The Blood of the Martyrs (19 page)

‘But it's our side. And you made our sign.'

‘I wish you hadn't told me, Argas! You're making me feel—a traitor—to—Crispus and everything I've belonged with.'

‘You don't belong there now. You belong with us.'

‘I didn't know the sign meant—that.'

‘You know now. And it means the Kingdom. Because that always happened a little. When Kleomenes and Nabis
freed the helots who'd been slaves for hundreds of years. When Spartacus and his men were fighting for freedom. Yes, and when they were all on the cross, dying together. Only we didn't know what to call it before.'

‘Jesus wasn't a slave.'

‘No, nor He wasn't a king either! For all that the Nazarenes say He came from the house of David and He was called King of the Jews on the cross. Some people say He was a very poor man to begin with. But He wasn't that either. He was in between, a craftsman, the kind that get security from their craft because it's bound to be wanted anywhere. But all the same He made Himself one with Spartacus when He took the cross.'

‘And with the kings!'

‘Very likely. But the kings had to suffer, too. It's no pleasure being the kind of king that chooses to die for the people.'

‘It's no pleasure being a king against Rome.'

‘No. What's it like being a king's son, Beric?' Argas had let go Beric's knees and was sitting back on his heels, the way he'd been the first time, on the floor in the dirty water.

‘It's not like that,' said Beric, ‘it's—it's nothing now. My father wouldn't have died for his people. He would have led them all right, and died in battle. But that's not the same thing. He didn't think of them like your kings did. He didn't love them.'

‘But if you went back now—'

‘They wouldn't have me. I can't speak British, even!'

‘You don't belong there, then. You belong to us. Like I said.'

‘But, Argas, I don't know if I'll join. I don't know if I want to join!'

‘You must. You're going to, aren't you? You can't go back now. Not after I've told you what—what no other master in Rome—' His voice was trembling.

Beric said quickly, ‘But surely all the slaves don't know this?'

‘No. Not like I've said it. Not clear. But most Greeks know about Kleomenes and Nabis. And about Agis, the other one, the king that was betrayed by a kiss from his
rich friend and was killed in front of his mother and grandmother. And most from Italy and Sicily know about Spartacus and Eunus. But the barbarians don't know, not at first anyhow. And we Christians are careful about telling because we've got the final thing, where it's all made plain at last. Where we know it's not as simple as killing, but something that the masters can't win against. And now you know, Beric. As though you'd been one of us,'

Beric didn't know what to say or think. What would a Stoic say? That it was all nonsense, womanish? He seemed to remember that this King Kleomenes was a Stoic; only he'd heard the story differently. He hadn't bothered much with Greek history anyway. Roman history was bad enough! He'd read about those slave revolts, how for a few years the escaped brutes had definitely threatened order and security and civilisation. Till they were put down. Why the hell hadn't Lalage warned him what the sign of the cross meant? She must have known! He looked at Argas again. He was tired out. Beric was a bit stiff himself, but not tired like that. And what else? Was Argas afraid again now, frightened at having told him? He got up and began walking about the room, and became aware that Argas was following him with his eyes, watching to see what he'd do. Beric kept at a certain distance; he was afraid that if he let Argas touch him, or if he touched Argas, he would commit himself, out of pity, out of a feeling together that was very alarming, that he had never had before. Not with Flavia. Never in any casual encounter. Something that was not of the mind only, that was also of the body, but in some new way. He said, ‘Don't be frightened of me, Argas. Whatever you've said, and whatever I say. And tell me when the next meeting is. I'll come.' Argas was now no longer upright but crouching down, his hands on the floor. He didn't answer. ‘What's the matter?' Beric asked. Argas muttered something. Beric had to kneel beside him, to touch him. ‘Go on, tell me!'

At last Argas, not looking up, said, ‘I'm hungry.'

‘Haven't you had supper?'

‘Only what we always get. Bread and soup. No meat. And we've not just been standing about all day! And I
thought there'd be something over from your dinner, but there wasn't.'

Beric remembered guiltily that he hadn't left a bit of the steak, but he didn't say so. He said, ‘Those idiots in the kitchen! Go on down and tell them I say you're to have some meat.'

‘No,' said Argas, ‘they're saying already that I'm your little pet. I won't.'

‘Bloody fools,' said Beric, ‘then I suppose I must. No, it's all right. You stay here.'

He went to the kitchen, and collected some cooked sausage and bread, while the cooks fussed round, apologising for not sending enough dinner. Beric said, ‘I hope you're giving meat to my working party when they come back at night?'

‘They don't need it, sir. I'm giving them some nice bean soup—'

‘Meat, I said.'

‘The price of meat's gone up, sir, you've no idea! I can't always get it in the market, even—'

‘Well, you chase round a bit, see? And if you don't, I'll chase you.' Beric stalked back with his sausages.

The cook wasn't used to being talked to like that by the Briton, who wasn't even a citizen, whom he remembered as a crying brat who couldn't speak Latin! But he had apparently grown up. The cook shrugged his shoulders and supposed he must give the slaves some meat the next day.

Beric gave the food to Argas, who bit into it hungrily. It was fully as good as bits of luke-warm steak, mostly the fat and gristle, from the dining-room. He pulled Argas's hair, gently, ‘Better?' he asked.

Argas looked up and nodded, then held out the half-eaten bread and sausage. ‘You have some.'

‘I'm not hungry.'

‘Have a little. Please—Beric'

There appeared to be something urgent and special about it. ‘What are you after now, Argas? More magic?' However, he took the stuff and bit off a little piece, carefully biting where Argas himself had bitten; at least he could
show him that much brotherhood! He gave it back. ‘Well, what's that done to me?'

‘It's—it's like something—that we want you to know. Later. Soon.' Argas finished the rest quickly and stood up. ‘See you tomorrow on the job.'

‘That's it. Good night, Argas.' Beric yawned, thinking it was time he turned in, ready for tomorrow too. He noticed that the hand he'd had on Argas's hair was grimy with dust and black ashes.

On the sixth day, when it seemed as if the fire were under, and people were beginning to take things easier, it broke out again in two other Quarters, and there was a worse panic than ever, especially as one outbreak was near the biggest relief camp. Everyone was onto fire duty again. Most Christians didn't even get time for the meeting the next evening. The Churches were buying food and blankets with their relief funds; a great many Christians had been burned out and had to be looked after. There were widows and orphans, too. Eunice had taken in several children, some of whom were old enough to help her with the bakery. She was working for a public relief committee and her oven was going the whole time. Euphemia would have liked to take in some, but, besides Lalage and Sophrosyne, she now had Megallis and her husband; their home had been burnt as well as the tannery where he had worked. It had been a bit embarrassing at first, as it meant that the three Christians couldn't pray or talk openly in front of the others, and old Sophrosyne was apt to come out with things. But one afternoon when the young man, Tertius Satellius, was out on a municipal working party, for which at least he got a small amount of pay, Megallis who was helping Euphemia to cook dinner, said to her, ‘You're a Christian, aren't you?'

‘Whatever makes you say such a thing?' Euphemia answered quickly.

But perhaps not quite convincingly, for Megallis, who was a pretty, dark little Sicilian, said, ‘You don't think I'd pull faces—not after what you've done for the two of us?'

‘Well—' said Euphemia.

‘You are, you are!' said the girl, and hugged her. ‘You know, we've often wondered. It wasn't your lot that started this fire, was it?'

‘We wouldn't ever do a thing like that. None of us.'

‘I didn't think so. When we didn't know where to go except you, and when my man started off on that story, I said, well if they're all like her it's just flat nonsense!' She blew on the charcoal under the cooking-pot, then, not looking up, she said, ‘I stole some of your money once. I did mean to put it back some day, I really did, only then I didn't.'

‘Well, there,' said Eunice, ‘I did think it went a bit fast once or twice, but I kept on putting off doing my accounts. You know what I am! Don't you fret yourself about it now, my dear.' And she began to bustle about and put the vegetables on to stew.

Sapphira and Phineas had taken in a Jewish Christian woman whose husband had been killed; she had a child about the same age as their eldest. Rhodon's old master had a couple of Jewish refugees. And so it went on. The Armenian, Abgar, had come to see Rhodon. He had been in a fish-curing factory on the coast: hard and sore work during the curing season and not much to eat out of it. Abgar had run away to Rome, but found no work and nothing much to live on there. He'd hung about, fighting for scraps with others like himself. The fire was a godsend to him and his gang. Then he'd been caught. He didn't much like being a free man the way he was: could he work for Rhodon? For the moment Rhodon said he could take him into his working party, and gave him a meal, and then, regretfully, but it had to be done, also gave Abgar his spare sandals and a decent tunic instead of the charred rags he'd got on.

But by the end of the ninth day the fire was definitely over. There was a good deal of clearing up to be done still, and everyone was busy, either working or grumbling. Balbus had two friends and their households staying with him, and Crispus had his cousins and theirs. He was thinking of taking them down to his country estate as soon as this was all over. They should stay there till something could be done. He'd take Beric too and have a talk to the boy about his future.

In a few days it was time for another meeting, and Manasses told Beric. As Eunice was so busy, it was to be at Crispus's house, in the boiler-room. After Crispus and the cousins had gone to bed, Beric went down there by the winding stair from the kitchen. There were three brick furnaces at the back, with lead pipes going up from them. It was an irregularly-shaped room, built among the foundations of the house, with rough brick and stone piers at the sides. In the middle there was a big round chopping-block, the bole of an old tree-trunk; some cut wood was lying in one corner. There were a couple of rough benches, one by the chopping-block and the other by the stair, and two small pottery lamps, one by the stair and the other on the block. Beric brought down another with him.

Manasses, Phaon and Dapyx were there, and Dapyx grinned nervously when Beric came in. Also Euphemia, Lalage and Sophrosyne; Beric was very glad to see Lalage again; he had heard what had happened and started saying how sorry he was. But Lalage was quite cheerful again and asked him to try and get her some more jobs as soon as possible after things settled down. Then Niger came down, but said that Felicio wouldn't come; it wasn't what he wanted; but all the same he'd squared the porter for Niger. Then Rhodon came, explaining that Phineas had hurt himself a bit on his working party. Nothing much, but Sapphira wanted to keep him in bed for a day or two. Manasses said that Josias, too, had been hurt and wouldn't be there; a beam had crashed and knocked him down and he was rather badly bruised. He'd be all right, too, in a few days. They weren't sure if Argas would be able to come. He and a few others were still out on a special working party digging about for some gold plate which the cousins insisted must be in the ruins of their house. So the slaves were having to dig by torchlight. No one else came though they waited for a few minutes, so they had the first prayer, the main one. Beric knew it by heart now.

Rhodon had begun explaining something else, when Sotion came in, saying, ‘Peace be with you.'

Manasses answered, ‘And with you, Sotion. We've had the first prayer. God is with us.' He put an arm across
Niger's shoulders. Niger was already beginning to look less unhappy.

‘Thirsty work collecting rents these days,' Sotion said, putting his bundle down, ‘with everyone complaining that their little savings have been burnt up in the fire!'

‘Yes, like mine!' said Lalage, ‘but you must feel wretched collecting rents these days; I suppose you've got to, though: working on a percentage, are you?'

‘It means I can put a little into the bag,' said Sotion, and did so.

‘It's nearly empty,' said Manasses, rather worried, ‘and we've got so many to see to!'

Beric, who was standing next to Lalage, whispered, ‘I say, couldn't I help? Would they let me?'

‘All in good time,' Lalage answered. ‘They'll be happier about it after you're baptised. We all know you're with us, Beric. When you're baptised you'll be part of us.'

‘Yes, I see,' Beric said. She was taking it for granted that he was going to be baptised. He wasn't sure about that, but he did want to help! Somebody else came in now, carrying a lantern; he was a middle-aged man, with a short beard, wearing a cloak with a silver pin over a good, plain tunic. Manasses went to him at once, looking very pleased. ‘Who is he, Lalage?' Beric whispered again.

‘He's Luke, the doctor, Paul's friend—you know, our Paul who's appealed to Caesar.'

Manasses had asked at once for news of Paul, and Luke was answering. ‘As good news as you can expect of a prisoner. His health's no worse and there's no question of them stopping him seeing people. They still let me fetch and carry for him, thank God. But he's asked me to go round to all the Churches and see how things are. See that nothing's being let down. For we may be in a for a bad time.'

‘What sort of bad time?' Manasses asked.

‘Well,' said Luke, ‘someone's going to be made to take the blame for this fire. And they want to get rid of us anyhow. They say we're a danger to the State, and so we are, of course, though perhaps not in quite the way they think. But the shopkeepers have begun saying that we're dangerous foreigners, preaching sedition against the State
and paid for it with foreign money. It won't be difficult to make them believe that it was we who burned Rome.'

‘So long as it's only the shopkeepers!'

‘It won't be,' Luke said. ‘Now, tell me, how's your Church, Manasses? Sure your people are all safe? We'll have plenty of false witness against us.'

‘I think so,' Manasses said anxiously. ‘You've seen most of them, Luke.'

Luke looked round, lifting his lantern; he saw Beric. ‘Who's that?' he asked.

Lalage said, ‘His name's Beric. I'm surety for him, Luke.'

‘Beric? A Gaul?'

‘No. A Briton,' Beric answered.

‘A Briton, speaking Greek with that accent? Funny.'

Manasses said, ‘He's our young master, Luke. I'll be surety for him, too.'

Luke, holding up the lantern, looked very close at Beric, who blushed slowly. ‘You think he'll do, Lalage? Even in times like these?'

‘Yes,' said Lalage, ‘I'm sure.'

‘When are you baptising him?'

‘We've not got that far,' Manasses said. ‘But he knows the Words and the Way of Life. And I thought, this evening, we might try him on the water.'

‘Very good,' said Luke. ‘May I stay for a little, brothers and sisters?'

They all said yes, and Luke sat down on the bench by the stairs. Beric was wondering what was going to happen. He didn't like to ask. He felt them all looking at him and he very much wanted to do the right thing by them all, to make them feel that they were right to trust him. Manasses came back with a pottery bowl of water, a small oil jar and some clean rags. ‘What is it?' Beric whispered to Lalage.

‘He's going to wash your feet, Beric,' Lalage explained. ‘It's one of the funny things we do, to remind us that we're all one another's servants. Jesus did it.'

‘Sit down, friend,' Manasses said. Beric sat down, feeling most uncomfortably serious and tense, and began to take off his sandals; but Manasses pushed his hand away and undid them himself. ‘I do this first,' he said, ‘because
I'm the deacon and so I ought to try to be most like Jesus Himself.'

Beric was finding it unexpectedly moving. Manasses, kneeling in front of him, began to pour the oil for the washing. Suddenly Beric half laughed and leaned over and said, ‘No need to waste oil, Manasses—I had a bath this morning!'

Manasses looked up; he was half laughing too, and so were Lalage and Phaon who had overheard. How nice of them to laugh, Beric thought, it's all going to be friendly after all! ‘Yes, I know about your bath,' Manasses said, ‘I helped to fill it!' Then he went on, under his breath, ‘Will you try and help the others to feel easy with you? It's queer for them. You know, you being one of the kind that has a bath every morning.'

‘I'll try, Manasses,' said Beric, ‘but I don't feel quite easy myself, you know. Do I wash yours now?'

‘No, you're the newcomer,' Manasses answered, and dried his feet on the rags, ‘but when we've all had our turn on you, you can have your turn on us. If you like.'

It made Beric feel shaken up, the idea of that, and yet in a curious way, rather happy. ‘Yes, I would like to,' he said.

Euphemia was kneeling in front of him now. ‘Very nicely trimmed toe-nails, I must say. Never mind me, dear, it's just professional.'

‘What is your profession?' Beric asked shyly, but wanting to help, as Manasses had told him to. ‘Hair and nails?'

‘Oh, you are quick, dear!' she said. ‘You could tell it was the nails, but fancy your guessing it was hair, too! There, nice and dry, dear.'

‘Thanks most awfully!' Beric said.

Sophrosyne came next; she said nothing, only murmured to herself; then Lalage. It made him feel queerer yet, her hands on his feet. As she did it, she said, half to herself, ‘I wonder what sort of bad time Paul meant. What would be the worst things that could happen to us?'

‘Separation,' said Manasses, standing behind Beric, speaking slowly as he thought it out. ‘Breaking us up. I don't mean some of us drifting away; that's bound to
happen, perhaps. And I don't mean one here and there sold to another master. But if we were broken up altogether, so that not even two or three could gather together, so that we wouldn't be sure He was in the midst. Not just shutting yourself away from the brothers for a time, to be alone and face God, and then coming back. But being cut off from everything. If one was cut off like that and then hurt—badly hurt, alone—tortured and killed. Like He was.'

‘But at the very last He wasn't left alone,' said Lalage, drying Beric's feet, ‘nor should we be.'

Rhodon was the next and he didn't say anything. Beric wondered what his job was. He had obviously been on fire duty. The others talked a little, in low voices. Luke was watching. Niger came then, and suddenly looked up and said, with a lovely wide grin, ‘Looks funny, don't they, my black hands on your white legs!'

Beric laughed too; he had no idea who or whose Niger was, but saw the heavy slave-ring and iron cuff; none of the slaves in their household would have had that. Did this wild, black creature know about Kleomenes and Spartacus? He couldn't ask now. Perhaps later, when—if—he knew them all better.

Now Sotion came. ‘What made you become one of us, brother?' he asked.

Beric very much wanted to answer any of them honestly, but yet he couldn't speak of Flavia and Candidus. If it
had
been that? He was beginning not to be sure now. He answered, ‘I suppose it was what Lalage told me. And then everything that's been happening.'

‘Yes,' said Sotion, ‘the fire! It's so like what we've always hoped for, in a way, isn't it?'

‘I don't think so,' said Beric, a little upset. ‘I've been on a working party!' Sotion got up, and Beric saw Manasses whispering to Dapyx, who obviously didn't want to come. He tried to think of something to say which would stop Dapyx being afraid of him, for ever. But he couldn't, and, as Dapyx finally knelt, he saw that his hands were shaking; Beric was so damned sorry for him that he nearly cried. The boil on the man's neck was practically healed; his hair had
been cropped with a kitchen knife and was all in ugly edges. Beric leant nearer and whispered, ‘Dapyx, do
you
know about Spartacus?' Dapyx went absolutely still, like a hare so terrified you nearly step on it; his fingers in the water stiffened. Beric hadn't wanted to do that to him! He said, ‘They died for you. That's something to be proud of.' But Dapyx never looked up, only he finished quick, dabbing unskilfully at Beric's feet with the now damp rags.