The Blood of the Martyrs (28 page)

Clinog stayed with them till near the end of August; they had some good days hunting. Beric did not speak again about killing, and Clinog hoped he had got over it. Better not raise the question again. The meeting between the brothers had been a success, Crispus thought; Beric was settling down. Probably the whole thing had been exaggerated. At any rate it had been taken in time. And then one afternoon, Sannio turned up, to say that Manasses had been arrested again and taken to prison.

Crispus was very angry. With Beric standing by, he questioned Sannio, who said that there was nothing fresh against Manasses. No, there had been no more meetings, nothing had been said or done. It had all just come out of the blue.
A squad of Praetorians had turned up at the house and taken him off. But was Sannio telling the truth? Beric followed him out and took him along to his own room. ‘What else happened?' he asked.

‘They didn't take Argas, sir,' said Sannio, looking at Beric sideways.

‘Why should they have?' Beric asked sharply. ‘It's all nonsense!'

‘Yes, of course, sir. Just as you say, sir. Argas seemed a bit down about it, all the same.'

‘Has he—talked to you much—these last weeks?'

‘Oh no sir, not about what he wasn't supposed to talk about. Not a word, sir.'

‘If you weren't such a bloody liar,' said Beric, ‘it would be easier to talk to
you
, I believe you've been decent to him—and the others. They must have said something.'

Sannio looked uncomfortable. ‘I don't want to get into trouble, sir. Nor yet to get any of the rest into trouble—'

‘You won't with me.'

‘That's what Argas said—to start with.'

‘Doesn't he now?'

‘Well, sir, he was upset like, you going away, without saying much. And not sending any word. Not that you could have most likely. I kept on telling the young bastard—'

‘Hell,' said Beric. ‘I ought to have done something. I'm a coward.' He made the sign of the cross, slowly and deliberately, at Sannio, who blinked.

‘I know it, sir,' he said, ‘but I'm not one of
them
. You're not, sir, surely?'

‘I nearly am. Enough for you to tell the police, Sannio.'

‘Don't you go putting it so awkward, sir! I couldn't help thinking there might be something—well, what I mean is, if it was just you being a bit gone on your Argas, the way I thought at first, you'd no call to fuss about the others the way you did. Only what I never did see was—'

‘Well, what?'

‘You being decent to me too, sir,' Sannio said, floundering. ‘When I was in your working party. Spoke to me like you'd speak to a free man. And then—you seemed to know what was wrong in the house: not big things, kind of
little things a gentleman wouldn't notice, not in an ordinary way. What I mean is, I don't see why, even if you do know that sign—'

‘Why I'd do things for the rest of you as well as for the Christians? Is that it? Because if one's a Christian, one's bound to think of you all as persons. Not just slaves. Not just things one owns and makes work.'

‘I see, sir,' said Sannio, and scratched his head. But why, thought Beric, hadn't it worked with Lamprion? Perhaps it just doesn't take on everyone. Only on people who're ready for it, who want to be in the Kingdom, more or less? Fairly decent people? He just didn't have the experience to know about it. Sannio said, ‘They've been arresting a lot of the Christians this last week. Everyone says now it was them started the fire.'

‘What's going to happen to them?'

‘Well, sir, it's being said they're going to be made an example of. In the Arena, like. Or burnt in the Emperor's new garden.'

Beric rubbed his hands across his face, then asked, in a queer, calm way, ‘What do you think of that, Sannio?'

‘Seems silly to me. If they're no worse than our people. And you, sir. If you're so near being one.' He hesitated, then said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but don't you go trying to go back. You won't do any good and you might get into it yourself.'

‘What would that matter?' said Beric.

‘It would to me,' said Sannio, obviously not lying.

After a moment Beric said, ‘Can you tell me the names of any who've been arrested?'

‘No one you'd know, sir,' Sannio answered, and then realised that perhaps, things being how they were, that wasn't so. He gave a few names, mostly of slaves from other households, but Beric shook his head. Then: ‘Oh, and Euphemia from the little scent shop—' And saw he had hit it this time.

Then Beric remembered that Lalage had been lodging with Euphemia. ‘Was anyone else arrested at her house?' he asked quickly.

‘I don't think so, sir.' Sannio would terribly have liked to do something for the Briton, something big, something
to show that he, Sannio, was as good as young Argas any day. Only if, after all, what he'd thought about him and Argas wasn't true—The Briton looked like he'd done that evening when Aelius Candidus hit him, when they'd all been on his side. They'd all been hit themselves, one way and another. Sannio had dodged it pretty often. He wished the Briton could dodge it now, think of something else. What did gentlemen think about? Sannio had been in the house five years, since he'd been a boy; the Briton had always been friendly to him. He ought to have known what to say. Only he'd never felt like this to one of his masters before.

Beric said heavily, ‘What did Manasses do when they arrested him?'

‘Nothing,' said Sannio. ‘You see, sir, he wouldn't want to get anyone else into trouble.'

‘They'll have a note of who was arrested before. Or if they haven't they'll—question him.'

‘Yes, sir.' Sannio put his hand, gingerly, on the Briton's shoulder. Would that be all right or would he be snapped at?

After a minute, Beric jumped up, took his hand and shook it, then said, ‘I'm going back to Rome tonight. Pack for me at once, will you, Sannio?' Then he went out, leaving Sannio to put his things into the saddle-bags. There was some money loose on the top of the chest, one piece had rolled on to the floor; obviously the Briton wouldn't have noticed if that piece hadn't rejoined the others. But Sannio carefully picked it up and put it back with the rest.

Beric went through and found Crispus explaining the situation to Clinog, who had never even heard of Christians. ‘I'm going back,' said Beric, ‘to see what's happening.'

‘You are doing nothing of the sort,' said Crispus. ‘I absolutely and categorically forbid you to leave this house.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Beric, ‘but it's my duty.'

‘I shall keep you here by force if necessary,' said Crispus. ‘Clinog, stop your brother from being a fool.'

Caradoc's sons regarded one another. Clinog said, ‘It will do no harm to talk things over, surely now, Beric?'

‘No,' said Beric, ‘but if you try to hold me I'll knock you down.'

Clinog turned uncertainly to Crispus. ‘Could you tell me, sir, why isn't he to go?'

‘Because he has been mixed up with this Christianity. You had better know, Clinog.'

‘But,' said Clinog, shocked, ‘if it is what you have been telling me, he would never have been in it. No!'

Beric said, ‘You've heard about it all wrong, Clinog.'

‘Well, Beric, aren't they enemies of society?'

‘Enemies of things as they are. Are you happy with things as they are, Clinog? Are you doing what you want?'

‘I have nothing to complain of, indeed no! Nor have you. Remember Rudri—'

‘What's all this nonsense!' said Crispus. ‘I have forbidden you to go to Rome, Beric, and that's that. I shall find out for myself what charges have been laid against my slave, and if they are well founded, the Law must take its course.'

‘That's what I'm going to find out,' Beric said.

‘Unfortunately I can no longer trust you to do it in a sensible way. I shall not be able to do so until I am certain you have nothing to do with this sect—even in thought.'

‘What do you suppose I would do?' Beric asked.

‘Get yourself killed, for one thing, you silly little fool! I shall use force if necessary to stop you going. You agree, Clinog?'

‘Of course, yes. Beric, you will be reasonable?'

‘If you let me go I will be reasonable. If you keep me by force I shall tell everyone it was because I am a Christian. Whether I am or not. You can't keep me forever.'

‘Suppose,' said Crispus, ‘I don't choose to put my family into shame and suspicion because of the disobedience of a barbarian boy?'

‘Yes,' said Beric, ‘you could kill me just as much as Tigellinus could.' He went over to where Crispus was sitting and knelt beside him. ‘Kill me then. Tell Clinog to kill me.'

‘Idiot!' said Crispus, and boxed his ears.

Beric wriggled and shook his head, but still knelt there. He said, ‘If I go, I give you my sacred promise I won't go to a Christian meeting or do anything the police could get me for, till you are back yourself. But I must find out
what's happening. I want to go with your consent. Please give it to me.'

Crispus took him by the shoulders, looked at him hard and long. ‘Beric,' he said, ‘you're not a Christian, are you? Surely—you haven't committed yourself? Tell me.'

‘No,' said Beric. ‘I haven't committed myself.'

‘Don't,' said Crispus, and kissed him on the forehead.

‘I—I won't,' said Beric shakenly, ‘not yet.'

‘Then go,' said Crispus, and Beric went out quietly. He turned to Clinog. ‘I shall have to go back earlier than I intended. I had a number of things to see to here. It will be most unpleasant in Rome. It is all extremely annoying. You Britons!—I wish I'd never set eyes on you.'

Eunice had mixed and kneaded the dough, which she now left to rise during the night, and she was waiting, with one small lamp on the table beside the rolling pin. She did not know if any of the others would come. In case they did, she had food; none of them might have dared to bring it. She thought of Euphemia in prison; there was to be no buying out this time. Euphemia had gone through a preliminary questioning, apparently to make her confess to incendiarism, witchcraft and poisoning. She laughed about it when Eunice saw her, but her face and arms were blotched with red and purple bruise marks, and there were patches of hair rough and loose where she had been dragged about by it. Eunice had wanted to send and tell the daughter at Neapolis, but that was the one thing Euphemia asked her not to do. Why had they picked on Euphemia? Nobody knew.

Eunice had seen Rhodon too; he had been knocked about rather, the last week or two, but not very systematically questioned. He kept on talking about how badly made his chains were; that seemed to have got on his nerves. But what could you expect from Government stuff? She had not been able to see Manasses; he was thought to be in another prison. People said things were bad there. Paul was often with the other prisoners in the Mamertine; as a citizen, and one not without honour in the rich Jewish community, he could have had a room to himself and need never have had anything to do with the rest; at first, in fact, he had not even been in the prison, but near by, under house arrest. However, things were different now; Antonius Paulus was a criminal like the rest of the Christians. Luke could still go in and out of the prison fairly easily; there had been no sign of his being arrested. He
had a wide practice, as a doctor; perhaps some of his patients were protecting him. He was lodging with some very respectable Greek merchants; they knew what he was, but not officially. He had cured the daughter of the house, who had some kind of fits.

As she waited, Eunice began to pray. She had always half expected this, but it was taking so long. Not knowing from day to day! Having to go on with ordinary life. Pretending. Sometimes she felt that if only they could all go out into the streets, catch hold of the passers-by, and say look at us, this is what we are, this is how we live, how we believe, isn't it just plain sense?—then everyone would see. Would stop being afraid of them and hating them. Ordinary people. Of course, the ones on top would still try and get them, but it didn't matter being hated by Caesar if you weren't hated by the woman round the corner. Oh Father, open my neighbour's eyes, so that she may stop hating me!

There was a knock on the door at last; she opened it, her face prepared either for a late customer, or for—But it was her son. ‘Oh, my darling,' she said, ‘is it all right you coming—sure?'

‘Of course it's all right,' Phaon said. ‘I'm not going to be frightened out of this.'

She brought him over near the lamp, looking closely at him; she hadn't seen him for a few days. It seemed to her that he was hardening, getting older, not her baby any longer but a man and a Christian. After that whipping he had been frightened and jumpy for days, crying and wanting to be petted. Now—he'd got over it, gone forward. So she mustn't pet him or mother him, mustn't in any way break down what he was growing into. ‘How are things in the house?' she asked.

‘The Briton's back. Did you know?'

‘I'd heard. Is he going to come tonight?'

‘Don't know. Argas was to tell him. Anyway, he's been over and seen Manasses. Says he's all right—more or less. Going to be transferred to the Mamertine.'

‘Was Manasses—questioned?'

‘Yes. You've got to expect that. First of all. Oh, don't be silly, mother, I'll stick it all right! If it's me. I just know I
can—now. We're getting a bit of practice in the house: at nights mostly. They've been trying to make us say things, Argas and me; but we don't. We've got strength. I didn't know what it was before, being a Christian, but I know now and I'm glad.'

‘I'm glad too, my son. I suppose poor Dapyx won't come?'

‘No. Won't even let us speak to him. And it isn't as though they'd knocked him about that much. Only the poor old bastard couldn't stick it. I believe the only one, God willing, who could get him back, would be the Briton—if he would.'

‘Why shouldn't he?'

‘Well, he's queer. I don't exactly know what it is, but perhaps a gentleman can't ever be one of us. I tell you what, mother, the one I'm worried about is Josias.'

‘But he's been in the Church for years. You don't ever mean to say Josias is yellow!'

‘Ever since Manasses was taken he's been down. We've got to be steady now, but he's not. The way I see it, he was getting strength from Manasses all the time, and now he's stopped thinking of all we've had and got; he's stopped thinking of the Kingdom. He's only thinking they're going to do in Manasses and that's got him right down.'

‘You think—it's that for Manasses?'

‘Yes. Don't you, mother?'

‘I do, son. Only I keep on sort of saying to myself—well, there, I'm nothing but a silly old woman. I know well enough it's not any of us that matters—not as a single life. They can't stop the Kingdom.'

‘It's going to be made strong this way. So that it'll spring up at once, anywhere, any time. Whenever there's a chance. Whenever the lid's lifted. See? Manasses and me, we've been working together day after day, all these years, ever since I was a kid. Maybe I'll never see him again. Well, that's all right. We've faced that. Talked it out. Got to die some way, some day, mother. This way it's worth it. I couldn't not die myself now, not after seeing what it's all about. But it's no use chewing it all over again: it's so. It's certain. Here's someone else, mother.'

Eunice went to the door. It was Phineas and Sapphira, standing very close together, she carrying a basket. At least they were prepared for the love-feast. They waited till the door was shut before whispering the peace greeting and sitting down together. Phineas asked for news of Rhodon, saying that the watch-dog missed him: it was always whining now. He added, ‘You remember that Armenian Rhodon found: He came to me. Rhodon must have spoken to him and he wants to join. What do you think, Eunice?' Phineas was still very uneasy because it was he, first, who had made friends with Sotion—and if he could make such a mistake of judgment as that—!

‘Does he know what it means—well, what it's almost bound to mean?' Eunice asked.

‘Yes. But it seems he was kind of—struck—by what Rhodon did. He felt it binding.'

‘When one gets the luck to do anything that's a copy of what He might have done, it's binding all right,' Eunice said. ‘Does he know the Words at all?'

‘Not really. He speaks a funny kind of Greek.'

‘Well, you send him on over, Phineas, and I'll teach him. If I'm still here.' She went to the door again. This time it was Lalage and Sophrosyne. Lalage was in a dance dress, straight from a party, and Sophrosyne was carrying her double flutes round her neck, and her new harp, done up in a cloth, under her arm. Lalage took the cloak off and began rubbing the make-up off her face. But Eunice stopped her. ‘Don't you do that. It'll look better—if we need to pretend.'

Lalage agreed and laughed. ‘Don't mind my silly clothes,' she said.

‘It's a good one,' Phaon said, regarding professionally her semi-transparent dress, painted provocatively here and there with eyes and flowers. He added, ‘Wish there was a chance of Persis coming. I've not seen the kid for weeks.'

‘Nor old Niger,' Phineas said.

‘You can't expect too much from Persis, son,' Eunice said.

‘I expect everything,' Phaon said, in an odd, hard way, ‘from everyone who's had—this.' He looked round. Lalage nodded at him. She was deacon now, but she didn't know
how long that would last. She was fairly certain to be arrested, especially since Euphemia's arrest; she and Sophrosyne had only just moved into a room of their own when that happened. But it was possible that Phaon might be regarded as harmless; if so it was important that he should have the Spirit. He would have to go on.

The next knock was Argas and Josias. Again the peace greeting was whispered and the door shut and bolted behind them. Eunice was half wondering—but it was Lalage who asked, ‘What about Beric?'

‘Well, I'm not his wet-nurse!' Argas snapped at her.

‘You told him, didn't you?'

‘Oh, I told him all right. He didn't seem to take any notice.'

Lalage said quickly, ‘What exactly do you mean? Is he out of it?'

‘He saw Manasses. Talked to them sharp at the prison, so I heard. And he's been—finding out. Going to see people. Doing things maybe. I don't know. But he's not said anything to me, not really. And I wanted him in—so bloody bad.' Argas dropped his face into his hands and muttered again, ‘Wanted him in—before—it's all smashed.'

‘It won't be smashed,' Lalage said. ‘Only perhaps we shall be. That's different.'

‘We ought to have baptised him,' Argas said, ‘when he wanted. At once. Then he'd have been here.'

‘Only if he thought he was bound in honour, or some boys' game. Not good enough for us. We've got to be in the Kingdom
for
the Kingdom now, not bribed or forced.'

‘Perhaps it's too much to ask them to give up,' Eunice said. ‘If you've been one of the masters all this time, you can't want it the same way as we do—not enough to make everything else look silly.'

‘He
did
want it,' Argas said. ‘Only something happened.'

‘All the other things have been pulling him,' Lalage said. ‘He may be strong enough to make them let go in time. We'll see. And he may think there's another way, Argas, and until he sees there isn't, he'll try it. You can't be in a thing like this unless you're sure. And you've got to be sure on your own, with God's help.' She went over
to Argas and pulled his hands gently away from his face and whispered, ‘Stop crying, Argas. If he's in it, he's in it with you—and all of us—whether it's now or years on, perhaps, later—whatever's going to happen to us. In Jesus' name, Argas, get steady or you'll shake us all.' In the dim light she was watching Josias. Something was wrong with him, more wrong than with Argas, who now rather ashamedly, sat up and shook himself and began to think of Jesus and the others.

They began to talk business, discussing what was the best line to take with people who said that the fire had been the work of the Christians, but who knew nothing about them. Lalage, in the course of making her living, heard a good deal. She had noticed how those who had at first been inclined to blame the fire on the Emperor—not personally, of course, but saying with dinner party irony that it was a peculiarly fortunate accident for those who wanted to change Rome or to take men's minds off the loss of their political liberty!—now said that it was an excellent thing to use it for getting rid of these Christians. They were inclined to approve the Emperor for having thought of it: here was something in the old Roman manner—there'd be no Greek nancy-boys or Olympic Games nonsense about the Games in the Arena next month! They'd be the real thing. Blood. Both she and Sophrosyne had heard it from the other side too, waiting about among the household slaves for their turn to come on at a party. Here again the forthcoming Games would be discussed. The kind of show you'd only see in the capital of the world. Not just half a dozen murderers who might be all killed off and eaten in ten minutes at the other end of the Arena, but tens—hundreds!—and women as well:
girls
. You'd see them ripped up, everything torn off them, and with so many there'd be bound to be some close for you to see properly.

These slaves, or again, the small shopkeepers she dealt with, were much more inclined to believe that it really was the Christians who had started the fire, and they had no end of stories, which someone must have taken some trouble to make up and circulate, about the kind of monsters the Christians were, wanting to smash up everything that had
always been held sacred, holding horrible orgies! Here and there someone might have known one of the men or women who'd been arrested, would say you'd never have thought it to look at them; decent, they'd seemed, quiet-spoken, but there—you never knew! And sometimes Lalage had been able to put in a word, enough to make them feel a bit uncertain and uncomfortable about it, to make them wonder. Eunice could do that too, sometimes. The Jewish community were very much divided, Phineas said, and some of the old Nazarenes, his father for instance, kept on insisting that this was the beginning of the Wrath and Judgment before the Second Coming. The Emperor wasn't a man at all, but Satan himself. Those who'd seen him near to, at nights, said there were flames coming out of his mouth all the time! ‘You don't believe that, do you, Lalage?' he asked anxiously.

‘No,' she said. ‘It's all nonsense. You don't have to make things up and talk big to show why this is happening. It's all plain. They just want to get rid of us because we've got something so much better and stronger than anything of theirs that it's bound to win unless it can be stopped. And then—it'll come everywhere. That's the only way it's the Coming, Phineas.'

‘I think this is all of us,' Eunice said. ‘Shall I get the food and wine, Lalage?'

‘Please, sister,' said Lalage, and then looked round them. ‘Remember, friends, if they come, no panic. I start dancing, the rest of you drinking and clapping. You throw your veil back, Sapphira dear, and laugh. It mayn't work, but it's a chance, and we may as well go on living as long as we can. Anyway, I don't think they'll come tonight.'