The Blood of the Martyrs (15 page)

‘Peace be with you,' said the newcomer, in rather unsteady Greek, with an accent they couldn't quite place, and as they answered him they all stared at him, taking in his tunic and cloak which were certainly old, but the stuff—you could tell the stuff!—and his sandals that hadn't been mended, hadn't ever needed mending—and then the look of
his face, washed and shaved, well, you couldn't help knowing— And most of them rose, as they hadn't for Manasses, their deacon, their brother, and most of them were half excited and half frightened. Niger remembered who it was and he felt sick and he wanted to hide. ‘But you can't—' Eunice began, her voice trembling. Lalage spoke to her quickly, across Euphemia, ‘It's all right, Eunice, it is really! I only didn't tell you because I wasn't sure. I'll be his surety.' And Beric whispered to Argas, urgently, ‘For God's sake let's sit down in a corner somewhere or their eyes'll all drop out of their heads!'

Argas grinned and pushed him round into the corner behind the kneading trough, but Eunice said, ‘Oh, but he must sit in front—take my chair—bring him round, Argas!'

‘Oh
no
!' said Beric, and Phaon giggled.

‘But who is he?' Sotion whispered eagerly.

Manasses answered, with a funny mixture of pride and casualness, ‘He's our young master.'

Phaon giggled again, and then Lalage pushed Eunice back into her chair and Euphemia walked over to Dapyx and said, ‘Here, son, let me see that boil of yours.' Then she took him through into the scullery with a lamp and began squeezing the boil. Dapyx said it was where the iron ring he'd had on his neck for months had caught him. Euphemia made him hold the lamp so that she could see what she was doing, then asked, ‘Who is he, really?'

‘Manasses said—it's him,' Dapyx answered.

‘Your master? Well, I couldn't hardly believe it. But then—what's he doing here? Don't wriggle, son; it'll be done in a minute. Now tell me, do. Did you know he was coming?'

‘No. When I get to the others, he's standing there.'

‘Weren't you scared stiff?'

‘Yes. But he makes the sign. To me.'

‘There! Now I'll put a nice piece of rag round it. What do you think'll come of it, Dapyx?'

‘Don't know. Maybe better times for me.'

‘But what I can't see is, what one of
them
wants, coming in with us. Whatever can he be after?'

‘Maybe he's a fool. But—he calls me brother. Me.'

‘Well, I never. There, that's done. Come on back, son, I want to have a good look at him.'

But when they got back Beric had got himself well wedged into a dark corner, sitting on the edge of Eunice's bed, between Argas and Josias. Everyone was pretending not to look at him, and Rhodon was saying to Phineas that he hoped they'd get started soon, there was a lot of business to get through. In this Church, too, Rhodon was one of the administrators of the funds. Only nothing had to go for upkeep here, nothing for bells and candles and robes and sacrifices. Then Manasses rose for the first prayer.

On the edge of the brown desert there was a village behind a stockade of thorns, with dried mud houses tumbled and piled together, and a space in the middle where the young men could leap and yell and fling their feather-tufted spears high in the air and show off to the grave, watching girls at the women's end. Squatting along the sides, the old men commented on the black shining bodies of the boys; they were working up for a raid over the mountains and into the rich country where there was metal and horses and plenty of food.

The raiding-party started off, some riding, some running on foot, all dressed for war with ostrich feathers and dangling pieces of metal and the glossy, swinging tails of wild beasts. They crossed the mountains by a pass and came down among crops and fruit trees. They were hoping mostly for horses. In the mountains they had shouted war-cries, but now they went silently, looking for hoof prints.

By now the Province of Tingitana, farthest west of the North African Provinces, was used to these raids. It was not a case for legions, but there were patrols of auxiliaries all along the frontiers, ready to gallop when the message came for them, as it did now. In an hour they were on to the raiders, had killed several, taken a few prisoners and sent the rest scuttling back over their mountains. The prisoners, with their hands tied, were made to run beside the horses most of the way into Volubilis; that took the fight out of them properly. Here they were turned over to the regular slave trade and the auxiliaries left again for the frontier patrol.

The newly caught slaves were kept chained the whole time, fed on beans and water, and separated from one
another, so that, until they chose to know the Latin words for things, they could not communicate with anyone. From time to time they were beaten just to show them what was what. Some of them were wounded; the wounds were looked after efficiently but without regard for pain. Then they and some others were marched across Tingitana to Siga, the port from which they were to be shipped to Rome. They had no names now. Their old names were unpronounceable; they had ceased even to be angry and bewildered individuals, they had become part of the silent mass of slaves.

Aelius Balbus had an overseer, an Italian called Montanus, who saw to it that his employer was comfortable. He was reasonably honest, did not chivvy the slave girls much because his wife usually heard of it, and did not get drunk. Balbus was quite satisfied with him. He went off to the market to get another litter slave for Balbus; it had to be a black one, like the last, who had ruptured himself and was no use any longer. Montanus had proposed to sell him to anyone who could use him up, but Balbus had said he could stay on in the kitchen, which was really very kind of him, as things went.

Balbus had four slaves for his litter: a German from up near the Rhine who had been taken prisoner in one of those interminable wars that were always going on there—he was a blond, extremely strong and rather stupid: a red-haired, freckled tough called Zyrax, from Moesia or thereabouts, who knew something no one else knew about the overseer and was thus in a better position than the rest of them: a dark-haired, dark-eyed Cappadocian who would probably be the next to go, and a black to make up the lot into an amusing colour contrast. They all wore iron rings on their necks and iron cuffs on their wrists, by which, theoretically and sometimes on very special occasions, they were chained to the litter, and blue and yellow livery tunics. There were a couple of spares who walked behind, but Balbus preferred always to have the same ones carrying him.

Montanus bought one of the slaves who had recently been imported from Tingitana; he was called Niger, like his predecessor. He did not understand at first that this was
his name now and for the rest of his life, but he soon got used to it. He could speak a little Latin and he found that he also had to know some Greek, as that was what Zyrax and the Cappadocian spoke ordinarily, and a good deal depended on being in their good books. There was nothing very difficult to learn, except actually lifting the loaded litter without tilting it in the least; that was the moment when litter-bearers were apt to rupture themselves. And Aelius Balbus was a fair weight. If he was in a hurry they had to trot, in so far as that was possible in the crowded streets of Rome; and there was endless waiting about, sometimes in the full sun in summer—the German still managed to blister with that!—or in east wind and frost in winter. If they bumped the litter into anything, they were all beaten when they got back, or all except Zyrax, who was very expert at getting off things.

Niger could hardly remember the village any longer, the tossing spears and the dark glisten of the girls' eyes and breasts. That had been wiped out. This alone was happening. His predecessor was from Nubia, southwest of Egypt, and they did not even speak the same language. Also, the ruptured and discarded Niger hated the new one and was always trying to get him into trouble.

Sometimes they carried the son of the house, Aelius Candidus, and sometimes father and son together, in which case the two spares gave a hand. Or sometimes Balbus had a friend with him, or, if he had much business in hand, one of the secretaries, young Felicio, for instance. Several other slaves, also in livery, went ahead to clear the street, carrying torches if it was dark. That was easy. If litter-bearers lived to any age they often had asthma, and those who could not afford to have a succession of new litter-bearers every so many years, would have to put up with an accompaniment of unpleasant asthmatic noises as they were carried about the streets. Occasionally, too, a litter-bearer would die of heart failure.

Flavius Crispus, the way to whose house they knew well, had nothing fancy about his litter-bearers. They were just Thracians or Moesians, all more or less alike, easy to replace. The last lot which had been replaced were sent off
to his country estate to do light work. But Flavius Crispus did not have an economical overseer like Montanus.

Aelius Balbus had never actually spoken to Niger. He gave all his orders to Zyrax, who nodded cheerfully, whatever they were. But he once personally ordered Niger to be whipped for letting his pole down too suddenly. Niger was merely frightened of him. But not so immediately frightened as he was of Montanus. When he saw Montanus coming he was apt to stand absolutely still, flattening himself against a wall, perhaps, as though he hoped not even to be seen. But this annoyed Montanus, who would give him a prod in the belly as he passed by.

Usually if their master went visiting and was going to be a long time in the house, at a dinner party, say, the slaves would bring the litter into the yard and themselves would sit with the house slaves; if they were lucky they got something to eat. They always did at Flavius Crispus's house, if the young master there, the Briton, happened to see them, and he would make some cheerful remark to Zyrax who, of course, grinned back. But one day when they were there Zyrax was angry with Niger, and revenged himself by chaining him to the litter by his iron collar and cuffs and leaving him in the yard. The Cappadocian was probably rather sorry for him, but the German only laughed, going into the warmth and company of the house. Niger could have loosed himself, but he didn't dare, in case Zyrax did something much worse: complained of him to Montanus.

It was cold in the yard and he could smell food from the kitchen. Besides, with the litter on the ground he had to kneel in a cramped position beside it because of the chains. He got colder and colder; his mind was like a frozen stone. Occasionally one of Crispus's slaves passed and glanced at him, but said nothing. At last one of them asked, ‘Why aren't you in with the others?' This was a house and kitchen slave, Josias; Niger had spoken to him once or twice. Now he only pointed at the chains.

Josias came over and began to unhook the chains, but Niger stopped him. ‘No! Zyrax will be angry. I must stay.'

‘You poor devil,' said Josias and went into the house. That was all, Niger thought, but in a few minutes Josias
came back with a bit of blanket, which he put over Niger's shoulders, and a bowl of food. Josias watched him wolfing the food for a moment, hesitated, and then said, ‘I can stay if you like.' Till he heard that, Niger had not particularly noticed how lonely he was; that was just part of it all. But now he caught Josias's hand with a look of such gratitude that Josias caught himself at what he least liked remembering: the dye-works in Tyre. He said to Niger, ‘I'll tell you a story,' and sat down on the edge of the litter. Niger was now beaming with pleasure. He loved being told stories; in the village there had been nights and nights of story-telling. All the old men told stories. But no one had told him a story since he had been a slave.

Josias spoke slowly, using simple words, because he knew Niger did not understand Greek as well as most of them. He told the story of Jesus-bar-Joseph, who was also the Christ, but that wouldn't mean anything to Niger. After about an hour they heard the others coming out. Josias picked up the bowl and blanket quickly; it wouldn't do for Zyrax to see that Niger had been fed or warmed. Niger, who had been quite silent, so silent that Josias wondered sometimes if he was really listening, said, ‘Next time—tell me more.'

There was hardly any need to tell Niger to hold his tongue about it; there was no one for him to talk to, and he hardly ever managed to get to the tongue-loosening stage of drink. He had no money at all, and nobody ever stood him anything. For a long time he was suspicious of the rest of the congregation; he could not believe they might not suddenly turn against him. But he trusted Josias. It only came to him gradually that there was comfort and joy in the Church; he went there at first just to hear more stories, and because it was warm and dark and he felt safe, and because Josias wanted him to come. But gradually it began to sink into him; he began to feel that he was part of something which was bringing back his manhood to him. After the first prayers he would begin to forget that he was only a slave. He had been given a direction and he took it with all his being.

After his baptism he came whenever he possibly could, but that was not always. He had nothing to bribe the porter
into letting him out, unless sometimes when he got it from the money-bag of the Church. Sometimes he had to go for weeks without once getting the comfort of the love-feast. But he repeated the prayer to himself and told himself again all he had heard, over and over, all the stories. The litter slaves had to clean and polish the litter and the chains which might be fastened on to their own necks and wrists. One day he was doing this alone, and as he did it he kept repeating the prayer to himself. Once to each of the chains. And when he turned round the young secretary, Felicio, was standing and watching him. He crouched back, like a dog, not even daring to lift a hand to ward off the blow.

Felicio said, ‘I came to order the litter round in ten minutes. But this is much more interesting. I believe you're a Christian.' Niger said nothing; he didn't know what to say. Felicio was one of the kind that rode in the litter, almost a master. ‘Well,' said Felicio, ‘are you?' No help came to Niger, no way out. ‘Yes, sir,' he answered.

‘Caught you,' said Felicio, ‘the litter in ten minutes: get your livery on.' The others came running up. Niger scurried for his tunic, then ran to the litter pole. They were kept waiting half an hour, of course, and then had to trot. Niger didn't begin to know what might be done to him, whether he would just be punished alone or made to give names or what. Could he manage to knock his brains out on a wall? Once he stumbled and Zyrax whispered to him viciously that he'd catch it when they got back. He couldn't even pray.

When they got back he caught it all right; Zyrax saw to that. And then? He kept on waiting. It was the night for the breaking of bread and he longed most painfully to go. If he could have gone, he said to himself, and just had it all once more, just once, then he could have stood anything. But he didn't dare try to go out. He waited in acute fear.

But he did not see Felicio again till the next day. Then the secretary, coming softly as before, tapped him on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow. They went up into an attic under the roof where old books and furniture were stored. Niger wondered how Felicio was going to hurt him. So deep was his slavery that he did not even think of killing,
which he could easily have done, as Felicio was half his size. But Niger did not even have to say to himself that Christians do not murder. He just stood and looked at Felicio, waiting, and then, as Felicio had not yet done anything to him, went down on his knees. Then Felicio laughed and said, ‘I thought Christians were braver than that! Dangerous people. I thought they'd learnt not to be afraid of anything!'

Slowly Niger realised that this was an accusation which must be met. He got up and said heavily, ‘I can stand anything you do.'

Felicio regarded him. ‘You'd be a fine-looking creature,' he said, ‘if you hadn't got the soul of a slave inside it all.' He tapped him on the chest. ‘Why don't you get rid of it?'

‘What you going to do?' Niger asked. Till he knew that he couldn't know anything else.

‘Nothing. What do you think? You don't seem to realise, Niger, that I'm a slave, too.'

‘You. You go in the litter.'

‘And you go in the Christian meetings. Now then, Niger, tell me all about it.'

‘Why?'

‘Why? Because if you don't I'll see you get whipped.'

‘I don't care. I been whipped before.' Niger was recovering his balance now. Whether Felicio meant one thing or the other.

‘All right, then. Tell me because I want to know.'

‘What you want to know for?'

Felicio began to fidget about the room, neat and light, his hair properly clipped, his young beard properly shaved off. ‘If anyone comes, Niger, you're moving a desk for me—see?' Niger nodded approvingly. Felicio picked up a book-roll, put it down again, said, ‘That means telling you all about me. Care to know?'