by Randy Singer
As they surveyed the damage, Theophilus and Mansuetus realized that the regions of the city that housed many followers of the Way were in real danger now. Though they were both exhausted, they rallied their servants and decided to fan out to those areas and let the believers know that they could take temporary residence at the estate of Theophilus, located a safe distance from the flames.
For five days and five nights, the fire feasted on Rome. During the days, Theophilus and Mansuetus helped fight the relentless flames and then retreated to their estate each night to feed and care for the refugees. Nero and his entourage returned from Antium and directed that the public buildings in the Campus Martius be thrown open for refugees who had been burned out of their homes. Because so much of Rome’s supply of grains and breads had been consumed by the fire, the emperor ordered that new shipments be brought in immediately from the great granaries in the coastal city of Ostia.
After five days, the vigiles finally contained the flames with a fire break that held at the foot of the Esquiline Hill. Large areas of the city still smoldered, and small fires broke out here and there, but the ferocity of the blaze had been brought under control. People returned from the fields surrounding Rome to gingerly search for loved ones. The smell of death hovered over the city, mingling with the swirling smoke. Some of the decaying bodies had been nearly consumed by the flames, while others were left to rot in the sun. Grieving mothers wailed as they searched for their children.
But just as everyone began focusing on the massive rebuilding and relief efforts ahead, the fire broke out again. It began in the shops of the Basilica Aemilia on property owned by Tigellinus, Caesar’s friend and confidant who had been Theophilus’s opponent at the trial of Paul.
As before, the fire spread at an uncontrolled speed toward the Capitoline Hill. This time Theophilus stayed at his estate outside the city, too exhausted to respond. He learned from those who ventured into the city that temples spared in the first blaze went up in smoke this time around. More sacred objects and gold melted away. Even the ancient temple of Jupiter, the patron god of Rome, was engulfed by fire, its roof collapsing in ruins.
By the time the flames died down after the second wave of fires, all of Rome was on edge. Of the fourteen regions of Rome, three had been totally destroyed and another seven were badly damaged. Only four of the fourteen regions had escaped unscathed.
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Theophilus and Flavia opened their home to refugees from the fire, most of whom were followers of the Way. Many had lost family members. The majority had seen the flames wipe out every possession they had ever owned. They slept in every room of the house, and Theophilus stepped over people when he rose in the morning. Some of them he did not recognize—new refugees who had just found this haven the night before.
Everybody’s clothes smelled like smoke, mingling with the odor of dozens of unwashed people crammed into tight quarters. During the day, the refugees ventured back into the city to comb through the rubble where they had once lived or to search in vain for family members. Theophilus and Mansuetus often joined them. At night, everyone regathered at the house, where Flavia and the servants rationed out food and found places for people to sleep for a few hours.
The crowd seemed to grow daily because there was fresh water, small portions of grain, and a safe place to sleep. Every piece of clothing Theophilus owned except the tunic on his back was given to the men who took refuge in his house. Flavia’s garments adorned the women. It was, she said, the least she could do.
The first few days after the fires were full of grief and mourning. The believers held services for loved ones who didn’t survive the blaze. Stories were told about the lives of those who had died too young. Men and women were overcome with sadness and would go for long walks so they could mourn privately.
Marcus stopped by each morning to treat the burn wounds of those who had gotten too close to the flames. The rest of the refugees, along with Theophilus and Mansuetus, coughed and hacked from inhaling so much smoke. Everyone was hungry and anxious about the future.
Yet even in the midst of grief, rays of hope emerged. Children played with each other outside during the day, their squeals and laughter reminding everyone that life would go on. The third day after the fires, a mother found her two children among the hundreds of thousands of refugees at the Campus Martius complex. It was like they had come back from the dead, she said. Two days after that, a pregnant woman gave birth to a healthy child.
Theophilus leaned hard on God. He and the others started each day with prayer and teachings about the faith. They read from the manuscripts Luke had written about the life of Jesus and the journeys of Paul. Sometimes they read portions of Paul’s letters to the churches at Rome or Ephesus or Philippi. They discussed what it meant to be followers of Jesus and how his resurrection offered hope for those who had died—hope that the rest of Rome was not experiencing.
In the weeks after the fire, Theophilus noticed a real difference between those who were living at his house and the other bands of refugees staying in the public buildings. He had heard reports of constant fights and the hoarding of scarce resources. On the contrary, though there were still disputes at the house of Theophilus, the words of Jesus and the work of his Spirit pushed everyone toward selflessness. When food was short, there were always volunteers who said they could go without.
A spirit of togetherness and resiliency began to spread. The believers talked about rebuilding the city and how it could be better than before.
In the city itself, the fire brought out the worst in the criminal elements. A vast underground network of thieves spread like a swarm of locusts, looting and stockpiling stolen goods. Bands of delinquents attacked helpless victims, sometimes killing for a plate of food. The estates of some senators, untouched by the fires, were pillaged by gangs who knew that Rome’s police force was otherwise occupied.
Nero tried hard to rally his subjects. Each day in the Acta Diurna, he published details about his plans to rebuild. He set up a relief fund and required all the provinces to contribute. He enlisted prisoners from Rome and surrounding cities to clear out the rubble. He announced a new style of architecture. When Rome was rebuilt, its streets would be laid out in straight geometric patterns. Streets would be wide, and there would be restrictions on the height of private buildings. Apartment owners would be required to provide courtyards for their properties and erect colonnaded porches to serve as platforms from which fires could be fought. Lower floors of buildings had to be constructed of stone or other material impervious to fire. Water from the city aqueducts would be available at the courtyards of every new apartment building.
Rome would be rebuilt better and more elegant than before. The slums would give way to architectural wonders. Rome would be transformed—a phoenix rising from the ashes. Nero’s palace would be the centerpiece, the Domus Aurea, a great golden house that would span three hundred acres. Nero would forever be proclaimed as the father of the new Rome.
Perhaps, Theophilus thought, Rome’s great fire had sobered the emperor and focused his attention on running the empire. The believers at Theophilus’s house made it a point to pray for Nero each day during their worship time. Rome was at a crossroads. Maybe the great fire could melt the emperor’s hedonistic heart.
If nothing else, it had already galvanized the nascent group of believers, who began, for the first time, to refer to themselves as Christians.
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After three weeks of people crawling all over his house, including at least a dozen who slept in his bedroom, Theophilus needed a respite. His makeshift refugee camp was doing better than most, but it was still a refugee camp. There were people everywhere, unsupervised children running about, broken vases, furniture that couldn’t hold up under the constant barrage.
Theophilus had to keep reminding himself that, compared to others, he was blessed just to have a house still standing. Even so, it came as a relief when a messenger arrived from the household of S
eneca, requesting a meeting with Theophilus at Seneca’s country estate. The messenger said it was urgent.
Theophilus saddled one of the family’s three horses and started out just after breakfast. Seneca’s estate was a two-hour ride by horseback, and the journey gave Theophilus plenty of time to think.
Things were getting intense in the city. Theophilus had been there two days earlier, and rumors were running rampant. Stories persisted about men who had kept others from fighting the flames. When challenged, these men had allegedly claimed they were under orders to prevent the fire from going out, though they wouldn’t reveal the source of their orders. Other citizens claimed they had witnessed men running into structures with torches and setting them on fire.
Much of the city’s anger was directed at the emperor. Despite the testimony of thousands who had seen Nero in Antium the night the fire started, a rumor made the rounds that Nero had watched from the rooftop of his palace and played the lyre while Rome burned. Graffiti sprang up all over the unburned sections of the city, labeling Nero as an arsonist and worse. Many citizens believed Nero had ordered the city destroyed in order to create room for his expansive new palace.
When tragedy hits, people need someone to blame. And who could be better than the man in charge?
When Theophilus finally arrived at Seneca’s estate, he was struck by how peaceful things seemed. This far removed from the city, there were no refugees. No smell of smoke. No clothes hanging everywhere, drying out in the sun. No shortage of food or space or fresh water.
Seneca greeted Theophilus warmly, and the two men settled into Seneca’s office. Theophilus noted with dismay how much his mentor had deteriorated since the last time they were together. Seneca’s back was more rounded, his head sticking out from hunched shoulders like a vulture’s. His wrinkles had deepened and he had great bags under his eyes.
After they exchanged pleasantries, Seneca told Theophilus that Nero had sent a messenger inquiring whether Seneca might come out of retirement. Nero needed help raising funds to rebuild the city. Seneca had politely demurred. A few days later, Nero had sent a second messenger. This time, Seneca claimed ill health that rendered him incapable of traveling.
“I haven’t heard back since,” Seneca said.
But that was not the reason he had called Theophilus to his house. There were more urgent matters. Seneca was concerned about the safety of Theophilus and his family.
“According to my sources, Nero has decided that he needs to deflect blame for the fire,” Seneca said. “He has found a convenient target in the followers of the Nazarene. Apparently some of the leaders of that movement have given speeches about a God who judges places like Rome with great fire. After Nero’s Saturnalia celebrations, those leaders claimed that Rome was like the ancient cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, which were consumed by fire from heaven.”
As Seneca spoke, Theophilus felt a dull pain besieging him, a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Nero had this fire planned all along. Maybe he had released Paul so he could use that act of mercy as evidence of his impartiality toward followers of the Way. Maybe he was just setting up the Christians to ultimately take the blame.
“Have you heard about such speeches?” Seneca asked.
“Not specifically.”
“In any event, I know you are close to the leaders of this new movement. Your defense of Paul was admirable, but your client was more than a little reckless. If Caesar did not despise the followers of the Way before that trial, he surely did after Paul condemned him.”
“What is Caesar planning?” Theophilus asked.
“I know that Tigellinus has already arrested thirty followers of the Way and put them on the rack. They’ve extracted a list of names from those men, and they’re prepared to arrest everybody on that list and accuse them of arson.” Seneca gave Theophilus a look. The philosopher could convey more with his eyes, weakened and narrowed as they were, than most men could convey with a thousand words. The look forecast what was coming next.
“Your name is on that list, Theophilus.”
Theophilus swallowed with some difficulty, trying without success to keep the fear at bay. “What about my family?”
“Flavia and Mansuetus, too.”
Thoughts of his family consumed Theophilus on the way home. Nero and Tigellinus were ruthless in the best of times. They would be grotesquely sadistic now. Somehow, Theophilus had to protect his wife and only son.
The rack Seneca had referred to was a rectangular wooden frame slightly raised from the ground with a roller at each end. Tigellinus had invented the device. He would chain the victim’s ankles to the roller at one end and his wrists to the roller on the other. Using a handle and ratchet, he would gradually increase the tension on the chains as he interrogated the victim. Eventually, if the victim didn’t cooperate, his or her joints would be dislocated and separated. Muscle fibers would be stretched to the point that they could no longer function, finally snapping with a loud pop.
Theophilus doubted he could withstand such torture. But one thing he knew for certain—he would do whatever it took to spare his wife and son that kind of pain.
By the time he returned to his chaotic house, the things that had bothered him just a day earlier now seemed trivial. He gathered the adults who were staying there and put together a list of known and reputed leaders of the Way. He pulled out the epistle that Paul had written to believers in Rome and worked his way down the list of names Paul had mentioned.
Paul had referenced Priscilla and Aquila as coworkers in Christ Jesus. They had already risked their lives for Paul, according to what he wrote. Theophilus knew they needed to be warned. The same was true for Epenetus, a man whom Paul called the first convert to Christ in the province of Asia and who was now living in Rome. Then there were Andronicus and Junia, Jewish believers who had been imprisoned with Paul and were called “outstanding among the apostles.” The list went on: Ampliatus, Urbanus, Apelles, whose fidelity to Christ had withstood the test. The entire household of Aristobulus was mentioned, together with many others.
The community of believers in Rome was tight-knit, and many of the names were familiar ones. Theophilus and Flavia added others whom they knew personally, including Procula, the widow of Pilate.
Theophilus drafted a letter, and his servants spent the night making copies. Early the next morning, Theophilus and Flavia sent out volunteers with instructions to locate these leaders and invite them to an important meeting. In the letter, Theophilus said he could not yet share the details but assured each of the leaders that it was a matter of life and death. The believers prayed fervently that the leaders would respond.
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They started arriving the next day at noon. Priscilla arrived first and explained to Theophilus that her husband, Aquila, had been trampled during the first night of the fire. Procula appeared an hour later, and Theophilus was relieved to find out she had survived.
Andronicus and Junia came in the middle of the afternoon and told stories about the early days of what they called the ecclesia, the assembling of Christians. They were old and gray, the grandparents of the group, and they brought a calming influence with them. They had physically seen Jesus after his resurrection and had been in Jerusalem to hear the first message preached by Peter the fisherman. They said that people from all over the empire had been there. They described how the disciples of Jesus had begun speaking in strange languages, yet everyone had heard the words in their own tongue. Theophilus watched as Mansuetus soaked in their stories and asked questions throughout the afternoon.
As each new set of leaders arrived, Theophilus pulled them aside and told them what he had learned from Seneca. Everyone agreed that they would meet together later that night to discuss how to proceed.
Not all of the leaders showed up. Some sent explanations that they couldn’t leave what they were doing to make the trip. Others had simply disappeared.
Some of the guests brought their own supplies of bread and wine, wh
ich Flavia pooled with what she had on hand. By dinner, there were more than two hundred people at the estate. Following directions from Flavia, the servants did their best to feed everyone, parceling out the limited provisions as far as they would go.
After dinner, the leaders crammed into Theophilus’s study to debate the next move. They all agreed that they should tell the people what they knew.
Before the meeting of leaders adjourned, Junia had a suggestion. “Our Lord Jesus told us that when we assembled together, we should break bread and share a cup of wine to remember his sacrifice. I think we should do that first.”
The others agreed.
Flavia and Theophilus set up the atrium for the occasion, though the crowd overflowed out the front door. Everyone sat as close together as possible while Andronicus, Junia, and Priscilla led the ceremony. They recounted the story of the Passover meal that Jesus had shared with his disciples the night before his crucifixion.
Andronicus held up a loaf of bread. “Jesus broke the bread and gave pieces to his disciples and said to them, ‘This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.’”
Andronicus broke the loaf in half and gave one piece to Theophilus and another to Flavia. He broke other loaves and distributed those to the other leaders.
Theophilus joined Priscilla and Procula as they walked around and broke off pieces of the bread for the people sitting on the floor. It was such a simple ceremony, yet there was something profound about the looks on the faces of the Christians as they thought about the broken and bruised body of Jesus.
Many of them cupped the small piece of bread in their hands for a few moments, staring at it as if it were a sacred object. Some were openly crying.