The Tongues of Men or Angels

Thirty-four Years after the Crucifixion

In the week since Cephas was first sighted in Rome, Paul’s followers have gathered more information about his doings: Silas and Aristarchus have even been to one of the house churches to hear him speak. Evidently Cephas is steering away from the villas where the wealthier Christians worship, sticking to the shop-front and tenement-courtyard gatherings of the poor.

Appropriately, perhaps, because they say Cephas’s speech is rough and unlearned. Worse: Aristarchus says that Cephas is still using images of Galilee fishermen, deserts and shepherds, which really don’t work in this urban world. Paul reaches the people of Rome with metaphors drawn from the arena sports that are their entertainment, and with martial talk, to which they are accustomed from their politics and history.

‘I think that elderly pestilence, Cephas, is going to find it harder to buffet you here,’ Timothy says.

Useful has noticed before that Timothy has this way of involuntarily pursing his lips, when he thinks he has made a fine point, as though kissing his own brilliance.

‘No, Cephas will not defeat me again. I am too aware of his schemes now,’ Paul replies. ‘He is nothing but a false apostle, a deceitful worker, given to me by God as a thorn in the flesh in case I should become too proud through my abundance of revelations. Cephas is no better than the slave who always stands behind a Roman general in his Triumph, who whispers throughout the ceremonies, “Remember you are only a man,” to prevent the general thinking too much of himself.’

‘But how did you come to be opponents in the first place?’ Useful asks. ‘Surely your purpose was the same.’

‘Well, there, Useful, lies a story. And since that’s so, perhaps it would be as well to get some more of our tale down. Leave us now,’ Paul says to the others. ‘Useful and I have our work to attend to.’

Paul peels a russet apple, the blade of his ivory-handled knife towards his thumb, while Useful readies the writing materials. With an old man’s perfected practice, Paul carves the peel, furled into a single unbroken snake.

‘So,’ Paul begins, ‘after Barnabas the Cypriot introduced us, I stayed fifteen days with Cephas in Jerusalem and got acquainted with him. And he appeared to be a servant of righteousness. He told me about his time spent with the earthly Jesus and of his visions of Him after His death, which, if anything — I might add — were not as spectacular as my own experience. And word spread among those of The Way that I, who had once persecuted them, was now preaching the faith and there was much glorifying and rejoicing.

‘By this time, Nazarenes had travelled as far as Phoenicia and Alexandria, but aside from my own brief travails in Arabia, the message had been passed solely to Jews. However, in Syrian Antioch, Greek Gentiles, too, were beginning to listen and join, and when news of this reached the ears of the Church at Jerusalem, Barnabas and I were sent to Antioch to preach and encourage the faithful.

‘We lived some years with the community there. The people of Antioch called our movement Christianoi. I suppose you’d translate it as “the faction promoting messianism”, a dreadfully insulting and derogatory slur. But Antioch was nonetheless a place of marvels, perhaps the third greatest city in the world, and more beautiful than any save Rome herself, so it was well to be established firmly there. And we increased the numbers of brothers considerably, until perhaps two hundred believed, or maybe three … No, write five hundred. Now I think about it, it was much closer to five hundred.

‘But at the end of that time, the Holy Spirit came into Barnabas and me and told us that we must once more travel and spread the word. And the Holy Spirit thought it best that we start with Cyprus, because that was where Barnabas was originally from, plus it was just a short sail across the strait from Antioch. And so, sent on our way by the Holy Spirit, that was exactly what we did: myself and Barnabas and another brother, John-Mark. Or, at least, I thought him a brother back then.

‘We landed at Salamis and straight away went into the synagogues to proclaim Jesus as the saviour soon to return. And our successes were such that very soon word reached the proconsul of Cyprus himself, a great man called Sergius Paulus, who then summoned us.

‘Barnabas was afraid, for fear of what the governor might do. And John-Mark didn’t want to go, because he still regarded Rome as some kind of enemy. But they were both quite wrong in the event.

‘Because the proconsul was a magnificent man, statuesque and noble, and it was the Holy Spirit that had guided us to him. Our meeting was doubtless destined, for many great things were born of this encounter.

‘Sergius Paulus was a prudent ruler. If he had a single character flaw, it was that he was too open to superstition, because from the moment we were led into his court, I could see that he was part in thrall to a worm-tongued hanger-on of a magician. A lizard-faced, bulge-eyed, curtain-creeper called Elymas. Though a Jew, Elymas was shaven smooth, but for a little thumb-stump of beard in the manner of the Egyptians, and he was covered with queer blue tattoos, quite against the proscriptions of Leviticus. And he wore so many bangles and amulets that as he moved it was as though cheap timbrels tinkled after him. He called himself a sorcerer and fancied himself as a magi of old and as an interpreter of dreams. But if he had any powers at all, they were as nothing next to mine, as you will presently hear.

‘Sergius Paulus questioned us — Barnabas, John-Mark and me — and I expounded at length and with some eloquence of all that we had learned and seen. And of how the ancient texts, with which the proconsul had already some familiarity, contained within them the evidence that Jesus was the Messiah. And it was clear that Sergius Paulus was becoming persuaded by me, and no doubt by the Holy Spirit also.

‘Fearful of losing his influence, this Elymas began to whisper into Sergius Paulus’s ear after each and every thing that I said. And I could tell from Elymas’s crooked-slit smile, like a spider’s leg, that whatever he was whispering, it was done to undermine and denigrate my words and to clench his master to himself.

‘So I accused him straight to his face of being a child of the devil and an enemy of everything that is right, and told the whole assembly that Elymas was full of all kinds of deceit and trickery and was determined to pervert the right ways of God.

‘Shortly after I said this, Elymas was taken dizzy and had to sit down, while I continued to preach. And then Elymas said he felt unwell and asked to be excused. Of course, it was the hand of God that had struck against him. Because, before he could depart to his chambers, he became blinded, barely able to see the light of the sun. Mist and darkness came over him, and he wailed like a babe and groped about for someone to lead him away by the hand. And when the proconsul saw what had occurred through my power, he was amazed and believed with all his heart that Jesus is the Christ.

‘This blinding of Elymas was the first and perhaps the greatest of all the miracles I would perform. What happened to him afterwards, I don’t know. Maybe he was sucked off to whichever power of the underworld he served. But Sergius Paulus, his entire household and not a few of the others were reborn that very day, baptized in the sparkled fountain at his villa. And there was such joy and rejoicing in the name of the Lord. And not a little humility on the parts of Barnabas and John-Mark, who had counselled that we should not go to the proconsul and were then forced to concede that I had been right all along.

‘But further momentous things were to happen in that place because, in a manner of speaking, I was reborn as well. Sergius Paulus insisted that he become my patron and gave me a letter of recommendation. And, as is not uncommon in Roman patronage, he suggested that I henceforth use a part of his name, as a mark of his special favour. And I was eager to do just this, so others would know of and celebrate the great miracle that I had performed in blinding the sorcerer. From that day onwards, I shed the name Saul, just as a man who has come into a great inheritance would throw away the clothes he had worn in poverty. And the world would come to know me as Paul.’