How cool and sweet-smelling the house was after the prison. If one could stay here always leading the easy life of a dining-room servant, content with little things … Too late. If one had been having knowledge of the Kingdom all this time, one could not go back to the little things.
Now they were sent for. It was no use making a plan. Their master was sitting in his armchair and old Felix beside him, looking delighted; he did not often have a chance of taking it out of the dining-room boys. Beric was there, too; it was his testing time, a different kind of test to theirs. Manasses went down on his knees; so did the others. Crispus looked at them; he said, ‘What is all this nonsense I hear about your being Christians?’
‘We are Christians, sir,’ Manasses said. ‘I am the leader.’
‘You wretched little Jew! Admitting it! So you were actually holding one of your filthy meetings in my house. A nice way of repaying me for all the kindness I’ve shown you. Have you or haven’t you been well treated here?’
‘Always, sir.’
‘Then what the devil do you mean by joining this miserable sect?’
Manasses just didn’t know how to begin to answer. At last he said, ‘Perhaps it isn’t as bad as you think, sir.’
‘Indeed? Are you or are you not, as Christians, enemies of society? Answer. Do you or do you not wish to destroy civilisation?’
‘Not the way you mean, sir!’
‘I’m afraid I’m not interested in how you propose to do it, Manasses. Whether by burning Rome or in some other way. You admit to treasonable intentions. You admit that this sect of yours is against law and order. Do you? Answer.’
As Manasses hesitated, Argas answered, much less gently, ‘We’ve got something better to put in its place!’
‘Indeed, Argas? And what is that?’
Argas would have found it easier to answer violence than irony. He said angrily, ‘Brotherhood.’ And looked away. His master had made it an impossible word, had withered it!
When Beric tried to say something, Crispus simply told him to hold his tongue. Then he regarded the slaves. At last he said, ‘There will be no more Christianity in this household. If any of you are caught having meetings, making signs or talking about it, you will be sold at once. Or possibly sent back to prison. In the meantime Felix will deal with you appropriately. Ah, yes, and double the amount for Manasses, as he is the leader. You admitted to being the leader, I think, Manasses?’
‘Let me take it for the others, sir,’ Manasses said.
‘That would impair your value as my property. No. Ah, and one other matter. There can be no question of your manumission, Phaon, until I am quite satisfied that you are no longer in any way connected with this wretched business. You may go.’ They got to their feet, backing out from under their master’s eyes. He called after Felix, ‘By the way, the dining-room slaves are to be back at their duty this evening. See to it.’ When they were out he looked at Beric in a way that made him very uncomfortable and said, ‘You began to interrupt me just now. Well, what was it?’
Beric said, ‘I know all these slaves. They’re some of the best you’ve got—even the kitchen boy. Whether or not they’re Christians, don’t let Felix do what he likes with them! They’ll be spoilt.’
‘What do you mean?’
Against the cold tone, Beric floundered on, ‘I mean, instead of having trust and—and affection from them—because I know they like you—there’ll be hate and—oh, suspicion and fear! They’ve been honest, they’ve worked well, there’s nothing against any of them—’
‘You call this nothing. I see. Well, go on.’
‘When Argas said brotherhood, what he meant was the Stoic thing what I was taught—what you wanted me to learn. They only put it a different way—’
‘You seem to know rather a lot about it. Do you?’
‘Yes,’ said Beric, ‘I do.’
‘You had better forget it as soon as possible. Immediately after the wedding we shall go to the country. In the meantime … yes, go down to the yard and stay there during the whole of this punishment. It will be salutary for you to see it. You are not to speak to any of the slaves. Do you understand?’
‘Oh, very well!’ said Beric and walked out with his head in the air, looking like a young savage. As if he had never had a Roman education. Flavius Crispus was horribly worried about him. Surely he couldn’t have been getting among the Christians? If so—it was quite obvious that the Christians were going to be exterminated. Whatever else he was or wasn’t, Tigellinus was efficient. Really, Crispus felt, he was doing the greatest possible kindness to his slaves in getting them out of it now, while there was till time.
Beric went very quickly to Flavia’s room and called, low. ‘Flavia!’ he said, ‘your father’s told that old fool Felix to whip your maid, and if you don’t go and stop him she won’t be fit to do your hair tomorrow.’ That was quite decisive for Flavia; she came straight along and pulled Persis away. No doubt Persis would get slapped or have a few pins stuck into her, but at least it wouldn’t be as bad as a flogging from Felix.
But Beric stayed. It took a long time and no cloud came over the August sun. They all yelled except Argas, and the kind of quivering grunts he gave were very near it before the end. There was no nonsense about not cutting the backs of the dining-room slaves, and Phaon, who had never had more than the lightest flick before, was twisting and squealing like a pig in three minutes. Manasses stuck it the first time, but he was taken before the others and then had to watch them all before his second go; by that time his back was swollen, the bruises were coming out and the edges of the cuts drying and it all hurt that much more—as Felix intended it should. In the end they were all lying on the ground in a very complete mess and stink, and Felix threw a few buckets of water over them. Manasses had fainted; after a minute or two Josias shifted a bit and began to stroke Manasses’s forehead and whisper to him. Beric was merely crying. In a little he went back to the house. He sat in his room till dinner was ready. From time to time he tried to say the prayer, but he couldn’t make it mean anything.
Before dinner was quite ready, Mikkos and Sannio came along to remind him to wash and change, which otherwise he would have forgotten to do. They had both been in his working party. ‘You cheer up, sir,’ Mikkos said, ‘they’re all right.’
‘Oh, are you sure?’ Beric asked. It seemed very unlikely.
‘Lord, yes. In a week they’ll have forgotten all about it, sir.’
‘Will they? I shan’t!’
‘It’s just you not being used to it, sir,’ Sannio said. ‘Argas is doing fine. He was asking after you.’ This was quite untrue; Sannio had been looking after Argas a bit, but he hadn’t said a word about Beric; however, Sannio thought he’d try it out and see how the Briton took it. Beric was obviously delighted—which only showed what a liar young Argas was, thought Sannio, wishing to himself that he could have the Briton fussing over him like that!
Beric put on a clean tunic and went in to supper. There was only himself and Crispus, so, while the meal went on, Hermeias read aloud from an edifying volume of Panaetius on the so-called good. During dessert Crispus usually asked Beric questions about the chapter to see if he had been attending, but this evening Beric did not listen to one sentence in ten. The slaves were all in attendance, including Manasses and Argas. Even if one hadn’t known, it would have been quite obvious from their faces and the way they moved, what had been done to them. The others did most of the waiting and stooping, but Crispus ordered Manasses to pour the wine as he usually did. Manasses managed it, but his hands shook and there was a greenish look about him. Crispus disliked having pain thrust at him, but he was certain that he had been right to inflict it. Where was Phaon? He was to be fetched and made to stand against the opposite wall. Unfortunately Phaon seemed unable to stop crying; he did it quite quietly except for an occasional sob, but these began to get on Hermeias’s nerves and he read badly. Crispus frowned at them both, also at Beric, who was not eating. ‘Are you ill
?’ Crispus said to him sharply. ‘You’d better be bled if you are. If you are not, control yourself.’ Beric made an effort and bolted some food; he was trying to catch Argas’s eye, to thank him for the message. But he didn’t seem able to. It was horrible to be eating and drinking in physical comfort with those other three in the room. Again Phaon sobbed. ‘If that boy can’t behave,’ said Crispus, ‘I shall sell him.’
Everyone felt it like a blow. Beric dropped a bunch of grapes. Hermeias lost his place. The slaves all drew themselves together and looked at one another. Phaon went completely still, only his face wrinkled up and Beric had an awful feeling that he was going to scream, but couldn’t think of any way of stopping it. Then Argas went, stiffly but very quickly, over to Phaon, took him by the shoulders and whispered something to him. It seemed effective, for he became quite quiet and stopped crying. Argas still stood beside him, his hands at his sides, his shoulders twitching occasionally. Crispus beckoned to him with one finger; he came closer; at another finger gesture he knelt, always looking straight past Beric at his real master. ‘What did you say?’ Crispus asked him. ‘Answer. Answer.’
Argas at last muttered, ‘It was some words of ours.’
‘Did I or did I not say that if you used Christian words or signs again, you would be sold?’
‘You said that, sir.’
‘Well?’
‘He only did it to stop Phaon from screaming!’ Beric said eagerly.
‘Hold your tongue, Beric. Just for this once, I will give you the choice, Argas, between being sold tomorrow or being beaten again now. Choose.’
After a moment Argas said, ‘Not to be sold.’ But as he said it, his body quivered and shrunk with anticipation.
‘Very well. Hermeias, take him at once to Felix and say he is to have as many strokes again as he has had already. No. Beric, you are to take him. Go. Come back when it is done. Not before.’
Beric stood up, his fists clenched; he did not know what he was going to do, only not that. But Argas turned to the door and went out and Manasses signed with his head for him to follow. He caught Argas in the passage and put his arms round him, but Argas cried out. Any touch hurt now. ‘If I can stand it,’ Argas said, ‘you can.’
‘But you can’t forgive—’
‘No. This is the thing.’
‘Can’t we get out of it—somehow?’
‘No. It’s nothing to what some of us are getting. Niger. And the women—if they’re questioned in prison. It’s not the cross yet.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘This. Come on. We can’t hang about.’
‘You don’t hate me, do you?’
‘You, no. You’re caught too. Anyway, I’m not hating anyone. I’m only angry. That’s different. No, Beric, don’t touch me!’
They went through towards the kitchen. And the forbidden room below. As they’d gone only the night before. Both of them thought of that. Beric said, ‘I’ve got to stay and see it.’
‘It’s better if you stay,’ Argas said, rather shakenly. ‘I can show off to you!’
They found Felix and whatever Argas did, Beric hated him so much that he could not give the order. ‘Another of the same!’ Argas said, showing his teeth, ‘I liked it so much!’ And he pulled the pins out of the shoulders of his tunic with tightened fingers. Under the tidy dining-room tunic, his back was a sight. It was dusk now. Felix slowly lighted a lantern and methodically chose his whip, then jerked his thumb at the yard.
Again Beric stood watching and counting. But this time Argas couldn’t begin to bear it. He threshed about at every stroke, banging his hand against the ring and his head against the wall. Suddenly he began to scream. Felix, pleased, stopped a moment and grinned, then went on. For two or three strokes Argas was able to keep from screaming, then he began again. When it was finished and the rope slipped out of the ring, he dropped on to the ground and lay doubled up, his teeth chattering. Felix held the lantern low to look at him; he and Manasses would now probably be scarred for life. Dapyx and Josias were anyhow. Phaon not so far. Then Felix held the lantern up again and politely lighted Beric back into the house.
Beric came back to the dining-room to find all the slaves dismissed except Hermeias, who was still reading, apparently about the relation between the soul and some kind of divine essence. ‘Sit down and listen, Beric,’ said Crispus. ‘This will do you good.’
Beric listened for a few sentences extremely unsympathet-ically; he then said in a loud voice that it was all nonsense. Hermeias stopped reading and gaped at him. Crispus said, ‘You must apologise for that, Beric.’
‘For speaking the truth?’ said Beric. ‘My tutor told me a good Stoic always speaks the truth.’
‘Now you are being insolent, Beric. You will be sorry for this tomorrow.’
‘I’m past feeling sorry for things like that,’ said Beric.
Crispus motioned to Hermeias to go, then said to Beric, quite gently, ‘We’d better have this out. I suppose you are angry because Argas was your pet boy. It was a bad choice and he must certainly have been far from truthful if you never guessed he was a Christian. But that is not important. What you must realise is that I have to do this so as to guard against something much worse.’
It was curious how disconcerting Beric found even this much reasonableness; he couldn’t simply answer back. ‘What could be much worse?’ he said heavily, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, in a clumsy, barbarian-looking way.
‘Supposing a thing like Christianity were allowed to spread, unchecked, undermining the roots of society, wouldn’t that be worse than whipping a few slaves?—which is all that has happened so far. Really, Beric, you have lost all sense of proportion. There is nothing to upset you if you were in a rational state of mind.’
Beric lifted his head for a moment, looking hard at Crispus, then said, ‘I lied to you last night. Argas isn’t my pet boy.’
‘Why on earth did you say so, then?’
‘To make you believe the other things I was saying. To make them sound right. It wouldn’t have meant anything to you if I’d said he was my friend. Would it?’
‘I fear it conveys no clear meaning to me now.’
‘Surely a good Stoic would say that slavery is no bar to friendship? I read that in some book.’
‘Yes, but that was meant in a philosophical sense. Between adults. And—how can I express it?—not the kind of friendship that would induce passion and loss of self-control such as you have shown.’
‘I’m sorry. It made me lose control to see my friend do something brave and then be whipped for it till he screamed. And not to be able to help him.’
‘You seem to interpret all this in a most peculiar way, Beric.’
‘Well, wasn’t it brave of Argas to risk his own skin to stop Phaon from screaming when you threatened to sell him?’
‘Phaon was behaving like a snivelling little fool and Argas was deliberately disobeying an order I had given three hours earlier!’
‘It was the only way to stop Phaon. I ought to have thought of it myself.’
‘Do you know what he said, then?’
‘I think I do.’
‘Good God. This seems to be very much worse than I thought. Beric. You’ve been here with me since you were a tiny boy. I’ve let myself get fond of you. Probably you know that. And now—’
‘Yes. I owe you the truth. Shall I go on with the other lies I told you last night?’
Crispus held up a hand to stop him for the moment. There was the boy turned into a man under his eyes, fearless in a kind of wild, emotional, personal way, as barbarians were, as his father had been before the Emperor—when Crispus had first seen the little yellow head staring boldly about him and decided to ask for him.
And it had come to this. Running his wild head deliberately into the future instead of allowing the future to come and accepting it calmly. ‘No, Beric,’ said Crispus, ‘not now. Just tell me one thing. Was it a lie that you knew where the slave
s were on the night of the fire?’
‘That was the truth. And I know for certain that no Christian started the fire.’
‘I see. But—Manasses admitted that Christians were enemies of society.’
‘You don’t like the way things are in Rome. Nor any of your real friends. You’re all enemies of Nero and Tigellinus.’
Crispus interrupted nervously. ‘That’s something quite different. Better not talked about, either. Even at home.’
‘Is it really different?’ Beric said slowly, trying to puzzle out in his own head the half-formed idea. ‘It only depends on how far you go with thinking that things are wrong.’
It surprised Crispus very much to hear Beric talking this way. ‘You usedn’t to be interested in such things, Beric,’ he said.
‘They didn’t seem to matter to me. Now they do. So I have to think about them. Real philosophy is asking questions, isn’t it?’
‘Acquiring wisdom, Beric.’
‘You can’t do that without asking questions. That was what Socrates did.’
‘But he knew the answers, my boy.’
‘Well, did he? Isn’t that only how it seems in the book afterwards? Wasn’t it different when it was really happening? But how it looks to me is that getting wisdom about anything must be always by questions if it’s to be fresh wisdom. And that’s the only kind I want, anyway! That was why I said Panaetius was nonsense, he only made clever sentences about what other people had found out. But please, I am sorry I said it the way I did. And once you start asking questions you can’t stop. You go on and the questions begin to break up the kind of life you’re used to leading, and then you’re an enemy of society. As Socrates was.’
The Blood of the Martyrs Page 23
