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A MASSACRE OF SLAVES 363
and cruelty. For some of the Christians in the household of
Pedanius, who had not been so fortunate as Hernias, knew
that their brethren were looking on with prayer and sympathy,
and went to their fate, not only with Stoic dignity, but
with beautiful humility and simple peace. They felt something
of the glory of martyrdom. A light shone in their
upturned faces, and there was an accent as of music in their
murmured prayers. There were a few of their heathen fellow-sufferers
who bared their breasts to the sword with stolid
indifference, and even with unseemly levity; but the Christians
went to death as to a coronation. One poor boy his name
was Verus moved many to tears. When first he heard the
groans of those who fell as the sword smote them, he shrank
back and trembled, for he was little more than a child. His
father had become a convert of Linus, and he had caused
his children to be baptised in infancy, and this was his
favourite son. Even in that evil slave-household the boy had
grown up unstained, like some white lily whose roots are in
the mud. When Verus saw the sword driven into his
father's heart, he sprang back with a cry, and in his excitement
grasped the hand of one of the legionaries. The
brutal executioner flung him back so violently that he fell.
Instantly regaining his composure, he rose to his knees,
clasped his hands, and turning his eyes heavenwards, began
to
'
pray Our Father, which art in heaven.' At that
moment the sun shone forth out of dark clouds, and as the
light streamed over him, and made a natural aureole round
his bright hair, they saw his face as it had been the face of an
angel. Even the soldier who had raised his hand to strike
stood amazed, and delayed his blow. But with a jeer the
ruffian who had flung him back, brought down his sword on
the boy's head. He fell without a word, and the blood
streamed over the bright face, and bedabbled the fair hair.
As for Syra and Phlegon, they stood hand in hand in mute
despair, and perished together, having known no consolation
in life but their pure love for each other, and appalled by the
mystery which crowned lives so miserable as theirs had been
with a death so cruel and undeserved.
In vain the agonised spectators cursed the soldiers, cursed
the dead Pedanius, cursed the Senate, and in their madness
did not even refrain from cursing Nero. Before an hour was