‘Am I to tell him,’ Gallio asked, ‘boy, am I to tell him you chose to die this way?’
‘Of my own free will,’ Beric said, ‘because it is making the Kingdom. I might have had things otherwise. This was the best way. I and my friends—we die because we choose!’
At the gate Gallio dropped back, heard the yell of hate and derision in the road, and saw some of the prisoners check and duck their heads, saw the guards lifting their whips, then the crack and cry as the lash came down. He went back to his cell. The young Christian slave was there; he hadn’t been taken yet. They eyed one another. At last the slave said, ‘What did you think of it, sir?’
‘Always a fine sight when men and women die well—for anything,’ Gallio said. He took down a book roll at random and opened it; the letters blurred in front of him and he blinked and wiped his eyes; it would not be at all amusing to tell Crispus. ‘Almost makes one think there might be something in it after all,’ he grunted at the slave, not looking at him, and began to read. After a time he noticed that he didn’t even know what the book was.
CHAPTER VIII
The Seed of the Church
By the afternoon the Circus Maximus was practically full. Most of the cheap seats had come in the morning, half of them bringing their lunch along with them, so as to miss nothing and above all not risk losing their places. You didn’t see details so well, naturally, not if you were one of the ordinary common people in the upper blocks, but on the other hand you did see clear over the division down the centre, the long, low broad wall you knew so well, with the bronze dolphins spouting on it and the bronze basins always lipping over, and the great eggs they hoisted, one more up to seven for each lap of a chariot race till the screaming final, and the gilt bronze statues, only nobody cared who they were meant to be now, and the sixty-foot red stone obelisk jabbing up between the feathery spoutings of the dolphins, and the shrine of Castor and Pollux with the bunches of spiked boxing gloves hanging up in it, and the other shrine of Venus who was Mother of Rome and you’d know that, to look at the necking and nudging and kneeing that was for ever going on all round and round the blocks of seats.
You’d have woke up that morning thinking it’s the Games again, and you might have been dreaming about them, hot, tangled kinds of dreams, mostly, and the dream would go on getting at you while you combed your hair and cut your lump of bread that was to have a bit of dried fish or ham for a relish, unless it was a free lunch day with drinks on the Emperor, and the dream would go on as you walked there through the early morning with a snap of September chill in it already, but it would warm up, oh yes, and you’d hurry rather quietly tasting the dream still, and you’d get near and begin to hear the noises, the crashing of, the sudden shrill, the quickening wanting noises of. And you’d elbow in, stamping on toes and swearing, to read the notices, red and black lettering of a whole new day of the Games for you citizens, you because Rome because you. Out of the pairs of the first act of gladiators, fifty per cent kills guaranteed, no fumbling or cheating: river scene with Leda and troupe of trained swans: female prisoners thrown in snake pit: blacks hunt ostriches, tigers hunt blacks: attack on castle, flame throwers in galloping chariots: whole circus filled with dancers, nude dancers, armoured dancers, feathered dancers, eighty nude dancers raffled among audience; display of jumping lucky piebald horses with flags: simultaneous net and trident or sword and club fights: genuine Alexandrian brothels, personnel specially imported. Egyptian background by experts, living Sphynx and crocodiles: the great clean-up, Christians eaten by bears, lions, hyaenas and wolves, the Emperor lends animals from his private menagerie: Greek torch race: acrobats and elephants: illuminated tight-rope walk across the Circus: grand firework finale.
Well then, the next thing was getting to your seat, pushing your way through and a proper job that was, and you’d need to look out for your money too! And sometimes you’d all get barged into by one of the toffs with his heavyweights all round him and his scented hanky up to his little nose-oh, in case he caught a whiff of Genuine Old Rome, that being you. And sometimes there’d be a tart sidling along after you, with a clever soft touch and a meet me tonight when you’ve won your big bet, big boy, for that’s what it’s like all round the Circus, drink shops and fortune-tellers and quack doctors and massage establishments, and women and boys in all of them, because when you come out after a day of it, or in the middle for that matter, well, you know what you want. But it takes you maybe an hour to get in, for there’s thousands and thousands of you, two hundred thousand, they say the place holds, and that’s more than any other place in the whole world or that’s likely to be in the world again, either! But all the time you’re edging along there’s shouting and singing, and of course, there’s plenty to laugh at, on the outsides of the big crowd, acrobats and dancers and performing dogs and one-legged hoppers and fat women, or someone gets up a fight between a blind beggar and another with no hands, and you chuck the pennies into the ring. And you hear the beasts that have been kept hungry for today, roaring and howling and angry, all to give you a good show, and you know what they’ll get for their dinners! And in the end you come to your entrance and up the stairs and scramble for the seats, with your wife screeching and pushing after you, if you’ve brought her, that is, and then you can settle down nicely for a day of it. And in no time you hear the big trumpets and the drums and bells, and in comes the procession from under the arches at the east end of the Circus, like you’ve been waiting for, with horses and elephants and gladiators all set to fight to the death, and flower girls in flimsies, and blacks carrying traysful of monkeys, and a lot of little kiddies with no more on than cupids firing off gilt arrows, and a lashing great tiger in a gold cage or what looks like gold, and dogs with frills on their necks, and more gladiators and girls on stilts and a painted dragon with ten men inside him spouting fire, and Indian snake charmers and young boys leading gazelles with silver collars, and the six-foot boxers showing off their great chests and arms. And now they all line up and there’s the Emperor and Empress in their box, bless them, and everyone stands and yells, and today’s Games are going to begin!
Of course, the Gods are called on first, as is only right. The Gods and the Emperor and us. And the procession goes snaking out again, all but the gladiators. And then, then. The smell you’d been dreaming of, that’s never gone quite out of your head, and the sudden bright splosh on the sand, and all a man’s got inside him emptied out all at once. And you gasp and tighten and feel it creeping and tingling in your stomach and loins. And already the day’s getting hotter and between turns the awnings are shifted about to let in the air and keep out the sun for you.
In the great top blocks are thousands who don’t get the detail at all, though they do get the whole of a spectacle, better perhaps than the respectable in the middle tiers and the aristocracy, a bit less crowded, unless they choose to crowd themselves with cushions and slaves and mistresses. Most of them would have left home with enough slaves to push a way through the mob for them, but these would be dismissed to wait outside till the end of the show. Balbus, for instance, only had one of his young secretaries, and Lucan was by himself except for another poet. He did not approve of bringing his wife to such places. Balbus was expecting his friend Crispus with some anxiety; if, as he could not help suspecting, Crispus himself was in some way involved with these Christians, then it was important that Crispus should be seen at the Games. Much of it of course, was tedious, yet it was a fine bracing sight to observe the contempt of death amongst the fighting pairs: even though they were only common gladiators, they could teach you something, yes by Jupiter, they could! He had seen Crispus early that morning. Crispus had been very much upset about that poor lad, too much upset for a good Stoic; it was as though Beric had actually been his son. Well, well, it wouldn’t be the first judicial murder, the first blood crying for blood again. Calpurnius Piso was no doubt at the Games too. The Briton would probably be beheaded … unless he was mixed up with these Christians.
Damned awkward. And if on top of that Crispus didn’t turn up. Above all necessary to avoid a scandal, for Candidus’s sake. Why the devil he couldn’t manage that girl better! Balbus had got those two slaves that Crispus had sent over safe out of sight, bolted into one of the cellars with the wine casks pushed back in front of the door. A pretty pair—wonder what they’d do in there in the dark!
Before the next act, while the Circus hands, dressed as Greek sailors and reapers, prepared the river scene, loosing in the water from the tanks, Balbus went round to see some of his friends, and especially Flavius Scaevinus. To do that, he must pass behind the Imperial Box, in the space kept sufficiently clear for the police agents to notice anyone or anything. Erasixenos was talking to one of them; he was absurdly over-dressed, with a collection of rings—oh well, that was the kind of queer thing you found at the Roman Games nowadays! He hadn’t seen him since that supper party when the betrothal was announced … and then they had consulted the astrologers … why had the stars foretold nothing but good omens? He nodded briefly to Erasixenos and went on. He hoped Crispus would have shown up by the time he got back to his seat. Not that either of them would want to see the Leda performance: couldn’t be bothered with that kind of nonsense these days.
From the upper seats, on the other hand, the Leda scene was marvellous; some of the swans were real birds and some were dancers, but they all made the same rush and oh, what a long, sharp quivery scream Leda did give, you heard it from one end to the other, just like a girl surprised naked would have, only you never had the luck yourself, nor likely to, not except at the Games. Tertius Satellius squeezed his wife ever so hard while that was going on; she was all right now, didn’t do to take notice of her moods. There’d be the snakes next, well, you didn’t see that so well, but they’d do it while the river scene was being cleared and the hunt scene put on.
Clinog was sitting beside the friend with whom he had come, Sextus Papinius Calvinus; owing to the fact that he had been kept at the Municipal Offices to finish putting through an important contract, Clinog had missed the first day of the Games, and he had not even had time to call on Flavius Crispus. He wondered whether perhaps his brother were somewhere in this audience; it would be fine to see young Beric again. He noticed that today’s programme would include some executions of Christians; well, that would be a warning to his brother—though he could not think that there was anything in the story that Beric might have had something to do with the sect. Not if they were the criminals you heard they were, and indeed there was no doubting it on the evidence. In the meantime Clinog was exceedingly impressed by the whole thing. If you could give all this to two hundred thousand people, well, that meant surely, that you could do what you liked with most of those thousands; they’d go on wanting more and more, and they wouldn’t, so to speak, notice what was happening to the rest of their lives. You could take anything away from them except the Games. The Romans were the first people in the world who had thought of that way of ruling. He would remember.
Candidus and Flavia had excellent seats quite close to the Imperial Box, and Flavia was as usual, the centre of an animated conversation. Just at the moment she didn’t care ever to stop talking or laughing or giving witty answers to compliments. If one stopped— But everyone said she was in splendid form; one of her best friends had whispered that the Emperor had been asking who she was! Candidus also, was being particularly amiable and as complimentary as though she’d been someone else’s wife. But that made her feel the tiniest bit uneasy; it wasn’t the way for him to behave unless—well, unless he had some kind of a nasty surprise for her. But anyway, even if he had, it wouldn’t be till after the Games! She was certainly going to enjoy herself till then. She adored these hunting scenes; there was so much movement and life, you couldn’t be bored for a moment, there wasn’t time for any of these thoughts you would rather not have sneaking into your mind. About last night. No!
One of the ostrich-hunters with his scarlet loincloth and anklets and little knife, had made his kill just below her seat; you could hear him panting after the run, a glorious, glossy black, muscles standing out like a racing-horse, but clearer. ‘Positively,’ said Flavia, ‘a man in good condition is the finest animal of all!’ And she threw him down a rose. Several of her friends followed with pink and white flowers pattering on to the ostrich-killer’s ultramarine-shadowed shoulders; he looked up, gesturing and grinning. The ladies all waved back, giggling. Caelia Pulchra in the front row actually tossed him over a bracelet, which set the man prancing with delight and shouting his gibberish at them. Did he understand that the tigers were going to be let in now? Apparently not, because when he turned and saw the great orange cat close on him, he screamed and ran, the flowers hopping off him. But the tiger in two utterly breathtaking bounds had got him down, you could see him wriggle and flap for a minute; and that was the end of the black ostrich-hunter.
Caelia Pulchra threw herself back simply bathed in sweat; her maid had to fan her for ten minutes. There was nothing like the Games!
While the tigers were finishing their meals, rasping and purring and twitching their strong tails, the scenery of the castle was being rolled into position. The tigers were perfectly harmless so long as you didn’t disturb them, and when they had finished they could easily be driven or lured back into their cages. Even if one of them turned nasty there was a hundred per cent efficient barrier with a smooth ivory rail at the top, beautifully pivoted so that it merely rolled over if a leaping animal so much as got a paw on to it—or a man trying to escape for that matter. There used to be a ditch, but one of Nero’s new architects had devised this method, at the same time extending the seating capacity of the Circus. It might have been designed by a Greek, but it was the kind of invention which Romans appreciated!
Tigellinus was reporting to the Master of the World. His police agents had been round during the last hour; it was all most satisfactory; the divine Emperor was thought to have excelled himself. Last night’s show in the Imperial Gardens had undoubtedly caught the imagination of the populace. The important thing now was to see that everything was carried out to its logical conclusion. There must be no protection of Christians. Not even in high places … supposing that by any chance evidence were found. It was probable that the Divine Emperor knew in what direction the Praefect of the Praetorians was hinting, but he had leant forward to give the signal and pretended not to hear. Through a blast of trumpets the attackers came galloping on, wheeling all round the castle. There was too much noise, from Circus and audience both, for Tigellinus to get the attention he needed. He had not really been certain how his Imperial Master had taken the news of the latest attempt on his life—the Christian murder plot. Nero had seemed amused, and had merely asked for details about the lady.
The attack on the castle having successfully culminated in real flames, real burns, real pain and real death, it was time for lunch. As soon as the debris had been cleared away, the dancers came on, in groups and lines and singly, or displayed on slowly moving platforms. Dancing was more conducive to digestion than sudden death. Perfume sprayers dashed about in all directions; the smoke from the castle had a way of lingering unpleasantly, tainted now also with the roast meat smell. Sweet-sellers were busy too. During the lunch interval the Emperor would be approachable and affable to his people, would read petitions and remedy injustices. Amidst thunders of applause, an old blind woman, defrauded by her stepson, had her little home given back to her, as well as a dozen gold pieces from the Imperial purse, charmingly presented by the Empress in person; and the wicked stepson was chased across the Circus by the fine fellow with the cat o’ nine tails who set him dancing with a flick on the buttocks now and again, as which of us wouldn’t like to see done to one of our dear little friends-oh!
But most of the better seats had retired for a peaceable luncheon at home. Very few of the dancers were quite up to standard from near by; the make-up was crude and the nudity distinctly fly-blown. They had no desire at all to take part in
the raffle, when tickets were showered all over the upper blocks from catapultish mechanisms, and someone was quite sure to get hurt in the scramble. Balbus was particularly anxious to find Crispus and bring him along to the Circus if possible. He decided to walk over to his house, across the Forum; a walk was just what he needed. Felicio, following at a discreet secretarial distance, nodded, also discreetly, to a new acquaintance, one he had made at the wedding ceremony at Crispus’s house, the Epicurean freedman Nausiphanes, who had been Beric’s tutor. Nausiphanes was standing outside the Circus, getting into conversation with people, not however, in the way you would have imagined, as a pimp, but in order to spread certain doctrines directed against the State. Being middle-aged, Nausiphanes did this with care, knowing when to laugh and when to be very serious and decisive. Felicio followed his master away from the noises of the Circus, the continuous varied rustle and jar and babble of human voices, and the echoing, long, chromatic roarings of the hungry beasts.
But Nausiphanes stayed. The lunch interval was always a fruitful time. Out of two hundred thousand, an uncertain percentage had been disgusted or bored or were in some way prepared to see through this particular activity of the State. Some, again, might be interested in popular science—the mechanics of the Circus enabled one to start a conversation of this kind; and science, interpreted, left very little of any of the gods, including the Divine Thing which was, strictly speaking, being worshipped in there to the accompaniment of torture and death, at the September Games, the Ludi Romani.
Nausiphanes saw the Christians who were to feature in the next part of the programme, being marched across to the cells under the tiers of seats. The man he had been engaging in conversation turned and ran over to look at them; so did most of the crowd. A good many had picked up things to throw. Nausiphanes followed, a little depressed; he suddenly wished he were back in Greece, where people were cruel on an impulse or by accident, but not in this heavy, unanimous, Roman way. But perhaps Greece was just as bad now; he didn’t know; it was a long time since he had been there. He really knew very little about the Christian superstition; obviously most of what he had heard was nonsense: all these orgies and murders. But probably they were hysterical and irrationally worshipped some kind of god, believing blindly without proof, as all worshippers do, and sooner or later the god would become a symbol of power and exploitation, as all gods do. Yet at the same time they were being persecuted because they were against the Roman State; no Roman ever really bothered about a difference of gods; in religious matters they were profoundly tolerant because their own gods were not of the individual heart but only social inventions—or had become so. Yet politically they did and must persecute: and equally must be attacked by all who had the courage. He hoped these Christians had courage, in spite of the irrationality of their minds. Standing still and quiet among the yellers and throwers, Nausiphanes watched the faces for courage. And saw Manasses. And saw Beric.
The Blood of the Martyrs Page 41
