The Blood of the Martyrs (26 page)

The dining-room slaves had claimed a bit of attic for themselves with a partition of sticks and blankets. Lamprion, who was rather older than the others and an expert carver, had the best place, by the window, and a locked box where he kept his things. He had an understanding with one of the house boys, a sallow little Illyrian, and paid him mostly in dining-room food. Mikkos liked a girl when he could get one. The other dining-room boys were a Spaniard who spoke very bad Greek, a thief when he got the chance, and a Coan, not much older than Phaon, who was always seeing ghosts. The others had spent the last hour or so cross-questioning the Christians, but now Lamprion was bored and had gone to sleep. The three had got out of answering on the grounds that they had been forbidden to say anything about it and weren't going to risk their skins again, but it was sometimes possible to ask a question sufficiently irritating to make one of them snap something back. Phaon was crying because Pistos, the Coan, had been teasing him so much. Argas was crying a little, too; he couldn't get into any kind of tolerably comfortable position, and he was trying to begin forgiving his master, but could not make the necessary mental effort.

It was being a difficult readjustment for the Christians. Always before there had been this thing between them, this clean, live hope and practice; now the others had got hold of it, were asking these horrible questions, not because they wanted to know, but because they wanted to hurt. And it would be worse for Josias and Dapyx. In another moment Manasses meant to pull himself together, get up and go to
them; he had warned them not to answer, but it might have been too hard for them. Sannio and Mikkos were both in a way rather sympathetic, but it wouldn't do to be serious. However, they had got hold of some oil and rags to cover the cuts and stop them getting flies on them and drying sore; they had laughed at the Christians, of course, but had handled them kindly. Sannio saw that the water was finished and took the jug to get some more; if he could sneak some wine to mix with it, so much the better; the water tasted rather foul in summer, and wasn't cold.

He felt his way down the ladder and into the kitchen. There was someone there: the Briton. Sannio said ‘Were you looking for anything sir?' And then, ‘I'm getting some water for Argas, sir. I was wondering if there was any wine left to mix.'

‘Of course there is,' said Beric, glad to find something practical he could do. He had come in and had wanted to go to bed and forget about everything, but nothing let him—not the porter's face, turned to watch him: not Hermeias hurrying past him with a book in a shocked way: not a small occasional sobbing from the direction of Flavia's room that must be Persis. That was what did it finally; he wanted to go and stop Persis from crying. But it was too near Flavia's room; she might come out and find him and—she was marrying Aelius Candidus tomorrow. So he had gone off with his lamp towards the kitchen, wondering where the others were; he did not know exactly where they slept; he had been glad to see Sannio and, when Sannio suggested that he might like to see Argas, he agreed eagerly and climbed the ladder after him.

For a moment the sickening slave smell and heat of the attic choked him, and he could not see who was where, only that his coming had hushed them all, breaking off sentences or sobs. Then Sannio pulled his arm and pointed to Argas, lying on his face, naked, his back dabbed with the oily rags. But now, among the slaves, there was nothing Beric could say. He did not even like to touch any of the three for fear of hurting them more. He knelt beside Argas and patted his head, clumsily, asked if they were all right. Argas didn't respond at all—silly fool, Sannio thought. Manasses said they
were getting along; no, there was nothing he could do for them, but it was very kind of him to have thought of it. He went away again.

He sat down on the kitchen table, feeling wretched, trying to think it out; the cockroaches on the floor rustled about their business, no remoter, really, than the slaves had been in their underworld. Presently Manasses climbed slowly and painfully down the ladder; Beric went over and asked where he was going. He answered, to see Josias and Dapyx, and later, when he was sure everyone was asleep, Persis. ‘Better not,' said Beric. ‘If you're caught going to her you might be whipped again.'

‘But I'm the deacon,' Manasses said. ‘I must comfort her if I can. And you,' he added suddenly.

‘Me? Why?'

‘You need it, don't you, son? You're alone. You haven't got the sense of Jesus or the sense of the community, not like we have. And Argas didn't answer you just now. I expect that was because if he'd said anything he'd have said too much. But it was hard on you when you wanted to help.'

‘You're a queer sort of bird, Manasses, thinking about me just now?'

‘But I'm the deacon,' Manasses said again. ‘That means I'm the servant of you all, or it doesn't mean anything. It means trying to be like Jesus, and I don't often get the chance to be.'

‘Will you at least let me go and see Persis for you?'

Manasses hesitated, at last said, ‘Yes. Tell her I sent you. If you don't mind saying that.'

So, after waiting another hour or two, reading, Beric went up towards the room where Flavia was lying in her last maiden sleep. He saw by the light of his lamp that Persis had cried herself out and now her eyes were shut, her hair tangled and plastered down on to her sticky cheeks. He wondered whether to wake her, but suddenly she stirred, saw him and cowered. He made the sign, and almost immediately she stopped thinking he was going to rape her and made the sign back. ‘Manasses sent me,' he whispered and sat down beside her on the mattress.

‘Please,' she whispered back, ‘what's to happen to us?'

‘Nothing more now. Did she hurt you, Persis?'

‘Oh, not very much. And I forgave her. I can bear it better when I manage to. Do tell me about Manasses and the others.'

‘I think they're all right. They're being very brave, Persis. You will be, too.'

‘I'll try. Only, when she takes me away to the new house, I shall be all alone.'

‘She's sure to come back here often, and bring you. You won't be so far.' He wondered what Manasses would have said, how he could have comforted this child. ‘We'll miss you, Persis,' he said.

‘Oh—will you?' she whispered back; he put his arm round her and kissed the top of her head; she snuggled against him. For a time they sat like that, almost in darkness. He began to think a little about Flavia, but somehow the thinking was blurred by the soft weight of the slave girl leaning against his shoulder. He did not seem to mind any longer about Flavia being married tomorrow.

The traditional flame-coloured veil was not very becoming to Flavia, but she was too excited to notice, and nobody else paid any attention. The wedding was an occasion for much more than that. It was something which Balbus and Crispus had planned goodness knows how long ago. So often plans went wrong. But not this one. It had not even been disarranged by the fire.

One of the cousins acted as presiding matron; the sacrifice was made in due form. Crispus was delighted with everything. Almost all his friends had come, also his wider family—freedmen and freed women, including for instance, Eunice, and also Beric's old tutor, Nausiphanes, who now had a little school of his own. There were tables of food and wine, not only in the dining-room, but along the sides of the main courtyard, where silk hangings between the pillars kept the sun at bay yet glowed in all their colours with percolating light. Beric went round, seeing that everybody had all they wanted; he was pleased to see Nausiphanes again; he found he wanted to discuss with his old tutor certain points which had definitely not interested him a couple of years ago. For a minute or two Nausiphanes thought the boy was merely being polite in a rather heavy-handed way, but then discovered to his surprise, that Beric was genuinely interested, that something had penetrated his British head after all! Why was it, though, that Beric wanted to know about the theory of the State and its rights over individuals? He himself disbelieved profoundly in the State and all its manifestations, whether civil or religious; but these things weren't meat for boys. He answered cautiously, suggested a few books to read, including one in Latin by an Epicurean author, Catius,
‘But perhaps I shouldn't suggest that,' he said, ‘some people consider him subversive.'

‘I'll be careful,' Beric said, speaking as someone who was not unused to subversive thoughts.

‘One begins asking questions about the Universe,' Nausiphanes said, ‘and ends by asking questions about particular institutions. And the answers may be rather startling.'

‘But we must always go on questioning, mustn't we?' Beric said.

‘That depends,' said Nausiphanes. ‘It was never a Roman vice.'

Beric very much wanted to ask his tutor if he had ever heard of the Christians, but it was difficult in the crowd.

However, a few minutes afterwards, Lucan, who was being rather greedy about the lobsters, brought up the subject himself, asking Beric if he'd ever heard of them. Beric admitted cautiously that he had. ‘Is it any good?' asked Lucan. ‘Could I get anything out of it?'

‘Not for poems, I don't think,' Beric said, adding that he really knew next to nothing about it.

‘Probably all hysterics,' Lucan said, taking another lobster.

‘They certainly didn't set Rome on fire.'

‘No one in their senses thinks that.' Lucan then asked in an undertone if it was true that some of Crispus's household had been arrested. Beric said that was so. ‘Low types, no doubt?' Lucan asked. ‘Asiatics? No Greeks?'

‘Two were Greeks,' Beric said, ‘and they were some of the best of our boys. They are still!'

Lucan raised his eyebrows and moved away. Did I speak too passionately? Beric wondered—but I can't stand the way he talks! These drawing-room Stoics. I hate poetry, anyway. Then he saw Felicio, who was waiting about with the marriage contract. He whispered, ‘Where's Niger?'

Felicio said, ‘Having it knocked out of him.' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Our respected overseer has been having lots of fun with the poor devil. It's amazing what these blacks can stand. But he wasn't fit to carry a litter pole today.'

‘If you've a chance, Felicio, tell him I—we—asked after him.'

‘That'll cheer him up. He needs it!'

‘Felicio—I suppose you aren't going to—take any more interest, now?'

Felicio shook his head. ‘I don't think so. I've got the wrong sort of mind for it.' Then someone called him to bring over the contract.

Beric kept out of the way of the bridegroom. For whatever reasons, he disliked Aelius Candidus. He could not see any place to start forgiving him from. But he had so little practice; perhaps Lalage could tell him how to.

There was plenty to do all that evening, hustling round arranging the procession that took the bride to her new home; there were always a few guests who got a little too excited and you had to stop them rushing about with torches. And then there was all the clearing up at the house. Besides, Beric felt very much that Crispus was keeping an eye on him. He did not talk to any of the slaves; they seemed all right. He would have liked to know what was happening to Phineas and Sapphira. Eunice had whispered to him that neither Rhodon nor any of the others had been questioned by torture—so far. But they started off for the country quite early the next morning and he could only say a friendly goodbye to the three others, nothing secret. At the city gates the horses were waiting for him and Crispus, and a bumpy ox-carriage, curtained and well-lined with cushions, for the cousins and their maids. Two more cartloads of slaves and baggage followed, in charge of Hermeias. The only dining-room slaves who were taken were Lamprion and the Spaniard. Domina Aelia had her own staff, and Crispus, of course, intended to live simply.

For the first few miles they rode at the same pace as the carriage, past fenced market gardens and intensively cultivated farms; here there were refugee camps and the road was never empty of animals and carts and hurrying people, all kicking up an intolerable amount of dust. Beric kept on thinking back and worrying and wondering how long Crispus would make him stay in the country. He wished he had gone over to Phineas the night before: he had allowed himself to be too much influenced and embarrassed by what he had supposed Crispus was feeling. He ought
to have managed somehow to see Argas alone. He ought to have found Lalage and shown her that she was wrong not to trust him. Then they all stopped and picnicked in a piece of woodland by the road. The slaves put down rugs and cushions; the cousins complained; Crispus was bitten by an ant; the wine had not been kept as cool as it should have been.

Then the riders went on ahead, leaving the carriage and carts to go their own pace. The country was more open now; the dust was less irritating; there were fewer people, and as often as not they were just sitting by the roadside or amiably lazing along at oxen's pace. They called greetings in country voices to the riders; Rome had dropped behind. Their road discreetly dipped under a great, clean, powerful stretch of arches: one of the great aqueducts which converged from the hills on to the capital, marching its way across country like a legion. And now Beric was beginning to enjoy his ride, was beginning to say to himself, well, no use worrying about it for the moment. It was pleasant to get the smell of ashes right out of one's nostrils at last! Soon they were in the foothills, among vineyards. In most the grapes were not quite ripe for picking, but in some the vintage was on and there was noise and laughing and pleased squeals; they were offered ripe, sun-hot bunches of wine grapes, and Crispus paid in small coins. Now everyone knew him, and soon they were on his own land and he was looking about him, telling Beric to remind him the next day of this or that which wanted doing.

They made the usual detour to the rocky corner where the forest came down to the edge of the fields, and the shrine of Silvanus, a low wall surrounding an old, shapeless stone altar. Here the farmer and his sons and most of the farm and house slaves were waiting, also a young ram, suitably garlanded with leaves; Crispus dismounted and proceeded to sacrifice. Beric was given the bowl of meal to hold. He wondered what Christians were supposed to do about this; Manasses had said that no Christian ever joined in worship of the old gods, who were powers of evil and fear. But Crispus, who actually had to stick the knife into the sheep's throat, didn't for a moment believe in, still less fear, Silvanus, the
God of Boundaries; it was just one of the things which, as landowner, one had to do, or the farm workers would be upset. Partly because not doing it would be unlucky: partly because they would miss a good square meal of best mutton—by custom the carcass, after due inspection of the heart, was handed over to them. There were various small shrines on the estate; most of them would have to be visited sooner or later. But was this something which Beric oughtn't to do? Well, anyway, he wasn't really a Christian! He held the bowl of meal in the right manner and the sacrifice was properly consummated, the omens declared good, and everyone looked pleased. Must that pleasure, that sense of things going well and customarily, be taken away from the country workers?

A little farther along, out of reach of Silvanus and his influences, which were inimical to women—or they to him, one never quite knew which—the grandmother, Domina Aelia, was waiting in her litter. She looked very sprightly under her white hair and veil, and could obviously have come down to Rome for her granddaughter's wedding if she had chosen! She was delighted to see her son, and also Beric, who had always been a favourite with her. And as he kissed her hand, and she then touched his forehead, welcoming him into the protection of the household gods, he felt an intense and definite sense of security and realised how much he must have been missing it all these last days in Rome.

Their horses were led off and they walked on to the house, for a cool bathe and change of clothes and a supper of chicken and the crispest of fresh salads. Later on in the evening the carriages with the cousins turned up, and there was chatter and bustle till bedtime. Beric, in his old room, slept sound and dreamlessly, and woke in the morning with the birds. The country house was very pleasant; the clean blaze of the noon sun was tempered by pine-scented hill airs. In Rome a house must be a fortress against the smells of garbage and ashes; flowers must be brought in; human bodies must be scented. Here there was no need; the house could stand open to nature; the flowers could be left to grow. There were riding horses in
the stable, pigeons on the roof. The slaves were not overworked; there were cheerful faces everywhere. Old age was full of merriment and wisdom. And the rural sacrifices were always an excuse for dancing in the evenings and straying off into the cool woods under the full moon. So what?

Well, that was fine for three or four days, and the others in Rome would be all right. Perhaps when he got back he'd find nothing had been quite as bad as he'd thought. Or as—disturbing. And there was a boar hunt arranged for tomorrow.

And then he dreamt about Flavia. In his dream everything was as it had been and she had whispered to him, King's son, and he had done—everything he hadn't really done. And he woke up with a nasty mixture of shame and heaviness, and acute realisation that it was all over for ever. And at intervals the next day, during the hunt, he kept on imagining Flavia's shape and texture of body, imagining elasticities and movements and smells and sounds, until his whole body was wretched, all zones of feeling tense and jumpy with unassuagement, and his heart bumping rottenly. He was tired out at the end of the day, and had missed his boar, which had got right away, after goring one of the beaters.

The same evening, Crispus had a long talk with him about his future and that was worrying too. Going into a legion and ultimately perhaps to an administrative post in Britain meant very definitely becoming part of the rule of Rome. But if he did that, Crispus would manage to get him citizenship and status. And if one didn't have these things? He looked down into a shocking gulf of precariousness, which Crispus had illuminated in detail. Could one be expected to live like that? And there was something else: if he became a citizen, and, indeed, an important one, wouldn't he be much more use to the Christian community? Wouldn't that help to dispel the jibe that they were all hysterical slaves trying to get back at the masters and citizens? Crispus, in any case, took it for granted that Beric would fall in with everything completely. And Beric, assenting, couldn't think of an alternative.
Nor could he be anything but very grateful to Crispus and glad of his luck. He knew he would enjoy being an officer; he would like learning that particular kind of skill, he liked danger well enough. Obviously he hadn't the kind of brain to be a lawyer or a poet or a philosopher or even an architect or doctor; none of which professions opened an avenue for citizenship as far as he could see.

After dinner he went to his room and said the prayer; but, uninterpreted, it didn't hold his mind. In three minutes he was back on Flavia. Tired of saying a Stoic and rational No to the image, he lay down on his bed and let himself go to it. Let himself imagine this or that. He had an upper room with a balcony; outside it was blue dusk which he could see whenever he opened his eyes; the blue deepened and a nightingale was singing like something inside him and the image in his arms was almost tangible.

When he opened his eyes again the blue was velvet black and prickled with stars. He heard whispers outside his window, went and looked and saw there was a couple clasped in the shadow under the balcony. Probably two of the slaves, but he couldn't recognise either of them, only knew jealously that they were mutual flesh and blood, went back and found something in the room to empty over them, break up the couple into squeals and swearing—spoil their night for them! Then he remembered that he had an ivory box with a curl of Flavia's hair in it. If he gave that to a witch? He thought now that it would be even more satisfactory to hurt her than to have her in his arms. The witch would make a figure with the hair in it, and he could stick pins into it. And then suddenly he couldn't help remembering that Persis had forgiven the pins that were stuck into her. Oh, he didn't want to think about Persis or any of them! But suppose a master or mistress had done to Persis and—whoever it might be—what he'd just done to that couple of slaves under the window, would she forgive that, too? And would this couple be bound to know it was him? Would he see it in the eyes of one of the slaves tomorrow?