Darkness and Dawn; Or, Scenes in the Days of Nero. An Historic Tale

by F. W. Farrar

  CHAPTER XLII

  _A MASSACRE OF SLAVES_

  ‘Frigidus a rostris manat per compita rumor.’

  HOR. _Sat._ II. vi. 50.

  ‘Servos in numero hominum esse non pateris?’--SEN. _Ep._ xlvii., ap. Macrob. _Sat._ i. 11.

  Rome was in a state of wild excitement. The city had hardly beenmore agitated when the news of Caligula’s murder had spread amongthe citizens. The assassination of an emperor was always a possibleevent. The little human divinity was certain to make so many enemies,and was envied by so many powerful rivals, that the fate of Cæsarafter Cæsar made it no more than a nine days’ wonder if another fell.But the victim this time was not a Cæsar. It was one of the chiefmen in the city, a man of consular rank--no less a person than thePræfect of the city, Pedanius Secundus.

  And the dread news was whispered from mouth to mouth that he had beenmurdered by one of his own slaves!

  The people in the Forum and the Velabrum and the Subura and at Libo’sWell, and the merchants at the Janus, and the patricians in theirpalaces, and the priests in the temples, and the boys of Rome as theyplayed on the steps of the Julian Basilica, were all discussing thissinister event.

  Tigellinus and Petronius, and a group of courtiers, were standingtogether under the porch of the Temple of Castor when the newsreached them. They eagerly questioned the messenger.

  ‘Is it certain that the murderer was a slave?’ asked Tigellinus intones of horror.

  ‘He was caught red-handed,’ said the messenger. ‘The dagger waswrenched from him, dripping with blood. His name is Vibius and hedoes not deny the crime.’

  ‘And what was his motive?’

  ‘Some say that the Præfect had promised him his liberty for a certainsum of money. The slave pinched himself for years to raise it, andwhen he brought the money Pedanius broke his bargain.’

  The hearers only shrugged their shoulders.

  ‘That happens commonly enough,’ said Cæcina Tuscus, Nero’sfoster-brother, who had himself been born a slave.

  ‘It only meant,’ said Senecio, ‘that the Præfect had changed hismind.’

  ‘Others say,’ continued the man, ‘that Pedanius had a favourite, whohad been also a favourite of Vibius, who was driven wildly jealous.’

  ‘The notion of a slave presuming to have a favourite!’ lisped theeffeminate Quintianus. ‘What next?’

  ‘How many slaves had Pedanius?’ asked Petronius.

  ‘Four hundred.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said Tigellinus. ‘It is lucky that he had no more.They will be executed, every one of them--that’s one comfort. Let usthank the gods for the Silanian law.’

  They saw Seneca approaching them; and it was evident that he hadheard the news, for his face wore a look of sorrow and alarm.

  ‘How say you, Seneca?’ asked Lucan; ‘is the Silanian law to becarried out, and are all Pedanius’s four hundred slaves to die?’

  ‘I should hope not,’ said the philosopher, indignantly. ‘What! are weto butcher this multitude, of whom three hundred and ninety-nine areprobably innocent? The Silanian law is fit for barbarians. Every goodfeeling within us abhors the cruel wrong of murdering young and old,innocent and guilty, in one promiscuous massacre.’

  ‘But that the Præfect of Rome should be murdered by one of his ownslaves!’ murmured his hearers.

  ‘By one of his own slaves--but maddened, report says, by anintolerable wrong.’

  ‘Wrong?’ answered Vestinus, in surprise. ‘Are not, then, our slavesour chattels? Has a slave rights?’

  ‘He has the rights of a human being,’ answered Seneca. ‘Are not ourslaves of the same flesh and blood as we? Has not a slave feelings?Has not a slave passions?’

  ‘Yes; very bad passions,’ said young Vedius Pollio.

  ‘Do they stand alone in that respect?’ asked Seneca, fixing a keenlook on him. ‘Do masters never show bad passions?’

  Every one understood the allusion, for in the days of Augustus theyoung man’s ancestor, Vedius Pollio, had ordered a slave to be flunginto the fish-pond to feed the lampreys, merely because he fell andbroke a crystal vase. Augustus, who was dining with Pollio that day,was so indignant that he ordered the slave to be set free, and everycrystal vase in the house to be broken.

  ‘Seneca will begin to think himself mistaken if I say that _I_ agreewith him,’ said Petronius. ‘Nevertheless, I do. I cannot bear toenter a friend’s house and hear it clanking with chains and ringingwith yells, like an ergastulum.’

  ‘Petronius is the soul of good nature,’ said Cassius Longinus; ‘but Ipity Rome if those maudlin views prevail.’

  ‘Yes,’ echoed the fierce Cingonius Varro; ‘so many slaves so manyfoes. We nobles live all our lives in a sort of beleaguered garrison.If the Senate does not do its duty, I shall emigrate.’

  ‘Who makes our slaves our foes?’ answered Seneca. ‘Mine are not. Mostof them are faithful to me. They are my humble friends. I believethey love me. I know that many of them would die for me. We becomeslaves ourselves because we have so many.’

  ‘Tush!’ said Scævinus. ‘These sentimentalities will ruin us. Why,some of us have a thousand slaves, and some of us have more. We don’tknow their names, and have to keep a nomenclator to tell us. Galba isthe only person I know who keeps up the ridiculous old fashion of allthe slaves and freedmen coming in twice daily, to say “Good morning”and “Good evening.” Are we to waste our time in trying to curryfavour with them? I _rule_ mine by the lash and the chain and thetorture. Ha! Pudens, my grave newly-wedded primipilar; here will besome work for you.’

  ‘Never!’ said Pudens. ‘I would rather resign my commission than carryout the Silanian law and superintend the slaughter of the innocent.’

  ‘And you, my young Titus?’ asked Petronius. ‘I hear you are goingsoon to see some military service. Do you think that your step-motherCænis and the boy Domitian will be able to keep your slaves in order?’

  ‘We have but few, Petronius,’ said Titus; ‘but they love us. When Iwas ill, all the _familia_ were as tender in their attentions as ifthey had been brothers.’

  ‘Like to like,’ whispered Tigellinus. ‘He is half of slave-originhimself.’

  ‘And what may _your_ origin be?’ asked Vestinus, to whom the remarkhad been made, and who loathed Tigellinus.

  The rumour had spread that all the slaves of Pedanius were to beexecuted, and the attitude of the people grew very threatening.Many of them had been slaves themselves, and many of them livedin intimacy with the slave population, which immensely outnumberedthe freedmen. Familiar with the insolence and the exactions of thewealthy, they assembled in throngs and demanded that there shouldbe a trial, and that the innocent should be spared. Their languagebecame so menacing that the Senate was hastily convened. It was hopedby all the more just and kind of the senators that mild counselswould prevail, and the Silanian decree be repealed or modified.They pointed out that the extreme rarity of the crime showed thatthe peril was not great; that, in this particular instance, Pedanius,besides being a merciless master, had provoked his own fate; thatthere was not a tittle of evidence to prove the complicity of the_familia_ in this deed of isolated vengeance; that it would bemonstrous to kill innocent boys and girls, and faithful men andwomen, for one madman’s crime. But the Senate was carried awaypartly by the selfish fears of many of its members, and partly bythe impassioned speech of Cassius Longinus. An eminent jurist, aconservative who considered the traditions of the past incomparablysuperior to the wisdom of the present, a man of great wealth, highrank, and a certain Roman integrity, he rose in his place, and threwthe weight of his influence into the scale of the old paganruthlessness.

  ‘Often have I been present, Conscript Fathers,’ he said, ‘at meetingsof the Senate in which I have only protested by my silence againstthe innovations which are almost invariably for the worse. I did notwish you to think that I was unduly biassed by my personal studies,nor did I wish to weaken such weight as I may
possess by too frequentand fruitless interpositions. But to-day the commonwealth demands myundivided efforts. A consular of Rome has been murdered in his ownhouse by a slave’s treachery, and an unrepealed decree of the Senatethreatens punishment to the whole family of slaves who neitherprevented nor revealed the plot. Decree impunity for them, that whenthe chief magistracy of the city has been no protection we may eachof us, forsooth, be defended by our own dignity! Who can be protectedby any number of slaves, if four hundred were not enough to protectPedanius Secundus? If fear did not suffice to make his slavesvigilant, which of us will be safe? There are some who do not blushto pretend,’ he continued, darting an angry glance at Seneca, ‘thatthe murderer did but avenge his own wrongs! Let us, then, pronounceat once that Pedanius was justly murdered! Are we to argue a casewhich our wiser ancestors have already decided? Why, even if thedecision had now to be made for the first time, do you imagine thata slave would have had the daring to murder his master without onethreat, without one rash murmur about his design? He concealed hisplan, forsooth; he prepared his dagger, and no one knew of it! Couldhe, then, with equal facility pass through the slaves who were onnight-watch, unfasten the doors of the bedchamber, carry in a light,perpetrate the bloody deed, without one person being aware of it?Guilt betrays itself beforehand in many ways. If slaves reveal to usour peril, we can live, though we be single among multitudes, safeamong those who tremble for themselves--at the worst not unavengedamong the guilty. Our ancestors looked with suspicion on thecharacter of slaves, even when the slaves, born on their estates orin their houses, had learnt from infancy to love their master. But inthese days we count _nations_ among our households. Their rites aredifferent; their religions are foreign or _nil_. We cannot keep inorder this sink and scum of humanity except by fear. But, you say,“some of the innocent will perish among them.” Be it so! Are no bravesoldiers beaten to death with rods when a routed army is punished bydecimation? No great example can be inflicted without some unfairness,but the public advantage outweighs the individual injustice; and inany case, if four hundred slaves do perish, it will be a cheap loss.’

  There was more than one senator who burned to refute the glitteringsophisms and cruel hardness of the jurist’s speech; but Pætus Thraseawas absent, as he often was, and Seneca was cowed by his habitualtimidity. He felt how easily he could have torn the speech ofLonginus into shreds, and with what genuine lightnings of indignantconviction he could have shattered its pedantries and its inhumanity.But he had not the nerve to confront the impulses of a selfish panic.He longed to plead the cause of mercy and of justice, as he wasso well capable of doing, and had the murmurs of dissent which thespeech of Cassius evoked been but a little louder he might haveplucked up courage and have saved the Senate from a deed of blood.But it was whispered on all sides that Nero leaned to severity,and Seneca’s heart failed him once more. The murmurs died away; andCingonius Varro, emboldened by the devilish plea of necessity, roseto propose further that not only the slaves of Pedanius should bekilled, but all the freedmen who lived under his roof be banished.Nero, however, made known that, while he did not wish the ancientseverity to be mitigated, neither did he wish it to be increased,and the proposal dropped without a seconder.

  But let us notice in passing that retribution followed cruelty. Themerciless met with no mercy themselves. Cassius, who meanwhile hadbecome blind, was not long afterwards banished by Nero to unwholesomeSardinia. Varro, a little later, was put to death by Galba just afterhe had become Consul elect. Many who thus voted for the murder of theinnocent were murdered though innocent themselves.

  The Senate might decree, but the people were indignant even to fury.Those who knew one or other of these poor slaves, and knew theirinnocence of what had been an act of sudden fury on the part ofVibius, did their utmost to raise a tumult. Hermas, the slave ofPedanius, whom Onesimus had seen in the Antian ergastulum, was knownto all the Christians as one of their brethren; and though theirprinciples forbade them to resist the decree of the state by violence,their lamentations and appeals that some pity should be extended tothe victims stirred the hearts of the multitude. And they knew thatmany senators and Prætorians were in their favour. At one time anattempt at rescue seemed probable. A crowd armed with stones andtorches gathered in front of the house of Pedanius, where the fourhundred slaves were now in chains under a guard of soldiers. But theywere terrified by the blind deification of the imperial authority,and a mixed and cowardly mob found no leader to inspirit them toattack the house.

  Titus was deeply moved and excited, and he went to his old friendPudens to see if anything could be done. Pudens was dreading lest heshould be appointed to see the execution carried out. When Claudia,hanging on his shoulder and looking into his manly face with herinnocent blue eyes, entreated him to fear God rather than man, heassured her with a kiss and a smile, that at all costs, even at thecost of martyrdom, he would refuse. But Nereus had told him aboutpoor Hermas, and the sweet and engaging character of that young manwas so well known in the Christian community, that Pudens would havebeen ready if possible to provide for his escape.

  ‘I wish,’ said Titus, ‘that Onesimus had not been killed as heis said to have been at the last gladiatorial show. There is arumour that, after all, he escaped with his life, but if so he hasdisappeared, poor fellow, no one knows where. He helped us whenBritannicus was in danger. He might help us now.’

  The centurion shook his head. He knew nothing of the attack on theKing of the Grove, and supposed that Onesimus was still with Dromoat Aricia, but he thought it safest to say nothing about him even toTitus.

  They could think of no step to take; but Nereus, who, as aconfidential freedman, had been present, heard the hint, and hedetermined to act upon it on his own responsibility. He knew thatOnesimus was not available, but he knew a young Christian slave-boynamed Protasius in the house of Pudens who had been acquainted withsome of the home-born slaves of Pedanius, and was thus familiar[*12]with the slaves’ cells in his house. There was no time to lose. Themassacre was to be carried out the next day. Nereus went to the boy,who said that he knew of a little neglected window half hidden bythick bushes in the peristyle, and if he could only get there hecould make his way to the cell of Hermas. The night would be dark andmoonless, yet the risk would be terrific, the chance almost hopeless.But the Christians were taught not to hold their lives dear untothemselves, and they considered that martyrdom in the cause of dutywas the most glorious of crowns. Further than this, they alwaysacted together, as a faithful, secret, well-organized body. Withthe connivance of the Prætorian Vitalis, who was a Christian, Nereusfound means to get the boy introduced into the house, and, creepingalong in the darkness, he found Hermas tied with cords in his cell.He had taken a knife with him, the rope was quickly severed, andboth he and Hermas, knowing every intricacy of the house and grounds,got away in safety with an ease which they attributed to the specialinterposition of Heaven in their behalf. What were those glimmeringlights which seemed to flash and fade in the dim silence as theystole through the peristyle? Was not some white angel of God helpingto deliver them, as angels had stood by the three youths in thefurnace, and had liberated Peter and John from prison? The beliefaided them, for it gave them a confidence which was ready for anyemergency, and contributed in no small measure to the unheard-offacility of their escape.

  Nereus had confided to Junia his secret attempt to save Hermas, andshe pleaded that something should be done at the same time to savethe hapless Syra, who in the mean time had been married to Phlegon.But this proved to be impossible. All the women slaves were shut upin the triclinium together, and the door was carefully guarded. Syraremained among the doomed. Phlegon was still technically the slave ofPedanius, but as he was not in the household he had been passed over.This was poor Syra’s only comfort, and it was taken from her. Phlegonleft his duties at the spoliarium, and behaved so menacingly in themob that he was seized and, on the evidence of a freedman, includedin those set apart for execution.

  Meanwhile, after the
humiliating adventure in the grove of Diana,Onesimus was unwilling to linger at Aricia. With no plan, but in therestlessness of despair, he disguised himself as well as he could,and by unfrequented paths slunk back to Rome, not knowing and notcaring what might befall him there. He slept under the vestibule ofthe Temple of Mars, and next morning, mingling with the crowd thatsurged through the streets, he heard that the dreadful sentenceagainst the slaves of Pedanius was to be carried into immediateexecution. All thoughts of a rescue had been abandoned, for Nero hadpublished a notice that any interference with the sentence would betreated with the extremest penalty. The clang of soldiers’ armour washeard on every side, and Prætorians lined the entire distance betweenthe house of Pedanius and the remote part of the Esquiline, where theslaves were to be killed. The poor victims, tied together by fours,were led out of the house. Eagerly Onesimus scanned their faces, andwas glad that he did not see the face of Hermas among them.

  A little delay occurred when the soldiers on guard discovered thatHermas had escaped, but as they themselves ran serious peril of beingpunished for carelessness in the matter, they prudently held theirtongues.

  When the procession began to move, the wail which rose from thedoomed victims was taken up by the multitude, and they abandonedthemselves to their emotions with all the passion of a Southernpeople. They wept and wrung their hands, and raised their armsto heaven, as though to appeal for vengeance. But the Prætorianssurrounded the slaves with drawn swords, and armed gladiators, wholined the streets, sternly thrust back the surging mob. A ghastlysense of fascination drew Onesimus to the scene of execution. Therewas no time to be particular as to the mode of death. The soldiers,dreading a riot, were chiefly anxious to get through their odioustask as quickly as possible. One after another, amid groans andshrieks, and pools of blood, old grey-haired men and women, and youngboys and little children and fair girls, had the sword driven intotheir throats or through their hearts. The agony of the boys waspitiable to witness. Some of them had belonged to the order of slaveswho were chosen for their beauty, were dressed in rich robes, andpampered with every form of luxury and indulgence. Their mode of lifehad left no courage in them, and death meant to them the end of allthings, or some tormenting Tartarus. But in vain they wept, in vainthey pleaded for mercy.

  On the other hand, the high bearing of some of the slaves moved adeeper pity than the fate of these victims of luxury and cruelty.For some of the Christians in the household of Pedanius, who had notbeen so fortunate as Hermas, knew that their brethren were looking onwith prayer and sympathy, and went to their fate, not only with Stoicdignity, but with beautiful humility and simple peace. They feltsomething of the glory of martyrdom. A light shone in their upturnedfaces, and there was an accent as of music in their murmured prayers.There were a few of their heathen fellow-sufferers who bared theirbreasts to the sword with stolid indifference, and even with unseemlylevity; but the Christians went to death as to a coronation. One poorboy--his name was Verus--moved many to tears. When first he heard thegroans of those who fell as the sword smote them, he shrank back andtrembled, for he was little more than a child. His father had becomea convert of Linus, and he had caused his children to be baptisedin infancy, and this was his favourite son. Even in that evilslave-household the boy had grown up unstained, like some white lilywhose roots are in the mud. When Verus saw the sword driven intohis father’s heart, he sprang back with a cry, and in his excitementgrasped the hand of one of the legionaries. The brutal executionerflung him back so violently that he fell. Instantly regaining hiscomposure, he rose to his knees, clasped his hands, and turning hiseyes heavenwards, began to pray--‘Our Father, which art in heaven.’At that moment the sun shone forth out of dark clouds, and as thelight streamed over him, and made a natural aureole round his brighthair, they saw his face as it had been the face of an angel. Even thesoldier who had raised his hand to strike stood amazed, and delayedhis blow. But with a jeer the ruffian who had flung him back, broughtdown his sword on the boy’s head. He fell without a word, and theblood streamed over the bright face, and bedabbled the fair hair. Asfor Syra and Phlegon, they stood hand in hand in mute despair, andperished together, having known no consolation in life but their purelove for each other, and appalled by the mystery which crowned livesso miserable as theirs had been with a death so cruel and undeserved.

  In vain the agonised spectators cursed the soldiers, cursed thedead Pedanius, cursed the Senate, and in their madness did not evenrefrain from cursing Nero. Before an hour was over the deed wasdone. The yet warm bodies, the yet palpitating limbs, of these threehundred and ninety-eight victims, were flung into one of the deeppits of the Esquiline, and a cartload of sawdust soaked up the bloodytraces of that slaughter of the innocent.

  Sickened, dazed, horrified, Onesimus left the dreadful scene, andwent back to the Forum, where he sat half-stunned, on the steps ofthe great Julian Basilica. The life of Rome was going on as thoughnothing had happened. Peasants were selling chestnuts and olivesand macerated chickpeas to the crowd. Idlers were sauntering up anddown, occasionally stopping to listen to the lampoons of a bawlingpoetaster, or to watch the tame vipers of a snake-charmer. Others,who could not stand poets reciting in the dog-days, were devotingtheir attention to the performances of a learned pig.[85] The vestalRubria passed by in all the pride of her stola, and tasselled pallium,and jewelled necklace, amid the deep reverence of the people, andunconscious of the coming doom which Nero’s vileness had soon instore for her. Boys were playing at draughts on the circles whichthey had cut in the marble pavement, where they may still be seen.The swallows twittered and chased each other about under the bluesky; but nothing could charm away the gloom of the Phrygian’s heart,and with his head bent over both palms he sat, the picture of despair.

  A touch on the shoulder, the whisper of his name, made him spring tohis feet in alarm; but looking round he saw the bright, honest faceof Titus smiling down on him.

  ‘How did you recognise me?’ he asked.

  ‘A disguise does not often deceive me,’ said Titus; ‘but I recognisedyou by your figure and attitude. I won’t betray you. Come here,behind the shrine of Vesta, and tell me about yourself.’

  ‘How wretched and ill you look!’ he said, as they stood alone underthe shadow of the little circular temple and the House of the Vestals.‘Where have you been this long time? What has happened to you? Whyare you here? I was mentioning you to Pudens only this morning, andif we had known that you were in Rome you might have been of use.’

  ‘You once helped to save my life,’ said Onesimus, ‘when I did notdeserve it. I will tell you all.’

  He gave an outline of what had befallen him, concealing only theshameful attack on the Rex at Aricia.

  ‘And what will you do now?’ asked Titus.

  ‘Starve--beg--die!’ he answered, in deep dejection.

  ‘Listen,’ said Titus. ‘I have just heard from Pudens that he islikely to be sent to a command in Britain, and I shall go with him.Claudia will accompany him, and the old British king, Caractacus. Ithink that when you left Aricia you might have come to Pudens andshown yourself more grateful for his kindness. But the centurion isvery good and forgiving, and, if I ask him, I am sure that he willlet you go with us to Britain.’

  Onesimus longed to accept the offer, but he thought of Junia. He wasnear her now.

  ‘Is Nereus to go?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Titus. ‘Nereus is a freedman now, and he is too old for sodistant a voyage and so hard a service.’

  Then Onesimus confessed his love for Junia, and the wild hope whichhe still entertained that he might some day be accepted by her.Humbly he took the hand of Titus and kissed it, and said--

  ‘Forgive me; I will struggle on as best I may.’

  ‘Nay,’ said Titus; ‘I have not forgotten what you once did for me andBritannicus, though in that matter, too, you fell short afterwards.I never forget Britannicus,’ he added, sadly, and stood for a momentsilent. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I know two people in Rom
e, besides Pudens,who are good and kind. One is my uncle, Flavius Sabinus; the otheris Pomponia Græcina. I am sure that one of them would find some placefor you. Acte has asked about you more than once, and was, I know,fond of you. But it would not be safe for you to enter Nero’s Palaceagain.’

  ‘Then let me serve the lady Pomponia, if I may.’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Titus; ‘I will see what I can do for you.’

  Their way led towards the Capenian Gate, where the Appian Road entersthe city. They had not proceeded far when they met a procession ofhumble people thronging round a band of soldiers, who were enteringRome in charge of several prisoners.