamen of Jupiter, as he called himself, though the office had been long abolished, stood in his purple robe beside a small altar raised in the midst, and strewed with flowers, and a number of gay laughing boys led along, with sportive glee, a milk-white bull, its neck wreathed with garlands, and its broad brow crowned with flowers. Long nurtured for the purpose of the sacrifice, and rendered familiar with the hands of men, which had never yet been raised against it with violence, the noble beast, unconscious of its coming fate, walked calmly in the midst, suffering itself to be led up to the altar with an untightened rope. Beside the priest stood the cultrarius, leaning on his axe, and all pressed near to behold the ceremony of immolation.

The invocation and the prayer had been pronounced; and the cultrarius, turning to the priest, demanded in the accustomed form, "Shall I do it?"

"Do it!" replied the priest, and swinging the axe above his head, the stout peasant who performed that office laid the monarch of the herd, at a single blow, dead at the foot of the altar. The priest was hastening to apply the knife, when Ammian, hurrying forward, exclaimed, "I hear coming horses, my friends, be upon your guard."

All looked up and listened, and some thought that they also heard the sounds; but if it was so, those sounds ceased almost instantly, and the ceremony proceeded, while Ammian, with his colour slightly raised at the mistake he appeared to have made, retired again to the tree by which he had formerly stood, and continued to gaze upon the proceedings of the rest.

Before many minutes were over, however, a troop of Roman horsemen appeared on the other side of the stream; dashed through its shallow waters; and with their spears and swords carried slaughter and confusion among the heathen worshippers. The priest was at once struck down; but the cultrarius defended himself with his axe for some time, and was at length slain by a javelin thrown from some distance. Resistance was also made by several others, who had arms concealed upon their persons; and if the whole body had taken the same precaution, they might in all probability have resisted successfully the force sent against them, which did not consist of more than fifty or sixty men.

In the midst of the strife, five of the soldiers, leaving the others to pursue their attack upon the heathen, cut straight across and surrounded Ammian; who, seeing that no words were spoken, but death inflicted indiscriminately upon every one, drew his sword, and determined to sell his life dearly. He was overpowered, however, before he could offer any effectual resistance, by one of the Romans springing from behind the tree and clinging to his right arm. In another moment he found himself tied with cords, and dragged away into the midst of the confusion, where the soldiers were still, with merciless activity, slaughtering the unhappy wretches whom they had detected in celebrating the forbidden rites.

Without preserving any order themselves, the troopers pursued wherever they saw a victim to strike; and the villagers, taking advantage of the trees, in many instances kept their cruel persecutors at bay for some time; while the shifting of the horses here and there; the rushing of the crowd of victims, now driven into a body together, now scattering wide to avoid their pursuers; the efforts of resistance; the gestures of supplication; the shrieks of the women and children; the groans of the dying, formed altogether a scene of agony and horror such as the eyes of Ammian had never before beheld.

In the midst of it all, however, he suddenly perceived a horseman clothed in the wild arms of the barbarians mingling with the Roman soldiers. Another and another appeared as if by magic, urging their swift horses through the trees on all sides. The Romans, accustomed to see the barbarians in the emperor's service, seemed to look upon all, except the villagers, as their friends, and took no notice of those who appeared among them, till the number became formidable--equalled--surpassed their own; and then he who appeared to be the commander of the imperial troop suddenly drew up his horse and gazed upon the strangers.

"The barbarian is striking a Roman," he exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this? Fellow, art thou mad?"

The only answer which he received from the man to whom he shouted forth those hurried questions was a javelin cast by an unerring hand, which smote him between the eyes, and cast him lifeless beneath the horse's feet.

All was now confusion tenfold confused. The well-armed barbarians, hand to hand and man to man, drove back the Roman soldiers. The villagers, mad with rage against their oppressors, and inspired with hope by the unexpected aid they had received, became in turn the assailants, and following the Huns among their retreating adversaries, armed with the knives which they bore upon their own persons, or the swords which they caught up from the dead or dying, cut the sinews of the Roman horses, or gave the stroke of death to any one who fell wounded from his charger.

For a short time the imperial troops resisted; but they were soon driven across the stream into the open country. Ammian, whom they had placed on his horse, was led along with them, his arms tied as they were behind him, and unable to resist. But at length the rout of the Romans became complete, and they fled precipitately towards the city; while a small body of the Huns, urging their horses into double speed, dashed with a furious charge into the midst of the fugitives; reached the point where Ammian was borne along, slew the man who led his horse, and, seizing his bridle-rein, hurried him away in the opposite direction, leaving the Romans to pursue their flight without further interruption.

So rapidly did the barbarians urge their horses on, that Ammian had neither time nor breath to ask any questions. Only once they paused, as, pursuing their course at full speed, they took their way towards the ancient Umbria; and that was when they perceived that the adverse force, recovered from its terror, had detached a small body to watch their motions. Then, wheeling so suddenly upon it that retreat was impossible, they left not one of its number to bear back the tidings which it had been sent to obtain. Soon after, the sun set, and with a short twilight night came on. The star of evening, however, shone fair over the whole world, and light sufficient lingered in the skies to show a small lake spreading out across their path. At the spot where the road, taking a direction on either side of the lake, divided into two, stood a barbarian dressed and armed like the rest, and apparently waiting for them. A few eager and quick words were spoken in a tongue which Ammian did not understand; but he guessed, by seeing the man point down to one side of the lake with his spear, and by various other gesticulations used on both sides, that he was directing the Huns to some body of their comrades; and he ventured to ask whither they were about to carry him.

"Fear not," answered the man who led his horse, in very good Latin, while another took advantage of the pause to cut the cords that bound his hands--"fear not, you are with friends, and you are saved from death: we bear you to a place of safety, where you will hear more."

Thus saying, he took the road to which the other man had pointed, and galloped on at the same quick pace as before. The moon was now rising over the neighbouring hills; and at the distance of about a mile they came to a number of tents, pitched in a meadow by the bank of the lake. Several large flat boats were gathered together along the shore, and eight or nine armed men were watching on the verge of the lake; while round two or three fires, lighted at a short distance from the tents, were seen a multitude of barbarians revelling as usual over their evening meal.

The sound of the coming horses had no effect upon the Huns; but seemed to call the attention of the persons, whosoever they were, within the tents; for the hangings of two of them were pushed back as Ammian and his conductors approached, and several people in the garb of Romans came forth. By the moonlight the youth could not distinguish their features, but there was more than one woman of the party; and as he sprang from his horse with feelings of joy mingled with doubt, he was clasped to the bosom of his mother, Flavia, and then pressed in the arms of Theodore. Eudochia, Ildica, too, were there; and in a few brief words he related to them all that had happened to him. At length, shading his eyes from the light, he was led into the tent, and found the whole of Flavia's household assembled as it had left Dalmatia, with the exception of those whom the stern monarch of the grave had taken as his allotted tribute during four years of wandering.

"What is all this? how is all this?" exclaimed the youth, gazing round: "are we about once more to try our fortunes on the wide world?"

"Even so, Ammian," answered Theodore: "circumstances compel us to it, even when we fancied we were united once more, to dwell in peace together for the rest of our days."

"Well, I care not," cried Ammian: "one land is the same to me as another; and wherever liberty is, we may find or found a Rome for ourselves. But hearken, Theodore! Listen to me, my dear brother! In all our past wanderings some one of us has been separated from those who were as dear to his heart as a part of itself. There wants some magic link between us to bind us all together; so that, wherever we go, we may, as slaves to our affections, be chained inseparably to one another. I have a bond to propose, Theodore, which, though it be formed of flowers, will yet prove as strong as adamant. You are to be united to my sister by the dearest ties; why should I not be united to yours by the same. Thus shall we become all, indeed, one family. What say you, my beloved Eudochia? But you have said already, dear one," he added, casting his arms round her, "and it is needless to ask you. Theodore, Eudochia is mine--my promised bride! What say you, my brother?"

"Nothing in opposition, Ammian," answered Theodore, with a smile; "nothing, but that you are very young, and somewhat wild, my brother!"

"Out upon such buts!" cried Ammian, laughing. "I am young; but people would laugh at me more if I married when I was old. Youth is the time of love, and Cupid should surely be the only god that leads us to his brother. As to my wildness, I own it has been so; but it is past. To-day, for the first time, I felt it, and regretted it, and whatsoever I regret the possession of, I cast away, from that minute. When the imperial soldiers burst upon my poor friends with their white bull, and seized upon me myself, slaying all around me, I thought of Eudochia, Theodore; I felt I had done wrong; I regretted my wild thoughtlessness; and resolved, if Heaven spared me, never more so to offend again. I thought of Eudochia, Theodore; that thought cured me of my wildness, and will be my safeguard against the same disease again."

"Well may it be so, my son," replied Flavia; "and when you know all that has befallen to this dear girl since you left us this morning, you will still more deeply feel the evil of such heedlessness; you will guard your bosom still more strongly against its recurrence."

"What has happened?" cried Ammian, his lustrous eyes flashing with eagerness--"what has happened?--Valentinian? Ah, I know it all! I saw him gaze, and sigh, and pass us ten times on the course the other day. What has happened, my mother? Tell me! tell me!"

"I will," answered Flavia; but Eudochia clung to her, exclaiming, "Not now! not now, my mother! Oh, not now! Oh, then I will go away!" and hiding her blushing face upon Ildica's bosom, she hurried away with her into another tent.

All was then told to Ammian of Eudochia's danger and her rescue, and deep and sad seemed to grow his feelings as he listened. "Fool that I was to leave her! Fool that I was to suffer myself to be seduced to behold that idiot sacrifice! for seduced thereunto I was, doubtless, by the agents of that imperial villain. Why did you not slay him, Theodore? I would have slain him where he stood."

"And so would I," replied Theodore, "if he had committed the crime he intended. He should have died that moment had my own death followed the next; but Eudochia was saved; and I had still hopes of being able to remain in Rome. When I returned to the Aventine, however, I heard enough to make me resolve on flying. I found, too, that the Huns who had accompanied me from Dacia bore the commands of Attila to all their fellow-countrymen in the service of Valentinian to return instantly to their native land. I had nearly a hundred with me, several thousands more are at Rome and Ravenna; and I found that I could retreat from the wrath of the tyrant without his power being sufficient to prevent me. As we came hither, we saw a small body of horse go out from the gates towards Pincianus, where we had heard you were; and, fearing some danger, instead of merely sending a messenger to bid you join us, I sent a sufficient body of my followers to defend you in case of need. Their leader, who has been faithful to me for four long years, pledged his own life to bring you to me in safety; and here at length you are, though I hear with pain that Roman blood has been shed. Doubtless we shall be pursued; but every hour fresh parties of the Huns are coming hither to accompany us, and ere to-morrow morning we shall be too strong for Valentinian to effect aught against us. However, Heaven forbid that the time should come when I may have to draw the sword against my fellow-countrymen even in my own defence; and to avoid it, we will cross the lake an hour before daylight to-morrow morning, then on through the mountains to rejoin Attila, who has ever befriended me, and will, I doubt not, befriend me still."