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 Christ
ians 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!’
‘But suppose you did,’ said Argas, ‘and you got kiss for kiss from me, and more—what would it do to both of us? We’d want to grab one another, wouldn’t we? We’d be apt to get angry and jealous. And it would come between us and the rest of the Church, being two instead of being all. It would come between us and the words of the prayer and the remembering of Jesus.’
‘Manasses seemed to think,’ said Beric, ‘that your Jesus said we’d got to cut out all this if we wanted the Kingdom. Have we really got to?’
‘The Jews don’t hold with it,’ Argas said, ‘as between man and man. It’s against their Law. They’re always wanting to have children. Even Manasses really wants that. But I’m a Greek, and what I think is that Jesus wouldn’t let Himself get tied up with love for any single man or woman because He meant His love to be for all. There was an old woman, I can’t remember her name, only she was in Rome last year; she stayed with Claudia Acté. All of us went over to the other Church to hear what she’d got to say. She came from one of those little towns on the sea of Galilee, but she spoke Greek, so she must have been someone in her time. She was on her way north, telling about Jesus in the new Churches. She’d been in love with Him, and He’d been kind, the way it still made her happy thinking about it, but not different to how He was to all who were in the Kingdom with Him. I think that old lady must have been very beautiful then; maybe it was difficult for Him not to love her more than others. But there it was. Now I’ll tell you something. I think you only kissed me because you’ve felt full of love to us all ever since the feet-washing and it was only me because I happened to be there.’ Beric gave a start; it was a disquieting echo of what he had said to Flavia and forgotten, but now remembered. Perhaps it was always true of all love-making? Argas went on, ‘You wouldn’t have kissed old Sophrosyne or Dapyx, say; it wouldn’t have fitted. But Sapphira or Phaon or Lalage? Wouldn’t any of us have done?’
‘Yes,’ said Beric. ‘I think you’re right. I don’t know myself just now. Oh, I wish you’d all let me be baptised soon!’
‘I expect we shall,’ said Argas. ‘Come on down or we shall be late.’
Actually they were almost the last to get down to the boiler-room and most of the business discussion was over. They gave one another the peace greeting. Manasses was there, and so were Euphemia, Lalage and Sophrosyne. Lalage had had one dinner engagement since the fire; she wouldn’t let the Church open a special fund for her dresses, but she’d borrowed a couple from Claudia Acté, who had seemed, she thought, to be sadder than usual. Her little house was full of refugees, and she was cheerful enough to them, but something was wrong underneath. Lalage wondered if she’d ever be told what it was. Persis, Josias and Dapyx were there from the house, though Persis was a little worried. Supposing her mistress wanted her? She knew that the Italian maid assumed that she’d slipped out to meet a lover and would be correspondingly sympathetic and helpful, but still—if Flavia woke up and for some reason wanted her? Well, it would be worth it.
Beric found that all of them met his eyes now, and smiled. Niger said, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get to answering you that day, brother. Things was just so I couldn’t.’
‘I know,’ said Beric. ‘Next time I’ll just look at you and you’ll know I’m thinking it.’
Rhodon and Phineas were there too, but again Sapphira hadn’t been able to get away. She and the Christian widow, and perhaps one or two other women, would be praying now. Rhodon explained that he had begun to tell Abgar, who was now working with him for his keep. But not enough, yet, to bring him. Beric couldn’t help supposing that Rhodon was bound to take a long time to get that far with anyone.
On their way down Argas had gone into the room where the oil jars were stored. He brought out their cup and filled it from an earthenware wine jar which was hidden in a hole in the wall. He said to Beric, ‘We bought it ourselves. It’s not good wine. But—’
‘I shall like it,’ Beric said.
Everyone who had come in from the outside had brought food, except Niger. Euphemia and Lalage had fried a nice piece of fish. Rhodon had brought a small pot of honey and Phineas some lettuce and a couple of hard-boiled eggs which they cut up into slices; he couldn’t bring much because of their refugees. They hadn’t any bread yet, but Beric recognised that what the house slaves had brought was part of the remains of dinner, the usual perquisite of the dining-room boys. Yes, there were the extra slices that had been cut off the roast kid, and some mixed vegetables—he knew he hadn’t finished what was on his plate, nor had Crispus. And there were some bits of the almond cake. The food was all being put out on to chipped pottery bowls and laid on the tree bole between the lamps. Tactfully, Beric looked away, but Manasses said, ‘It’s only what we’d have had anyhow. We’re just eating it later instead of at once.’ Beric believed that; they all looked rather hungrily at the food, especially Niger.
The two benches were brought up to the tree bole. Manasses began to pray, quietly. ‘Our Father,’ he said, ‘we know we shall have our bread. We ask You for it and we always get it; this evening and at other times. Give us the daily bread of the Spirit. Let us always stay certain of You and of Jesus and of the Kingdom; even if we are separated from one another, let us keep hold on that. Let us not even need the love-feast or the feet-washing to make us certain. Our Father and Jesus: when danger comes, be our strength, be in us, let us feel you strongly. And give us knowledge of the Kingdom tonight.’
Phineas added, ‘Come to us, Jesus, when You are ready. We are ready for You. We are always ready. We are thinking of You and the love-feast You made for Your friends. Messiah, may Your time come soon!’
Some of them sat down on the benches, waiting, but not impatiently. Beric whispered to Lalage, ‘Is that another meaning of the Words—the daily bread of the Spirit?’
‘Yes,’ said Lalage. ‘Daily certainty, daily knowledge, living and stirring in us all the time. Lifting our hearts. We ask for that in the prayer, and mostly we get it.’
‘I wish you’d let me have the baptism soon,’ he said. ‘I feel ready.’
‘What do you think, Manasses?’ she asked, leaning over.
‘He’s untried,’ said Manasses, ‘it’s different with most of us. What do the rest of you think? Argas?’
‘I’m not fit to judge,’ Argas said. ‘I quarrelled with him earlier this evening.’
‘Have you forgiven one another?’ Manasses asked quickly and very gravely.
‘Yes. We wouldn’t have come otherwise. It was my fault mostly. I think I like him too much to know about him.’
Beric was startled and uncomfortable at all this coming out, but nobody seemed to notice much, except Lalage, who said, ‘We all like him. We want him to be one of us. We’ll see if the Spirit comes.’
Niger said ruminatively, ‘I can’t see just how it feels for a gentleman to want our baptism.’
Then Phaon came running down the twisting steps, his arms full of long loaves. ‘Sorry I’m late!’ he said, then, ‘Oh, sorry, Manasses, peace be with you! Here’s the bread.’
‘Peace be with you,’ said Manasses, taking it. ‘Where’s your mother?’
‘Mother said she was frightfully disappointed, but she simply can’t come; she’s got an order for the relief office for every last loaf she can bake before tomorrow morning!’
‘Well then,’ said Manasses, ‘I think we’re all here. We won’t wait any longer for Sotion; he may have been kept. He seemed a bit upset and queer about something last time, but he wouldn’t say. Perhaps he’s got something on his conscience and doesn’t feel he can ask for forgiveness yet.’
‘He’s bound to soon,’
Euphemia said. ‘There’s nothing like forgiveness, is there!’
Manasses looked round, counted and said to Beric, smiling, ‘Twelve, and you, brother.’
Niger picked up one of the loaves and smelt it. ‘Fresh white bread. There’s nothing so good in the world. And some folks eat it every day.’
He put the loaf back on the chopping-block and they all came closer, in a half circle, Beric, shaking with excitement, between Manasses and Lalage; looking at the food, he wondered if it wasn’t going to turn suddenly into something strange and other. Manasses said, ‘Let us take this bread and break it, friends.’
‘In the Name of Jesus,’ answered Euphemia and Rhodon from the two ends of the half circle, and they, too, picked up a loaf each and all broke the bread and handed it round. Each man or woman had a big piece of bread and something to go with it from the table, giving one another what seemed best. Manasses gave Niger one of the two whole slices of meat. Leaning over, their hands and fingers met on the food in the light and slight warmth of the three little lamps set amongst it. Beric had his bread dipped in the honey. Then they all sat down, either on the benches or on the floor. Manasses sat on one bench and Beric sat at his feet, beside Lalage. But all were close to one another, in touch. After the first few bites even the hungriest ate slowly; they were quiet, waiting, letting pain and anger and anxiety drop off them. Obviously they had learnt to do this, but Beric was strung up, wondering what would happen next. Lalage put her hand on his. ‘Breathe deep,’ she said, ‘watch the lamps, think of the others. We are safe here.’
And after a time Beric felt that too, only he wanted to be completely one of them. Gradually he became filled with a mist of sadness hardened into sharp thoughts of all he had done or not done, of unkindness and injustice and time wasted. For a moment he thought of his mother and Britain and a child’s burrow in the bracken among bright hill pansies, in Wales perhaps, and he was ready to cry. He may have moaned a little, because he felt Manasses’s hand on his head, once more as it had been that other time in blessing, and then he thought of all the oppressed people, all slaves and prisoners and hurt, all the men and women who were people and might be in the Kingdom, but who were at that moment and always being treated as things by a thing; and his sadness was changed into indignation at this great sin of which he had been a part, but which now he hoped he would never be part in again. As he thought that, he looked away from the lamps, across Lalage to Dapyx and Rhodon on her other side, and on the opposite bench Niger and Josias and Persis, Argas at their feet, Phineas and Euphemia beyond, friendly and trusting—and oh by that vulnerable!—across the low table of the love-feast. Old Sophrosyne behind him dreaming, Phaon next to him with his face lifted up and his lips moving.
The Blood of the Martyrs Page 20
