Sabina was amazed at Marcus’s words. They were so plain that they shouldn’t have had any appeal to her, and yet her mind was more focused on these words than it had ever been on any words before. Why did such a subversive, antisocial speech make her heart sink in her chest? Didn’t these people believe in the stability of the social order that was found in accepting one’s station in life? Why did she find such a message attractive?
Young Clemens spoke up. “Is it a sin to be wealthy?”
“No,” Marcus reassured him. “But it is a sin to hide your wealth, to refuse to share it, and to treat the wealthy better than you treat the poor. Here at the table of the Lord, rich and poor are brothers and sisters.”
The tables were set with the different food that the people had brought. Maria announced, “Everyone . . . we’re very grateful for Ampliatus and his family for providing the chickens tonight. They’ve brought enough for everyone to have some, so don’t be shy.”
When Philologus arrived with the Thanksgiving Bread at the house of Pudens, the senator met him at the door. “Philologus, I have to ask you to forgive me.”
“What for?” Philologus knew what for.
“Today at the circus, you waved at me, but I ignored you. I purposely looked away because if I had waved back, my colleagues in the Senate would have asked how I knew you. And there’s no reason I should, except that we are brothers at the Lord’s table. I’m sorry, my brother, I acted out of fear.”
Philologus smiled. He was just happy to know that it wasn’t because Pudens disliked him. “Of course. Forgiven, and forgotten.”
Stachys snuck in at the end of the meal. He tried to come in unnoticed, but Ampliatus drew attention to him, with a smile as wide as his face. “Salve, Stachys. It’s good to see you. Help yourself to some chicken. There’s enough for everyone.”
Stachys suppressed his annoyance as best he could, but his mind was distracted, and he couldn’t help the sarcasm coming out in his voice. “Well, thank the Lord!”
Stachys found he couldn’t eat. Ampliatus’s chicken disgusted him. The bread offended him. The fish sickened him. He could only nurse the confusion in his head that came from being caught in the middle of Urbanus’s demands, Geta’s threats, and Maria’s pleading. If he said yes to Urbanus, he would advance his career, but the increased visibility would put him in danger with Geta and who knows how many unknown envious competitors. Not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t be welcome in Maria’s bed again for a very long time, if ever. But if he said no to Urbanus, he would likely lose his patron as well as his livelihood. He could please his wife but lose his home. How could he get through this and preserve his honor?
Stachys worried that it was possible his situation could get to the point where suicide would be the only dignified solution left to him. He had hoped to live at least to the age of fifty, but perhaps that was an unrealistic expectation. A life of disgrace was worse than death, after all. He resolved to leave his own death as a last resort, an option open to him that, if worse came to worst, would preserve his honor in the eyes of his fellow citizens. But what about in the eyes of Maria and her God? He shook off that thought as he heard the gathering sing:
There is one God, the Father
From whom all things come
And we will return to him
There is one Lord, Iesua the Christos
Through whom all things come
And we will return through him
5
THE DAY OF VENUS
PHILOLOGUS LOOKED DOWN into his clay cup. It held only water, without even the slightest bit of wine to give it flavor. He could remember his last thought before falling asleep the night before. He and his family had successfully dodged death for one more day. And now a new day was beginning. But how long could anyone postpone starvation and death? How long could a man go on living in fear of everything from crazy emperors to crumbling buildings? Philologus had been a plasterer, and he knew how many cracks in the buildings should have been repaired but were only plastered over. He knew how dangerous it was just to walk down the narrow streets or stand between two buildings.
“I hate plain water.” The frustration of unemployment was coming out in complaints about the smallest things.
Julia looked at him disapprovingly. She kept looking at him, seated there on the bench at their small wooden table, but she spoke to her children. “Children, what your father is doing right now is called complaining. Rather than being thankful that he has water, he is grumbling because he has no wine.”
Philologus sighed. “It seems like we just had a fasting day two days ago.”
“We did, beloved. But today is a fasting day, too. Which is convenient for us, since we have no money for lunch anyway. So you see, the Lord has blessed us.”
Philologus looked at Julia. She was smirking. She was not that naive, after all, but her comment did sting, since he took it as his responsibility to provide for his family. Although it was day two of the games today, there would be no circus for Philologus. He had to find work.
Stachys was shown to the front of the line of clients in Urbanus’s atrium, and Urbanus got right down to business. “I have another audience with the emperor today.”
“Do you think he will name you as prefect?”
“I believe he will. But if he does, Geta will be more envious than ever. And if he does not, I’ll be dishonored, and Geta is still a threat. But I have a plan. I need you to meet me tonight, at the sixteenth hour. The warehouses at the foot of the Aventine, by the river. Don’t be late.”
At that same moment Lucius Geta paced in his anteroom. A Praetorian rushed in and startled him.
“My lord Geta.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s your wife. She has begun the first pains of delivery. May Mars give you a son!”
“Ah. A son, indeed. By Priapus, I had to expose three girls to get my boy—another would be good. Take a message to her.” The soldier reached into a leather messenger bag and pulled out a wax tablet set in a double wooden frame. He took out a stylus and stood at attention, waiting to take dictation. Geta thought about what to say. “To my wife. I hear you are about to deliver the child. May Janus protect you. I regret that business prevents me from being present at the child’s birth. If it is a boy, keep it. Your husband.”
The soldier closed the frame and put the tablet and stylus into his bag. Geta frowned. “She’s not going to like my decision. But there you have it. Now take it to her.” The soldier saluted and turned to leave.
“Wait.” The soldier turned back toward Geta. “Don’t write this down, but give a message to the midwife, so that my wife doesn’t hear it.”
“Yes, lord.”
“If it’s a girl, it’s to be drowned. Not exposed. I don’t want it picked up by a pimp and raised in a brothel. Now go.”
“Yes, lord.” And with that, the soldier was gone, and Geta resumed his pacing.
When Stachys told Maria he would be going out after the evening meeting, she seemed visibly shaken. “You’re going out at night? After we lock the doors?”
Night in Rome
It’s hard for those of us who live in populated areas to imagine just how dark it would have been at night in the ancient world. Without streetlights, or even the ambient light of a city’s skyline, there was only the moon. On top of that, there was very little of what we would call police presence at night in the city of Rome. Although there were squads of night watchmen who walked the streets, a person had to be caught in the act of committing a crime in order to be prosecuted—which made criminals quite bold at night. In fact, even the murder of a noncitizen would never have been investigated. So nighttime was considered the realm of robbers, muggers, and killers, who knew that there was no system in place to investigate crimes after the fact.
Figure 5.1. A Roman street with shops at night, Markets of Trajan, Rome
On the other hand, nighttime was when all the transportation of goods took place in Rome. By l
aw, no cart traffic was allowed within the city wall during the day, with the exception of some construction carts and anything under the authority of the Vestal Virgins. So everything had to be moved at night. Porters, cart drivers, and construction workers shouted and swore as carts pounded and scraped the paving stones of the major roads, and the fire brigades ran to and from the nightly apartment fires around the city.
Therefore, although it was very dark at night, it was also very noisy. Nevertheless, going out at night was considered a dangerous enterprise. Most people stayed inside behind locked doors after dark, and those who were out at a banquet or other social gathering until after dark would normally plan to have slaves waiting for them with torches to light the way and to serve as bodyguards.
“I don’t have a choice. My patron requested me. What can I do?”
“Well, we know you can’t say no to him,” she said with contempt.
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re going to talk to me about fair?” Maria paused, then sighed. “Listen, it’s dangerous out there at night. And there’s no moon tonight, so it’s going to be completely dark. You’ll need to take a torch. You’re not going alone, are you?”
“I have to.”
Marcus said goodbye to the people who were leaving the morning prayer gathering. Then he turned to those who had stayed. “All right, now. Time for school. Let’s sit over here. Stachys, come on, we’re having school.”
Stachys sighed. Although he had decided to postpone his baptism, he couldn’t come up with an excuse to get out of the school meeting, and he certainly didn’t want to get into a discussion about his decision with Marcus. So he walked over to the group without saying anything, determined to sit in the back and stay quiet.
Marcus faced the catechumens. “We’ve been talking about the expectations of a baptized Way-follower, because, well, you have to know what you’re committing to. You know that the lifestyle of a Way-follower is very different from what most people are used to—and what most people would expect of a patriotic Roman. I think that’s why we’re called Way-followers—we follow a different way and live a different lifestyle. There are so many things that the Romans do, and even consider good, that we are not allowed to do. And we’ve already talked about a lot of them. But today I want to tell you that they all come from one place, or they all stem from one source: idolatry. The worship of false gods is the root of all of the sins of the Romans. And believe me, I understand, the Roman gods can be very attractive. Say the right words, and they promise you will have control over your friends and enemies, and lovers will flock to you. The problem with that is, they can’t keep their promises because they’re just made of painted wood, or stone. They don’t exist. But if you believe that they do, well, if you believe that one lie, you’ll believe them all. You’ll believe that sex and gossip and humiliation and death are all forms of entertainment. If you worship creation rather than the Creator, it’s a short step to worshiping yourself.”
Roman Virtues
The classic Roman virtues, which come from Stoic philosophy, were wisdom, courage, self-control, and justice. These may sound like they could be compatible with Christian morals, but the Roman virtues were conceived only with the upper classes in mind and were understood in such a way that they served the needs of the powerful. In other words, Roman virtues had no thought about helping those less fortunate; they were really intended to equip those with authority to make rational decisions that would benefit them in the long run. So while a Christian is expected to practice self-control, the motivation is so that we do not sin against God and others and so that we don’t take advantage of others. The Roman virtue of self-control was motivated by a utilitarian self-interest: I should discipline myself now so that I will benefit later (not so that others will benefit from my discipline).
Another difference between Roman virtues and Christian morals is seen in the difference between Roman philanthropy and Christian charity. Roman philanthropy consisted of the tradition of making donations to the city of Rome, often in the form of building monuments or sponsoring games and shows—but all in the interest of increasing the fame and honor of the donor. Christian charity, on the other hand, was based on the conviction that all people are created in the image of God and are therefore created equal—a belief that the Romans would have thought ridiculous. To read more about the contrast and conflict between early Christian morality and the ethics of the Romans, see my book How Christianity Saved Civilization: And Must Do So Again, cowritten with Mike Aquilina (Sophia Institute Press, 2019).
As Stachys sat in the school meeting listening to Marcus criticize every Roman value he had ever been taught, Urbanus went again to the Palatine Hill to meet with the emperor. This time Claudius was not in the throne room. He was in a smaller audience room, reclining on a brass couch with a down mattress and pillows. Urbanus noted that he was being invited farther into the residential area of the palace than last time, and that must be a good omen. He looked with admiration at the elaborately painted walls, with faux architectural elements, garlands, wreaths, and great scenes of banquets and picnics from floor to ceiling.
Figure 5.2. Painted wall from a Roman villa (National Roman Museum at Palazzo Massimo, Rome)
Figure 5.3. Painted walls from a Roman villa (National Roman Museum at Palazzo Massimo, Rome)
“Hail, son and father of gods . . .”
“Yes, yes,” Claudius interrupted. He paused, then grimaced, holding his stomach. Then he leaned to one side and broke wind loudly. The food tasters rolled their eyes, and a few of the attendants tried their best to stifle their giggles. Agrippina was visibly embarrassed, and Narcissus looked impatient. Claudius seemed annoyed at the various reactions. He shouted at Narcissus, even though Narcissus was close by.
“Narcissus!”
“Yes, lord?”
“Take dictation!”
Narcissus called for a wax tablet and stylus. “Ready, lord.”
“To my co-consul, Antistius Vetus, and the senate. Brother senators, since it is unhealthy and most grievous to the internal organs to suppress the wind which comes from the natural processes of digestion, I propose and advise the Senate to affirm that it is a natural, and most acceptable thing, for a Roman man to fart at will, an act which should in no way draw attention to itself, nor result in ridicule, derision, or revulsion. Signed and sealed, et cetera et cetera, Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus.”
The emperor turned back to Urbanus. “Narcissus advises me to make you prefect of the grain supply.” There was a long pause. Urbanus didn’t know whether to express gratitude or desire for the position, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t put any words together in time for a response. “Well? Do you want the position?”
“Yes, lord. I would be honored to hold that post.”
“Of course you would be honored. That’s obvious. But would I be honored by you holding the post? That’s what I’m trying to figure out. And I want to do it quickly so I can make my sacrifice to Mars and still get to the arena for today’s executions. By Priapus, it seems like the games get more and more boring with every passing year. So . . . what will you do if you are prefect of the grain supply?”
Urbanus thought for a moment. He wasn’t prepared for the emperor’s question. A thought popped into his head, but he immediately dismissed it. He struggled to think of something else to say, but the silence was becoming uncomfortable, and the emperor was becoming visibly annoyed. Then he said it. It surprised him to hear the thought that he had just dismissed coming out of his mouth. But it just came out, and there it was. There was no taking it back. “I met a man named Philologus who can’t feed his family, and when he went for the distribution of bread, they ran out before he got any. I would want to make sure a man like Philologus can feed his family.”
Back at Stachys’s house, the school meeting ended with a prayer, and the catechumens dispersed. Stachys noticed that Maria was packing a picnic lunch. “What’s this?” he ask
ed her.
Maria gave him a look. “Don’t you know what today is?”
“Should I?”
“Tertius’s mother? The anniversary of her death? We’re going to the cemetery. And you’re coming too.”
Stachys sighed. Normally he was grateful that Maria remembered dates. But he was feeling overwhelmed and more than a little distant from his wife. He nodded his agreement.
They walked in silence, with Tertius leading the way, across the Field of Mars. A cohort of new legionary recruits was practicing marching drills on the field to the west of the Theater of Pompey, so they had to walk around the soldiers to the south, then go north along the river to cross over to the Vatican Hill. Tertius was momentarily distracted by a group of mimes doing a skit in the street to advertise their show later that day. Then a funeral procession blocked their path, and they had to wait while the oboe players and professional mourners walked slowly by, the mourners in their mourning robes with their purposely messed-up hair. Eventually they made their way up the hill, to the cemetery at the back of the Circus of Caligula, and came to Urbanus’s family tomb. As a freedman of the household of Urbanus, Stachys and his family were entitled to be buried in the mausoleum.
Figure 5.4. Remains of a Roman mausoleum with urn niches, Ostia Antica
Figure 5.5. Fragment of a wall painting from a mausoleum with urn niches. Notice the spaces for the names of the deceased below where the niches would have been. The names themselves have faded. (National Roman Museum at Palazzo Massimo, Rome)
A Week in the Life of Rome Page 12
