The Blood of the Martyrs (20 page)

Then it was Phaon, the youngest; he whispered, ‘I always get the best of it because I wash last! But Dapyx—oh, he was a treat! We had to change the water twice. I say, are you really going to go through with it?'

‘I hope so, Phaon,' Beric whispered back, then asked, ‘Is there any order I ought to do it in?'

‘It doesn't matter, only begin with Manasses. Aren't you going to think it's beastly?'

‘I don't believe I am, Phaon, but I can't think why!'

‘That's Jesus getting into you,' Phaon said. ‘Oh, Beric, it's going to be lovely!' He looked up with a face of sheer delight. If he could only have done a dance like that, Beric thought suddenly, he'd have had us all after him! ‘Now come and get clean water and rags,' Phaon said, and pulled Beric's hand.

They went up the twisting stairs to the kitchen for the things. Beric passed Luke watching him and wondered if they were going to talk him over. He hoped they'd liked him! He came back with the basin and said uncertainly to Manasses, ‘May I wash your feet, brother?'

Gravely Manasses sat down on the bench and Beric knelt and undid his sandals. It was the hell of a queer mixed feeling. He'd never be the same again, never be able to be a master. A kind of panic caught him and he stopped, holding on to the edges of the basin, his head down. Then he realised that it was too late to get out of it now, and began to touch Manasses's feet, which were reasonably clean, with fairly steady hands. Manasses was the deacon of the Church. Doing this for him, he had accepted it, accepted the superior position of Manasses, who was, all the same, the old Manasses who waited on him at table. There was something not very real about it all. He dried Manasses's
feet. He felt dizzy with this unreality. Then he got what he needed, for Manasses laid his two real and certain hands on Beric's head and blessed him in the name of Jesus and this Church. Manasses took his hands away and Beric stood up, feeling extremely glad about everything, knowing he had done right, looking all round, seeing suddenly wood or human hands or pieces of material solid and real in the live, soft circles of lamplight, seeing the queer-shaped room full of the men and women who were his friends. He said in a loud and surprising voice, ‘Come on now, who wants a wash?'

They all laughed and some of them came closer and touched him. One after the other sat on the bench, and he washed their feet with a kind of delight that there was no accounting for, but that was sufficient in itself. Lalage had the most beautiful feet, with high insteps and strong flexible toes. Beric kissed her feet as well as washing them; he could at the moment see no reason against doing anything he wanted to. Sophrosyne's feet were old and white. Rhodon's feet had interesting scars on them; Beric asked him what they were and he explained that they were from burning metal. Sotion had a corn. Euphemia's feet were well kept but dull. Niger's feet had a different shape and smell from the others. Again Beric said so out loud and Niger laughed and said it came of walking so much. ‘Walking where?' asked Beric. ‘Between my master's house and yours.' ‘Why?' It just seemed a funny thing to do. Niger said, ‘I belong to Aelius Balbus. I carry his litter.' ‘Do you really?' said Beric. How very odd it would be if Balbus knew he was washing the feet of one of his litter slaves. All these feet walking in and out of his hands. The real feet of real people. Some of them had ashes on them, some only dust and ordinary dirt. What
was
he doing?

It was Dapyx now, and as Beric picked up the oil flask this time, he began to lose the feeling of irresponsibility and lightness. He began to see things as they were, and Dapyx's feet were not only very dirty, but one of them had a nasty sore place on it. The water in the bowl was dirty too, filmed at the top with oil and ashes. He oughtn'r to have gone on using it! ‘You wait,' he said to Dapyx. ‘I'll get some fresh water.'

‘This is all right,' Manasses said a little anxiously, but Beric wasn't going to be put off. ‘No, it's not,' he said, and went up to the kitchen for some more.

‘What do you think, Luke?' Lalage asked. ‘Very interesting,' said Luke. ‘I'll just stay and see it out.'

Beric came back with the clean water. He felt perfectly ordinary now, very matter of fact. He rubbed oil very thoroughly all over Dapyx's feet. Had he done that with the others? He couldn't remember. Silly to have to wash one's dirty feet in a wretched little bowl like this instead of a proper bath. But none of the slaves had the use of the big marble bath with the running water. If they'd been caught in it they'd have been very severely punished. Manasses probably went to the public baths sometimes, but not Dapyx. He wouldn't have the money. So, naturally, his feet were dirty. But they were a good deal cleaner now, anyway. Beric touched a scar on his ankle. ‘What's that?' he said. ‘Chains,' said Dapyx, very low.

Beric began drying the feet. He'd made a good job of them, though they weren't very nice feet, even now. But the sore place worried him. He didn't want to put back Dapyx's filthy, broken sandal over it. ‘I think I'll tie a bit of rag round that,' he said, half aloud. For the first time, Luke got up, and came over and knelt beside Beric, looking at the foot in the better light of his lantern. ‘Wait a minute,' he said, ‘I've got some ointment here.' He fumbled about for it in the purse he wore at his belt.

Beric, looking at last from feet to face, saw Dapyx staring at him, in the old bewildered fright. ‘What is it, brother?' Beric said. Still the man did not move; it was stupid, it couldn't be left like this! Beric began to talk to him. ‘Now listen, Dapyx, and try to be sensible. You still think nothing is altered between us except some magic. But everything's altered. I wouldn't be washing your feet for any magic! I do it because of our being in the Kingdom together, and you're stopping me getting into the Kingdom by hating me and fearing me still. I've washed your feet to show you that this is nonsense. Have you got to try and keep me out of the Kingdom?'

Dapyx still looked bewildered, but in a rather different way. He said, ‘You mean that?'

‘Why else am I here?' said Beric. ‘I'm a Christian.'

Dapyx gasped and said, ‘Then—I stop hating you.'

‘About time too,' said Beric, and turned to Luke. ‘Found your stuff, brother?' Luke was no doubt high up in the Church, but as far as he, Beric, was concerned, he was a provincial doctor—and a brother.

Luke had at last discovered the ointment. He dabbed some of it on, and Beric tied a piece of rag round the foot before he fastened the sandal on again. He thought he had better have a talk to Crispus about a few little things, like new sandals for the kitchen slaves.

Dapyx had got up, and certainly he looked a bit easier and stood more upright, whether that was the ointment or the brotherhood. Then it was Phaon's turn. Beric looked at the water. ‘I'm not going to wash you in that, Phaon, so don't you think it!' Again he took out the water and emptied it, got fresh and came down, feeling normal and cheerful, and knelt in front of Phaon. ‘Coo!' said Phaon. ‘I wish mother could see me having my feet washed by a gentleman!' Beric pinched one of his brown toes. ‘Shut up, Phaon,' he said. ‘This is serious.'

Phaon's feet weren't really dirty. He swung his legs when Beric had dried them. ‘How's that?' he said.

‘I must be going on,' said Luke, ‘but I'm glad to have been here. We're all the cleaner for it. Goodnight, and peace with you, friends.'

He went out and the others began discussing business, sitting on the floor or the chopping-block or the bench. Beric stayed where he was, on the floor by the basin, listening. It was remarkable how little there was that really had to be decided. The members of this Church and the other Churches had merely and simply comforted and fed the widows and orphans and homeless, looked after those who were burned or injured, shared their clothes, money and other goods, and in general done their duty by their neighbours. It was all quite simple if you were prepared to do it, though it was, of course, harder for the slaves who hadn't got much to share. It occurred to Beric that a slave
who was also a Christian mightn't ever save up enough to buy himself out. That could only be done by strict economy, which wasn't compatible with the giving that was part of a Christian life. Argas, for instance, who so much wanted to be free? He probably had less savings than any of the other dining-room slaves. While he was thinking that, he heard feet on the stairs, stumbling a little. Persis came in. She was sobbing, not very loud, but quite hopelessly. Lalage ran up to her, saying, ‘What is it, darling?'

Phaon tossed his head back and said, in a harder voice than Beric had ever heard from him, ‘There's no need to ask her that. Flavia's been using the kid as a pin-cushion again.'

‘Oh yes,' said Persis, coming into the lamplight, smeary with tears, and held out her arms, red and swollen, with the tell-tale little blood dabs on them. ‘And I can't help squealing and she slaps me so when I squeal!'

Beric got to his feet, staring, and saw Manasses put his arms round her, saying in a voice that was both kind and angry, ‘But you're with us now, Persis. You're safe.'

It was being most horrible for Beric. He said, ‘Persis, why didn't you ever tell me?'

She was still crying. Manasses sat her down on the bench, and Phaon began rubbing his cheek, very softly, down her hurt arm. Her mouth twisted with sobs, she said to Beric, ‘You wouldn't have believed me if I had, would you?'

He knelt down and spoke in a low, rough voice. ‘This won't help you, but it'll help me if you'll let me do it.' He began to unfasten her sandals and wash her feet, with a determined gentleness. He said, ‘That's something I never did for Flavia.'

Persis began to stop crying. She wiped her eyes with the overfold of her tunic and smiled a little. ‘It is helping her, you see,' Lalage said.

While Beric was fastening her sandals again, Argas had come down, just as he was, straight from the working party, smudged all over with ashes and sweat. He was carrying a full pottery bowl which Manasses took out of his hands and put down by the pile of chopped wood.
‘Peace be with you!' he said, out of breath. ‘Here's the wine,' and flopped down on the bench by the stairs and shut his eyes, which were red and smoke-sore. ‘I thought I'd never be here in time' he said again, ‘and oh, I didn't want to miss it!' Beric got up and carried the water and oil over and knelt and began to wash Argas's feet. Euphemia brought one of the lamps so that he could see what he was doing. Argas had got his feet into an incredible mess; Beric began to wash up towards his knees. It would have been much more to the point, he thought, to put Argas straight into the big bath. How on earth any of the slaves kept even moderately clean! Argas opened his eyes and saw Beric. ‘Oh, it's you—your first time, isn't it?' He grinned. ‘Lucky for me, look at the mess I'm in!'

‘Yes, Argas,' said Beric, ‘this is good for your feet as well as for my soul!'

Argas leant nearer to him. ‘Do you hate doing it?'

‘Not a bit,' said Beric, ‘though I can't think why. Yes I can, though. You've got some tar or something on your heel. I'll see if I can get it off with the rag.'

Argas suddenly said, ‘It feels very nice having one's feet washed—apart from anything else.'

‘Yes, I expect it does,' said Beric. He hadn't thought of that himself, while his were being washed. But then, he wasn't tired and dirty. ‘Argas,' he said, ‘I'd like to be baptised. Will you tell the others?'

Argas put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you sure? No, look up and tell me.' Beric looked and nodded. ‘You can't be just yet. But—I know what it's like wanting. Only everyone takes it different ways. Won't you tell the others yourself?'

‘No,' said Beric, drying his feet, which were at least cleaner than the rest of him. ‘You tell them. Please, Argas. Now let me have your sandals.'

‘I won't put them on yet,' Argas said. ‘You know, Beric, my feet were pretty sore, there's a lot of hot ash and grit about still. Now they feel grand. I wonder how nearly ready you are.'

‘I think I'm about ready.'

‘Well, we'll see. You'll have to go now, Beric, because we're going to have the love-feast.' He pointed, and Beric saw for the first time that, besides the cup of wine, there were two baskets of food by the wood pile.

‘Can't I stay?' asked Beric.

‘No,' said Argas, ‘not this time. Next time—if you want to.'

During the next week Beric was increasingly happy. He was able to do a good deal for their own house slaves and for stray Christians. When he asked Crispus for anything, he could almost always get it: partly because he had thought out what he wanted beforehand and he discovered that he could now deal with the cook and old Felix, and partly because Crispus was a bit fussed about everything and in the mood when it was simplest to say yes, yes, my dear boy, and get it over. The wedding had been fixed for the following week. Beric managed to avoid Flavia, almost instinctively, and this annoyed her quite a lot. She couldn't go on having that lovely feeling of achievement if he didn't go on being hurt and angry, or at any rate if she couldn't see whether he was! And he'd been in her power that evening; but now he seemed to have slipped out. Perhaps that dancing girl had tried a little consoling on him! But she had plenty of other things to think about. The presents—yes, and Tigellinus
had
sent her something, a ruby bracelet, a beauty, a big one!—and the clothes and the new household. She was going to take a few slaves with her, including of course, her maids, Persis and the Italian; she would leave the old woman behind. Between times, however, she made up her mind that Beric wasn't to get off so easily.

Balbus was constantly coming and going; the two old men had so much to fuss over, and Beric had often to be there with the secretary Hermeias, a Greek, who had been in the house for twenty years. Hermeias knew that he was to be freed and left enough money to buy himself a cottage in the country, under his master's will, which he had written out himself; in the meantime he was content and silent and knew what was to be done, though he preferred Beric
to give the orders. Apart from the wedding plans, Crispus and Balbus were both even more worried than usual by the state of things in Rome. The fire was, of course, completely over, and there had been no epidemics in the refugee camps. There was talk of some of the property losses being partly made up from the Imperial Exchequer. But all the same everyone was jumpy. And it was not at all tactful of the Emperor to have sent at once for his two special architects who apparently had plans for a new Rome already drawn up. It was as though he wanted to get still another thing gathered into his bundle of power: Urbs Roma, the city. Men are shaped by their circumstances, including even the circumstances of brick and stone. Would there be any liberty left?

Flavia went out in the litter, accompanied sometimes by her maids and sometimes by the old cousin, always by a suitable retinue of slaves. When she stopped, half a dozen shop assistants would scurry out and bring the best of everything for her to choose. Sometimes the narrow streets were quite blocked; she didn't mind! Nor did she bother to ask the price, except occasionally when she had a fit of bargaining. It was not the affair of any of the slaves if the Praefect of the Praetorians happened to turn up; no one could be more surprised than the Italian maid! And, of course, if Tigellinus chose to help a young lady leaning out of her litter, greedy and gay and excited, like some game-bird in best condition, no one could object.

Sannio, who had been out with her, told Argas. ‘Proper refined little bit, isn't she? Suppose when it comes to the night, her hubby finds her not quite—?' He made an expressive gesture.

‘It's always a surprise packet,' said Argas.

‘I wouldn't half like to have a look in,' said Sannio. ‘Stuck her arm right in my face, she did, grabbing for a bit of flimsy she was after. Like a bit of cake it was.'

‘You look out!' said Argas. ‘She's cake for the gentlemen.'

‘What sort of a bite did the Briton have? You're thick with him, Argas, you ought to know.'

‘Not so thick as that, I'm not.'

‘He was as sick as muck that evening. Got over it all right. Who's he after now—you?'

‘What the hell d'you take me for?'

‘All right. All right. I only asked. I wouldn't mind having a spot of fun with him myself. Treats you decent, he does. You bet it was him got us meat for supper those days we were on the working parties.'

‘Yes, it was.'

‘Thought you'd know, somehow! Listen here, Argas, who started that fire? I keep on hearing things. There's some say it was the Christians began it. Know anything about these Christians, Argas?'

‘Why should I? All I know is, setting fire to houses isn't their game. Who was saying that, Sannio?'

‘Oh, it was about. If these Christians want to have a spot of change, I'm all for them. Suppose you could burn Rome. And all. And the Scratch Cat for little me, oh my, oh my! I could do with her!'

‘Burning Rome's not going to get you anywhere. Look what happened when they tried that game on the masters—before.'

‘The cross every time. But it wasn't half bad going out with the Briton. Remember when that fool Josias got the beam on to him? You'd have thought they was brothers, the fuss the Briton made. Good job if he was the old man's son. Instead of a barbarian. D'you know where Britain is? Damned if I know.'

‘Up north of Gaul somewhere. Always wet, Britain is, nothing but mud. His father was the king near where the best oysters come from, you know, the big ones that come in barrels with sea-weed.'

‘Two a penny, those kings are. If you ask me, it's a bit of luck for him, getting quit of the Scratch Cat. Whoever it is he's on to now!'

So the slaves thought. Occasionally, also, Felicio thought of the Briton, wondered if he'd got involved with the Christians. He also wondered, as far as he himself was concerned, whether perhaps he ought to have given it another chance—or was it as stupid as it seemed, as small-scale, made up
of the pettiness of individuals? Well, at the moment, what with the wedding and the post-fire complications, he had his hands full.

Once Beric, walking through the back part of the house, saw Crispus's litter slaves waiting about and, feeling very gay, made a quick sign of the cross to Niger. But Niger, standing at sight of a master, made no acknowledgment, just stood and stared sadly. ‘Was that to you?' Zyrax whispered to Niger. ‘What?' said Niger blankly. Zyrax pinched him. ‘You know—that sign.' ‘I don't know,' said Niger. ‘Nothing. He was a master.' ‘You black bone-head!' said Zyrax, but Niger just stood. The Cappadocian glanced at him and wondered; he had an idea about that sign. And also he was beginning to get curious sharp pains inside his chest.

But after Beric had finished telling the cooks about some of the wedding arrangements, he heard feet after him in the passage, turned, and saw Josias, who was up and about again. ‘Well?' he said cheerfully.

Josias said in a whisper, ‘You mustn't go making the sign, sir—not open like that! Not just now. He didn't answer, did he?'

‘No—I only did it to cheer him up a bit.'

‘You'll go getting him into trouble. And yourself. And all of us, you will!'

‘Oh, surely not!'

‘But you will! There's every kind of thing being said. And what's more, it looks like stories being put about—on purpose. You know, sir: from up top. Like as if someone had got orders that we're to be blamed. Well, I don't know about that, how could I, but Manasses said we was all to be extra careful. You will too, sir, won't you?'

‘Well, of course,' said Beric, ‘but I think you're all getting a bit over-excited. I don't believe anything's going to happen. Not yet, anyway, Josias. But I'll remember.'

When the day came, Beric asked one of them to come and fetch him when it was time. Argas came along to his room. ‘As soon as the house is quiet,' he said, ‘we'll go down. They'll all be in bed soon.'

‘What will it be like?' Beric asked.

‘You'll see,' Argas said, and sat down on the floor by the bed-head. ‘This is what's best. This is when the Spirit comes. This is what none of the others knew, not even Spartacus, but only Jesus. He showed it to His friends.'

‘But is it—difficult?'

‘No, it's so easy that nobody else thought of it. Like the prayer.'

‘That's not easy.'

‘It is and it isn't. It is if outside things aren't stopping it. Only they do usually.'

They waited, listening for complete quiet in the house; Beric had been sitting on the bed. Now, in the increasing silence, he leant over on his elbow and half lay along, his head and Argas's head close together. He bit Argas's ear. When Argas turned his surprised face up, Beric kissed it on the mouth. It was meant to be a light kiss, but turned out to be hardly that. Both of their hearts had been set beating. Beric had his hand round the slave's head, resting lightly on his neck and throat. After a minute Argas said in a hard voice, ‘That's the first time I've ever let any of my masters make love to me.'

‘You beast!' said Beric.

‘Well, aren't you my master?'

‘Have you got to say so all the time?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, very well.' Beric took his hand away. He added, ‘You'd better be going along to your love-feast. I don't think it interests me.'

Argas swung round at Beric blindly with his fist and hit him in a rather harmless way on the chest. Beric jumped up, shoving Argas in a sprawl on to the floor as he did so. He held him down, one knee between the shoulders, his right hand ready to hit. Argas did not defend himself. No slave does! Then the complete stillness of the body under his knee horrified him with its unlikeness to the gymnasium. Beric had never been one to knock slaves about; it was not amusing. He stood back. Argas picked himself half up. ‘Well, hit me!' he said. Beric had never seen him like that, white and unsmiling, the Greek-shaped bones of his head clear under skin and muscle.

‘No,' said Beric. The whole thing was over. Yes, the whole thing. ‘Now get out,' he added, and shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears.

When he looked up the slave was still there, saying harshly, ‘It was my fault. I spoilt the evening—for both of us—your first time.'

‘It doesn't matter in the least,' said Beric. ‘Please go.'

The hardness of Argas's face changed into misery. He went on slowly, ‘It was my sin. I can't go to the love-feast like this. You can do what you like with me now. I don't care.'

‘I don't want to do anything with you,' Beric said.

Argas came and knelt in front of him and caught his knees in the oldest gesture of conquered to conquering. ‘Don't send me away!' he said, ‘not unforgiven! Beric. Master.' Beric jumped. It was the one word he couldn't stand at the moment. He wanted Argas to go—go quick—as an equal, but not sent out of the room like a dog. ‘Master,' said Argas again.

‘Oh, stop it!' Beric half cried, and then, ‘What
has
happened? What have we gone and done, Argas?'

‘Forgotten the prayer,' Argas said slowly.

‘All right,' Beric answered, ‘let's say it. Quick, before anything else happens.' They did so, standing, and then looked at one another. ‘Can we go after all?' Beric asked.

Argas answered shakenly, ‘I think we can if we forgive one another.'

‘I expect we do,' said Beric, ‘but what for exactly?'

‘As far as I'm concerned,' said Argas, speaking in a casual kind of way, looking at the far corner of the room, ‘it all started when you kissed me, and I liked it, and couldn't say so. There wasn't any harm in the kiss, but it set off everything else. Pride and anger. They woke up. My own pride partly, and partly—oh, the pride of being one of the under-dogs. I wasn't going over to
you
! And at that I didn't think of you as a person—as Beric; you'd turned into part of a thing—part of the masters. And I was a thing, too: part of the slaves. It wasn't till we were fighting and you had me down that I remembered—anything. Then I stopped.'

Beric interrupted, ‘Tell me one thing. I thought you weren't fighting because—slaves don't fight. Was it that or because you are a Christian?'

Argas said, ‘Because I am a Christian. Truly. But for that I'd have fought. I—I used to be always scrapping. I didn't care
who
you were! And then—then I knew what I'd done. Me—a Christian for a year and a half! It was my doing. And just before the love-feast.'

‘That's all right by me,' said Beric. ‘I'm glad you'd have fought. As for me, I suppose you've got to forgive me first for kissing you.'

‘But I liked it,' said Argas, ‘really.'

‘Well,' said Beric, ‘it would have saved a lot of trouble if you'd said so!'

‘I'm not sure. What I've really got to forgive you for was thinking like you did about the love-feast. As if you didn't care. That was
your
pride, wasn't it?'

‘I suppose so,' said Beric. ‘It just came into my head. I meant to hurt you.'

‘That was what made me angry. Instead of forgiving you at once like I ought to have. Why, you've not been to the love-feast yet, so you didn't know what you were doing when you spoke of it that way! Oh, I've got a lot to learn yet!'

He spoke ruefully. After a minute Beric said, ‘Is it always so bad to be made love to by the masters? I'm thinking of all the fellows I know who've got a pet slave boy or girl.'

‘Most of them don't mind,' said Argas, frowning and considering it. ‘They've accepted being slaves, and, of course, they're bound to make something out of it. And a good many like it; they're that way. But we—we Christians don't stand for that. Most of us—even the ones that can afford it—don't buy women. But if a man and woman fall in love, why then they get married and equal in love. Phineas needn't have married Sapphira; she was a slave. But he did.'

‘But why couldn't you have taken it from me?' Beric asked, and added, ‘Let's sit down. I shan't kiss you again!'