A Week in the Life of Rome

by James L. Papandrea

  Sabina seemed to relax at the explanation and smiled warmly. “May the Great Mother be good to you.”

  Rhoda spoke up without hesitation. “Thank you, but we don’t put our faith in Cybele, or Fortuna, or whatever you call her. We only worship the one true Deity.”

  There was an awkward silence. “Ah, yes,” Sabina nodded. “Yes, my husband has told me a bit about your religion. I must say, it does seem simpler to consolidate all of one’s religion into a single god. What I don’t understand is . . .” Sabina paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Can one god really watch over everything? Can one god be the god of the hearth and the god of the pantry? God of the doorway, and god of the city gates? How can one god be responsible for all of that?”

  Maria responded quickly before Rhoda could say something sarcastic about the impotence of the Roman gods. “We believe that the one whom Iesua called Father is all-powerful. That means there is nothing outside his sphere of influence. He needs no other gods, and in fact there is no room for any other gods.”

  Rhoda jumped in. “The Roman gods, if they even existed, would be limited. They have to stay out of each other’s way and defer to each other’s sphere of influence. What kind of god is that? That’s not real deity! True divinity is all-powerful, not . . . partially powerful.”

  Sabina was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Maria said, “Forgive us, we didn’t mean to lecture you. Rhoda here is very passionate about our religion. As we all are.”

  “I can see that,” Sabina said. “Your passion for your god is honorable. I only fear that, should the . . . um, other gods hear you, they might take that passion as a form of disrespect. And that could bring misfortune on us all, if the gods should choose to punish our city.”

  Maria decided the smartest thing to do was to let Sabina have the last word. She made some halfhearted comment about being respectful of Sabina’s time, and Sabina took her leave and headed off to the fortuneteller. After she walked away, both Maria and Julia let out a sigh of relief. Maria gave Rhoda a look that said You have to be careful what you say, but she knew there was no point in saying it out loud.

  But Rhoda wasn’t looking at Maria. Rhoda was looking at a group of Vestal Virgins, wearing their distinctive bridal veils and red hoods. The one in the lead stopped their procession and looked around with an attitude of frustration. She shouted, “Claudia!”

  “Here, Domina,” came the reply from behind a column. A woman who was evidently Claudia emerged and hung her head.

  Rhoda pointed at the lead vestal and whispered to Maria and Julia, “That’s Vibidia. She’s the elder vestal. Do you know she can pardon a man condemned to death? All she has to do is say so, and the man goes free.”

  “Just like that?,” Julia had a hard time believing that a woman could have such power in Rome.

  “Just like that,” Rhoda answered. “If she pardons a man, even the emperor can’t go against her—they have to let him go free.”

  Vibidia seemed about to raise her voice again, but her tone softened. “Claudia, where were you?”

  “Looking at the silks, Domina.”

  “Looking at the silks, though you still have twenty-five years with us before you’re free to wear them. And so you fell behind, causing us to have to wait for you. This is the same carelessness that you showed the night you let the sacred flame go out. I would have thought the beating you received from the emperor himself would have taught you to take more care in the future. You should consider yourself fortunate that it’s bad luck to spill a vestal’s blood, otherwise you might have found yourself in the arena!”

  “I will never let the flame go out again, Domina.”

  “I’m certain of that.” Vibidia moved close to Claudia and lifted her chin to force eye contact. “Come. Don’t fall behind again.” Then she turned and walked away, with her entourage in tow.

  Claudia hesitated, falling to the back of the procession. As soon as the rest of the vestals were out of hearing range, Claudia turned toward Rhoda and whispered, “I want to know more about your God.” And then she ran off to catch up to her sister priestesses.

  All of a sudden, the women could hear yelling and screaming coming from behind them. People started running in every direction, as Julia looked at Maria and Rhoda with a look of panic on her face. Maria grabbed both Rhoda and Julia by the arm and pulled them into the shade of the Portico of Hecatostylon, shielded from the running mob by its many columns. The women could hear groups of men shouting curses and chanting something about the failed bread distribution as they began rioting in the streets, smashing and looting the shops of the Saepta. Shopkeepers were in the process of desperately trying to install the wooden panels that locked up the shops at night, but many of them had been using the panels as tables. It was a pitiful sight, shopkeepers sweeping their handmade wares off of the tables so they could use the wooden planks to close the front of the shop as looters were picking up the merchandise off of the floor. Shopkeepers’ wives and daughters screamed and scrambled up the ladders into the lofts above the shops.

  Maria knew that the city militia was normally only mobilized at night, so it would take a long time for them to come and calm the situation. The women couldn’t afford to wait it out, especially since there was always the chance that the rioting gangs of men would graduate from looting the stores to attacking whichever women happened to be close by. Maria tightened her grip on the arms of Rhoda and Julia and pulled them to the corner of the portico. “We need to head for higher ground,” she whispered. “The temple of Venus at the top of the seats in the Theater of Pompey. The mob won’t go there, and if they do, we can go inside the temple. They wouldn’t dare profane the place with violence. And Iesua would understand.” Maria waited for a lull in the movement of the crowd, and then she pulled Rhoda and Julia out into the sun and headed for the Theater of Pompey.

  The three women ran as fast as they could through Pompey’s portico and past the stage of the theater. As they headed up the steps that ran along the seats, they heard a scream. Maria and Rhoda kept running, but Julia stopped and turned around. On the floor of the theater, she could see a woman struggling to get to her feet, with two men standing over her, grabbing for her jewelry. Julia shouted at Maria and Rhoda. The women turned around, but by then they could only see Julia’s back as she ran down the steps toward the theater floor.

  Maria screamed, “Julia!” She hesitated, not knowing what to do.

  But Rhoda was decisive. “Let’s go!” She turned to follow Julia, and Maria followed her. When they got to the bottom of the steps, Julia was already confronting the two men who stood over the woman on the floor. Maria recognized the woman. It was Sabina.

  Julia was yelling at the men to leave Sabina alone, but her small stature was less than intimidating. They started to laugh at her, but then Rhoda ran up, and Maria, and the men were outnumbered. If looks could kill, the look on Rhoda’s face would have burned them to a crisp, and so they backed off and eventually walked away. Julia helped Sabina to her feet as Sabina felt around her neck to make sure the key to the household strongbox was still there, and then they all made their way up the steps to the temple of Venus. The sound of the mob was getting louder, so they went into the temple. Sabina began to whisper to the statue of Venus at the back of the temple. She was starting to ask the goddess for help, but she was interrupted by the sound of Maria praying out loud. Sabina looked back to see Maria, Rhoda, and Julia standing in a tight circle, with hands uplifted and eyes closed.

  “Lord Iesua, protect us. Lord Iesua, protect us. Lord Iesua Christos, protect us.”

  Stachys, meanwhile, had his own problems. After collecting what was owed to him for the sale of olive oil and paying what he owed, there was a respectable sum left over—a sum that he had now lost at the gambling table. He sat in the back room of the tavern, sweating and playing on credit. The table steward brought him a mug of wine—mixed strong by his request.

  But he wasn’t the only one losing. Another man a
t the table kept waving away a nervous slave who could see his own prospects draining away with his master’s losses. Stachys felt more sorry for himself than ever, and the effects of the strong wine were only enhancing that feeling. He thought about the money he was losing and felt the pressure to win it back, or else he would have to explain to Maria why he came home in debt rather than with money in his hand. Then he started to tell himself that he should not fear Maria, that he was the head of the household, after all, and he should be able to do whatever he wanted with his money. By Priapus, he was a success!

  Figure 3.6. Roman dice, carved from animal bone (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

  Eventually Stachys thought of his son, and how he wanted his son to be a success. That would mean getting a good start on a career as soon as possible. This tutor could be a stepping stone to a wealthy patron. Who knows, Tertius could one day even join the equestrian class—something a freedman like Stachys could never do. Stachys thought about his own patron, Urbanus. He thought about Urbanus’s father, but then dismissed the thought from his mind.

  He asked Fortuna for good luck and then felt guilty about it, hearing in his mind all the things Maria and Marcus would say to him if they knew. Had the gods ever answered his prayers? Not that he could remember. Would the God of the Way- followers do any better? Maybe. Maybe not. If the gods didn’t reward, then they also didn’t punish, so there was no risk in abandoning them, he thought. But why just replace the traditional gods with a new one? Maybe, Stachys thought, he didn’t need any at all. In any case, if he were to say no to Urbanus, he would be throwing away his own career. He would lose everything he worked for. There was no decision to make. Tertius would have a tutor. Stachys rolled the dice.

  Across the river in Trans-Tiber, another gathering of Way-followers was preparing for their evening meal in a small apartment. Apelles, the leader of the gathering, welcomed everyone. As the people filed into the cramped space, the men talked among themselves, and the women took stock of the small amounts of food they had brought. It was mostly beans and bread, with some olives, a few pigeon eggs, and some small fish.

  Trans-Tiber was one of the poorest and most densely populated areas of Rome and was the home for many of Rome’s Judean population until the edict of Claudius banished them. Not all Judeans left, however, because many of them were slaves and were owned by non-Judeans. The Way-followers at Apelles’s apartment included some of these remaining Judeans as well as some of the Judean believers who had once attended the gathering at Aquila and Priscilla’s awning shop. It also included some dockworkers who worked the cargo boats on the river, as well as other slaves and former prostitutes. Herodion, a freedman of the household of Aristobulus, was there with a few slaves of that house. Some of them were baptized, but others were still in the school, not yet baptized. It was a tight fit, with over twenty people in the apartment.

  Figure 3.7. A typical street in modern Trastevere, the “Trans-Tiber” of ancient Rome

  Apelles stepped to the front of the room and got everyone’s attention. “Brothers and sisters . . . let us pray. . . .”

  Stachys was proud to hear his name echo in Urbanus’s dining hall as an older slave announced his arrival. This slave who was once his peer had just washed his feet and was now showing him to his place at one of the reclining benches around the center table. It was the lowest place according to status—on the end of the bench—but Stachys was just happy to be there. He looked at the place setting with awe. A gold spoon and knife—the same workmanship as the silverware set that Urbanus had given him on his first Saturnalia as a freedman. But real gold. A carved ivory toothpick. A beautiful, translucent blue-glass wine cup. The central table was already set with a tablecloth and filled with appetizers of hot sausages, small birds roasted in egg yolk, Damascus plums, and honey balls. Two silver trays held tiny roasted mice dipped in honey, one tray with poppy seeds and one without.

  The Roman Banquet

  In 1 Corinthians 11, when Paul criticizes the behavior of the Corinthian Christians at the agapē meal, he is basically accusing them of acting as though the eucharistic gathering were a Roman banquet. Wealthy households hosted banquets, which was part of the Roman culture of trading favors. Patrons invited their clients, though it was not unusual for the lower-class guests to receive inferior food and wine compared to the host’s peers. Guests of a lower social class might also find themselves using inferior utensils, or the slaves of the household might be instructed to count the silverware before the guests left for the night.

  The Roman dining room was called a triclinium, which refers to the fact that the basic setup was to have three reclining benches around a central area in a U-shaped arrangement. Of course, actual dining rooms could have more or fewer benches, depending on the wealth of the household and the kind of dinner parties the hosts expected to have. The benches had a kind of shelf or narrow table attached for each person’s food. Most people ate in a reclining position, leaning on their left side with their head toward the center and eating with their right hand. Sometimes unmarried women sat on chairs or stools, since that was considered more modest, but couples would recline together.

  Figure 3.8. Roman silverware. Notice there are no forks! (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

  The area in the center might have had a portable serving table with a tablecloth, which would be moved when the time came for entertainment. The entertainment might have been hired performers, or for everyday dining it might have been slaves from within the household who could play music or dance.

  Figure 3.9. Roman drinking glass (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

  Figure 3.10. Silver wine goblets with apparent olive-branch motif (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

  “Stachys, my friend!” Urbanus greeted his client warmly and shook his hand, then turned to face the whole group. “Friends, I’ve spared no expense. We’re having Falernian wine tonight!” Then he whispered into Stachys’s ear, “Thank you for the amphora. That was most gracious of you.”

  Stachys knew that the wine he had bought that day was not as good as Falernian wine, but he knew he had done the right thing by giving a token gift to his host.

  Urbanus raised his voice again, lifting his glass. “Vita vinum est!” The guests all raised their glasses and drank to the health of the host.

  “Vale,” they all said. “Be well!”

  Urbanus turned to Stachys. “Stachys, try the mice—they’re delicious.”

  Stachys was not sure. “Do they take the bones out?”

  “Oh, Stachys, you make me laugh! If they took the bones out, they wouldn’t be crunchy, would they? Look, just pick it up by the tail, like this, and pop it into your mouth whole. You can bite the tail off if you don’t want to eat it.”

  Urbanus announced that the fish in the first course were from his own fish ponds on his farmland. In addition to the fish, the first course included beef, kidneys with peas, tripe, lobster, goose, rabbit, figs, and lots of bread. Bowls of salty, fermented fish sauce were placed around for dipping or spooning onto any or all of the dishes. Stachys passed on the lobsters because they looked to him like giant bugs, but did his best to try everything else.

  Stachys noticed that his hands shook a bit as he dipped a piece of bread in the fish sauce. He realized that he was somewhat nervous in the presence of Urbanus and his peers. Turranius was there, alternating between burping and lamenting the violence after the dole bread ran out. “I don’t know what these plebs expect,” he whined, then belched. “There are a half million people in this city, a third of whom are of too low a status to expect that they will ever receive any benefits of imperial generosity. After all, what can the riffraff do in return? It’s ridiculous. Don’t they realize that the dole is not about feeding people? It’s about keeping the bakers baking. The bakers’ guild demands it, to keep the prices up and the income flowing.” He belched again. “And my own, uh . . . gratuity . . . is not insignificant of course.” The men laughed as Turr
anius banged his chest with his fist.

  “Well, we have nothing to worry about here,” Urbanus reassured the group. “I’ve hired extra security tonight. A few of the gladiators from the training school. They’re standing guard outside the door as we speak.”

  “Good to know, Urbanus,” someone said.

  Another chimed in, “Well done.”

  The main course came, and Stachys’s blue eyes lit up to see a whole boar, surrounded by dates and delicate muffins. More bowls of fish sauce arrived, along with tiny bowls of salt. And of course, everyone’s cup was kept full of that good Falernian wine. Stachys thoroughly enjoyed himself, burping appropriately to show his appreciation.

  Stachys listened to the conversation as Urbanus’s friends took their turns showing their respect and admiration. One of the guests asked, “Urbanus, how are your daughters? I hope they’re well.”

  “Yes, they are, thank you for asking. They’re growing like weeds—it’s almost time for me to start thinking about marriage arrangements.” It suddenly occurred to Urbanus that he was the only one in the room with two daughters, something that would seem odd to the nobility of Rome. “Of course we considered exposing the younger one, but I could see it would have upset Sabina, so I relented. Soft of heart I am, I admit it. And now soft of purse as well, as it turns out.” The other men chuckled.

  By the end of the course, Stachys started to feel a bit more comfortable among his patron’s peers, and so he decided to speak up and take part in the conversation in Latin. “Urbanus,” he said thoughtfully, “Does the Praetorian prefect, Lucius Geta, live near here?”

  Urbanus seemed to be taken aback by the mention of his enemy’s name, and he didn’t know why Stachys would bring him up. “No, Stachys, why do you ask?”