He faltered, “If you have evil news to tell me, noble Felix, be quick about it!”
Felix did not answer for a moment, then he stood up again and faced Saul. He was not a man of tenderness and kindness, but now he put his hand on Saul’s shoulder and looked into his eyes, and his own widened with sympathy.
“Have you heard of Faenius Rufus, the colleague of Tigellinus, that poisoner and murderer, and Plautius Lateranus, Consul-elect of Rome?”
“No, I have not.”
“They were both members of the Praetorian Guard, as was your cousin, and so were many centurions and a number of Tribunes.” Felix’s coarse mouth flattened. “They were discovered, it is said, in a conspiracy to murder Nero, about four months ago. They—and a number of other Praetorians—were executed.”
Saul felt as though he would fall to the floor, and he grasped the edge of a table to prevent it. His face aged again, lost its youth. “And Milo was one of them?”
“It is true. If I had known, when I heard of the matter from Rome, I should have told you at once, but I did not know that Titus Milo Platonius was your cousin.”
Saul cried out in despair, “Milo was a Christian, and no matter how heinous Nero is Milo could not have been induced to join a conspiracy to murder!”
Felix shook his head. “Nor were the others guilty. I have heard a rumor that Sabina Poppaea, Nero’s wife, instigated the murders for reasons of her own. She is a Fury, for all her reputed beauty. She instigated the death of Claudius’ son, Britannicus, and Claudius lovely daughter, Octavia, who was married to Nero, and made him a matricide, also.” He pressed Saul’s shoulder. “Milo was not a young man, as I remember.”
“True,” said Saul, in a faint voice. “But the world is the lesser for the death of such a man as my cousin. It is infinitely poorer. And I did not know! I did not have even the smallest premonition, not even a dream!”
“It is possible that your God spared you as long as possible.”
But Saul did not hear him. He said with tears, “He was the most honorable of Romans, and he died in dishonor!”
“Ha!” said Felix. “No one murdered by Nero is judged to have died in dishonor! In truth, it is a mark of honor.” He shook his head again. “Rome is no longer Rome. She is a harlot.”
Then he looked about him quickly, terrified that he had been overheard, and fearful even of Saul. But Saul had fallen into a chair and had covered his face with his hands and Felix drew a deep breath of relief. However he crept stealthily to the door of the atrium and looked onto the portico. No one was there. He moved without sound to the farther door leading into the body of the house and flung that door open. But one listened there. Felix wiped his face with the back of his hairy dark arm, and returned to Saul.
“Sacrifice three black oxen with silver collars to your God,” he said, consolingly, “that your cousin be released from Hades and transported to the Blessed Isles.”
Saul lifted his head. “I have no fear for the soul of Milo, for not only was he a Christian but he was the noblest and truest of men. Alas. I have not seen him for many years and he wrote to me often, but in my labors I was forgetful and I answered but a few!”
Felix was touched, and as this was a rare emotion for him he did not recognize it. He wished to strengthen Saul, so he stood up straightly as a soldier and said, “Paul of Tarsus, we are Romans!”
Even in his grief Saul almost smiled at the sight of this rigidly standing little man who had assumed a heroic expression. He stood also and repeated, “We are Romans.”
They solemnly shook hands, and Felix departed, and Saul was left alone with his new sorrow, and he felt that the world had emptied for him and had been made desolate.
Saul awoke one morning to find a cypress, the sign of mourning, standing by the portico, and he was moved at this silent tribute to the grief of Saul on the part of Felix, and the gesture of honor to the noble dead.
He went to the synagogue to pray for the soul of his cousin, and he stood up with the mourners when the rabbi extolled “those who sleep in the dust—their memory is a blessing,” and spoke of the peace of their spirits. Many were there who were curious at the sight of Saul standing, and his sorrow-ravaged face, and they wondered for whom he mourned. The rabbi said, “The dead are in the blessed Hands of God, and He is full of lovingkindness, and it is ourselves who are bereaved and not those who have gone before.”
One evening, Felix came to see Saul again, and he said, “I have been recalled to Rome, thank the gods! I shall depart with my wife within a few days. I am to surrender this house—and you—to Porcius Festus, who is expected daily at Caesarea.”
“Alas, I lose another friend,” said Saul.
Felix frowned. “It is possible he has news from Rome concerning you. I know him well. He is very stupid, but very amiable and inclined to good will, which is not very intelligent of him. I am leaving him a letter concerning you.”
Drusilla came also to say farewell. She said, “Rabbi, as you have taught me, and my parents before you, it is all God’s Will.”
“Which I find incomprehensible at times,” said Saul.
He had not known how much he would miss these friends until they had departed, and the house of Pontius Pilate awaited new tenants. For he had dined in that house often, listening with amusement to the bragging of Felix and his little bullying quarrels with Drusilla.
One morning there was a great bustling about the palace and Saul came close to observe that Porcius Festus had arrived with his family and entourage and guards.
Two days later, Festus sent for Saul, and two soldiers accompanied him to the house of Pontius Pilate.
Chapter 54
PORCIUS FESTUS sat in the atrium in his robes of office. He was as short a man as Felix, but he was also enormously fat, with a bald and rosy head and a huge rosy face and several chins, and sharp little blue eyes like polished stones. Saul stood before him and he inspected Saul closely, rubbing one of his chins and humming like a bee under his breath. His meaty little hands were covered with sparkling rings, and he affected pure white clothing of the finest linen, and perfumes. He said at last, “So you are Paul of Tarsus, hated by your own people, who desire your death, and loved by Felix and his household.”
Saul bowed and said, “I have done nothing to deserve the hatred of the High Priest, Ananias, and certainly I am not worthy of the affection of the noble Felix.”
At this Festus smiled, and Saul thought that Felix had underestimated this man’s intelligence, and perhaps even his good will. Festus said, “I have received a message from your bloodthirsty Ananias praying that you be delivered to him in Jerusalem, for judgment. But I have commanded him and his court to appear here so that I might hear them.”
Saul sighed. “It is a weariness, lord, to hear the same ancient charges against me.”
“Nevertheless,” said Festus, “it is necessary for you to be here, for you are a Roman citizen and it is your right.” His voice was like that of a friendly bull and Saul left him after another bow and retired to his house.
Within a few days, Ananias and his court of Sadducees arrived in Caesarea and laid their complaints before the new Procurator. Festus disliked Ananias at once, for he had a remote and supercilious air and wore an expression of strained patience and resignation before the Roman. Saul was summoned. Ananias averted his head, as if confronted by an obscenity, and his court withdrew a little also and Saul was left in a wide circle alone before Festus. The small sharp blue eyes rested on Saul a moment, then moved to the High Priest and Festus commanded Ananias to state his complaints again before the accused.
Saul shut his eyes in deep weariness, and Festus was amused and rubbed his chins until they were crimson as he listened to Ananias. When Ananias had completed his complaints Festus said, “I am but an ignorant Roman and therefore not very clever. It would seem that Paul of Tarsus is guilty of certain Jewish doctrinal errors, which do not concern me. The charge of sedition is diffused and not sustained, against Ro
me.” He turned his attention to Saul. “Speak, Paul of Tarsus, citizen of Rome! Answer if you are guilty.”
As Ananias and his court were not Roman citizens, their faces became like ice, and they were affronted and knew that Festus had deliberately affronted them. They kept their countenances averted as Saul began to speak:
“I stand at Caesar’s judgment seat, where I ought to be judged. To my fellow Jews I have done no wrong, as you, lord, know. For if I be an offender, or have committed anything worthy of death I refuse not to die, but if there be none of these things whereof these accuse me no man may deliver me unto them. I appeal unto Caesar.” (Acts 25:10-11)
Festus hummed like a giant bee in the silence of the chamber, examined his rings, rubbed them on the linen which covered his knee, yawned, scratched his ear. Then he stood up with a gesture of dismissal and said, “You have appealed to Caesar. Therefore, unto Caesar shall you go.”
Ananias and his court, who had expected quite another judgment on the part of the new Procurator, were outraged and tried to protest, but Festus heavily stepped down from his chair and left them without a backward look. Saul, accompanied by the two soldiers, returned to Herod’s Hall. When alone in his garden he prayed, “Lord, how much longer must this farce be continued, and what is the purpose of it?”
One gold and scarlet evening he heard a noisy hubbub at the house of Pontius Pilate, and he came to his garden walls to discover the reason. He saw that King Agrippa and his entourages had arrived to do honor to Festus, and with the king was his Queen, the beautiful Bernice, and her many slave women and friends. The feastings and celebrations continued for several days and nights and the soft and nimble air of Caesarea rang with music and laughter and shouts and gaiety. Then days of sodden satiety and exhaustion set in and all slept and it was quiet again.
Festus and King Agrippa, the Jew, were old and roistering friends, and Festus, when he had recovered from the debauch and the celebrations he had prepared for Agrippa, told him of Saul. “I have sent another courier to Rome praying that this man be delivered before Caesar for a judgment, as he is a Roman citizen. In the meantime, your High Priest is clamoring that I give Paul of Tarsus into his gentle hands.”
King Agrippa despised Ananias. Ananias treated him with a respectful hauteur that was like an insult, for Ananias was a Sadducee and Agrippa’s family was of the comparatively humble Tribe of Dan. He said, “Ananias should be Master of the Gladiators in the circus, for he surely lusts for blood. Let us send for this Saul of Tarshish, whom you call Paul, and I will hear him for myself.”
Festus yawned. “I have forgotten to tell you, my friend, that Ananias arrives tomorrow—again—with his court of accusers against my poor prisoner, so you will have to hear them also.”
Agrippa was dismayed. “But I heard them in Jerusalem! I said to them, It is not the manner of the Romans to deliver any man to die, before that he which is accused have the accusers face to face, and have license to answer for himself concerning the crime laid against him.’ I beg you, Festus, bring the man to me at once.”
So Saul was summoned again to the atrium and he was astonished at the assemblage, for Agrippa’s court was there and his Queen, Bernice, and the sunlight made moving color and light of the silken garments and the jewels. Saul’s eyes flew to Agrippa, and he saw a florid and handsome man of a truly Semitic countenance, like a Phoenician, arrayed in scarlet and gold. His Queen had a lovely face with glowing gray eyes and she was dressed in the fashionable Egyptian manner, her dark curls braided with gems and ribbons and her bosom nearly entirely bared. Her court of ladies stood beside her chair and fanned her with ostrich plumes, and her face was as white as milk and her lips like a poppy.
When the large atrium was quiet, Festus said to Agrippa, “King Agrippa and all which are here present with us, you see this man about whom many Jews have dealt with me, both at Jerusalem and also here, crying that he ought not to live any longer. But when I found that he had committed nothing worthy of death and that he, himself, has appealed to Caesar, I have determined to send him. But I have no certain thing to write to Caesar. Therefore I have brought him forth before you, O King Agrippa, that, after examination I might have something to write, for it seems unreasonable to send a prisoner and not withal to signify the crimes laid against him.” (Acts 25:24-27)
King Agrippa studied Saul thoughtfully, and he was disappointed, for he had thought to see a more imposing man, like the prophets, and kingly. But Saul seemed to him to be old and weary and juiceless, and unprepossessing, and dressed like a worker in the vineyards. Agrippa disdainfully lifted his fragrant kerchief to his eagle nose and sniffed of it, as if Saul smelled of the field and the barnyards, and his thick black lashes touched his brown-red cheek in indifference.
He said, “You are permitted to speak for yourself.” (Why was he constantly annoyed with reports concerning this insignificant Jew, who was alleged by Ananias to possess the major attributes of Satan, and so deserved death?)
Saul stretched forth his hand to the king, and spoke, and at once everyone was transfixed by his voice, for it filled the great chamber and rolled back from the glittering marble walls. Even the ladies forgot to fan Bernice, who was leaning forward now to gaze at Saul, and Agrippa dropped his kerchief and Festus rubbed his chins.
“I think myself happy, King Agrippa,” said Saul, “because I shall answer for myself this day before you, touching all the things whereof I am accused. I know you to be expert in all our customs and questions which are among us. Therefore, I beseech you to hear me patiently.”
He then spoke of his family, his birth, his Tribe. He spoke of his, and his father’s, long quarrel with the secular Sadducees. “Why should it be thought incredible that God should raise the dead?” he implored, and recalled to Agrippa that this was the teaching of the Pharisees, that on one day God will open all tombs.
Agrippa did not love the Sadducees, himself, and his wife was very devout though she arrayed herself like an Egyptian. He leaned his elbow on the gold arm of his chair and partly covered his handsome red lips and beard with his hand as he listened to Saul, and he thought, “So must the voices of the prophets have been, eloquent and trumpeting and filled with verity!”
Saul continued to speak, with passionate gestures, and his eyes burned like blue fire and his thin and weary figure seemed to attain great stature. He spoke of his whole life, and his searching and his seeking for God, and his persecution of the Nazarenes. Then he spoke of his journey to Damascus, and now there was not a single sound in the atrium and even Festus ceased his bee-humming and nothing could be heard but the rustling of trees in the garden and Saul’s commanding and sonorous voice. And when he wept, as he related the Vision of the Messias, others wept with him though they did not know why, and Queen Bernice’s rosy lips trembled and her gilded lashes were pearled with tears. But Festus looked amused.
Saul told of his mission to the Gentiles and Agrippa’s black brows drew together and his eyes never left Saul’s trembling face. “For this, my mission, have I been condemned, for it is alleged I profaned the Temple and the synagogues, but Christ had shown a light to His people, and to the Gentiles, as was prophesied by Isaias.” He paused, then said in a louder voice, “King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know that you believe!”
Agrippa mused. There was a darkling light under his brows, and a gravity on his countenance. At last he looked at the doors of the atrium, as if pondering, then at the ceiling, then at the shining walls, then at his wife who gave him a long look of pleading and adoration.
The king said, “Almost do you, Saul of Tarshish, persuade me to be a Christian!” (Acts 26:28)
Festus stopped smiling, and all were still. Saul said in the gentlest voice, “I would to God that not only your Majesty, but also all that hear me this day were as I am!”
Agrippa motioned to Saul to stand apart and he and Festus stood and came together with counselors, and talked quietly among themselves. Agrippa said, “This man has done nothi
ng worthy of death or of bonds! He might have been set at liberty, if he had not appealed unto Caesar.” (Acts 26:31-32)
“If he had not so appealed,” said Festus, with a broad smile, “Ananias would have had him murdered long ago!”
Chapter 55
AND now it was determined to send Saul to Rome, for Caesar’s judgment, and he was to sail on the morrow.
The night before his departure he had an awesome and terrible vision. It was as if he stood on the highest battlements of earth and surveyed the world, and the city of Rome, and all was a vast and murmurous sound, and all was full of color and flashings and movements and armies and caravans and thunder and sudden bursts of human terror, of lightning flaring on marble, of sunlight and flame and dust, of endless roads and looming mountains and waters as red as blood, of crashing walls and falling pillars. His eyes roved strange cities in one glance, but always they returned to Rome. And then as he regarded the mighty city he saw it gush with a tempest of fire and the white columns—like white forests—were illuminated in it, and roofs fell and the earth shook, and from a multitude of voices there rose a great cry: “Woe unto Rome!” Then a mightier chorus responded, as if from every corner of the world: “Woe unto all mankind!”
“Woe unto the world!” rose the holocaust of voices. “Woe, woe!”
Saul rose at dawn, trembling, drenched with his own sweat, and he fell on his knees to pray, that the awful vision would not come to pass, and that all men would come unto the Lamb of God for salvation. But a dark agony remained in his mind and his heart, and he said, aloud, “There is little time. I must make haste!”
A few hours later, he was on a ship to Rome, in the harbor of Caesarea.
He leaned on the railing and surveyed the fervent and colorful little city. He saw the palace of Pontius Pilate, the house where he, himself, had spent four long years, the roads, the marketplaces, the winding streets, the theaters and government buildings, the distant circus, and, all about him, the ships with rising sails, the scent of hot tar and resin, the shouts of sailors and the carriers of cargo, and the blinding blue water and the flat plain of the waiting horizon.
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