‘I can’t waste time on all this!’ Crispus said abruptly. ‘We—We can discuss this later, Phaon. I propose to send you over immediately to Balbus’s house and then down to my mother in the country.’ He looked at them. ‘I see no reason why I should not do the same for Persis; my daughter has no right to own her after this. My tablets!’
They were on another table. Phaon went and picked them up and brought them. Holding them in his hand, he said, ‘I am and shall be a Christian. The same for Persis. We don’t take our lives on any other terms.’
‘You are unreasonable, boy!’ Crispus said, and was suddenly caught by a shuddering sob. ‘Give me my tablets.’
‘I know I’m unreasonable, sir,’ Phaon answered gently, ‘but the whole thing’s beyond reason.’ Then he passed over the tablets. ‘In Beric’s name,’ he said. Crispus wrote quickly. While he was doing it, Phaon said to Argas, ‘Tell Manasses and Lalage, if you see them, that I will make their Church again. I know I can and will. Nothing is lost.’
Argas looked at Crispus and said, ‘Tell him.’
‘Yes,’ said Phaon. And then: ‘This is your doing brother, when you were beaten for me.’
Suddenly Persis said, ‘I shared the sin when I let Beric by to murder—I prayed he would be able to do it—I ought to die!’
But Phaon said, ‘You had a moment of wanting the old way again; you wash that out not by dying, but by living the new way. It will be hardest for us, Persis; we have our whole lives yet to live. There will not be many hours in them like this one.’
‘You have your whole lives,’ Argas said, ‘but I shan’t be a slave much longer!’
Crispus finished writing and gave the tablets to Phaon. ‘Give these to Aelius Balbus yourself; you will be safe. Now, go on!’
‘Come, Persis,’ said Phaon, and pulled her to her feet. Argas was standing now; he kissed them both and watched them go out.
‘Argas,’ said Crispus, ‘if I don’t see Beric … again … and you do, tell him I did this for him.’
‘I will,’ said Argas. ‘I promise.’
‘Good boy,’ said Crispus. ‘Now, who else is there? They’ll know who was arrested before.’
‘There’s Josias,’ Argas said, ‘and then there’s Dapyx, but he’s been frightened out of it. He isn’t one of us any longer. He’s going to say anything they want him to say if he’s tortured, anything against Beric. He hates us all now because he thinks we made things worse for him.’
‘If he’s been arrested before as a Christian they’re likely to kill him this time. But tell him, if you can, that if he denies he is a Christian and says nothing against Beric, I will—if he survives—send him to my country estate and see that he is well treated. The same applies to Josias. I take it that you yourself—’
Argas shook his head, ‘I’m going to die for it. but I’ll say nothing they can get Beric on.’
And then Mikkos came in quick past the curtains. ‘What’s to happen to us, sir?’ he gasped, and knelt beside Sannio.
‘I’m afraid you’re all going to be arrested, boys,’ said Crispus, ‘and questioned for evidence against Beric—and the Christians.’
‘We’ll stick it sir, me and Sannio,’ Mikkos said, ‘but sir—’
‘Yes, boy?’
‘If—if they do anything to us—so we don’t, maybe, look right for the dining-room any more, sir—you won’t sell us—nor send us to the kitchen—’
‘You needn’t be afraid of that, Mikkos. I’d better see this other boy, Josias.’
‘You can’t, sir. He’s gone and hanged himself, in the back kitchen, sir. When he heard, poor bastard.’ Argas crossed himself and stood stiffer.
‘God!’ said Crispus, ‘such things happening in my house!’
‘He was afraid of going back on us,’ Argas said, ‘afraid of the pain. Making him say things. Making him deny Jesus and the Kingdom. Don’t think too badly of him, sir.’
‘How can I judge any of you?’ Crispus said, in a curious, strained voice. ‘I’m safe. At present. Argas, I wish there was anything I could do.’
‘You can’t, sir. I thought this might happen. I’m ready, anyway. My death’s my power. I’ve never had any power before.’
‘I wish I hadn’t had you beaten,’ Crispus said.
‘Let Phaon tell you about that,’ Argas said. ‘It’s over. It’s forgiven.’ And then they all heard a loud and prolonged knocking on the outer door and Sannio and Mikkos clutched on to one another and Argas and his master stood facing one another, on a level.
CHAPTER VI
State Methods
Blephano leant over and trimmed the lamp. All night he had been copying out depositions from the slaves and others who were being tortured, and now it was nearly morning. He stretched and cut himself a new pen. Whenever the door was opened he could hear the noises, or the equally unpleasant silences. To take his mind off it he thought about his little girl, a very pretty child, just four years old: danced like a proper little fairy, and always ready with a kiss for her dad. The hot weather wasn’t good for children but, praise Juno, she’d escaped everything that summer. If they paid him a little extra for all this special work he’d been doing since the Christian trouble began—and they ought to in all conscience, but there, if you were only a freedman, you’d got to take what you got—he’d buy her one of these pottery dolls that moved its head and arms. She was just the age for one. Regular picture she’d look, his little Philemation, with a big doll.
Toxilus came in, wiping his hands on his tunic; Harpax lumbered after him, a middle-aged tough with a broken nose, stripped to the waist, trailing a nasty-looking barbed whip after him. ‘There’s no more to be got out of that lot,’ said Toxilus.
‘You’re on those household slaves of Flavius Crispus, aren’t you?’ Blephano turned back to another sheet. ‘Yes, here we are. Shut that bloody door, can’t you, Harpax! Nice mixed lot of depositions you’ve gone and got; they’ll have to be sorted out. Any of it true?’
Toxilus leant over and looked. ‘This is all in agreement with our own list of questions. Got ’em pretty well all, sooner or later. Lamprion … Pistos … Chrysops … Dixippus … Syllis … yes, all that page. None of this lot are Christians, nor even suspects. We’re taking the ones that are, separate. One of them’s talking, a lousy little squit of a barbarian: thinks he’s going to save his skin. Dirty little coward. He’s going to get what’s coming to him anyway, or I don’t know my job.’
‘What’s this man who won’t answer?’
‘Hermeias—the old boy’s secretary. A bit difficult, you can’t do much to a valuable man. He wouldn’t talk, not either way. I got the others properly rattled, but all he did was to go off on a barmy set speech about death. Much he knows about it! He’s in one of these bloody Mysteries.’
‘Better chase them all out first thing, Toxilus. They’re all right, I take it?’
‘We’ve not taken tuppence off the value of any of them. Tick ’em off.’ He picked up another sheet. ‘I’m keeping this lot: Sannio and Mikkos. Till they talk.’
‘What are they—suspects?’
‘No. Just won’t answer. Friends, as like as not, or may have been paid beforehand. There’s another boy from that household we had on our list: yes, Phaon. Got to find him. And a girl: I’ve traced her to the other household, but she hasn’t been brought in yet. Some of these girls are the devil’s own job, worse than the men. I’ve a hunch I can get something about her out of this Sannio and Mikkos.’
‘What are they? Dining-room boys? Probably worth something. You can’t do too much if they’re not suspects, you know.’
‘Lord, I shan’t do too much!’ Toxilus hooted with amusement. ‘Not unless little old Harpax gets cross. Like he will be if they keep him hanging about past breakfast-time. I’m going to try just a touch of the irons now.’
‘Do it where it won’t show, then, or there’ll be a fuss. Who else have you got?’
‘Casperius has got the Christians. He’ll make
them sing in a bit. The rest of mine are another lot; not in this case at all. Ready, Harpax?’
‘No,’ growled Harpax, and went out.
‘Always affects the bowels,’ said Blephano thoughtfully, ‘even if you’ve been at it as long as he has.’ He yawned. ‘It’ll be light in half an hour.’
Then Cario came in, looking rather excited. He was wearing leather gloves and apron; there was blood on them. ‘Got to have a word with you!’ he said to Toxilus, and pulled him over into the corner.
‘Here, your report!’ said Blephano sharply. ‘Any results?’
‘Oh—we’ve let that woman go again.’
‘Which woman?’
‘The old poisoner—Euphemia. There’s no more to be got out of her. She says this Briton is a Christian.’
‘That’s the first definite admission apart from the house slaves.’
‘No, the man’s spoken too. Says he was in their Church.’
‘What, the metal-worker? You’ve got to get some more names out of him. He didn’t get properly questioned to start with.’
‘Yes, well, I’ve got to speak to Toxilus first, see?’
‘Oh, don’t mind me!’ said Blephano. ‘You and your Church, I take it! Wait till they burn Rome!’ He got properly fed up with Toxilus and Cario talking their Mithraist stuff. He supposed they were going to arrange another of their feasts or fasts or some balls. He thought he’d go out for a minute and get a drink.
Cario was saying to Toxilus in an urgent whisper: ‘So I got him tied see, and started in on it. Those cogs keep slipping too, I got to have them put right! Well then, his head fell back, the way they always do, and there, on his forehead, under his hair, as plain as I see you now, he’d got the mark!’
‘What, the mark of the Soldier?’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m telling you! Just as sure as I’m standing here, he’s got it. Look, we’ve got to do something about it.’
‘He must have left us and gone off to these Christians.’
‘He’ll come back to us. I tell you Toxilus, I won’t go on doing this to a man who’s in that Degree. He may be higher for all we know! I tell you, me being the one that was told off to do him, that shows it was meant!’
‘Well, what can we do?’
‘Get him out and have it written off he died. When Blephano’s gone home we’ll bring him through into the shed with the old stuff; there’s sacks there we can get him under. Then he can be put into my room. I tell you what Toxilus, when I first saw him I said to myself, he’s different!’
‘Bit of a risk,’ said Toxilus uneasily.
‘By the Light of the Sun, I’m taking it!’ Cario gave Toxilus a tug and pulled him out of the room. The lists on the table rustled a little in a puff of chilly wind that had come with the first signs of dawn.
Some of the assistants in this Department of State were freedmen. But of course, much of the hard work was done by tough and stupid slaves like Harpax; they did not do any of the actual questioning, but it takes a good deal of physical strength to dislocate a man’s joints, even if you have appropriate machinery, or to beat him till he faints and then go on beating him till he begins to feel again. Some of them were ex-gladiators who’d had luck; this was a permanent kind of job, and the conditions weren’t at all bad, given you were the kind of man who didn’t worry over certain aspects of it. Cario had been a gladiator; it was then that he had picked up his Mithraism, which was part of his life which really counted.
The man who was in charge of the examination of most of the Christians, Casperius, was something of a showman; he liked style in his tortures and he was occasionally gratified by a visit from someone quite high up. In fact he had once or twice been called upon to give demonstrations at the Palace. He was a Roman citizen and proud of himself as a servant of the State. He had a short, glossy beard on which he used a rather powerful scent; his prisoners would get to know that scent rather too well.
Lalage knew it now as an integral part of a complex horror, and so did Manasses. Argas was beginning to; he was slowly realising what he had let himself in for. He had not even seen Beric yet. Though Beric might be quite near. In the next cell. But you didn’t hear voices or groans or crying, only an extra loud or sharp scream; you couldn’t always tell if it was a man or a woman, even. People’s voices change when they scream. Once or twice there had been audible words, sometimes their Name. Was that Manasses? When he was left to himself to think things over for a few minutes, he had time to wonder that. In those awful lonely spaces when you were bound to ask yourself if it was worthwhile holding on for another go. So far he had said that Beric was not a Christian, since no Christian was allowed to kill; he had by now almost forgotten why it was important to say that, but he stuck to it. He also refused to agree to any other charges against Beric, or the Christians, to give names, or to say where Phaon or Persis might be. From time to time he would become aware with a sort of amazement, of what had been done to him already. Would he ever be able to keep his promise and tell Beric what Crispus had done? Jesus, let me see him again, only let me see him.
Manasses and Lalage were in the same room. Casperius had made a mistake here; he had supposed from what he had seen that they were lovers and that he could use this to weaken their resistance. Actually they loved one another sufficiently to have made a pact, earlier on, by which each was to disregard the sufferings, present or to come, of the other; that was not too easy, but it was as well they had made it, for there was a good deal of threatening Manasses with what was to be done to Lalage, and the other way round, too. They were both nearly exhausted now and screamed easily and cried most of the time, yet when it came to speaking they kept their heads. Curious accessions of strength came to them from time to time, when they seemed on the point of swimming out of their bodies into an unassailable and painless state of pure being.
The Deputy-Governor of the Mamertine was helping Casperius. He was in a rotten temper. He’d got that Briton where he wanted him at last, and he had got real pleasure out of the first few minutes. But—if only he had managed to kill Tigellinus! That was what Aelius Candidus kept on thinking, and sometimes he was so angry with Beric for not having pulled it off that he went for him in an unprofessionally violent way, which Casperius disapproved of. And the Briton went on saying he was no Christian, so perhaps he had tried to do it—on other grounds. Nor could you entirely disregard your father and father-in-law. He had made various assurances to Flavius Crispus in the middle of the night, but of course, had not let him see any of the prisoners. Nor did he propose to do so. But still you can’t look a man in the eyes if you have lied to him completely, and supposing things went so far that he could not stick his present career any longer, he might be glad to avail himself of his father-in-law’s influence with other circles. So Beric, though a good deal cut and bruised, especially about the eyes and mouth, had not been put through quite what the slaves were getting. But he too, was exhausted after a night of it, and when in the early morning they suddenly went away, he spent the first half-hour tensing himself against their return, but then fell asleep and, even on the stone floor and with his hands tied behind his back, went off into deep unconsciousness.
Lalage and Manasses were asleep too, though less deeply because they had been more hurt; Manasses had a couple of ribs broken; they caught his breathing but fortunately he had been thrown on to a heap of straw and had fallen on the other side. Lalage was talking in her sleep about a dance that wouldn’t come right, telling Sophrosyne she wasn’t playing the right music; it was the burns which were hurting her most. Both of them had asked for water and hadn’t been given any; their mouths were dry and sour. But after the torturers were gone and before they slept, they had whispered to one another across the darkness and had made the great outward effort towards forgiveness. Two cells away, Argas was half asleep, in a huddle in the corner. Sannio and Mikkos were asleep. Dapyx was dead. He had agreed to everything, denied he was a Christian, said that the Briton was a Christian, and
ever since he had become one had been a murderer and seducer, forged letters, violated temples, talked treason, anything they liked! Yes, Flavius Crispus was a Christian and wicked too—oh yes, he was always talking against the gods and the Emperor! What had he said? But here Dapyx broke down and everyone began laughing, and Dapyx saw that they had been laughing at him all the time, and that they were going to go on torturing him. Nothing he said was of any real value as evidence, so he was left to Harpax and Sitas to finish off; at no particular point he stopped crying and died in their hands.
Blephano had gone home after putting his records tidily away; he knew he would be wanted again the next day. At home, he knelt down for a time by the edge of the bed, watching little Philemation, rosily asleep. He renewed certain vows that he had made to Juno Educa and which had protected her, and suddenly he thought with hate and horror of these Christians who denied the divinity of the gods who were caring for his child, who would anger them and turn them away and leave his Philemation unprotected!
Euphemia, who had been turned out again into the prison yard, was awake and praying for Lalage. What they’d done to her this time wasn’t much worse than they’d done before. They all thought she was an old fool who knew nothing; I look my age now, she said to herself. The men didn’t get much kick out of doing things to her, but they did with Lalage. Euphemia had a kind of feeling that if only she stayed awake and prayed it might somehow make things better for the others.
When Toxilus and Cario went back, they found that Rhodon had managed to wriggle half off the frame; then he had got tangled in the ropes and had collapsed with most of his weight on the dislocated shoulder. He was pretty strong, but his old wounds were getting him, as well as what had been done; indeed, Cario had noticed the scars; he always did, because he found in practice that there were often effective pain areas round these. Rhodon became aware though, when his torturers came in, and began floundering about again. Cario caught hold of his head and pulled the hair back; there was the brand, clear enough. ‘Well?’ he said. Neither of them were in a high Grade; Toxilus had only been initiated a few months, and Cario was in the Second Degree, a Nymphius. But he knew this mark; he hoped to have it himself some day, this brand that was utterly unconnected in function or feeling with the brands he had used so often. The two of them heaved Rhodon, struggling, back on to the frame again, and saw his muscles knot and swell, prepared to pull against them; but they only tied him lightly. His eyes were shut against them; his lips were pressed together. They eyed one another. The ex-gladiator Cario knelt by his head and whispered certain words; he had never been so excited in his life before; he shook as he waited for the answer.
The Blood of the Martyrs Page 37
