The Blood of the Martyrs (48 page)

‘I don't see that you can do anything except you get close,' Eunice answered, bothered.

‘That's something we'll have to find out,' Phaon said, and his voice had hardened again. But Felicio suddenly had the idea of books; if a poet could write a book that was about something here and now, not hundreds of years ago. But could you do that with a book?

‘Didn't change old Hermeias, seeing it,' said Mikkos thoughtfully. ‘He knows about us: bound to. But he keeps himself away from us. Embarrassed, like.'

‘He had something else,' Felicio said, ‘which did for him instead of the Kingdom. Some kind of a Mystery.' He realised, with a certain amusement, that he was considering this Mystery, which Hermeias was so serious about, as a mere bit of superstition—just in the same way that Nausiphanes considered the thing which he himself was about to do.

‘And seeing may shake a man up, but not to go our way,' said Sannio, ‘like with that brother of Beric's.'

‘What really happened about that?' Phaon asked. ‘I never knew, not being in the house myself then.'

‘I wasn't there either, not when he came,' Sannio said. ‘We were still in the prison. All I know is, he came round that night, and he went for the old man—it was Lamprion told me—something savage. As if it had been
his
doing. Went for him good and proper, shouting and yelling, oh my, oh my! Not even in Latin, it seems, but in that language of theirs. This Beric of our's and his brother, they were King's sons, see Carpus? From some place up north. Proper barbarians they were, to start with. And then, all of a sudden, he hit the old man, hit him real nasty, and then Lamprion and Pistos and the rest, who'd been sent out but were just behind the door, as I'd have been myself, well they all ran in and caught hold of him and were all for sending for the police. But the old man, he said no, and he told them to let Clinog loose, and then they went out together—past midnight it was, then—and neither Lamprion nor any of us so much as allowed to follow. Hermeias was asleep then: he'd had a bit of a doing, poor bastard. So he wasn't in on it, either way.'

‘But was that all?' Phaon asked.

‘Seems so,' said Sannio.

‘Not like Beric, to let it go at that,' Phaon said, puzzling. But he had never ever seen Clinog. It might be true.

But after a minute Eunice said, ‘I can tell you the rest. I don't see why I shouldn't: not among ourselves. You see, it was here that Flavius Crispus brought him. To my bakery. I was asleep and it was all dark. I jumped up. Oh, I could lay it was bad news! About you, son. But it was those two. And when Crispus said it was Beric's brother, I fell to crying, silly it was, but I was all shook up. And then Crispus told me, very quiet, how this Clinog had struck him, and said what should he do. So I said, he'd best hit you again, if that's how he feels, or me for that matter, who cares about being hit now? And then Crispus said, you tell him about it, Eunice, for I can't. So I did tell him.'

‘Everything?' said Phaon.

‘Yes. But it didn't take, son. He listened, yes, but then he began to laugh. Not right laughter, but queer. And he said, so that's what my brother died for, and he struck me. And Crispus would have stopped him, but I said no, let him. And he said, this is what Rome has done to both of my brothers. I never knew there'd been another brother, even. And at last he said, get me a transfer to Britain, I'm going back before it's too late. And Crispus said, I will try and do that for you, Clinog. And I believe that's just what he's been doing.'

‘And that's that,' Phaon said. Then, ‘Has anyone any other business?'

Megallis looked up and asked, ‘Any news of Paul?'

‘I've heard no more, not definite,' Phaon said. ‘Has anyone else?'

Phineas said, ‘I saw one of the officers from Aquila's old church. She said he'd come up for trial next month. It's certain to be a capital sentence. Well, we know and he knows. And we needn't fear any temptation for him. He'll die for us, just as he's lived for us all these years.'

‘I'd like to have seen him,' Sannio said. ‘It would be something to keep in one's head. Will it be a public execution, him being a citizen?' But nobody knew that.

‘I tell you who's seen him,' Phaon said, ‘and that's Junius Gallio. Heard him say so at dinner one day. He went back to the prison to visit him: seems they had quite an argument. Got a nerve, Gallio has, going back to the Mamertine. I wish I knew what those old birds were after, though; they send us out after dinner and, what's more, they see no one's listening.'

It occurred to Felicio that he half thought he did know, putting two and two together. But how did it fit in with Christianity? That was what he did not know yet, could not begin to consider until his mind was calm again. If it ever was. And then from beside him Niger spoke. ‘Friends, I got someone. He works by me, sleeps by me. I tell him all the stories. I tell him the Name some time. Can I bring him here? My brother Felicio, he'll help us maybe, over us getting out.'

Felicio thought quickly, who is it? Who sleeps in the shed by Niger? ‘Is it the new Cappadocian?' he asked,
and Niger nodded. And I didn't know Felicio thought, not a thing! Those two in that stinking shed, chained and sore half the time, whispering to one another, and old Niger helping this other poor bastard—I ought to have been doing it. Well anyway, I'll see to squaring the porter sometimes. That's not much. I'm glad I washed Niger's feet last time; I'm glad I wanted to when it came to him. No end queer, that was. I shall be doing it again. I shall be washing the feet of this newcomer, this Cappadocian—can't even think of his name—when he comes. There will be this joining us for ever. As you showed us, Jesus. The others were discussing it now, questioning Niger. Phaon said he would go over to Aelius Balbus's house next time there was a chance and try to see this man: better not let him meet the whole Church yet, in case—

They decided to hold the next meeting in Phineas's kitchen. It was better, these days, not to have it twice running in the same place. They had not held one in the old boiler-room since the troubles. Phaon and the rest were all very careful in the house. None of them ever said a word to Lamprion and the others. But it was probable that any of the rest of the slaves who might have their suspicions would also know that anyone who informed the police of Phaon's or Persis's whereabouts, would be liable to be dealt with himself by the master.

Carpus had some questions to ask. And he wanted to show that he knew the Words. He only had the first meaning so far, the meaning on the surface. But which of us knows every meaning, Felicio thought—not I. Then Phaon looked all round from one member to another of his Church. ‘Friends, there are two who want to join us. Do we take them?'

Eprius went dead still, listening. After a moment Phineas said, ‘Let us hear them, friends.'

‘Who stands surety for them?' Phaon asked formally.

‘I stand for Felicio,' Niger said.

‘I stand for Eprius,' said Eunice.

Phaon answered, ‘These are good sureties. We accept them.' Then he spoke again. ‘You who are with us, but not of us yet, Abgar, Marulla and Carpus, you must go now.' The two men said they would walk back with Marulla;
it was safer. Phaon warned them not to say anything in the street which ought not to be overheard, even if they thought they were alone; you never knew, now. Abgar said goodnight and peace on them, rather gloomily, and suddenly Sapphira said, ‘Oh, I'm sure it's going to be you soon, brother! God will give you understanding.' When he had gone she excused herself. ‘He does want so much to be in! But he always gets something wrong, poor thing.'

There was a short pause and a little shifting and whispering, while Eunice opened her oven and took out the loaves, Niger helping her. Persis changed over to sit by Noumi; all came rather closer together. Counting the two new ones, they were twelve now; there were certain numbers that it was gladdening for them to be. The delicious smell of the hot bread filled all the bakery, making Felicio so faint that he had to slip down from the edge of the kneading trough and sit on the floor with his head between his knees. Bread. The common, the necessary thing, so dull or so desirable. Common life and necessary actions might also be beautiful, given love. The possibility of love. He hadn't wanted love before; he had been content to be alone and intelligent and ironic, taking lightly what pleasures were to be had. Then he had loved Beric and that had been taken from him. And then? Was this feeling in his breast and head now love of mankind, or was it rather the urgent necessity for something obviously reasonable which was pressing on him?—which was pressing them together, breaking down barriers, making them feel towards one another in an unreasonable and irrational way. You might call it love. He looked up and realised that Eprius was in the middle of his confession.

Eprius had lived an ordinary life. He came from the poorest citizen class and he thought it a bit of luck getting into the City Guards; he was proud of his Detachment. He'd had enough money for drink and women; sometimes he'd gambled away half his pay, but he won almost as often as he lost. He'd taken part in official religious ceremonies with a certain feeling of awe and satisfaction; on private matters he had consulted an astrologer. He had not heard of the Christians until the time of the fire. When it came out that they were to be publicly disposed of at the Games in
the Circus Maximus, he thought it was only just and right; that was where they'd started the fire. He'd been on sentry duty at one of the prisons and had been one of the squad detailed to take a batch of them across Rome to the Circus. So he was beside them, close to them for quite a bit. And instead of being real criminals, the kind it was a pleasure to poke a spear into the behind of, they were a lot of decent-looking old women, and children even, and ordinary folk. That made several of the guards feel bad, as if they'd been cheated, though they didn't quite know what of. And as for Eprius himself, the lid had been put properly on it when one of the women turned and thanked him. As if she'd meant it. And you couldn't get out of it by saying they were mad. She just wasn't mad. Or if she was then everyone was!

‘So later on that afternoon it was their turn,' Eprius said, his voice getting more and more choked, ‘and we knew because of the row the beasts were making. And then the row stopped. And I couldn't speak. Dumb I went. Like I'd been hit on the head. And when the bugle went for fall-out, I couldn't seem to want to go anywhere nor do anything. Some of my mates, they wanted a drink bad. But I wanted something more and I says to myself, what? But there wasn't a thing I could do then, not a thing. Oh friends, you don't know what it was like those next days. You can't ever know. I kept on—dreaming. You see friends, before, when I'd been on prison duty, I'd not taken notice and I'd knocked one or two about that happened to be in my way, and then in the street— But it wasn't only me. Friends, you're all one Church here and what happens to all happens to each of you in a manner of speaking. And it's all my Detachment I keep on thinking about: what we did to them, among us. To the girls and all. Not giving it a thought. And now—now—it's burning me—'

‘You shall be cooled in the water that washes away sin,' Phaon said. ‘And if any of your mates get to feeling the same—later on, maybe—you'll know what to do about it.'

Eprius, on his knees, caught at the edge of young Phaon's tunic. ‘Oh, we did sin bad! And then they called us brothers. She did, that woman with the bandage round her head. I don't see how what we did gets forgiven.'

‘You don't know how,' said Phaon, ‘but you do know why. She forgave you. We forgive you. Don't we do that, brothers and sisters?'

‘In Jesus' name, yes,' said Phineas, and the others repeated it, some of them coming over to Eprius and touching him, and he, looking from face to face, began to believe it. Then one after the other questioned him, to see that he understood the Way of Life and the meaning of prayer and the intention of fasting and why the Christ had died.

Felicio listened and was suddenly aware that it was his own turn. He took a step or two, hesitating, into the middle of the group. What was there to be afraid of? He knew them all. But it wasn't that. It was something beyond any of them. Because of which, you had to go down on your knees in a need to worship stronger than any other of the body's needs. What was it?—oh, let me catch it, let it be plain, why do I want the Will of the universe to be done more than my own will? It is not that I want a father or a master—nothing as simple as that—not merely that I am lonely, I was that before—not merely that our world is obviously not just a chance scattering together of particles that may by chance equally be scattered apart—it is behind all that and yet nearer, yet in me, oh, I have nearly found it— ‘Brother,' said Niger, ‘don't you be afraid now. Just you speak to us.'

And he must speak. He must leave whatever it was un-caught, perhaps because it was uncatchable. Yes, he was on his knees and they were all round. ‘Brothers and sisters,' he said, ‘I thought I could live without this. Forgive me.'

Eunice kept on thinking of others who'd come for their baptism, most of all young Argas. He was a sweet boy, the nicest of all maybe. But now they'd decided it was safest not to baptise in Tiber. You'd got to take some risks, agreed, but this wasn't one of the necessary ones. It would have meant half the night, getting far enough beyond the city to be certain you were out of sight; that wasn't fair on the slaves who'd have to be back or they'd catch it. Besides, you'd got to pass out of the gate and that meant being seen by the guards, and you never quite knew— Well, there were some Churches that managed with a rainwater cistern; they
were full now after the October rains and plenty of them all over Rome, but there wasn't one near Eunice's and you couldn't use the well. But you could draw water from it, and so Eunice did, while the questioning went on; herself, she didn't want to ask Felicio anything; she didn't doubt about his being all right. Noumi came and helped her; it took a good few bucketsful to make much impression on the big kneading trough. How her arms and back had ached over that trough, to be sure, working methodically and evenly through the dough, every two or three days, according to what orders she was getting: good bread, Eunice's, as good as any in Rome.