The subterranean hall--not the small square vault where Eurymachus had taken refuge, but a large oval space, whose natural roof was here and there supported by pillars of artificial construction--was lighted by a lamp with five arms, which hung from the smoke-blackened vault. On each side, close to the wall, a natural ledge of tufa served for seats. These were given up to women and girls, mostly very humbly dressed, while the men occupied the farther end of the hall, some standing, some sitting on wooden stools, and some squatting on the ground.
Quintus was leaning, with eager, glistening eyes, against a pillar that was so built into a wall as to form a semicircular niche at one end of the hall, and opposite to him, against the corresponding pillar, stood Thrax Barbatus, his sinewy arms crossed over his breast.
The attention of the congregation had at first been centered on Quintus--who was welcomed with astonishment as a member of the little band--but it had gradually been diverted to another object. Behind an arm-chair stood the tall and commanding figure of an old man, who looked ninety at least. His still upright bearing and his weather-tanned face showed him to be a soldier; and yet an expression of touching gentleness and benevolence marked his features, a melancholy and tender gleam, as it were, that played round his expressive lips and half-closed eyes. Those eyes were blind, darkened by the unwholesome gloom of the Sardinian mines,[67] where, for three years, the old man had been buried alive. They were used to light, and to the free airs of heaven, those bright, bold warrior's eyes; and when Tigellinus,[68] Nero's favorite, had thrust him into blackness, because he had refused to tender false evidence, they grew fevered and dim in the twilight depths, and at last had darkened into endless night. The fall of Nero restored him to liberty. He had been taken on board ship by some kind-hearted mariners, carried first to Athens and then to Corinth, where his brethren in the faith received him gladly, and took charge of his maintenance. For some years he lived thus, a zealous member of the infant congregation, and a faithful guardian and preacher of the gospel. But at last he could contain himself there no longer. His homesickness for Rome, his native city, which he loved in spite of all her sins and crimes with the passion of a true-born Roman, grew more irresistible every day. An Egyptian merchant, who esteemed him highly, after taking him a long sea-voyage, brought him at last to the harbor of Ostia. For many weeks the venerable stranger had wandered in vain through all the fourteen regions of the city, hoping to find some friend of his early years; they were all without exception dead and gone. One day he sat down, sadly leaning on his staff, on the step of a fountain not far from the temple on the Quirinal. Here he was found by Euterpe, who, filled with pity, addressed the blind old man. They soon made the discovery that they were of the same faith, and now for five or six days he had been sharing the home of Diphilus; and though, at first, this had been somewhat of a burden to the carpenter, the liberality of Quintus Claudius had relieved him of all anxiety.