The Son of a Star. A romance of the second century

Front matter

A ROMANCE OF THE SECOND CENTURY BY BENJAMIN WARD RICHARDSON ' Ficta voluptatis causa sit proximo m ris ' — Hon. LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. AND NEW YORK: IS EAST l6'l> STREET 1SS9 {Printed, n l\ S. A. Ail rights reserved \ TO My Wife Mary J. Richardson i DEDICATE WITH ALL MY HEART this book "The Son of a Star" B. W. R. London, 25 Manchester Square, Midsummer Vay, J88& CONTENTS. CIIAPTKR TAGE I. An Opening Vision 1 II. Vivat Fidelis! 7 III. Man and Beast 18 IV. Ave Cæsar! 26 V. A Miracle 31 VI. A Living Torch 30 VII. Mirth and Mystery 44 VIII. Laid Low with Wine 52 IX. Interposition 68 X. In the Cap of Liberty- 76 XI. From Britain to Joppa 89 XII. A Legend of Paradise 95 XIII. The Learned Child 102 XIV. The Shepherd and the Princess . . 105 XV. Scholars Ahead 129 XVI. In Happy Flight 136 XVII.

The Last Enemy 152 XVIII. Ashes to Ashes 155 XIX. Imperial Tasks 167 XX. A March Through Britain .... 178 XXI. The Noviomagians 187 XXII. Love and Leviathan 203 XXIII. Antinous and Fame 216 XXIV. Latent AVar 225 XXV. In Light and in Shadow 241 XXVI. Roman and Jew 247 XXVII. An Ambassador from Cæsar .... 254 XXVIII. The Mission to its close .... 265 i CONTENTS. CHAPTER TAGE XXIX. Antinous no More 272 XXX. Betrothed to Fate 288 XXXI. To Bither, the ' House of Liberty ' . . 29S XXXII. The Feast of the Dew 307 XXXIII. The First of the Slain . . . . .316 XXXIV. Until Shiloh Come 327 XXXV. The Journey of Boadicea . . . . 333 XXXVI. The Battle of Bethuua .... 341 XXXVII. The Great Sacrifice 351 XXXVIII. Behold your King! 364 XXXIX. Peace and Beauty 372 XL. Recalled to Arms 381 XLI. The Reign of Simeon 391 XLII.

The Root of all Evil 400 XLIII. The Truce of Victory 414 XLIV. A Hand of Iron 429 XLV. As Gold is Tried 436 XLVI. The Holocaust 450 XLVII. So High, so Low 457 XLVIII. The King of Slaves

Preface

TO THE NEW EDITION OF ' THE SON OF A STAR ' The publication of this work in a new form, as a single volume, gives me an opportunity, which I am glad to have, of offering a few explanatory notes. (1) I have been asked why in this work I have departed from my usual style of writing to become ' vague,' ' dreamy,' ' amorphous,' ' inconsequent,' ' confused,' and ' rhapsodic' The answer is clear. The style is dependent on the theory of the construction of the story, and the theory is that the reader, whilst reading the story, is himself in the midst of a dream. He is not, as in other previously written dreams, accepting the account of a vision from the personal experience of his author ; but he is experiencing it himself, so that when he recalls what he has realised, he is inclined to ask, ' Did I hear it, or did I dream it ? ' In order to carry out this design faithfully from nature, it was necessary to make, in the first place, a careful physiological study of dreams, and to construct the story on that study ; and this is what has been done to the letter.

In a dream everything is in the present tense, and therefore that tense is employed throughout. In a dream things and events appear in a vague, chaotic, crude, and amorphous form ; energy passes into rhapsody, and all that is said and done is sudden, abrupt, jerky, and more or less involved. In these parti culars I have aimed to keep absolutely true to nature ; and that I have succeeded, even beyond my own expectation, is proved by the fact that nearly every critic has commented favourably or unfavourably on the mode of construction. a THE SON OF A STAR (2) It has been questioned whether the book is in tended for Romance or History. I answer at once, for romance. I have, it is true, used a chapter of history, at the best very obscure and full of conflicting statements, for the outlines of the story ; but the details, with two or three exceptions, are entirely imaginary.

Some writers, under the appearance of being specially learned, have dwelt on certain of the characters introduced as if they had been drawn from real personages of history ; and one has gone so far as to speak of incidents altogether fictitious as ' the old familiar story.' Whether to take these criti cisms as bearing on the motto ' Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris,' or as a careless misrepresentation, I know not ; but I regret a positive mistake even in fiction, and therefore state as a matter of fact that only two persons in the book, Hadrian and Akiba, are founded on any true his torical likeness whatever. The Son of a Star himself is, historically, so near the mythical, that he had to be drawn, for all personal characteristics, from imagination. Severus, Boadicea. and Rufus, as they are presented, are nothing more than names in connection with the description of them.

Antinous remains as much a mystery as ever. Huldah, who has been accepted by more than one writer as from a reality, is all imagination ; and I can assure the learned gentleman who has taken Fidelis under his care, as if I had misrepresented that venerable centurion or was grossly ignorant of his merits, that Fidelis has never had any existence — no, not even in name — except in these pages. (3) There are some who have dealt rather too seriously with what they call the ' miraculous incidents ' of this book ; but from my own reading of natural phenomena, as a medical observer, there is really no miracle in any part. Even the escape of a man running before the wind with all his outer garments on fire without receiving a burn on his body, is from an actual occurrence which came within the range of my knowledge.

And, so with all the other ' miracles,' except the story of Leviathan, which was suggested to me by the account of an invention — ■ quoted in one of my lectures on ' Life in Factitious Atmo-

PREFACE.

V spheres ' — of a mechanician who, in the time of the Stuarts is said to have constructed a submarine vessel, in which he floated under water down the Thames. (4) I have been asked why, in some instances, different characters are made to say and do things in caricature of modern sayings and events. I answer that nothing of the kind has been intentionally done. The description of the weapons made by the Jews for the Romans, weapons that bent when they were tried — like a modern cheat of a like character — is only another proof, accidentally exposed, that events in history repeat themselves, because the tradition exists that the Jews actually did the act referred to. In the same manner, when some of the characters, like Leon, Servien, Fortunatus, Rufus, or Severus, are made to ex press certain ideas about the government of peoples, those ideas are not necessarily mine, but are the expressions which the man under notice would naturally utter in the circumstances in which he was placed.

I am not the first writer of fiction who has had to complain of being mis understood on this last-named point, but I refer to it in order that a right interpretation may be put on the narra tive whenever a doubt is felt by the reader. B. W. R. 25 Manchester Square, London : April 23, 1889. Errata Page 14, line 9, for that hie head is bare and that from read his head also bare and from. ., 22, „ 30, „ see read seest. „ 28, „ 34, „ put read but. 30, „ 35, „ Javerna read Juverna. „ 36, „ 29, „ faith read fate. „ 38, „ 14, „ turned up to the sky read turned down. 38, „ 15, „ turned down read turned up. „ 38, „ 19, „ earth read sky. „ 39, „ 25, „ is let read is to be let. 61, „ 6, „ Marcus Aurelius read Marcus Nerva. „ 111, „ 7, „ as as read as an. „ 118, „ 4, „ he echoed read he had echoed. „ 138, „ 30, „ remains read remain. „ 138, „ 84, „ lay read places. ,, 188, „ 24, „ stadii read stadia. „ 237, „ 4, „ Archimedes read Archimedian. „ 274, „ 6, „ Marcus Antinous read Titus Antoninus. „ 294, „ 31, „ met read mettest. ,, 317, „ 39, „ liquid read light dust. „ 335, „ 35, „ road read round. „ 338, „ 22, „ Jerusalem read New Jerusalem. „ 383, „ 7, 1 Bta(Jii read sta(jia- „ 383, „ 10,1 „ 394, „ 33, „ assent read ascent. „ 404, „ 1, „ making read make. „ 417, „ 1, ,, Decunum read Decuman. , 425, „ 30, „ detect read regret. „ 437, „ 36, | Marcue read Titus. „ 437, „ 39,'

Chapter I. An Opening Vision

Come, my reader, come, and for a few short hours dream with me. We shall not waste time in a dream, since dreams, however intense, are, usually, the fleeting passages of our idle hours. For all that we may, perchance, realise much that partakes of action, make many new acquaint ances, and learn the details of many curious histories, places, and persons. With such prospects in view I ask you now, with book in hand, to lay aside for the brief time all ordinary cares and pleasures to dream w-ith me, and withal to trust me as I lead you along from stage to stage. A novel, in order to bear the truth of its name, must be novel, and I promise that this shall open up a vision of history new to a large majority and yet resting on old realities, strangest of strange in the past life of immortal races.

Yes, a history ! but differing from common history just as a dream, founded on the reading of a real page of modern matter-of fact, might leave the indefinite thought ' Did I dream it or hear it ? ' FROM A BATTLEMENT. A mighty encampment in Western Britain stands near the spot where our vision is first revealed. It is the temporary home of armed legions, who bend to the will of one man as trees bend to the wind, gently, so gently they are barely seen to move; stately, so stately, as if they were bowing their heads to a god of war; furiously, so furiously that lightning and thunder, and hail and hurricane are combined in a storm of destruction and death, clearing all before them ! On the battlement of a tower built ages after these legions were no more, we see, in our vision, at the first glimpse, the lines of the encampment of these men so well laid out and so faithfully preserved, that all its parts are easily filled up as the mind permits itself to indulge in the effort.

The encampment is a square of eight hundred yards on each side: a square with earthworks for its ramparts, about fifteen feet high on the inner side, and sloping so easily that a man could run from the level to the top at a breath. The ramparts are pierced by four openings or por tals, one commanding each quarter of the heavens. The openings are simply cut out of the earth ; there is neither brick nor stone connected with them. Each is closed, when required to be closed, by a gate of massive wood, supported on huge columns of wood or pdes backed up by earth and spanned over by a strong narrow bridge also of wood. along which a solitary sentinel silently paces, resting at intervals on his spear, as if the spear with its shining point aloft were a staff, held or fixed in its place like a standard.

As he rests he takes a survey of the outer scene that lies beneath him in tiers of external earthworks cut like giant's steps one below another, and ending at last in a deep incline which, in a descent of five hundred feet, terminates gently in the rugged plain from which the fortress takes its rise. Beneath the sentinels on the bridges spanning the gates we see other sentinels on the terraces which surround the encampment. These form a watchful circuit, every man true to his beat as the path of a sun. As they meet each other on relieving guard they exchange a password which our ear, preternaturally acute, is permitted to catch. The password is ' Fidelis ' of ' Cæsarea.' At this moment, for some reason, the encampment is almost void of men. Men on sentinel duty are there, but few other. Along the main streets of the camp the senti nels, one on each side, pass and repass in their measured beats.

Along the cross streets others do the same, aU of AN OPENING VISION 3 them on foot, but round the prætorium and chief officers' quarters, and, everywhere in the oflicers' part of the camp, the sentries are mounted on horses noble as themselves. On the top of the ramparts, all round, soldiers of a superior order hold the watch. These are men of rather ad vanced years. They have served their time, but have chosen to stay on, and they bear in their hands the javelin. They are the glory of the army ; they fill every post of solemn trust. They follow the commander of the camp whoever he may be, and on occasions of great ceremony surround him. They wear as their armour a head piece of bright, almost white, metal, a shield of the same metal on their left arm, and a plate of it on their breast. Intent as these various grades of guardians of the camp are on their duty, they are quick to listen, quick to hear ; and, as we detect, they often pause to catch any sound that may proceed from the south-western side of their encampment, beyond a little wood of pine-trees which skirts that spot and descends over the lower ramparts into the plain.

Our tower of observation, from which we get our look into the encampment, is itself built on a rising ground to the west of the camp. Once on its site stood a temple, dedicated to Apollo, traces of which yet remain beneath the present foundations, and even before then it had been a ruder temple of some previous deity. Lost to both these, its first gods, it was next transformed into a minster where saintly devotees sang the early and the late celebrations with the rising of the morn and the closing of the night. And now for three centuries it has been a simple parish church standing alone in its glory, dear to its children who worship in it the God of their fathers and bury their dead under its shadows ; dear, very dear to the archæologist, as belonging to four great epochs of human faith, worship, architecture, and race.

From the eastern wall of the battlement of this holy place we have looked, in our vision, into the encampment lying so grandly before us, and now we will move across to the western wall to discover what is giving rise below to the clamours to which the sentries listen as they tread their rounds. But as we pass from the eastern wall of the tower to the western, we catch sight in the distance, on the northern side, beyond a stretch of beautiful country, of a steep white road dividing a long and dense wood. This were a picture in itself even if it were one of still life, still as death. It is not still, for as we take the scene into our mind we take also the fact that descending that hard white road there is a cavalcade in splendid marching order. As a bird would fly the cavalcade seems almost close upon us, although it is really some six or seven miles distant ; for the road descends and afterwards winds amongst the trees of the valley below.

We discern that the members of the cavalcade are a mixture of horse and foot soldiers, the footmen in the centre marching nearly in a square, the horsemen before and behind in a longer and narrower line. The square of footmen appears to enclose some great treasure, as if it were moving with a citadel within it; but every part passes down the incline with an order and steadiness which is almost painful in its rigid regularity. The metal caps of the soldiers, their breastplates and the heads of their spears are dazzling from the brilliancy with which they reflect the rays of the sun ; and so, like a train of silver, they descend into the depth that conceals them from our sight. This diversion of our senses over, we turn now to take in the new view we are seeking, and nearly at our feet discover a gigantic amphitheatre crowded with spectators and marvellous to behold.

The amphitheatre is an enclosed space without ramparts, but laid out in some manner like the interior of the encampment. It is oblong in form, in which it differs from the camp, and on the low walls of it within are cut out tiers of seats raised one above another and grasscovered. In the centre, on the long side nearest to the camp, is a platform or dais rounded in front so as to face the theatre and retreating backwards into a roadway which extends westward until it leads into the western gate of the en campment. The dais is large enough to seat a hundred persons, and from the back of it rises the standard of the Roman eagle. Upon it are placed the seats of honour for the commander of the forces and his attendant officers. On the opposite side, and precisely facing the dais, is an- AN OPENING VISION 5 other wide opening, a grand gateway through which, probably, they who may be about to take part in the per formances, contests, or speeches, may make their entrances and exits.

Beyond that open gateway is the country, bounded in front by a low range of hills and farther back by mountains richly blue in colour and ending in one lofty peak which seems to crown the whole and shut off further view. The place which lies immediately beneath us is the grand circus of the Roman Legions of Britain. A circus which every Roman soldier has heard of, and which many thousands have seen. A circus second only to that which Julius Cæsar built on Roman soil itself. It is half a mile in circumference, and will seat many thousand spectators. In detad the circus of Britain resembles and yet differs from that of Rome. In it there is a path round which horses ridden by men as well as horses attached to chariots can race. In it the racers, combatants, or performers enter from the chief gateway opposite the dais, and, marching across the arena by a path laid out for them, proceed to a smaller arena or ring immediately in front of the dais, in which they carry out their minor combats or games under the immediate eye of the presiding genius of the fete; or from which they file out into the large arena, where horsemen, swordsmen, runners or wrestlers are to exhibit their mimic war or savage skill on a grander scale.

The balconies of the circus are filled with spectators, a mighty concourse of mixed peoples wild with excite ment if sounds may be accepted as evidence of expectation. Some great event is surely about to take place, for observe the standards of the eagle are being raised above the balconies at fixed points; the centurions are placing their men near each standard ; and the trumpets are giving forth a deafening voice. Let us descend from our distant height and find a place somewhere on the balconies. Take care ! that small ladder leading from the door of the battlement to the beam below which carries the bells is not too firm ; the beam is not too broad, and the next ladder leading down to the belfry might be stronger and steadier. It is wed not to look down but to keep the eyes turned towards the inside of tbe tapering spire.

All right, we are in the belfry and the steps to the chancel are winding steps of stone, much worn but solid as rocks. Never mind the darkness, it will last but a moment ! We have reached the light, and are through the low archway into the open air ! IN THE CONCOURSE. Come with me ! Nothing save a field, which we will quickly cross, lies between us and the amphitheatre. Let us glide across, skirting the path leading from the camp to the dais, but bearing a little to the right that we may find a place in the balcony on the left of the seats of honour. The magnates from the camp have preceded us, and are in their places by the time we have gained our position, which fortunately commands a splendid view of the whole scene and specially of the General, who is seated, like an Emperor in the chair of state, and who is for the moment the Emperor of western Roman Britain.

We can now look round at leisure. We are privileged ! To the whole assembly before us we are unseen spirits, though they are not such to us. We dream, and they are the world in which, during the time of our vision, we are cast.

Chapter II. Vivat

FIDELIS! By our side, as we survey the wonderful scene, are two men of quality whose conversation, as we are forced to hear it, tells us that they are newly arrived from Rome. Everything is as new to them as it is to us, if we may judge by their words. They are commenting on the differences of the Circus Britannicus and the Circus Maxi mus of Cæsar. ' Why is the spina,' meaning the low wall which ran nearly the whole length of the Roman circus, ' Why, my Fabius, is the spina left out in this place? ' ' Nay, I know not,' answers the companion of the questioner, ' nor why there is no meta,' referring to the raised pillar at each end of the spina which indicates the starting and finishing points of the Roman course. They are interrupted at this moment by a new arrival, who hastily climbs the balcony from the arena to greet them as strangers in Britain but as old comrades in Rome. 'By the gods it is Tinnius Rufus,' they both exclaim ere they proceed to salute their friend in the usual way with the kiss.

The person in question carries in his face the height of good humour. He is of ruddy complexion, and his beard and hair partake of the same bright glow. He is rather stout for his years, and his cheeks are roundly fat and full as well as ruddy. After tbe salutations they ask him the questions they have asked themselves. ' You wish to know, my Fabius, you wish to know, my Vibullius, why this circus, finished by the hands of these legions here is not in the Roman style. I will tell you. We found it, as we found the camp, ready for use. In ages to come the people will give us the credit of building hundreds of Roman camps and circuses in Britain, whereas we seized them all, planned and made by these island savages. This camp and amphitheatre we found in the best condition after we had wrested them from the people for whom, wishing to pacify them as much as possible, we have let the circus remain with the fewest possible changes.

Here the natives still run their horses and chariots and men, in contests round the broad course. There, in the centre, where the earth rises they once filled wicker cages with their victims taken in war, and in honour of a sort of Apollo of their own burnt the wretches alive. In the fore, in front of our old schoolmate Julius Severus, who, as you see, has risen to the highest post here, is their lesser arena surrounded by a pit, in which they make their very cocks, armed on the claws with metal spurs, fight till, like other fools of heroes, they die immortal. Oh! by Mars, these ancient men of Britain knew how to play as well as fight. If in the days of Cæsar they had had Severus there to lead them, it is more likely they would have taken Rome than we their island. ' Happy for us some good things have crept in, ' re sponded Fabius. 'The calx (the chalk line) is there in order; the General sits in the tribune; the podium holds the officers; the noble horsemen have their proper places in the rear; the masters of the ceremonies are at their posts; and the Mappa (the officer who throws down the white signal to start each contest) is all alive.

But where are the judges? ' ' Severus himself is sole judge in Britain. ' 'It is just,' replied Fabius, with the slight reverence which the cultured Roman offers whenever the Emperor or his representative is named. ' It is just, but I like not the presence of those half-clad viragos in the popularia ' (the seats where the public find places). ' In Rome the women of position alone are permitted in the presence of the Em peror, and they near to or around his person, or by the side of the senate.' ' You do not understand these native women, my Ro man child,1 responds the red beard, ' or you would speak of them in different terms. They are not women, they are demons. When Claudius made his way into the east of the island, a woman who led the people against him fought like a hundred demons, and still her name is known and worshipped far and wide.

Ten women out of twenty are named after her. My own Boadicea bears her name, and our daughter the same.' ' Eheu ! ' falters out Vibullius. ' Eheu ! our Tinnius has married a demon who heaps fire on his head. No wonder he should look so fierce.' Here the conversation of the friends is stopped by the ring of the clarions, the rising of the vast multitude from their seats, and a general cry of the Roman people pres ent: — ' The gods ! the gods ! the gods ! ' At the cry Severus himself rises reverently from his throne, and now, for the first time, we distinctly perceive two separate and hostile races in occupation of the Circus Britannicus. It may be that the difference of dress and of costume distinguishes the races, for every Roman carries some sign of the conquering Roman soldier, while every native carries some sign of the subdued savage ; it may be that the difference of build of body distinguishes them, for the Roman, close-built, sturdy-limbed, broad-faced, and round-headed, contrasts strongly with the tall, lithe, long limbed body, and high, pointed, long head of the Briton.

But the grand distinction is in the expression of the face of the two orders who make up the multitude, a distinction terribly declared when the clarions ring the order for the procession of the gods. In one sense the procession is of living interest to both sets of spectators, for it heralds some great sights or con tests which they are to behold, and which will stir their blood up to fever point. But to the Roman the procession is a solemn religious rite, whilst to the Briton it is a solemn mockery forced on him until it pierces him to the soul. The difference is as light to darkness. The Briton has for ages worshipped the sun, the moon, and the stars ; his great god is one god who from earliest times has given himself to mankind as fire; who shows himself as the sun, and who is succeeded, when he with draws his glorious face of gold, either by his child of silver the moon, or by night, the black demon of darkness and symbol of eternal death.

To him, therefore, the worship of these sticks and stones, called gods, carried in their dumb and silly guises in chariots or on the shoulders of men, to which dumb things men bend their heads or prostrate their bodies, is idle show and play. The expression of the people tells their story of belief. The Roman reverently worships. The Briton, forced by the sword, performs the worship with an expression of hate, disgust, contempt, revenge, which no sword, however keen, can touch. The faces of the subdued but not conquered people tell the everlasting story, that the mind of man is never, never vanquished. The faces declare as distinctly as the tongues could have told that the rulers of Britain with all their might have still a deadly enemy on their hands, an enemy they have for a moment coerced but have not finally suppressed ; an enemy that wid die but will never remain enslaved. ' The accursed gods,' murmurs a native chief to his wife in their native tongue. 'Accursed!' hisses the woman between her teeth, like the sound of a serpent ; ' I would we could burn them with their followers in the cages which once stood where the beasts now fight.' ' Sdence ! ' calls out a Roman centurion, as with his vitis or rod of the vine, which a centurion always carries, he inflicts a deep mark first across the bare shoulders of the man and then of the woman ; ' silence ! and pay homage to the immortal gods ! ' A groan, a curse, and a stiff-necked bend of the head as the images pass are the answers to this demonstrative com mand A suppressed cry from an almost adjoining seat calls attention to two figures so different to all the rest of the vast assembly and witnesses of the passing drama that they must surely belong to another and an unknown land.