The Secret of the Kingdom

Book V

Corinth

Corinth is a metropolis, the most lively and lighthearted metropolis in the world, according to its own citizens. Although Mummius razed it to the ground two hundred years ago, the city, risen from the ashes, has today gathered half a million inhabitants from countries all over the world, thanks largely to the foresight of the god Julius Caesar. From the Acropolis, the city and its streets appear to glow with light well into the night. For a melancholy youth brooding bitterly over his own gullibility, Corinth and its colorful life is in truth a cure.

But my servant Hierex many a time regretted that he had so tearfully begged me to buy him as he stood on the slave dealer’s platform in Rome. He could read, write, massage, cook, haggle with the tradesmen and speak both Greek and broken Latin. He assured me he had traveled in many countries with his previous masters and learned to smooth the way for them.

The price asked for him was so high that he ought to have been a slave of the highest quality, though of course there turned out to be reasons for a reduction. Hierex asked me not to haggle too much, for his master had given him up reluctantly for financial reasons caused by a court action. I guessed that Hierex would receive a share of his own price if he could raise it with his glib tongue. But in the state of mind I was in at the time, I was not in a position to haggle.

Hierex naturally hoped for a friendly young master and was afraid of ending up in a carefully run household of jaundiced old people. My silence and melancholy taught him to hold his tongue, however difficult that was, for he was a real Greek chatterer by birth. Not even the journey distracted me and I did not want to speak to anyone. So I gave orders as Pallas did, with gestures only. He did his best to serve me, probably fearing that behind my dismal exterior lay a cruel master who found pleasure in chastising a slave.

Hierex was born and bred as a slave. He was not strong, but I bought him to avoid having to look further, for he had no visible defects and his teeth were good although he was over thirty. Naturally I guessed there was something wrong with him for him to be for sale at all, but in my position I could not travel without a servant. At first he was nothing but a torment to me, but when I had taught him to keep silent and look as gloomy as myself, he took care of my luggage, my clothes and my food very well. He could even shave my still youthful beard without cutting me too badly.

He had been to Corinth before and he chose quarters for us in the Ship and Lantern Inn, near the temple of Neptune.” He was astonished that I did not at once hurry off to make a thank-offering for the successful outcome of a dangerous journey, but instead, after washing and changing, at once went to the forum to report to the Proconsul.

The government building of the province of Achaia was a handsome house with a propylaeum, and the outer courtyard was surrounded by a wall and guardhouses. Both the legionary guards at the entrance were picking their teeth and chatting to passers-by, their shields and lances leaning against the wall. They glanced ironically at my narrow red band, but let me in without a word.

Proconsul Junius Annaeus Gallio received me dressed in the Greek way, smelling of salves and with a wreath of flowers on his head, as if he were on his way to a banquet. He was a goodhearted man and offered me wine from Samos as he read his younger brother Seneca’s letter and the others which I had brought with me as a courier from the Senate. I left my goblet half full and did not bother with more wine, for I deeply despised the whole world into which I had so unfortunately been born, and on the whole, no longer believed any good of human beings.

When Gallio had read his letters, he looked serious and gave me an attentive look.

“I think it would be best if you wore your toga at court only,” he suggested carefully. ‘We must remember that Achaia is Achaia. Its civilization is older and anyhow, incomparably more spiritually directed than that of Rome. The Greeks follow their own laws and keep order themselves. Rome’s policy in Achaia is to interfere as little as possible and let things take their own course unless we are directly appealed to, to intervene. Violent attacks here are very rare. The greatest difficulty in a port city like this lies in thieves and swindlers. We have not as yet an amphitheater here in Corinth, but there is an excellent circus for the races. The theaters perform every evening. A host of pleasures are available to a decent young knight.”

“I’ve not come to Corinth for pleasure,” I replied irritably, “but to prepare myself for my career in office.”

“Of course, of course,” said Gallio. “I see that in my brother’s letter. Perhaps you’d better first report to the cohort commantler at our garrison. He is a Rubrius, so you’d better be polite. Apart from that, you can get the weapon exercises going, for the soldiers have become slack under his command. Later you can travel around and inspect the other garrisons. There aren’t many. In Athens and some other sacred cities, it is not even advisable to wear Roman military uniform, but a philosopher’s rags would be more suitable. Once a week I hold a court here outside the building. Then you must, of course, be present. One must fall in with the customs as one finds them. But we shall tour the building now and I shall introduce you to my chancery staff.”

Chatting in a friendly way on this and that, he introduced me to his treasurer, his lawyer, the superintendent of the Achaian tax office and to the trade representative from Rome.

“I’d like to ask you to stay with me,” said Gallio. “But it is better for Rome if you live out in the city, either at a good inn or in your own house. Then you’ll make contact with the people better and learn their desires, customs and complaints. Don’t forget that Achaia must be handled as carefully as a ball of feathers.

“At the moment,” he went on, “I am expecting some learned men and philosophers to dinner. I should like you to join us, but I see you are exhausted by your journey and the food would not be to your taste, as I see my wine is not either. Go and recover from the trials of your journey first, get to know the city and report to Rubrius when it suits you best. There is no hurry.”

He also introduced me to his wife. She was wearing a gold-embroidered Greek mantle, gold leather sandals and a gold band in her carefully arranged hair. She looked at me mischievously at first and then at Gallio, and then turned serious, greeting me in sorrowful tones as if all the cares of the world oppressed her. Then she suddenly put her hand to her mouth, tittered, turned around and fled from the room.

I thought the Spanish-born Helvia, despite her beauty, was obviously not wholly mature. Gallio hid his own smile, looked solemnly after his wife and confirmed my own unspoken thoughts.

“Yes, Lausus,” he said, “she is much too young and cannot take the duties of her position seriously enough. Fortunately this does not matter here in Corinth.”

The following day I wondered for a long time whether I should send a message to the garrison for a horse and guard of honor to accompany me when I reported my arrival. This I had a right to demand, of course. But as I did not yet know Ruhrius, I thought perhaps it would be better not to make myself too forward. So I dressed according to regulations, in my breastplate with the silver eagles, my iron-shod shoes and leggings, and my red-plumed helmet. Hierex put my short red tribune’s cloak around my shoulders and fastened the shoulder clasp for me.

My departure caused such a sensation at the inn that even the cooks and cleaners pressed around the door to watch me leave. ‘After I had marched in my clinking armor a short distance, people began to hurry up and gape at me. The men pointed at my plumes and shouted something, the women stepped up close to me to poke at my breastplate, and several urchins strode along in time beside me, shouting and yelling. It was not long before I realized they were making fun of my military splendor.

It was such a painful situation that I was seized with a wild desire to snatch out my long sword and lay about with the flat side of it. I also realized that this would attract even more attention to myself. Scarlet in the face, I turned to appeal to an oncoming policeman. He waved at the street urchins with his little stick to make way for me. Nevertheless, at least a hundred people followed me as far as the entrance to the camp.

The guards hurriedly snatched up their lances and shields from the wall. One blew the alarm on his trumpet when he saw the jeering mob trotting toward the barracks. The crowd had not the least desire to set foot inside the Roman garrison, only to be beaten in thanks. They stopped in a semicircle in front of the points of the soldiers’ lances, called out good wishes to me and assured me that not for years had they seen such a wonderful spectacle.

The senior centurion of the cohort came rushing up to me, dressed in nothing but his undershirt. A handful of legionaries with lances and shields hastily assembled into something akin to a line in the courtyard, disturbed by the alarm signal. Perhaps my youth will excuse the fact that I barked orders at them I still had no right to give, as I had not even reported to Rubrius yet. After making them march at the double to the wall and back and stand in a perfect line, I asked the centurion to take over. He stood astride before me in astonishment, stubble on his chin and his hands on his hips.

“Commantler Rubrius is asleep after a strenuous night exercise,” he said. “The men are tired for the same reason. How would it be if you came with me and had a drop of wine and told me who you are, where you come from and why you’ve landed here like the God of War himself, scowling and grinding his teeth!”

From his face and scarred thighs, I could see he was an old veteran and I could do nothing but agree to his request. A young knight could easily be snubbed by a centurion like him and I did not want to disgrace myself further by being made a fool of in front of the increasing number of soldiers gathering around.

The centurion took me to his room, which smelled of leather and metal polish, and began to pour wine from a jar for me. I told him that owing to a promise I could take nothing but water and vegetables, and he looked at me in surprise.

“Corinth is not considered a place of exile,” he remarked. “You must be of a very noble family indeed if your presence here is some kind of punishment for what you’ve done in Rome.”

He scratched his chin uninhibitedly, making a rasping sound on the stubble, yawned hugely and drank some wine. Nevertheless, on my orders he fetched Commantler Rubrius’ clerk and the cohort rolls.

“In the city itself,” he explained, “we only have guards at the Proconsul’s courtyard and at the main gates. Both in Cenchreae and Lycaea-the ports, you know-we’ve permanent garrisons. They have their own quarters so the men don’t have to keep going to and fro between the barracks and the ports. According to the rolls, we’re a full cohort, excluding the engineers, clothmakers and other specialists, so if necessary we can be a self-sufficient field corps.”

I asked about the cavalry.

“In fact we’ve not a single cavalryman here at the moment,” he said. “Naturally there are a few horses at the disposal of the Commantler and the Governor, but both of them prefer to use a litter. You can have one of them if you can’t manage without a horse. Corinth’s own cavalry is, of course, bound to assist us on command.”

When I asked about maintenance of weapons and equipment, orders for the day and the exercise program, he looked at me curiously.

“Perhaps you’d better ask Rubrius about that,” he said. “I’m only his subordinate.”

To pass the time, I inspected the empty quarters, with their dust and cobwebs, the weapon store, the kitchen and the altar. The garrison had no Eagle of its own, only the customary cohort field insignia with tassels and memorial plates. After my round of inspection I was both confused and appalled.

“In the name of Hercules,” I cried, “where are the men? What would happen if we had to leave suddenly to fight?”

The centurion had grown tired of me.

“You’d better ask Commantler Rubrius that too,” he said angrily.

At midday, Rubrius at last sent for jne. His room was beautifully furnished in the Greek way and I saw at least three different young women serving him. He himself was bald, his face fat and the veins in it broken, his lips blue and he dragged his left foot as^ he walked. He received me warmly, breathed wine on me as he embraced me and at once told me to sit down and make myself at home without formality.

“Coming from Rome, you must be surprised to find how lazy we are here in Corinth,” he said. “Of course, it’s quite right that a brisk young knight should come and get things going here. Well, well, so you’ve the rank of tribune, have you? From Britain, I see. That’s a distinction, not a command.”

I asked him about service instructions and for a while he did not answer.

“In Corinth,” he said finally, “we don’t need to keep ourselves in a state of readiness. On the contrary, the city council and the inhabitants would be insulted if we did. Most of the legionaries here are married. They have my permission to live with their families and practice a craft or a trade. Now and again on Roman feast days, we muster them, of course. But only inside our walls so as not to attract unnecessary attention.”

I ventured to point out that the soldiers I had seen were apathetic and ill-disciplined, that the equipment store was thick with dust and the quarters filthy.

“Possibly, possibly,” admitted Rubrius. “It’s a long time since I remembered to take a look at the men’s quarters. Society in Corinth takes its toll of a not-so-young man like myself. Fortunately I have a very reliable senior centurion. He’s responsible for everything. Ask him what you want to know. From a formal point of view, you should be my right-hand man, but he would be offended if I went over his head. Perhaps you could work together with a kind of equal status, as long as you don’t trouble me with complaints about each other. I’ve had enough quarreling in my life and want to serve out my time in peace. I’ve not many years to go.”

He gave me a surprisingly sharp look and added with feigned absent-mindedness, “Did you by any chance know that my sister Rubria is the eldest of the Vestal Virgins in Rome?”

Then he went on to give me some cautionary advice.

“Remember always,” he said, “that Corinth is a Greek city, even if the people who live here come from many other countries. Military honors do not count for much here. The art of social life is more important. Look about to start with and then make out a service program yourself, but don’t overwork my soldiers excessively.”

With these instructions I had to leave. The centurion was standing outside and gave me a cold look.

“Did you get your information?” he asked.

I looked at two legionaries lumbering through the entrance with their shields on their backs and their lances on their shoulders. I was astounded to hear the centurion calmly explain that this was the changing of the guard.

“They’ve not even mustered!” I cried. “Are they to be allowed to go like that, with filthy legs, long hair and without an under-officer or escort?”

“We don’t hold guard parades here in Corinth,” the centurion said calmly. “It’d be better if you hung up your plumed helmet somewhere and got used to the customs of the country.”

But he did not interfere when I ordered the under-officers to see that the barracks were cleaned, the weapons polished, that the men shaved, cut their hair, and in general tried to look like Romans. I promised to return the following morning for an inspection at sunrise, for which I also had the prison scrubbed and fresh switches prepared. The veterans looked alternately in surprise at me and at the furiously grimacing centurion, but they thought it best to say nothing. I remembered the advice I had been given and hung up my parade uniform in the equipment store and instead put on a simple leather tunic and a round exercise helmet when I went back to the inn.

Hierex had had cabbage and beans cooked for me. I drank water with my food and went to my room so depressed that I felt no desire whatsoever to make the acquaintance of the sights of Corinth.

When I returned at dawn to the barracks, something had indeed been happening in my absence. The guards on duty at the entrance stood to attention with raised lances and gave me a rousing greeting.

The senior centurion was dressed for exercises. He did his best to make the sleepy men wash at the water troughs, barking at them in a hoarse voicc. The barber was fully occupied and on the sooty altar a crackling fire was burning and the yard smelled of clean soldiers rather than of a pigsty.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the signal blown when you arrived,” said the centurion sarcastically, “but Commantler Rubrius is particular about his morning sleep. Now you’d better take over. I’ll watch. The men are eagerly awaiting a sacrifice. A couple of pigs would do if an oxen is too expensive.”

Because of my training and upbringing, I’d had little experience of sacrifices and under no circumstances was I going to make a fool of myself by spearing squealing pigs to death.

“It’s not yet time for sacrifices,” I snapped. “I must first see whether it’s worth staying here or whether I’ll give up the whole assignment.”

As I walked around, I soon noticed that the small number of men there knew the drill and could march properly if they wanted to. They did get rather breathless after marching at the double, but in the group batde-drill they could all throw their lances at least somewhere near the sacks of straw. During the sword exercises with blunt weapons, I noticed that there were several really skilled swordsmen. When they were all finally panting and sweating, the centurion made a suggestion.

“What about standing them at ease,” he said, “and showing us how you can fence? I’m a bit old and fat of course, but I’d be glad to show you how we used to use a sword in Pannonia. It was there, in Carnun-tum, that I got my centurion’s stave.”

To my surprise, I found I had to exert myself with him. He would have had me against the wall with his shield, despite my longer sword, if he had not become out of breath so soon. The swift motions and the clear sunlight of Corinth gradually began to make me ashamed of my former irritability and to remember that all these men were older than I and had served a couple of decades longer. There were just about as many degrees of service as there were men in the troop. A legion of normal strength has nearly seventy different pay grades to increase the zeal for service.

I began to seek a reconciliation with the centurion.

“Now I’m prepared to sacrifice a young bull,” I said. “I’ll also pay for a ram for you to sacrifice. The eldest of the veterans can sacrifice a pig. Then we’ll have meat of the best kinds. It’s not worth bearing a grudge against me for a little exercise in acquaintanceship, is it?”

The centurion looked me up and down and his face lit up.

“I’ll send the best men I’ve got down to the cattle market,” he said, “and they can choose the animals. You’ll provide some wine, too, I suppose.”

Naturally I could not refuse to take part in the sacrificial meal with the men. They vied with each other at extracting good bits of meat for me from the jars. I had to drink some wine too. After the exertions of the day, I was made drunk by the meat alone and the wine went straight to my knees after such a long period of abstention. After dark, a number of women whose profession no one could mistake, though some of them were young and pretty, came creeping cautiously into the camp. I seem to remember that I wept bitterly and told the centurion that one could never trust any woman because every woman was guile itself and a trap. I also remember that the soldiers carried me lying on the God of War’s couch high up on their shoulders around the yard, singing the Pannonian legion’s bawdy songs in my honor. I remember nothing else.

During the last night spell of guard duty, I woke by being sick all over myself as I lay on a hard wooden truckle-bed in the quarters. My legs buckling beneath me, my hands holding my head, I staggered out and saw men lying all over the yard, every one of them where he had fallen. I felt so appallingly ill that the stars in the morning sky danced in front of my eyes as I tried to look up. I washed myself as best I could and was so bitterly ashamed of my conduct that I might have thrown myself on my sword had not all the sharp weapons been locked up in good time the night before.

Tottering through the streets of Corinth with their fading torches and pitch caldrons, I at last found my inn. Hierex had been anxiously waiting up for me. When he saw my wretched condition he undressed me, wiped my limbs with a damp cloth, gave me something bitter to drink and put me to bed under a woolen coverlet. When I woke again, cursing the day I was born, he fed me carefully with a few spoonfuls of wine in whipped-up yolks of egg. Before I even had time to think about my promise, I had gobbled down a portion of well-spiced meat stew.

Sighing with relief, Hierex became voluble.

“Blessed be all the gods,” he said, “both known and unknown, but most of all your own Goddess of Fortune. I had been very worried about you and was afraid your reason was going. It’s neither natural nor right that a youngster of your age and rank should see the world through sad eyes and eat nothing but cabbage and drink nothing but water. So it was as if a burden had fallen from my back when you came back stinking of wine and vomit and I realized that you had thrown in your lot with ordinary men.”

“I’m afraid I’ve brought disgrace on myself all over Corinth,” I said bitterly. “I dimly remember that I danced a Greek goat dance with the legionaries. When Proconsul Gallio gets to hear of this, I’m certain he’ll send me straight back to Rome to be a writer or a lawyer.”

Hierex forced me to go out and walk with him in the wide streets of the city, telling me the exercise would do me good. We saw the sights of Corinth together, the ancient sternpost of the Argonauts’ ship in the temple of Neptune, the Pegasus spring and the hoof mark in the rock beside it. Hierex tried to lure me up to the Venus temple on the mountain, but I still had enough sense left to refuse.

Instead we looked at the wonder of Corinth, a waxed wooden track on which quite large ships could be hauled by slaves from Cenchreae to Lycaea and back. One would have thought this would have needed hordes of slaves and endless whiplashes, but the Greek shipbuilders, with the help of windlasses and cogs, had arranged it all so skillfully that the ships slid along the track as if by themselves. A seaman who noticed our interest swore on the Nereids that with a good wind behind them, it was sufficient just to hoist the sails. I felt better afterwards, my troubles fading, as Hierex told me about his life and several times made me laugh.

But I still felt embarrassed when I went back to the barracks the next day. Fortunately everything had been cleared up after the orgy, the men on guard were smartly in their places and the usual daily routine in force. Rubrius summoned me and reproached me tactfully.

“You are still young and inexperienced,” he said. “There was no valid reason for inciting these old warriors to fight each other and brawl drunkenly all night. I hope it will be the last time. Try not to give free rein to the Roman crudeness in your nature, and adapt yourself as best you can to Corinth’s more refined customs.”

The senior centurion took me, as he had promised, to inspect the men on the cohort rolls who were tradesmen in the city. They were smiths, tanners, weavers and potters, but many had simply used their Roman citizenship, earned by long service, and married into wealthy tradesmen’s families, and acquiring from them privileges which assured themselves an easy life of abundance. Their equipment had rat-gnawed straps, the points of their lances were rusty and their shields had not been polished within living memory. Some of them could not even find their equipment.

At every place they offered us wine and food, even silver pieces. One legionary, who had become a perfume dealer and could not find his shield, tried to push me into a room with a girl. When I remonstrated with him, he said bitterly, “All right, you can turn on the screws then. But we already pay so much to Rubrius for the right to practice a free trade that I at least haven’t many drachmas to put into your purse.”

When I realized what he was saying, I hurriedly assured him that I had certainly not come to exact bribes but just to see, as was my duty, that all the men on the rolls were equipped and took care of their weapons. The perfume dealer calmed down and promised to buy a new shield at the flea market as soon as he had time. He also promised to join in the exercises if I wanted him to, and said that a little physical exercise would do him good, because in his line of business he was always sitting still and he was getting much too fat.

I saw that it would be wisest if I did not look too deeply into Commantler Rubrius’ affairs, especially as his sister was the most important priestess in Rome. The senior centurion and I made out a program which at least appeared to give the men something to do. After inspecting the traditional guard posts, we agreed the guards should be relieved by the sun and the water clock. The guard would no longer be allowed to lie or sit and must be fully equipped. I could not really see what a double guard at the city gates was really guarding, but the centurion said that these places had been guarded for a hundred years and so could not be left without. It would have offended the Corinthians, for it was they who through taxation maintained the Roman garrison in their city.

After a while, I considered I had carried out my tribune’s duties in Corinth as best I could. The legionaries had overcome their initial dislike for me and now greeted me cheerfully. On the Proconsul’s court day, I reported to him in my toga. A Greek clerk went through the cases beforehand and Gallio yawningly ordered his judge’s throne to be carried out to the front of the building.

Gallio proved himself to be a mild and fair judge. He asked us our views, joked occasionally, questioned the witnesses carefully himself and postponed every case he thought had not been sufficiently explained by the lawyers’ speeches and the witnesses. He refused to pronounce judgment on what he thought were too trivial cases, but demantled that both parties should settle the matter between them or he would line each of them for lack of respect for the court. After the session, he invited me to a good meal and gave me some advice onCorinthian bronzes, which at that time it was fashionable to collect in Home.

When I returned to the inn, despite everything depressed by Gallio’s sober wisdom and the ordinariness of the court, Hierex had a suggestion to make.

“You can undoubtedly afford to live as you like,” he said. “But to live for a whole year in an inn is downright waste..Corinth is a prosperous city. It would be wisest to put your money into a house of your own and let me help to make you comfortable there. If you’ve not enough money here, as a Roman official you would certainly get as much credit as you have the nerve to ask for.”

“Houses always need repairing,” I replied, “and servants are always quarreling. As a house owner I’d have to pay taxes to the city. Why should I give myself all those worries? It’s simpler to move to a cheaper inn if I think they’re fleecing me here.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Hierex; “to look after your worries as best I can. Just give me the authority and I’ll arrange things for the best. The only thing you need do is put your name to a document from the temple of Mercury. Later on you’ll have to return hospitality with hospitality. Think what you’d have to pay at an inn, for instance, when you invite six people to a festive meal with wine. In your own house, I’d do the marketing myself, get wines at wholesale prices and advise your cook. And you wouldn’t have to live like this, when any stranger knows it every time you make water or blow your nose.”

There was a great deal of good sense in his suggestion, and several days later I found myself the owner of quite a large two-story house with a garden. The reception room had a lovely mosaic floor and there were more inner rooms than I needed. I noticed that I also had a cook and a Greek doorkeeper. The house was furnished with comfortable old furniture, so nothing looked new and brash. Even a pair of Greek household gods stood in their niches each side of the altar, greasy and sooty with age, Hierex had also bought some ancestral wax masks at an auction, but I said I did not want someone else’s ancestors.

Rubrius, the senior centurion, and Gallio’s Greek lawyer were my first guests. Hierex appointed a Greek sage to talk to the guests and a skillful dancing-girl with a flute player for lighter entertainment. The food was excellent. My guests left me at midnight in a state of civilized inebriation. Later I found out that they had had themselves taken straight to the nearest brothel, for from there they had a bill sent to me to teach me Corinthian customs. I was unmarried, so I should have acquired a woman guest from the Temple mountain for each of my guests. But I did not want to be part of such customs.

Anyhow, I do not know what would have happened, because Hierex did his best, quietly and gradually, to train me to be the kind of master he wished to have. But it was court day again. Gallio, still with a hangover from the previous night, had hardly sat down and adjusted his toga properly when a crowd of Jews rushed up to him, dragging with diem two men who were also Jews. In the Jewish way, they all shouted at once until Gallio, after smiling for a while, said sharply that one of them should speak for the rest. After they had consulted together to decide on the charge, their leader stepped forward.

“This man,” he said, “is misleading people into worshiping God in an unlawful manner.”

I was depressed and frightened to find that even here, and as a member of the court too, I was to be involved in the quarrels of the Jews. I looked carefully at the accused man. He was nearly bald, his eyes burning and his ears large. He stood proudly upright in his worn goatskin cloak.

As if in a dream I remembered I had seen him many years ago in my father’s house in Antioch. I was even more frightened then, for in Antioch he had caused so much trouble that the Jews who recognized Christ had preferred to send him away to sow dissension among Jews elsewhere.

The man had already opened his mouth to begin his defense, but Gallio, guessing what was coming, signaled to him to be quiet and turned to the Jews.

“If this were a matter of a crime or an evil deed, then I might have listened to you with patience,” he said. “But if you are disagreeing on your teaching and its name and your own laws, then those are your own troubles. I do not wish to sit in judgment on them.”

He ordered the Jews to move away and turned to us.

“If I gave the Jews my little finger,” he explained, “I should never hear the end of it.”

But he did not rid himself of them quite so lightly as that. After the court session he again invited us to a meal, but he was distrait and sunk in thought. Afterwards he took me to one side.

“I know that man the Jews wished to accuse,” he said confidentially. “He has lived in Corinth for a year and earns his living honesdy as a tentmaker. His name is Paul. They say he has changed his name to hide his past and taken a new name from a former governor of Cyprus, Sergius Paulus. His teaching made a deep impression on Sergius in his day and Sergius is by no means simple, although he did try predicting by the stars and letting a magician live with him. So Paul is not an insignificant man. I thought his piercing eyes looked right through me into another world as he stood before me so fearlessly.”

“He’s the worst troublemaker among the Jews,” I said without thinking. “In Antioch in my childhood, he tried to drag my good father into the intrigues of the Jews.”

“You must have been much too young at the time to understand his teachings,” Gallio remarked considerately. “Before he came to Corinth, he is said to have preached in the market in Athens. The Athenians took the trouble to listen to him and even said he might do so again. You can hardly be wiser than they.

“In fact,” he went on, “I’d very much like to ask him here in secret sometime to find out properly about his teaching. But that might give rise to gossip and offend the rich Jews of Corinth. I have to keep myself strictly impartial. As far as I can make out, he has founded some kind of synagogue of his own alongside the Jewish synagogue, and he is pleasingly different from them in that he instructs anyone who cares to come, and also prefers Greeks to Jews.”

Gallio had obviously thought a great deal on these matters for he continued to speak of them.

“In Rome I did not believe that foolish story about the runaway slave called Christus,” he said. “We live in a time when all the ground beneath our thoughts is giving way. I cannot talk about the gods. In their traditional forms, they are only images which can amuse simple souls. But the teachers of wisdom cannot make man good or give him peace of mind either. We’ve seen this in the Stoics and the Epicureans. Perhaps this wretched Jew has really found some divine secret. Why else should his teaching provoke so much quarreling, hatred and envy among the Jews?”

I need hardly repeat any more of Gallio’s broodings. But finally he gave me an order.

“Go and find out about that man’s teaching, Minutus,” he said. “You’ve the best qualifications to do so, as you’ve known him since your childhood in Antioch. And also you are in general acquainted with the Jehovah of the Jews and their laws and customs. Your father is said to have been very successful in Antioch as a mediator between the Jews and the city council.”

I seemed to have fallen into a trap and it was useless to object, for Gallio turned a deaf ear to all my protests.

“You must overcome your prejudices,” he said. “You must be honest if you are to seek the truth, insofar as your duty permits you. You’ve plenty of time. There are worse ways of passing it than studying the wisdom of this Jewish savior of the world.”

“But what if he gets me into his power with his magic?” I asked bitterly.

But Gallio did not even consider my question worth answering.

An order is an order. I had to carry it out to the best of my ability. It might be quite important to Gallio to be absolutely clear on what such a dangerous and influential rabble rouser preached. On the day of Saturn, I dressed in simple Greek clothes, found the Jews’ synagogue and went into the building next door. It was not a real synagogue but an inoffensive cloth dealer’s house which he had given up to the assembly Paul had founded.

The reception room on the upper floor was full of simple people waiting with joyful expectation in their eyes. They greeted each other in a friendly way and I too was welcomed and no one asked my name. Most of them were craftsmen, small traders or trusted slaves, but there were also some old women wearing silver ornaments. Judging by their clothes, only a few of them were Jews.

Paul arrived with several disciples. He was greeted with cries of homage as a messenger of the true God, and some women wept with joy when they saw him. He spoke in a loud, piercing voice and was so carried away with the conviction of his own words that it was like a hot wind blowing through the sweating crowd of listeners.

His voice alone pierced me to the marrow. I tried to listen attentively and make some notes on a wax tablet, for at the beginning he referred to the Jewish holy scripts, showing by quoting from them that Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified in Jerusalem, in fact was the Messiah or Christus the prophets had predicted.

It was interesting that he quite openly referred to his own past. He was undoubtedly a gifted man, for he said he had studied in the renowned philosophy school in his home town, Tarsus, and later in Jerusalem with famous teachers. In his youth he had soon been elected to the highest Jewish council. He said that he had been a passionate adherent to the laws, and a persecutor of the disciples of Jesus. He had even guarded the clothes of the stoners and in that way taken part in the first illegal execution of a member of the assembly of the poor. He had hunted, bound and dragged to court several followers of the new way and finally at his own request had been given authority to arrest the adherents of Nazareth who had fled from persecution to Damascus.

But on the way to Damascus he had seen such an unearthly light that he had been blinded. Jesus himself had appeared to him, and since then he had changed. In Damascus, a man who had acknowledged Jesus, a certain Ananias, had laid his hands on him and given him back his sight, for Jesus of Nazareth wished to show him how much he must suffer to proclaim the name of Christ.

And suffered he had. Many a time he had been flogged. Once he had been nearly stoned to death. He bore scars of Christ on his body, he said. All this the listeners had heard many times before, but they listened just as attentively and occasionally cried out with joy.

Paul told them to look around and with their own eyes confirm that there were not many wise, powerful or important people among them. This he considered showed that God had chosen what on earth is simple and despised, to shame the wise men. God chose the foolish and the weak instead of the wise men, for he transformed the wisdom of the world into foolishness.

He also spoke on the searching of the spirit and they who run races. And he talked of love, more impressively, I thought, than I have ever heard anyone else speak. Man should love his neighbor as himself, yes, to the extent that whatever he did for the good of another without love was of no benefit to him. He maintained explicitly that even if a person distributed all his possessions for the good of the poor and gave his own body for burning without feeling real love, then he was still nothing.

This pronouncement pierced my mind to the depths. Gallio too had said that wisdom alone did not make man good. I began to brood on this and no longer listened carefully to his words which went over my head like the rustling of a stormy wind. He was undoubtedly talking in a state of ecstasy and went from one subject to another as the spirit put the words into his mouth. But he seemed to know what he was saying. In this he was different from the Christians I had met in Rome where one said one thing and another another. Everything I had heard before was as child’s prattle compared to Paul’s powerful eloquence.

I tried to separate the main points in his teaching and I noted down several matters to dispute with him later in the Greek way. But it was difficult, for he whirled from one thing to another as if home by a wind. Even if within me I disagreed with him, I had to admit he was not an insignificant man.

Finally everyone who was not baptized was dismissed, thus leaving his inner circle. Some people begged Paul to baptize them and lay his hands on their heads, but he refused firmly and told them to be baptized by their own teachers who had been given the gift of grace to do so. When he had first come to Corinth, he had made the mistake of baptizing some people, but had then heard them boasting that they had been baptized in the name of Paul and at the same time had shared in his spirit. Such twisted teaching he had no wish to spread, for he knew himself to be nothing.

Sunk in my thoughts, I walked home and shut myself in my room. Naturally I did not believe what Paul had said. In fact I thought out how I could argue against him. But as a person and a human being, he aroused my interest. I was forced to admit that he must have experienced something inexplicable, as this experience had so completely changed his life.

It was also to his credit that he did not strive for the favors and gifts of important and wealthy people, as the itinerant Isis priests and other visionaries usually did. The lowest slave, even a simple-minded person, seemed to be the same to him, if not more important, than a noble and wise man. Seneca taught that slaves too were human beings, but Seneca had no desire to mix with slaves because of this. He chose other society.

I noticed in the end that whichever way I thought, I tried to find arguments against Paul rather than for him. There was a powerful spirit speaking in him, for I could not stand to one side and think coldly and clearly about his demented superstition and then with a laugh repeat it to Gallio. Reason told me that I could not feel such deep and obvious hostility to Paul’s absolute confidence if his thoughts had not made an impression on me.

I tired of brooding and was again filled with a desire to drink from my mother’s old wooden goblet which my father valued so highly and which I had not touched for so long. I found it in my chest, poured some wine into it and drank. My room was nearly dark, but I lit no lamps. Suddenly it was as if my thoughts had lost all their foundations and all their roots.

The rational philosophy of today denies man all hope. Man can choose a reasonable life of pleasure or a strickly disciplined life aimed at serving the State and the common good. An epidemic, a falling tile, or a hole in the ground can by chance put an end to man’s life. The wise man commits suicide if his life becomes intolerable. Plants, stones, animals and people are nothing but a blind meaningless game of atoms. It is as reasonable to be an evil man as a good one. Gods, sacrifices, omens, are only State-approved superstitions which satisfy women and simple people.

There are of course men like Simon the magician and the Druids who, by developing certain spiritual sources, can put a man into a deathlike sleep or control weaker wills. But that power is within themselves and does not come from without. I am convinced of this, although the Druid himself may believe he has walked in the underworld and seen visions there.

The wise man can with his words and by his own life set an example to others and by a deliberate death show that life and death are but trifles. But I do not think that a life of wisdom of this kind is much to strive for.

As I sat in the darkness, my thoughts lost their foothold and in a strange way I experienced my mother’s merciful presence as I held the smooth goblet in my hand. I thought, too, of my father, who seriously believed that the king of the Jews had risen from the dead after crucifixion and said he had seen him when he and my mother had journeyed together in Galilee. Ever since I was a boy, I had been afraid he would disgrace himself in the company of decent people by expressing these lunatic sentiments.

But what did the views of decent people or superiors matter to me if life was still without meaning? Of course it seems very grand to serve a kingdom whose aim is to create worldwide peace and give the world Roman law and order. But then, are good roads, fine aqueducts, mighty bridges and permanent stone houses an aim in life? Why am I alive, I, Minutus Lausus Manilianus, and why do I exist? I asked myself this and I am still asking this, here at this watering place where they are curing the disease of my blood, and to pass the time I am writing down my life for your sake, my son-you who have just received your man-toga.

The next day I humbled myself and went to find Paul in the tent-makers’ alley to talk to him alone. He was, after all, a Roman citizen and not just a Jew. The elder of the guild knew at once whom I meant and laughed loudly.

“You mean the learned Jew, do you?” he said. “The one who has abandoned his laws and is preaching a new faith, threatening the Jews that blood will come on their heads, and wishing that they’d not only get themselves circumcised but gelded too. A good man and a good craftsman. He doesn’t need much encouragement. He can preach at the loom if he wants to. I’ve had many a good laugh at his expense. His reputation brings us new customers, too. Do you want a new tent or a rainproof cloak?”

As soon as I could get away from him, I went on down the dusty alley strewn with goat-hair and came to an open workshop where, to my surprise, I found the broken-nosed Aquila from Rome sitting beside Paul. His wife Prisca recognized me at once and gave a cry of pleasure, telling Paul my name and how I had once come to the assistance of the Christians in the fighting with the faithful Jews in Rome.

“But that’s all over now,” Prisca went on hurriedly. “We very much regret the blind assurance which made us boast so. Now we’ve learned to turn the other cheek and pray for those who insult us.”

She chattered on as before and her husband was just as silent as before, not even stopping his monotonous work to greet me. I asked them about their flight and how they were managing in Corinth. They could not complain, but Prisca wept at the thought of the dead she had left behind in the ditches on the roadside as they had left Rome.

“But they received the immortal palm,” she said. “And they did not die with a curse on their lips but praised Jesus, who has saved them from their sins.”

I did not answer, for she was but a silly woman who had done great harm to both her kin and the faithful Jews. But I turned respectfully to Paul.

“I heard you preaching yesterday,” I said. “I have to render a thorough account of your way. So I have some counterarguments which I should like to discuss with you. We can’t do that here. Would you care to come to my house this evening for a meal? As far as I can make out, you have nothing to hide in your teaching nor does it prevent you from eating with a Roman.”

To my surprise, Paul was not at all impressed by my invitation. With his worn expression and piercing eyes, he looked at me and said briefly that God’s wisdom reversed all arguments and made them foolish. He was not called to dispute but to bear witness for Jesus Christ, because of the revelation he had experienced.

“But I’ve heard that you have spoken in the marketplace in Athens,” I protested. “You can’t have escaped disputes with the Athenians.”

It seemed as if Paul did not particularly wish to be reminded of his appearance in Athens. He had probably been made to look foolish there. But he said that some people believed him, among them one of the judges at the city court. Whether they had really been convinced by this alien speaker or whether they had not wished to offend him out of sensitivity, I did not inquire.

“But you could at least answer a few simple questions,” I said, “and presumably you have to eat like everyone else. I promise not to disturb your trend of thought with rhetorical objections. I shan’t dispute, but just listen.”

Aquila and Prisca both urged him to accept my invitation and told him they knew nothing evil of me. During the confusion in Rome, I had accidentally taken part in the Christian love-feast. My father helped the poor and behaved like a godly man. Neither do I think Paul had any political suspicions of me.

When I returned home, I arranged for the evening meal and looked around my house. In a strange way all my things looked alien to me. Hierex too, seemed alien to me, although I seemed to know him.. What did I know of the doorkeeper and the cook? I could not understand them by speaking to them, for they gave only the kind of answers they thought I liked to hear.

I should have been content with my life. I had money, a good appearance, a position in the State service, excellent patrons and a healthy body. Most people would not reach the heights I had at my young age in all their lives. And yet I was not happy.

Paul and his companions arrived as the evening stars were coming out, but he left his friends’ outside and came in by himself. As a courtesy to him, I had covered my household gods with a cloth, for I knew idols offended the Jews. I had Hierex light sweet-smelling beeswax candles in honor of my guest.

After a simple vegetable course, I offered a meat course, explaining that he need not taste it if his teaching did not permit him to eat meat. Paul took some with a smile and said that he did not want to cause me any offense or even ask me where the meat had been bought. To Greeks he liked to be a Greek, to Jews a Jew. He also drank diluted wine but remarked that he would soon be making a promise for certain reasons.

I did not want to trap him with either forbidden foods or artful questions. When we started talking, I tried to formulate my questions as carefully as possible. The most important thing from Gallio’s and Rome’s point of view was to find out what exactly his position was in relation to the Roman State and the common good.

He assured me in all honesty that he usually advised everyone to obey the public authorities, to comply with law and order and to avoid causing offense.

He did not set slaves against their masters? No. According to him, everyone should be content with his position on earth. A slave should submit to his master’s will and the master treat his servants well and remember that there is a Lord who is Lord of all.

Did he mean the Emperor? No. He meant the living God, the creator of heaven and earth, and Jesus Christ, his son, who had promised to return to earth to sit in judgment on the living and the dead.

For the time being I skirted around this delicate point and asked him what instructions he gave to those he succeeded in converting. This he had evidently meditated on a great deal, but he contented himself by saying, “Support the afflicted, take care of the weak, show forbearance to everyone. Never avenge evil with evil, but strive to do good to each other. Always be joyful. Pray unceasingly. Give thanks for every moment.”

He also said that he told the brothers to lead a quiet life and to work with their hands. It was not their business to reproach the adulterers, revilers, drunkards, extortioners and idol-worshipers. Then they would be forced to leave the world themselves. But if someone who had joined them showed themselves to be an adulterer or reviler or drunkard or extortioner or idol-worshiper, then he must be reproved. If he did not better himself, then one would not associate with him or even eat in his presence.

“You don’t judge me then,” I said with a smile, “although I am in your eyes an idol-worshiper, adulterer and drunkard?”

“You are outside,” he said. “It is not my business to judge you. We judge only those who are inside. God will judge you.”

He said it so seriously, as a definite fact, that I trembled inwardly. Although I had made up my mind not to offend him, I could not resist putting a malicious question to him.

“When do we stand before this day of judgment, according to the information you have?” I said.

Paul said that it was not his business to prophesy either. The day of the Lord would come like a thief in the night. I saw that he was fairly certain that the coming of the Lord would happen in his lifetime.

Paul rose to his feet suddenly.

“The Lord will descend from heaven and those who have died in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive will be carried there with them to meet the Lord among the clouds and then we shall all be in the presence of the Lord.”

“And the judgment then,” I asked, “of which you talk so much?”

“The Lord Jesus will appear in a flame of fire with his celestial angels,” he said, “and avenge himself on those who do not recognize God and do not obey the message of our Lord Jesus. As a punishment they will be afflicted with eternal perdition away from the countenance of our Lord and the light of his power.”

I had to admit that he did not attempt to win my’favor but starkly said what he meant. His words moved me, for he was nothing if not honest in the fervor of his belief. Without my asking him, he told me about angels and the powers of evil, about his journeys in different countries and the authority he had been given by the supporters in Jerusalem. More than anything else, I was surprised that he showed no desire to convert me. In the end, I did not listen to him so much as submit myself to the power and assurance which seemed to speak from him.

I could feel his presence quite clearly. I smelled the pleasing scent of candles, good food, incense and clean goat-hair. It was good to be in his company. Nevertheless, in a kind of dream, I tried to separate myself from it. I jerked out of my drowsiness and cried, “How can you think you know everything so much better than other people?”

He spread out his hands and replied with all simplicity, “I am God’s fellow worker.”

And he was not blaspheming when he said it; he was quietly but absolutely convinced of the truth of his words. I rose swiftly with my hand to my forehead and walked up and down the room as if bewitched. If it were really as he said, then here was the opportunity of my life to find the meaning of life.

“I do not understand what you are saying,” I admitted in a trembling voice, “but lay those strong hands of yours on my head, if that is usual among you, so that your spirit shall come to me and I shall understand.”

But he did not touch me. Instead he promised to pray for me so that Jesus should be proclaimed to me and become my Christ, for the time was short and this world already perishing. When he had gone, everything he had said seemed sheer lunacy. I cried out aloud. I reproached myself for gullibility. I kicked the furniture over and smashed the clay bowls on the floor.

Hierex came rushing in. When he saw my condition, he called in the doorkeeper to help. Together they struggled to put me to bed. But I wept loudly and from my mouth came a mad cry which was not my own. It was as if some alien power had shaken my whole body and broken out of me in the form of this terrible scream.

At last I fell asleep from exhaustion. In the morning my head and the whole of my body ached, so I stayed in bed and wearily took the bitter medicine Hierex had mixed.

“Why do you receive that Jewish magician?” he said. “Nothing good comes of the Jews. They have a capacity for confusing sensible people.”

“He’s no magician,” I said. “Either he’s mad or else he’s the most spiritually powerful person I’ve ever met. I’m very much afraid he’s an intimate of an inexplicable god.”

Hierex looked at me in a troubled way.

“I was born and brought up a slave,” he said, “so I’ve learned to judge life from a worm’s point of view. But I’m also older than you, have traveled widely, experienced good and evil, and learned to know people. If you like, I’ll go and listen to your Jew and then tell you honestly what I think of him.”

His loyalty touched me. I thought it would be useful to know what Hierex in his own way thought of Paul.

“Yes, go to them,” I said. “Try to understand them and listen to Paul’s teaching.”

On my part I wrote a short report on Paul to Gallio, making it as formal as I could.

Minutus Lausus Manilianus on Paul:

I heard his teaching in his followers’ synagogue. I questioned him alone. He spoke openly. He did not try to gain my favor. He hid nothing.

He is a Jew of Jewish parents. Studied in Tarsus, then in Jerusalem. Formerly persecuted the disciples and followers of Jesus of Nazareth. Experienced a revelation. In Damascus, recognized Jesus as the Jewish Messiah. Stayed in the wilderness. Quarreled in Antioch with Simon the fisherman, Jesus’ chief disciple. Later reconciled. Received the right to proclaim Jesus as Christ to the uncircumcised.

Journeyed in the eastern provinces. Often punished. Tactics: First visits the Jewish synagogues. Proclaims Jesus the Messiah. Is beaten. Converts those listeners who take an interest in the Jewish God. Circumcision is not demantled. The Jewish laws need not be obeyed. He who believes that Jesus is Christ is pardoned and receives eternal life.

No rabble-rouser. Does not encourage slave rebellion. Encourages quiet life. Does not abuse others, only his own people. Powerful personal authority. Affects most those already infected by Judaism.

Note: Convinced that Jesus of Nazareth will one day return to judge the whole world, when God’s wrath will punish all others. So in some ways an enemy of humanity.

Politically quite harmless from Rome’s point of view. Causes splits and quarrels among the Jews. In this way, to Rome’s advantage.

I found nothing reprehensible in this man.’

I went to Gallio with my brief report. After reading it, he stole a glance at me and his chin trembled a little. “You are very laconic,” he said.

“That’s just a pro memoria,” I said, annoyed. “If you like, I can tell you more about the man.”

“What is his divine secret?” asked Gallio wearily., “I don’t know,” I said impetuously.

Then I bowed my head, trembled, and went on: “If I were not a Roman, I would perhaps put aside my tribune’s insignia, leave my post and follow him.”

Gallio gave me a searching look, straightened up and raised his chin. “I made a mistake sending you to find out,” he said curdy. “You’re still too young.”

Then he shook his head dejectedly.

“Yes, exactly,” he said. “The wisdom of the world and the pleasures of life have not yet corroded you. Are you ill that you tremble so? We have excellent plumbing here, but occasionally one drinks bad water. Then one gets a fever called Corinthian fever. I’ve had it myself. But don’t be afraid. I don’t think their Jesus of Nazareth will come to judge mankind in our time.”

Nevertheless, I think supernatural things interested Gallio, for he liked talking about them occasionally. What Roman is wholly free of superstition? But to change the subject, he invited me to drink wine with him, called in his wife to join us and began to read to us a play he had written and worked on in Latin from a Greek original. He also read some Greek verses in comparison to show how well, given the right touch, our language accommodates itself to the Greek rhythms.

The play was about the Trojan war. It should have interested me, for the Trojans, through Aeneas, were the forefathers of the Romans. But after drinking some wine, I happened to say, “Written Greek is beautiful, but today it rings strangely dead in my ears. Paul spoke the living language of the people.”

Gallio looked at me with compassion.

“One can only write the crudest kind of satire in the people’s language,” he said, “and then the language itself has a comic effect. Just as the Ostian actors in Rome use the language of the marketplace. Philosophy in spoken language! You must be out of your mind, Minutus.”

Suddenly he turned scarlet in the face and firmly rolled up his manuscript.

“It’s time those Jewish fumes were blown out of your head,” he said. “You’ve not been to Athens yet. There’s a border dispute in Delphi which needs someone on the spot. And there’s trouble in Olympia over the program for the Games. You can go here and now. My lecturer at the chancery will give you all the information you need and also a letter of attorney.”

The lovely Helvia stroked Gallio’s forehead and fat cheek with the tips of her fingers and intervened.

“Why do you send such a talented youth on such a strenuous journey?” she said. “The Greeks will bring their disputes to you in time. This is Corinth. Friendship with a mature woman would develop the boy more than riding unnecessarily all over the place.”

She looked past Gallio at me with smiling eyes and pulled up her mantle, which had slipped down from her white shoulder. Had I been more experienced, I could have described the artistic folds of her mantle, her elaborate hair style and the rare Indian jewelry she was wearing. I did not stop to stare but leaped to my feet, stood to attention and replied, “As you command, Proconsul.”

In this way, Paul sowed dissension between me and Gallio, too. I left my house in Hierex’s hands and rode from Corinth with a few soldiers from the cohort and a Greek guide.

There are far too many excellent descriptions of Delphi, Olympia and Athens for there to be any need for me to go into their incomparable sights. Not even Rome had hitherto succeeded in plundering them of more than a fraction of their art treasures, though it must be admitted that we have done our best ever since Sulla to enrich Rome at the expense of Greek treasures.

But however much I strained my body by looking at all the sights, the beauty I saw seemed to mean nothing to me. Neither the painted marble, nor the ivories, nor the gold in the loveliest sculpture in existence seemed to touch my heart.

I found out all about the boundary dispute in Delphi. For reasons of justice, I accepted invitations from both sides. In Delphi, I was able to see Pythia in her delirium with my own eyes. Her priests made out from her incomprehensible words one or two flattering personal predictions for me. I cannot even repeat them here.

Near Olympia lies some votive lands, and a temple which Commantler Xenophon more than four hundred years ago dedicated to Artemis. A tenth of the harvest from the area was once used for the inhabitants’ harvest festival. Anyone who cared te could pick fruit from the ancient groves of fruit trees.

But over the years, many landmarks had gone and the temple was sadly decayed. In the time of the Pompeians, even the goddess statue itself was taken back to Rome. The people who lived there were complaining that the man who had taken the votive lands into his possession no longer fulfilled the conditions demantled. They had carefully kept a stone carving on which one could still read:

This place is dedicated to Artemis. He who enjoys possession of it must every year offer a tenth. From the residue, the maintenance of the temple must he found. Should anyone neglect this, the goddess will remember it.

At the meeting of the people, some old men told of their memories from times gone by, when wine, flour and sweetmeats were distributed at the Artemis feast. Everyone had the hunting rights on the sacred land. I let them speak to a finish. The owner of the land finally promised that he would preserve the custom of the harvest festival but the maintenance of the temple was beyond his capacity. So I pronounced my judgment.

“This is not for Rome to decide,” I said. “This you must settle with the goddess, as it is written here on this stone tablet.”

The verdict pleased no one. While I was in Olympia, I heard that the owner had fallen down a crevasse while deer hunting, so I suppose

Artemis was collecting her dues. He had no direct heirs, so the inhabitants of the district harmoniously shared out the votive land among themselves. I put this incident in the back of my mind to tell Claudius if I ever met him again. The Emperor liked old memorial tablets and could easily have the temple repaired.

At last I arrived in Athens. As was the custom, I removed my armor at the city gates, put on a white mantle and a wreath on my head, and went on foot into the city, accompanied only by my Greek guide. I sent the soldiers on leave to Piraeus where they could amuse themselves under the protection of the Roman garrison at the port.

It is true, as I had been told before, that one can see more idols than people in Athens. There are fine buildings erected by eastern kings and, at the forum, philosophers walk about with their pupils from morning to night. In every alleyway there is a souvenir shop selling mostly cheap articles, but also expensive small copies of the temples and idols.

After paying the official visit of greeting to the City Hall and the Areopagus council, I went to the best inn and met there several young men from Rome who were finishing their education in Athens before beginning in office. Some of them praised their teachers, others listed famous Hetaira names and their prices, and eating places where I needs must go.

I was plagued by guides who wanted to show me the sights of Athens, but after walking around the marketplace for a few days and listening to different teachers, I became known and was left in peace. As far as I could make out, all the philosophers in Athens were competing with one another at teaching the art of acquiring peace of mind. They spoke with fire and wit, using striking metaphors, and liked disputing among themselves.

Among them were one or two long-haired philosophers in goat-skin clothes. These itinerant teachers boasted of having traveled in India or Ethiopia and studying secret wisdoms. They told such impossible lies about their journeys that they made their listeners double up with laughter. Some of the coarsest of them have been banished by the Areopagus council, but in general anyone could stand there and talk about anything as long as he did not insult the gods or become involved in politics.

I ate and drank and tried to enjoy my life. It was pleasant to sit in the sun on a warm marble bench after a good meal and watch the changing shadows of the passers-by on the marketplace’s marble paving-stones. Attic anecdotes are undeniably sharp. In a dispute, the one who has the laughs on his side always wins, but this Attic laughter seemed to me joyless and the thoughts behind it did not penetrate deeply into my mind as they ought to have done if they had been true wisdom. It seemed to me that what was being learned in Athens these days was a refined way of life to counteract the Roman coarseness, rather than genuine philosophy.

From sheer defiance, I thought I would stay and study in Athens until Proconsul Gallio sent for me to return to Corinth. But the books in the libraries did not captivate me, such was my state of mind, nor did I find a teacher whose pupil I wished to be. Day after day I became more despondent, feeling a complete stranger in Athens. Occasionally I ate and drank with young Romans simply to be able to speak crystal clear Latin instead of the babbling Greek.

Once I went with them to one of the famous Hetairas and listened to the flute music and watched the displays of dancing and acrobatics. I believed our smiling hostess when she said she could raise sensuality to a fine art. But she did not touch me and no one visiting her was forced to study the arts of the senses with the help of her trained slaves. She herself preferred to converse rather than go to bed with her guests. She demantled such an enormous sum that only the richest debauched old men could pay it. So she was so rich that she did not wish to tempt us young Romans to waste our money unnecessarily.

“Perhaps my school is only for those who are already decrepit,” she said to me in the end, “though I’m proud of my art. You are young. You know what hunger and thirst are. Resinous wine and poor man’s bread taste better in your hungry mouth than Cypriot wine and flamingo tongues in a mouth that is weary. If you fall in love with a young maiden, the sight of a bare shoulder alone would dazzle your senses more than fulfillment of your desire. Smooth out that frown and be glad of your life, because you are still young.”

‘Would you rather tell me about the divine secrets?” I suggested. “You serve Aphrodite with your art?”

She looked thoughtfully at me with her beautifully darkened eyes.

“Aphrodite is a capricious and merciless but also wonderful goddess,” she said. “He who strives for her favors most eagerly and sacrifices most to her, remains unsatisfied forever. She was born from the foam of the sea and is herself like the foam which bubbles and bursts. She herself dissolves into air when anyone avariciously grasps at her faultless limbs.”

She too frowned a little as she raised both her hands and absently stared at her scarlet nails.

“I can give you an example of her caprice,” she went on. “One of us is a woman who is still young enough to be without a wrinkle or a blemish. She has been a model for sculptors and has a great reputation as such. The goddess put it into her head that she must succeed in seducing all the famous philosophers who come to Athens to teach the art of virtue and self-control. In her vanity, she wishes to disgrace their wisdom and make them weep in her arms. She cracked many a hard nut by listening humbly to their teachings for evening after evening, and the philosophers praised her as the wisest of all women they had met, for she knew how to listen to them so attentively. But she was not after their wisdom. She used all her arts to make them stumble in their virtue. As soon as she succeeded, she drove them away and would not see them again, although some crawled on their hands and knees outside her door and one of them took his own life on her threshold. But some time ago, about six months or so, an itinerant Jew came to Athens.”

“A Jew!” I cried, leaping to my feet. My head prickled as if my hair were standing on end. The Hetaira misunderstood my surprise and went on.

“Yes, I know,” she said, “the Jews are powerful magicians. But this one was different. He spoke in the marketplace. He was questioned about his teaching by the Areopagus council, as is usual. He was a hook-nosed man, bald and bandy, but he was full of fire. The woman I am speaking of was seized with a wild desire to put the Jew’s teaching to shame too. She invited him to her house with other guests to listen to him, dressed herself demurely and covered her head to honor him. But whatever she did, she could not even tempt him, so she gave up and began to listen to him seriously. After he had left Athens, she became deeply depressed, shut up her house and now sees only the few Athenians who were impressed by the Jew’s teachings. The philosopher who can’t find a follower or two in Athens doesn’t exist. That was how the goddess took her revenge on her for her vanity, although she had brought great honor to Aphrodite. On my part, I’ve come to the conclusion that the Jew was not a genuine learned man but was bewitched by the goddess herself to resist all seductions. The poor woman is still so bitter over her humiliation that she threatens to leave our association and live a simple life on her savings.”

She laughed and gave me a look which was meant to encourage me to join in the laughter. But I felt no desire to do so. So she grew serious again.

“Youth flies swiftly past,” she admitted, “and beauty fades, but the true power of enchantment can be retained into old age with the favor of the goddess. I have an example of this in the woman who was until recently our oldest member and who at seventy could charm any youth.”

‘What is her name and where can I find her?” I asked.

“She is already ashes. The goddess allowed her to die of a heart attack in her own bed as she was practicing her art for the last time,” said the Hetaira.

“I don’t mean her, but the woman whom the Jew converted,” I said.

“Her name is Damaris. You can easily ask the way to her house. But I told you, she is ashamed of her misfortune and doesn’t receive guests anymore. What is wrong with my house?”

I remembered what courtesy demantled, praised her house, her entertainment, her sweet-smelling wine and her incomparable beauty, until she calmed down and forgot her indignation. After a suitable interval I rose, left my gift on a tray and went back to the inn in the most wretched state of mind. It was like a curse, that not even in Athens could I rid myself of Paul the Jew. Naturally he was the man of whom she had spoken.

I could not sleep for a long time. I listened to the night sounds of the inn until dawn crept into my room through the gaps in the shutters, and I wished I were dead or had never been born. I had nothing to grumble about. I was more succcssful than most of my contemporaries. I was healthy and whole, too, except for a slight limp, and that did not stop me doing anything unless I wanted to be a priest in some Roman collegium. Why had all happiness been taken from me? Why had Claudia so cruelly used my credulity? What made me despair so at meeting Paul?

Finally I fell into a deep sleep and slept until midday. When I awoke, I knew I had had a wonderful dream but I could not remember it. In contrast to my thoughts in the night, I had been filled with the knowledge that it was no chance matter that I had heard of the Hetaira Damaris, but that it contained some meaning. This conviction pleased me so much that I ate hungrily, went to a barber and had my hair curled. I also had my Greek mantle folded artistically.

I found Damaris’ handsome house quite easily. The door knocker was a Corinthian bronze lizard. I knocked many times. A man passing by made an indecent gesture and shook his head to show that I was waiting to no purpose. Finally the door was opened by a tearful slave-girl. She tried to close it again but I put my foot in and said the first thing that came into my head.

“In Corinth I met Paul the Jew. I wish to talk to your mistress. I want nothing else.”

The girl reluctandy let me into a room filled with colored statues, decorated couches and eastern tapestries. After a short while, Damaris came swiftly in, half-dressed and barefooted. Her face shone with glad expectation and she welcomed me with eager gestures of her hands.

“Who are you, stranger?” she asked. “Have you really a greeting for me from Paul the messenger?”

I tried to explain that I had met Paul some time ago in Corinth and had had a long talk with him, and the conversation had made such an impression on me that I could not forget it. When I had heard that Damaris had been in difficulties because of the teachings of the wandering Jew, I wanted to meet her and talk about the matter.

As I was speaking, I looked at Damaris and saw that she was a woman past the best years of her life. She must have been very beautiful and her slim figure was still faultless. Temptingly dressed and skillfully painted, her hair well brushed, in a dim light she would have made an impression on any man.

She sat down wearily on a couch and signed to me to do the same. She must have noticed my scrutiny, because she put her hand to her hair, as women do, adjusted her clothes and pulled her bare feet under the folds of her mantle. But more than that she did not do. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at me. Suddenly I felt content in her company. I smiled.

“That terrible Jew,” I said, “makes me feel like a rat in a trap. Is it the same with you, Damaris? Let’s both think of a way of opening the trap and getting our happiness back again.”

She smiled too, but raised her hand in a defensive gesture.

“Why are you afraid?” she said. “Paul is the messenger of the risen Christ and spreads the word of joy. I did not know the taste of true happiness in my life until I met him.”

“Was it really you who made the wisest of men fall?” I cried in surprise. “You talk as though you were out of your mind.”

“My old friends think I am out of my mind,” she admitted unhesitatingly. “But I’d rather be out of my mind because of his teaching than continue my former life. He looked straight through me in quite a different way from that of the lewd white-bearded philosophers. I was ashamed of my earlier self. Through his Lord I have been forgiven my sins. I journey on the new way with my eyes closed as if the spirit were guiding me.”

“If that is so,” I said curtly, “then we’ve nothing to say to each other.”

But she kept me there, covering her eyes with her hand.

“Don’t go,” she said. “You were meant to come. Something has hurt your heart. Otherwise you would hardly have come. If you like, I’ll introduce you to the brothers who listened to him and believed in the message of joy.”

This was how I came to know Damaris and some Greeks who used to come the back way to her house in the evenings to discuss Paul and the new teaching. From the start they had been tempted to the synagogue by their curiosity about the Jewish god. They had also read the Jewish holy scripts. The most learned of them was Dionysius, a judge on the Areopagus council who had officially spoken with Paul on his teaching.

To be honest, Dionysius spoke so learnedly and in such an involved way that not even his friends fully understood him, much less fr But he probably meant well with his expositions at our meetings. Damaris listened to him with an absent smile on her face, just as she had probably listened to the other wise men.

After the discussion, Damaris offered us a simple meal and we used to break bread together and drink wine in the name of Christ, for Paul had taught them to do that. But even to a simple meal like this, the Athenians had to give fourfold import. It was Both material and symbolic, morally elevating and a mystical striving toward communion with Christ and a mutual brotherhood between the partakers.

As we talked, I usually looked at Damaris. After the meal I was glad to kiss her, as the Christian custom demands. I had never seen a woman behave so charmingly and yet so naturally as she did. Every movement she made was beautiful and her voice was so lovely that one listened to the tone of it rather than her words. Whatever she did, she did so beautifully that it was sheer pleasure to watch her. Pleasure turned to heartwarming joy as I kissed her soft lips in friendship.

Paul seemed to have given the Greeks some hard nuts to crack. They genuinely enjoyed their discussions. They believed implicitly in Paul, but their own knowledge impelled them to certain reservations. Bewitched by Damaris, I contented myself with just looking at her and allowed the words to pass me by.

They admitted that innermost in every person lies a longing for

God’s clarity, but then they began to dispute about whether this same longing was to be found also in stones, plants, animals and in all higher developments of original forms. Dionysius said that Paul possessed a surprising amount of secret knowledge on the spiritual powers, but seemed to believe that he himself possessed even greater knowledge of the mutual order and rank of the spiritual powers. To me, such talk was like running water.

I made a habit of bringing a little present for Damaris, flowers or preserved fruit, a cake or pure violet honey from Hymettus. She received my gifts looking straight at me with her clear experienced eyes, so that I felt young and clumsy compared to her. I soon noticed that she was constantly in my thoughts and that I was only waiting for those moments when I could go to her again.

I think that during our conversations she taught me more by her behavior than by what she said. Naturally the moment came when I was forced to admit that I was blindly in love with her. I longed for her, her presence, her touch and her kiss, more than anything I had ever longed for before. My earlier love affairs seemed quite insignificant compared with what I could find in her arms. It was as if everything within me had been burned to ashes by thinking about her.

I was appalled at myself. Was this then my judgment, that I should be in love for the rest of my life with a Hetaira who was twenty years older than myself, conscious of all the evil she had experienced? When I realized the truth, I should have liked to Bee from Athens but could no longer do so. I understood the wise men who had sighed for her, and I also understood the philosopher who had committed suicide on her threshold when he had seen the hopelessness of his desire.

I could not flee. I had to go to her. When we again sat together and I looked at her, my lips trembled and hot tears of desire rose in my eyes.

“Damaris,” I whispered. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I love you beyond all reason.”

Damaris looked at me with her clear eyes, put out her hand and brushed my hand with the tips of her fingers. No more was needed to send a terrible shudder rushing through my whole body, and I heard myself give a sobbing sigh.

“I was afraid of this too,” said Damaris. “I have seen it coming. At first it was an innocent cloud on the horizon, but now it is a black thunderstorm flashing inside you. I should have sent you away in time. But I am only a woman, despite everything.”

She rested her chin on her hand to smooth out the wrinkles on her throat and stared straight ahead.

“This always happens,” she said sadly. “The mouth dries up, the tongue trembles and tears come into the eyes.”

She was right. My tongue was trembling in my dry mouth so that I could not say a single word. I threw myself down on my knees in front of her and tried to put my arms around her. But she turned lightly away from me and said, “Remember that I have been offered a thousand gold pieces for a single night. Once a newly rich man sold a silver mine because of me and had to begin his life all over again from poverty.”

“I can get a thousand gold pieces,” I promised, “yes, two thousand if you give me time to speak to the bankers.”

“Sometimes a violet has been enough, if I’ve taken a liking to a handsome youth,” she said. “But we shall not talk about that now. I want no gift from you. I shall give you one myself. That gift is the inconsolable knowledge which all my experience tells me, that physical pleasure is a torture, that it is no real satisfaction, but constantly rouses a desire for an even more terrible satisfaction. Plunging into physical love is like throwing oneself onto red-hot charcoal. My fire is extinguished. I shall never again light the sacrificial flame for someone else’s downfall. Don’t you see that I am ashamed of my former life?”

“You touched my hand with the tips of your fingers,” I whispered, my head bowed and the tears from my eyes falling onto the marble floor.

“That was wrong,” admitted Damaris. “But I wanted to touch you so that you would never forget me. Minutus, my dearest, desire means so very much more than fulfillment. That is a painful but wonderful truth. Believe me, Minutus my dear, if we part now we shall remember nothing but good of each other, and then we’ll never think evil of one another. I have found a new way. Perhaps your way will one day lead to the same eternal happiness as mine.”

But I did not want to understand her.

“Don’t preach at me, woman,” I cried, in a voice hoarse with desire. “I have promised to pay whatever you want.”

Damaris stiffened and gazed at me steadily for a moment. Then she slowly turned very pale and said disdainfully, “As you wish then. Come back tomorrow evening so that I have time to prepare. And don’t blame me afterwards.”

Her promise made my head reel, although the words had an ominous ring to them. I left with trembling knees and, consumed with impatience, I wandered about the city, climbed up to the Acropolis and looked at the wine-dark sea to make the time go by. The following day, I went to the baths and loosened my limbs with exercises in the gymnasium, although every violent movement sent a consuming flame flaring through my body at the thought of Damaris.

At last the dove-gray dusk fell and the evening stars came out. I knocked hard on Damaris’ door, but no one came to open it. My disappointment was overwhelming as I thought she had changed her mind and broken her promise. Then I felt the door and noticed to my delight that it was not locked, so I went in and saw that the reception room was lit up.

But my nose met an unpleasant odor. The couch was covered with a ragged coverlet. The lamps had sooted the walls. The smell of stale incense was suffocating. I looked incomprehendingly around the formerly so beautiful room, but then banged impatiently on the gift tray. The sound rang through the whole house. A moment later, Damaris came into the room with her feet dragging, and I stared at her in horror. It was not the Damaris I knew.

She had smeared her lips stridently, her hair was tangled and untidy like a harbor girl’s, and she was dressed in a ragged gown which smelled of wine and vomit. Around her eyes she had drawn terrible black rings and with the same brush emphasized every line in her face, so that it was the face of a depraved, decrepit old crone.

“Here I am, Minutus. Your Damaris,” she said dully. “Here I am as you would have me. Take me then. Five copper pieces will be enough in payment.”

I understood what she meant. All the strength left my body and I fell to my knees in front of her, bowing my head to the floor and weeping over my impotent desire.

“Forgive me, Damaris, my dearest,” I said at last.

“You see then, Minutus,” she said in a gentler voice. “That was what you wanted to do to me. That was what you wanted to bring me down to. It is the same thing, whether it happens in a sweet-scented bed or among stinking pigs and urine with my back against the wall down at the harbor.”

I wept my disappointment out of me with my head on her lap, no longer desiring her. She stroked my head consolingly and whispered tender words to me. Finally she left me, went away and washed her face, put on clean clothes and came back with her hair brushed. Her face was alight with such pleasure that I had to smile back with trembling lips.

“Thank you, my dearest Minutus,” she said. “At the last moment you understood, although you had the power to trample me back down into my past. All my life I shall thank you for your goodness, for not taking away the happiness I had reached. One day you’ll understand that my happiness in Christ is more wonderful than any earthly happiness.”

We sat hand in hand for a long time and talked like brother and sister, or more like mother and son. Carefully I tried to explain to her that perhaps only what we see with our eyes is real and everything else nothing else but illusive games of imagination. But Damaris just looked at me with her softly shining eyes.

“My mood alternates between deepest despondency and ecstatic happiness,” she said, “but in my best moments I come to a rejoicing which surpasses all earthly boundaries. That is my grace, my truth and my mercy. I need neither believe nor understand anything else.”

When I returned to the inn, still paralyzed by my disappointment, knowing neither what to believe nor what to hope for, I found one of the Pannonian soldiers from my escort waiting for me. He was dressed in a dirty cloak and had no sword. I could imagine how he had crept in terror past the innumerable idols and statues of Athens, super-stitiously terrified of the world-famous omniscience of the Athenians. When he saw me he at once fell to his knees.

“Forgive me for disobeying your express command, Tribune,” he cried. “But my friends and I cannot stand the life in the port any longer. Your horse is pining from sorrow and has thrown us every time we’ve tried to exercise it as you said. “We keep quarreling over the provisions money with the harbor garrison. But most of all it is the cursed Attics who rob us, so that we are like trussed sheep in their hands although we’re hardened to swindlers in Corinth. The worst one is a Sophist who has fleeced us to our bare bones by proving to each one of us quite convincingly that Achilles can never defeat a tortoise at running. We used to laugh at the conjurors in Corinth, who hid a gaudy bead under three wine mugs and let people guess which one of them it was under. But this terrible Attic is driving us mad, for who wouldn’t bet that Achilles could run faster than a tortoise? But he divides the distance in half, and then in half again, and so on and so on and proves that Achilles has always a little bit left to go and cannot get there before the tortoise. We ourselves tried racing against a tortoise and of course beat it easily, but we could not find fault with his evidence, although we hunted him out and laid bets with him again. Lord, in the name of all the Eagles of Rome, take us back to Corinth before we go out of our minds.”

His flood of complaints did not give me a chance to say a thing. When he had finished, I reprimantled him sternly for his conduct but did not attempt to solve the tortoise riddle for him, for I was not in a mood even to be capable of it. Finally I let him take my luggage on his back, setded my bill at the inn and left Athens without saying farewell to anyone, and in such a hurry that I forgot at the wash two tunics which I never saw again.

We left Piraeus in such a state of despondency that it took us three days to do a stretch I could have done alone in a single day. We stayed overnight in Eleusis and Megara. The men, however, cheered up so much that they were singing noisily when we eventually arrived at Corinth.

I left them with the senior centurion at the barracks. Commantler Rubrius received me with his gown wet with wine and a vine-leaf wreath crookedly perched on his head. He was not entirely clear who I was, for he kept asking me my name. He explained his absentmindedness away by saying he was an old man and was suffering from the aftereffects of a skull injury received in Pannonia, and was now just waiting to be pensioned off.

Then I went to the Proconsulate, and Gallio’s secretary told me that the inhabitants of Delphi had appealed to the Emperor over their land dispute and had paid the appeal fee. The people who lived on Artemis’ votive land near Olympia had on their part sent a written complaint that I had insulted the goddess and thus caused the owner’s death. This they had done to save their own skins, after sharing out the votive lands between them and letting the temple fall into disrepair. There had been no report from Athens on my conduct there.

I was despondent, but Gallio received me kindly, embracing me and asking me at once to share his meal.

“You must be full to the brim with Athenian wisdom,” he said, “but let us talk about the affairs of Rome.”

As we ate he told me that his brother Seneca had written to say that the young Nero was daily developing and conducted himself so respectfully toward the senators and knights that they all called him the delight and joy of humanity. Claudius had married him to his own eight-year-old daughter Octavia, whom he had had by Messalina, in order to please his dear Agrippina even more.

Legally speaking, this marriage constituted incest, for Claudius had adopted Nero as his son, but this legal objection had been set aside by a senator who had kindly adopted Octavia before the wedding.

Britannicus did not show the same signs of development as Nero. He was often ill, usually stayed in his own rooms in Palatine and was cold toward his stepmother. The one-armed old warrior Burrus had been appointed sole commantler of the Praetorians. Burrus was an old friend of Seneca’s and held Agrippina in great esteem in her capacity of the daughter of the great Germanicus.

“The Emperor is well,” said Gallio, glancing at his letter and at the same time spilling wine from his goblet onto the floor. “He behaves as majestically as before and suffers occasionally from a harmless throat burn. The most important financial news is that the harbor in Ostia is complete and the grain ships can now be unloaded there. Millions of gold pieces have been buried in the mud and sandbanks of Ostia, but that means that Rome need never again fear disturbances because of delayed grain supplies. Once a crowd of angry citizens crushed Claudius so hard against a wall that he had the fright of his life. The price of seed from Egypt and Africa will fall and it will no longer pay to grow grain in Italy. The most farsighted senators have already gone over to catde breeding and are selling their field-slaves abroad.”

As Gallio talked on in his fatherly way, my own anxiety dissolved and I realized that I need not fear a reprimand for my delay in Athens. He looked searchingly at me nevertheless, as he went on talking in the same light tone of voice.

“You are pale and your eyes are blank,” he said. “But studying in Athens has confused many other honorable Roman youths. I have heard that you have received instruction from a clever woman. Such things arc naturally physically strenuous and also somewhat expensive. I hope you are not up to your neck in debt. Do you know what, Minutus? A little sea air would do you good.”

Before I had time to make any explanations, he had raised his hand in warning to mc and said with a smile, “Your private life has nothing to do witli me. The important thing is that young Nero and the lovely Agrippina greet you warmly through my brother. Nero has missed you. One cannot do more than praise Rome’s Goddess of Fortune that such a strong-minded and truly imperial woman as Agrippina is standing at Claudius’ side, sharing his burdens. I understand you sent Agrippina a beautiful Corinthian bronze goblet as a gift from here. She is pleased with your attentiveness.”

For a moment my mind was filled with longing for Rome, because life there seemed simpler and bound to a sensible routine. But at the same time I knew I could not rid myself of my troubles simply by changing my abode. My dilemma made me sigh heavily. Gallio smiled absently.

“I understand you’ve quarreled with Artemis on your journey,” he went on. “It would be wise if you personally took an offering to her to the temple in Ephesus. I have reason to send a confidential letter to the Proconsul in Asia. When you meet him yourself, you should at the same time tell him of Nero’s incomparable talents, his humble conduct in the Senate and about how wisely Agrippina is bringing him up. Nero’s marriage to Octavia has a certain political significance which perhaps you will understand if you think about it. Of course they don’t live together yet, for Octavia is only a child.”

But my head was as if full of mist, so all I could do was to nod foolishly in reply. So Gallio enlarged on the point.

“Between ourselves, both Britannicus’ and Octavia’s origins are, to say the least of it, suspect because of Messalina’s reputation. But Claudius regards them as his own children and legally they are anyhow. Not even Agrippina would dare to wound his masculine vanity by touching on such delicate matters.”

I admitted I had heard similar stories in Rome before I went to Britain.

“But at that time,” I added, “it seemed as if someone were deliberately spreading these terrible stories about Messalina, and I could not take them seriously. She was young, beautiful and liked amusement. Claudius was an old man beside her. But I can’t believe the worst of her.”

Gallio swung his goblet about impatiently.

“Remember that fifty senators and a couple of hundred knights lost their heads or were permitted to cut their throats because of Messalina’s recklessness. And your father would hardly have otherwise received his broad purple band.”

“If I’ve understood you correctly, Proconsul,” I said hesitandy, “you mean that Claudius has a bad stomach and a weak head. Some day he will have to pay the debt we all have to pay, however much we sacrifice to his genius.”

“May it be as if you had never spoken those words aloud,” cried Gallio. “Despite his weaknesses, Claudius has ruled so well that the Senate can safely exalt him to a god after his death, even if it will rouse a certain amount of ridicule. A farsighted man should be quite clear in time who is going to succeed him.”

“Nero imperator,” I whispered dreamily. “But Nero is only a boy.”

For the first time, this possibility occurred to me. It could not but delight me, for I had been Nero’s friend long before his mother became Claudius’ wife.

“Don’t be frightened at the thought, Tribune Minutus,” said Gallio. “But to make it known so clearly is dangerous so long as Claudius is alive and breathing. To sort and gather up all the threads of fate and chance would in itself be useful if the same excellent thought occurred in the ruling circles of other provinces. I should have no objection if you went from Ephesus on to Antioch. That’s your old home city. Your father’s freedmen are said to have accumulated great wealth and influence there. You should speak well of Nero, no more. Not a single mention of the future in so many words. Be careful on that point. Those you speak to can draw their own conclusions. In the East there is more calculating political sense than Rome usually gives credit for.”

He let me think about this for a moment before continuing.

“Of course,” he said, “you will have to pay for your journey yourself, although I shall give you some letters to take for the sake of form so that you can meet the recipients in an intimate way. But “What you say, you say of your own free will. Not at my bidding. You are open by nature and still so young that no one will suspect you of political intriguing. Nor is it a question of that, as I hope you realize. But there are exiled Romans who are suffering the agonies of banishment because of Claudius’ whims and suspicions. They have friends in Rome. Don’t avoid them, for when Claudius is dead, all exiles will be pardoned, the Jews too. This my brother Seneca has promised, for he himself endured eight years of exile. The Emperor’s stomach trouble you can mention, but never forget to add that it is probably only a matter of harmless vomiting. On the other hand, stomach cancer has similar symptoms. Between ourselves, Agrippina is deeply troubled over Claudius’ health. He is a gourmet and won’t stick to a sensible diet.”

I was forced to conclude that Gallio was drunk on his own wine, since he dared to tell me such things out loud. He must have overestimated my loyalty because he thought that loyalty was an inborn quality in every young Roman. I too have wolf blood in my veins. But he filled my head with seething thoughts and made me brood on other things besides Damaris and Athens.

In the end he told me to sleep on the matter in peace and quiet and then sent me home. It was then late in the evening, but nevertheless a crackling fire was burning at the entrance of my house and I could hear the sound of noisy singing from within. I wondered whether Hierex had heard of my arrival and prepared some kind of reception. When I went in I saw a number of people, men and women, just emerging from a meal in my dining room. It was clear that they were all very drunk. One was dancing around with his eyes rolling and another was babbling away in some language I could not understand. Hierex was wandering about as host, kissing all his guests heartily in turn. When he caught sight of me, he was covered in confusion, but quickly regained his composure.

“Blessed be your ingoing and your outgoing, my lord Minutus,” he cried. “As you see, we are practicing as best we can at singing holy songs together. On your orders, I have found out about the Jews’ new teaching. It fits a simple slave like a glove.”

The doorkeeper and the cook sobered up hurriedly from their ecstasy and quickly knelt down in front of me. When Hierex saw me beginning to swell with rage, he hurriedly drew me to one side.

“Don’t be angry,” he said. “Everything is in good order. Paul, that stern man, was suddenly despondent for some reason or other, had his hair cut and sailed off to Jerusalem to give an account to the elders there. When he had gone, we Christians began to squabble over which of us was most suited to instruct the others. The Jews quite selfishly consider that they know best about everything, even when it concerns Christ. So I use your house as a meeting place where we uncircumcised people can together practice the new teaching as best we can. We also eat a little better than we did at the communal meals, which always attract a lot of nonpaying poor people. I’m paying for this meal myself. I have that wealthy widow over there on the hook. I’ve made several useful friends among the Christians. It’s by far and away the best secret society I’ve ever belonged to.”

“Have you become a Christian and been baptized, done penance and all that, then?” I asked in astonishment.

“You commantled me to yourself,” said Hierex defensively. “Without your permission, I should never have joined, for I’m only your slave. But with the Christians I’ve put aside my sinful slave-dress. According to their teaching, we are equals before Christ, you and I. You must be kind to me and I shall serve you to the best of my ability as I always have. When we’ve shaken off the most vainglorious Jews then our society of love will be an adornment to the whole of Corinth.”

Next morning Hierex* head had cleared and he was considerably humbler, but his face fell when I told him I must go to Asia and take him with me, as I could not possibly manage such a long journey without a servant.

“That’s impossible,” wailed Hierex, tearing his hair. “I’ve only just got a foothold in here and on your account have become involved in all kinds of useful deals. If you are forced to clear off all the balances here and now, then I’m very much afraid you’ll lose a lot of money. Neither can I leave the Christians in the lurch now that Paul has gone and they’re all squabbling. There are widows and orphans who must be protected here. It’s part of the teachings and I’m one of the few in the whole assembly who understands money at all. I’ve heard an interesting story of a master who gave his servants pounds of gold and then asked them to account for how they had increased it. I wouldn’t want to appear an incompetent servant on the day of reckoning.”

In my absence Hierex had put on weight and grown very plump. On long troublesome journeys, he would be no use to me. He would do nothing but complain and puff and pant, longing for the comforts of Corinth.

“It is the anniversary of my mother’s death quite soon,” I said. “Let us go to the authorities together. I shall give you your freedom so that you can stay in Corinth and look after the house.’ I realize I should stand to lose if I suddenly sold everything I have acquired here on credit.”

“Just what I was thinking of suggesting,” said Hierex eagerly. “It must have been the Christian God who gave me such an excellent idea. I’ve saved quite a sum of money, so I could pay half the redemption tax myself. I’ve already found out from a lawyer in the City Hall what would be a reasonable sum for me. I’ve got so fat, I’m no good for physical labor any longer. I’ve also certain flaws which I’ve managed to hide from you, but which would bring down my price considerably at an auction.”

I did not accept his offer, for I thought he would need his savings himself to get started and survive in the avid life of Corinth. So I paid his fee at the City Hall and myself placed the colored freedman’s stave in his hand. At the same time I arranged for authority to be given him to administer my house and property in Corinth. In reality, I was only too pleased to be rid of both him and all dreary financial matters. I did not like his lighthearted way of joining the Christians and did not want the responsibility of him, apart from as my freedman.

Hierex Lausius went with me to Cenchreae, where I boarded a ship sailing to Ephesus. Once again he thanked me for allowing him to call himself Lausius, which he thought a much grander and worthier name than the modest Minutus. His tears on my departure were, I think, quite genuine, but I imagine he heaved a sigh of relief as the ship pulled away and he was rid of a much too young and unpredictable master.