A Week in the Life of Rome

by James L. Papandrea

  Cletus began with a prayer, which ended with the words “Lord, have mercy.” Then Cletus read from a scroll a story about three men who refused to worship their emperor and the gods of the land where they were living. Instead they worshiped only the one true Deity, and for this the emperor had them thrown into a furnace to be burned alive. But their Deity saved them from the fire.

  After the reading, Cletus talked about how the situation of Daniel’s three friends was a lot like the situation of the Way-followers in Rome, living under an unbelieving emperor who expected them to worship his gods and betray their own. Cletus encouraged the group to do everything in their power to resist the temptation to follow the customs of the Greek and Roman religions, even if it would mean hardship or inconvenience. He ended by asking the group, “Do you confess with your mouth that Iesua is Dominus?”

  Everyone answered, “Yes.”

  Cletus continued, “Do you believe in your heart that the Father raised him from the dead?”

  “Yes,” the group answered.

  “Then you will be saved.”

  Then Cletus led the group in prayers for each other, for the Way-followers in other cities, and even for the emperor and the Senate.

  After a blessing, the group shared a modest meal of fish and polenta, with bread, olives, and several kinds of cheese. As everyone ate, the room became silent, but soon the silence was interrupted by the arrival of an out-of-breath Philologus. He had a basket in his hand, and in the basket, wrapped in a towel, was a large piece of bread, broken from an even larger loaf. He brought the basket to Cletus, who took the bread. Then, without speaking, Philologus was out the door and gone.

  Cletus held the bread in his hands and addressed the group. “Although we meet in different homes, in different parts of the city, we are one—and we are one with all Way-followers who meet in every city, in every part of the world—and so we share the one bread to remind us of our unity. Iesua said, I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. This is the bread that comes down out of heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down out of heaven. If anyone eats this bread, he will live forever, and this bread that I give for the life of the world is my flesh. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him. This is the mystery of our faith. The Christos has died; the Christos is risen; the Christos will come again.”

  Cletus set the bread down on the table and lifted his eyes and hands toward the heavens. “Now let’s pray the prayer that our Lord Iesua taught his disciples.” Everyone joined in the Our Father, and then Cletus continued. “Brothers and sisters, John the Baptizer pointed to Iesua and said, ‘Look—here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’ Now let’s take some time to examine our spirits and ask ourselves whether we have failed to obey the commandments of the Lord.” He paused for a while and then went on. “With that in mind, we confess our sins to the Lord. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.” Then Cletus held the bread up for everyone to see. “Look—here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” He broke the bread and passed it around the room.

  The gathering closed with the singing of a song—not one of the old songs of the Judeans but a new song:

  Awake, O sleeper, rise up from death

  And the Christos will shine on you

  He is the risen sun, older than the morning star

  His light gives life to you

  2

  THE DAY OF MARS

  IN THE SUBURRA, behind the firewall that separated the Forum of Augustus from Rome’s most notorious neighborhood, Philologus opened the wooden shutters, letting a hazy stream of light into the dark apartment. He was grateful for summer days when they didn’t have to choose between letting the light in and keeping the cold out. He smiled at the wildflowers Julia had transplanted into the window boxes, and he dipped his hand into the fire bucket to pour a bit of water on them. “I hardly slept,” he said to Julia. “People shouting ‘Fire!’ and the yelling of the fire brigade woke me up, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Third time in four days. I always feel guilty for being so happy when I realize it’s not our building.”

  Julia smiled at him. “No need to feel guilty for being concerned about the safety of our children. Being on the fifth floor . . .” She shuddered to think of how difficult it might be to get her family out of the building if there were a fire. It made her extra careful as she warmed some stale bread over the small copper brazier.

  “At least being on the fifth floor means we get light in the mornings.” Philologus looked at the children. The youngest ones were already up. The twins, Nereus and Nerea, always got up together, since the first one to wake always woke the other. Anastasia, the youngest, was sitting on the end of her parents’ bench bed as Julia brushed her hair. The older two were another story: Prima, the oldest, and Olympas. Philologus gave their mats a nudge with his foot. He looked at his children. “Well, I may be tired, but at least I won’t have to climb any scaffolds today.” He tried to sound positive, but he was wondering how he was going to feed his family. Today was a new reality for him. He had woken up with a nagging uncertainty about himself. He had no guild, which meant no work and no patron. No identity, and no way to provide.

  Where Romans Lived

  Most people in Rome lived in high-rise apartment buildings called insulae (singular insula), which were built close together—with only narrow alleyways between most of them—and stacked five or six stories or sometimes as many as ten stories high. The footprint of one of these buildings would have been around twenty-five hundred square feet, though the walls could be as thick as one and a half feet, decreasing the inside area to just over two thousand square feet. The first floor might be a shop, or divided into several smaller shops, or it could be the home of the owner of the building, in which case it might be quite comfortable, even having running water coming in through lead pipes.

  The upper stories of each building were rented flats called cenacula (singular cenaculum). In some cases there may have been only a handful of flats in a building, if each floor was one flat, but it was probably the case that most floors were subdivided into smaller flats. There may have been as many as forty thousand of these apartment buildings in the city, with as many as two hundred thousand rented flats, each with an average of five or six people living in one apartment. Furniture for most people would have been very humble, and in any case there was not enough light in the apartments to enjoy anything like what we would call décor. A low shelf along the wall or a wooden bench covered with a mat would have served as the bed, and there might have been a simple table with a stool or bench. The windows would have been covered with wooden shutters, so that closing the shutters always meant that no light was coming in. Some apartments may have had balconies or window boxes with flowers and vines growing in them. The upper floors would have been more risky in case of a fire, and the top floor would have been right under the roof, which would have been prone to leaks. For these reasons the rent was probably cheaper the higher up one went. On the other hand, the top floor had access to the roof, which might have allowed tenants to raise pigeons for their eggs.

  Apartment buildings were investments, not only for the owners but also for investors, who would rent out multiple flats and sublet them to tenants. However, older buildings were often unstable, and even though new building laws were instituted over time, the buildings were very close together, which meant that every building was in danger if a neighboring building collapsed or caught fire. Tenants must have lived in constant fear of these
disasters, especially given that many tenants used portable stoves and constantly had to light candles, lamps, or torches to see at night, or any time the shutters were closed.

  Nicer apartment buildings may have had resident slaves or slaves who made the rounds of buildings owned by the same person. We can imagine slaves bringing in water to a common cistern or sweeping out the stairwells.

  The wealthiest people lived in privately owned houses called domi (singular domus), something like small villas, usually set on hilltops or in the quiet neighborhoods outside the city wall. These were large enough for an extended family along with household slaves. There could have been as many as fifty people living in a domus, though the slaves would not have had their own rooms. Slaves would have had mats or cots that were kept in storage during the day and pulled out into the hallways or open areas of the home for sleep at night. Other slaves slept in areas otherwise used for storage, such as under a flight of stairs.

  Like apartments, houses would have had wooden shutters on the windows, but they would have also had curtains. The furniture of a domus would have been covered with cushions, and the walls would have been painted with colorful outdoor scenes and elaborate geometric designs. Most domi would have had kitchens for entertaining. A few might have had ovens for baking bread, but most people bought their bread at the market.

  As a space for Christian worship, a cenaculum might have held ten to twenty people, while a domus could have held fifty people or more, especially in the case of a wealthy house equipped with a private auditorium meant for lectures and readings.

  Figure 2.1. Remains of a Roman apartment building showing the stairs to upper floors, Ostia Antica

  Outside the city wall, in the quiet neighborhood along the Tiburtinian Road, Urbanus and his wife, Sabina, were waking up in their separate bedrooms. A slave had rung the bell announcing that dawn was coming soon, and for Urbanus, that meant he needed to get ready to receive his clients. Sometime during the night he had been too hot and had thrown off his knee-length linen tunic and slept only in his loincloth. He pulled himself out of his large wood-and-ivory bed, found the tunic among the blankets and down pillows on the floor, and pulled it on over his head. He found his leather belt on a chair and wrapped it around his waist. Then he put on his house shoes and sat down at his desk to work on some correspondence as a slave brought in a tray with bread and water spiked with a little wine. Two slaves stood by quietly with candles until Urbanus was finished with his letters, and then they began the meticulous process of wrapping Urbanus in his toga.

  Sabina was already seated in her makeup chair—an armless chair with a backrest and ivory inlays, and one of her most prized possessions. She was wearing her cotton corset and ankle-length cotton tunic. One slave was weaving a tiara into her long black hair while another applied white foundation to her face and arms. A fortuneteller read her horoscope and tried to show her a zodiac chart as the hairdresser attempted to wave her away. Sabina sighed at the knowledge that the fortuneteller never really told her anything useful, let alone true.

  Sabina also had a tray of bread and water—one-fifth wine to four-fifths water. Her hairdresser plucked her gray hairs as red makeup was applied to her cheeks and lips, and black on her eyebrows and around her eyes. Sabina always insisted on brushing her own teeth, with toothpaste made of ground-up animal horn, and then applying white paint to the top teeth in the front. She looked at her wavy reflection in the copper mirror and squinted to see her teeth. She was proud to have so many of them left.

  After putting on her belted dress tunic, another slave helped her choose necklaces, rings, anklets, earrings, bracelets, and a brooch for her most colorful shawl. The last thing to go on was an amulet, which Sabina hoped would give her good fortune. It was a silver pendant with the image of an eye on it. The “seeing eye” looked back at anyone who might cast the evil eye in Sabina’s direction, thereby distracting the evil eye or reflecting it back toward the envious observer.

  The hairdresser then packed up all of Sabina’s makeup and accessories into a portable travel kit to be ready to go to the baths in the afternoon. Sabina put on her house shoes and headed out of her room, making her way to the kitchen to start the day by directing the household slaves. She could see her husband’s clients beginning to line up to pay their respects and ask for favors. Although it was not yet dawn, she knew Urbanus would begin seeing them, one by one, until he had met with them all, including the widows of clients who had died.

  Stachys was not the first to see Urbanus, since some of his clients who worked in trades came well before dawn so that they could be at work on time. But when Stachys arrived, the slave in charge invited him to the front of the line. Urbanus kept his promise and welcomed Stachys warmly, even addressing him in Greek, in spite of knowing Stachys spoke Latin fluently. Stachys called Urbanus by name and received a sincere handshake before leaving. As Stachys was about to turn to go, Urbanus said, “Join me at the baths this afternoon?”

  Stachys was pleased and quite surprised to get an invitation from Urbanus. He couldn’t find the right words to reply at first but didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he just nodded. Finally he said, “Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

  “Well, meet me here first, and we’ll walk there together. See you at the eighth hour.”

  All of this made Stachys feel very proud and increased his honor in the eyes of the other clients, who hid their jealousy as best they could until Stachys was out the door. Getting to go to the front of the line also meant that Stachys could get home in time for the last half of the morning prayer meeting of the Way-followers.

  As Stachys came into the house, the group was standing with eyes and hands raised as Marcus prayed. Stachys had missed the reading of the commandments as well as the exhortation to live by them, but he was actually relieved since he found all that a bit tedious. He had a hard time understanding why the God of the Judeans and Way-followers should care whether they also worshiped other gods or how they treated other people. The gods of the Greeks and Romans didn’t care about such things. It had always seemed to him like an odd kind of virtue, acting favorably to people who could never return the favor. But, he had reasoned, since this God didn’t require sacrifices, he was an odd sort of God. And after all, Stachys had been on the receiving end of unjust treatment in the past, and he knew deep down that there was something better, something right, about being good to people. There was something compelling about this strange God, and anyway, Stachys reasoned, he wanted to please Maria and wanted to be part of the family that included her and her son. He couldn’t quite explain it, but she was living proof that this God and his kind of virtue was a good thing.

  Stachys entered the gathering just in time to recite the prayer that Iesua taught the first Way-followers. He didn’t claim to understand all of it, but he liked saying it. And he liked knowing that his stepson Marcus had been there to hear Iesua teach it for the first time. Then they sang that psalm that Maria was singing the day before. The gathering was over, and people quickly dispersed to begin their day.

  “Salve, Stachys!”

  “Oh, salve, Scrap.” Stachys was a bit startled. He hadn’t seen Scrap sidle up to him, but then Scrap was always sneaking up and talking loudly when people least expected it. Stachys was often annoyed at how talkative Scrap was for an eight-year-old boy, and he couldn’t get used to the idea of a slave calling him by name. “Where’s young Clemens? Shouldn’t you be getting back to his father’s house with him?”

  “My master is talking with Marcus. I’m just waiting. I guess you came in late because you were meeting with your patron, right? My master says your patron is Urbanus. Did you know that Philologus was kicked out of his guild? He can’t work as a plasterer any more, and he’ll never be a stonemason now. Did you know that? What’s he going to do to feed his family, Stachys?”

  “I don’t know, Scrap. You know, I should probably go talk to Marcus too. Be well, Scrap.”

  “Be well, Stachys.” Scrap
ran over to Philologus, who seemed genuinely glad to talk to him. Philologus and Julia’s children gathered around Scrap and took his hand, dragging him off to play Acorns or Blindfold Bucca.

  Stachys walked over toward where Marcus was talking with Flavius Clemens, the son of the senator Clemens the Elder. Stachys always felt a bit self-conscious in the presence of the senate class, but in this case he was more interested in avoiding a conversation with the eight-year-old slave boy. However, as he approached, the fact that Marcus and Clemens spoke in whispers, combined with the wide purple stripe on Clemens’s cloak, made Stachys wish he could turn around and go talk to someone else. But they saw him coming, and it was too late.

  Exposure

  In the Roman world, life in general was precarious, but the fact that violence and death were forms of entertainment tended to reinforce the idea that some life was expendable. Both preborn and newborn life was considered disposable, and the head of a household could decide that a baby was to be discarded. Even being born on the wrong day could mean that a baby would not survive. For example, it was considered to be a bad omen to have been born on the day of Caligula’s father’s death, so many newborns were exposed on that day.

  For most of Roman society, abortion (usually drug induced) and infanticide were perfectly acceptable. The latter was usually performed by a midwife, on the instructions of the would-be father. If the husband of the woman who had given birth had any suspicions of the parentage of the baby, or had any reservations at all about raising the child, he could simply order the child killed. This could be done by drowning in a bucket, or more often by exposure. Exposure usually meant simply putting the baby in the garbage and leaving it there to die from the elements or by wild animals. It’s hard to know how many babies died this way, but we do know that a significant number of the babies left on the garbage piles were picked up and raised as slaves, often to be prostitutes. It is certain that more girls were exposed than boys, since girls were considered a financial liability.