they chanted, and a cloud of incense mounted around her, Perpetua looked down into the water. It was green as glacier ice, and so full of bubbles in places as to be there semi-opaque. The depth seemed infinite. No bottom was visible. No fish darted through it. An immense volume boiled up unceasingly from unknown, unfathomed depths. The wavelets lapped the marble breasting as though licking it with greed expecting their victim.
The water, after brimming the basin, flowed away over a sluice under a bridge as a considerable stream. Then it lost its sanctity and was employed for profane uses.
Perpetua heard the song of the ministers of the god, but gave no heed to it, for her lips moved in prayer, and her soul was already unfurling its pure wings to soar into that Presence before which, as she surely expected, she was about to appear.
When the chorus had reached the line:
“May thy selection be the best and fittest,
Father Nemausus!”
then she was thrust by three priestesses from the balustrade and precipitated into the basin. She uttered no cry, but from all present a gasp of breath was audible.
For a moment she disappeared in the vitreous waters, and her white garland alone remained floating on the surface.
Then her dress glimmered, next her arm, as the surging spring threw her up.
Suddenly from the entire concourse rose a cry of astonishment and dismay.
The young man, Æmilius Lentulus Varo, had leaped into the holy basin.
Why had he so leaped? Why?
CHAPTER III
BAUDILLAS, THE DEACON
The chain of priests and priestesses could not restrain the mob, that thrust forward to the great basin, to see the result.
Exclamations of every description rose from the throng.
“He fell in!”
“Nay, he cast himself in. The god will withdraw the holy waters. It was impious. The fountain is polluted.”
“Was it not defiled when a dead tom-cat was found in it? Yet the fountain ceased not to flow.”
“The maiden floats!”
“Why should the god pick out the handsomest girl? His blood is ice-cold. She is not a morsel for him,” scoffed a red-faced senator.
“He rises! He is swimming.”
“He has grappled the damsel.”
“He is striking out! Bene! Bene!”
“Encourage not the sacrilegious one! Thou makest thyself partaker in his impiety!”
“What will the magistrates do?”
“Do! Coil up like wood-lice, and uncurl only when all is forgotten.”
“He is a Christian.”
“His father was a philosopher. He swears by the gods.”
“He is an atheist.”
“See! See! He is sustaining her head.”
“She is not dead; she gasps.”
“Body of Bacchus! how the water boils. The god is wroth.”
“Bah! It boils no more now than it did yesterday.”
In the ice-green water could be seen the young man with nervous arms striking out. He held up the girl with one arm. The swell of the rising volumes of water greatly facilitated his efforts. Indeed the upsurging flood had such force, that to die by drowning in it was a death by inches, for as often as a body went beneath the surface, it was again propelled upwards.
In a minute he was at the breastwork, had one hand on it, then called: “Help, some one, to lift her out!”
Thereupon the man clothed in brown wool put down his arms, clasped the half-conscious girl and raised her from the water. Callipodius assisted, and between them she was lifted out of the basin. The priests and priestesses remonstrated with loud cries. But some of the spectators cheered. A considerable portion of the men ranged themselves beside the two who had the girl in their arms, and prevented the ministers of Nemausus from recovering Perpetua from the hands of her rescuers.
The men of the upper town – Greek colonists, or their descendants – looked superciliously and incredulously on the cult of the Gallic deity of the fountain. It was tolerated, but laughed at, as something that belonged to a class of citizens that was below them in standing.
In another moment Æmilius Lentulus had thrown himself upon the balustrade, and stood facing the crowd, dripping from every limb, but with a laughing countenance.
Seeing that the mob was swayed by differing currents of feeling and opinion, knowing the people with whom he had to do, he stooped, whispered something into the ear of Callipodius; then, folding his arms, he looked smilingly around at the tossing crowd, and no sooner did he see his opportunity than, unclasping his arms, he assumed the attitude of an orator, and cried:
“Men and brethren of the good city of Nemausus! I marvel at ye, that ye dare to set at naught the laws of imperial and eternal Rome. Are ye not aware that the god Claudius issued an edict with special application to Gaul, that forever forbade human sacrifices? Has that edict been withdrawn? I have myself seen and read it graven in brass on the steps of the Capitoline Hill at Rome. So long as that law stands unrepealed ye are transgressors.”
“The edict has fallen into desuetude, and desuetude abrogates a law!” called one man.
“Is it so? How many have suffered under Nero, under Caius, because they transgressed laws long forgotten? Let some one inform against the priesthood of Nemausus and carry the case to Rome.”
A stillness fell on the assembly. The priests looked at one another.
“But see!” continued Æmilius, “I call you to witness this day. The god himself rejects such illegal offerings. Did you not perceive how he spurned the virgin from him when ye did impiously cast her into his holy urn? Does he not sustain life with his waters, and not destroy it? Had he desired the sacrifice then would he have gulped it down, and you would have seen the maiden no more. Not so! He rejected her; with his watery arms he repelled her. Every crystal wave he cast up was a rejection. I saw it, and I leaped in to deliver the god from the mortal flesh that he refused. I appeal to you all again. To whom did the silver image cast the apple? Was it to the maiden destined to die? Nay, verily, it was to her who was to live. The golden pippin was a fruit of life, whereby he designated such as he willed to live. Therefore, I say that the god loveth life and not death. Friends and citizens of Nemausus, ye have transgressed the law, and ye have violated the will of the divine Archegos who founded our city and by whose largess of water we live.”
Then one in the crowd shouted: “There is a virgin cast yearly from the bridge over the Rhodanus at Avenio.”
“Aye! and much doth that advantage the bridge and the city. Did not the floods last November carry away an arch and inundate an entire quarter of the town? Was the divine river forgetful that he had received his obligation, or was he ungrateful for the favor? Naught that is godlike can be either.”
“He
