by Mika Waltari
Claudia was frighteningly beautiful, like a seer, as she spoke. I can only believe that there really was some irresistible force speaking through her, paralyzing my will and dulling my mind, for when she said, “Come, let’s go and see them at once,” I rose helplessly and went with her. Thinking I was afraid, she assured me that I would not have to do anything I did not want to do, only watch and listen. I justified my actions to myself by saying that I had reason to learn something about these new beliefs in Rome, as I had also tried to learn about the Druids in Britain.
When we reached the Jewish part of the city, Transtiberia, it was in a state of alarm and unrest. We were met by running, screaming women and people were fighting at street corners with fists, sticks and stones. Even worthy gray-haired Jews in tasseled cloaks were involved and the City Prefect’s police did not seem to be in control. As soon as they had managed to disperse some of the fights with their batons, another broke out in the next alleyway.
“What in the name of all the gods of Rome is going on here?” I asked a breathless policeman who was wiping blood from his forehead.
“Someone called Christus is stirring up the Jews against each other,” he explained. “As you see, rabble from all over the city have come here. You’d better take your girl another way. They’ve sent for the Praetorians. There’ll soon be more bloody noses than mine here.”
Claudia looked excitedly about her and let out a cry of pleasure.
“Yesterday the Jews hunted everyone who recognizes Jesus out of the synagogues and beat them,” she said. “Now the Christians are retaliating. They’ve got help from Christians who aren’t Jews.”
In the narrow alleys there were in fact groups of tough-looking slaves, smiths, and loaders from the shores of the Tiber who were smashing the closed shutters of the shops and forcing their way inside. Pitiful cries came from within, but the Jews are fearless fighters when they are fighting for their invisible god. They gathered in groups in front of the synagogues and fended off all attacks. I did not see any weapons used, but then neither the Jews nor any of the other people who had flooded in from all directions into Rome were allowed them.
Here and there we saw a few middle-aged men who were standing with their arms raised, crying out, “Peace, peace, in the name of Jesus Christ.”
They managed to calm down some people to the extent of getting them to lower their sticks and drop their stones, and slip off to join in another fight. But the more dignified Jews became so furious that they stood in front of Julius Caesar’s beautiful synagogue and tore their beards and clothes, calling out aloud about blasphemy.
It was as much as I could do to protect Claudia and try to prevent her from becoming involved in the fighting, for she stubbornly strug-gird on toward the house where her friends were to perform their mysteries that evening. When we reached it, an excited group of ardent Jewish believers were dragging out and knocking down those who had hidden themselves inside. They tore apart people’s bundles, emptied their baskets of food, and trampled everything into the dirt, hitting out as one hits out at one’s neighbor’s pigs. Anyone attempting to flee was knocked down and kicked in the face.
I do not know how it came about. Perhaps I was seized by the natural desire of a Roman for law and order, or perhaps I tried to defend the weaker ones from the attackers’ violence, or perhaps it was Claudia who egged me on to partake, but suddenly I noticed that I was pulling a huge Jew’s beard and twisting a stick from his hand with a wrestler’s hold as he in his religious fervor was about to kick a girl he had knocked to the ground. Then I found myself fighting in all seriousness, and indubitably on the side of the Christians. Claudia urged me on, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to catch all Jews who did not recognize him as the savior.
I came to my senses when Claudia pulled me into the house and I hurriedly let go of a bloodstained stick I had picked up somewhere, realizing to my horror what the consequences would be if I were arrested for becoming involved in Jewish religious riots. I had not only my rank of tribune to lose, but also the narrow red band on my tunic. Claudia led me down to a large dry cellar room where Christian Jews were all shouting at once, quarreling over who had started the rioting, and weeping women were bandaging wounds and putting ointment on bruises. From the room upstairs, several old, men came down, shaking with fear, together with a couple of men who from their clothes did not appear to be Jews. As confused as I was, they were presumably wondering how they could get themselves out of this dilemma.
With them came a man whom I did not recognize as the tentmaker Aquila until he had wiped the blood and dirt from his face. He had been severely ill-treated, for the Jews had rolled him in a sewer and broken his nose. Despite this, he passionately called for order.
“Traitors, all of you!” he cried. “I daren’t call you my brothers any longer. Is freedom in Christ just something for you to vent your anger with? You have been beaten for your sins. Where is your endurance? We must submit and stop those who spit on us with good deeds.”
There were many protests.
“It’s no longer a question of the heathens among whom we live learning to praise God when they see our good deeds,” they cried. “Now it’s
Jews fighting us and abusing our Lord Jesus. It’s for him and to his glory we resist the evil ones, not just to defend our miserable lives.”
I pushed forward to Aquila, shook his arm and tried to whisper to him that I must get away. But when he recognized me, his face cleared in delight and he blessed me.
“Minutus, son of Marcus Manilianus!” he cried. “Have you too chosen the only way?”
He embraced me, kissed my lips and fervently began to preach.
“Christ has suffered for you too,” he said. “Why don’t you model yourself on him and follow in his footsteps? He did not abuse his abusers. He threatened no one. Don’t take revenge by evil for evil. If you suffer for Christ, then praise God for it.”
I cannot repeat all that poured out of him, for he took no notice of my protests, but his fervor undoubtedly had a powerful effect on the others. Nearly all of them began to pray for the forgiveness of their sins, though some muttered through clenched teeth that the kingdom would never bear fruit if the Jews were freely allowed to slander, oppress and ill-treat the subjects of Christ.
While this was going on, the police outside were arresting people regardless of whether they were faithful Jews or Christian Jews, or anyone else. As the Praetorians were guarding the bridges, many people fled in boats and took the opportunity to unfasten other boats at the quays so that they began to drift away in the current. The city was left unprotected, all the police having been sent to the Jewish quarter. Crowds began to collect in the streets, shouting the name Christus as a password they had learned on the other side of the river.
They plundered shops and set fire to several houses, so that when the Jewish quarter was quiet again, the City Prefect had to order his men to return to the city proper. This saved me, for they had just begun a house-to-house search in the Jewish quarter.
Evening had come, I was sitting gloomily on the floor with my head in my hands, realizing I was very hungry. The Christians gathered up the remaining food and began to share it among all those present. They had bread and oil, onions, pease porridge and wine. Aquila blessed the bread and wine, in the Christian way, as the flesh and blood of Jesus of Nazareth. I accepted what was offered me and shared my bread with Claudia. I was given a little cheese too and a piece of dried meat. I drank wine from the same goblet as the others when my turn came. When everyone had eaten their fill, they kissed each other gently.
“Oh, Minutus,” said Claudia after she had kissed me. “I am so glad you have eaten of his flesh and drunk of his blood, to be forgiven your sins and lead an eternal life. Can’t you feel the spirit glowing in your heart, as if you had discarded the tattered clothes of your earlier life and put on new ones?”
I said bitterly that the only glow I felt was from the cheap sour wine. Not until then did I ful
ly realize what she had meant and see that I had taken part in the secret meal of the Christians. I was so appalled that I wanted to be sick, although I knew I had not drunk blood from the goblet.
“Nonsense,” I said furiously. “Bread is bread and wine is wine when one is hungry. If nothing worse than this happens amongst you, then I don’t see why such lunatic stories are told about your superstitions. Still less do I understand how such innocent activities can lead to such violence.”
I was too tired to quarrel with her, aroused as she still was, but in the end she made me agree to look more closely into the Christian teachings. I could see nothing wrong in their attempts to defend themselves against the Jews. But I was fairly sure they would be punished if the disorders continued, whether they or the faithful Jews were responsible.
Aquila admitted that there had been trouble earlier, but not to the same extent as now. He assured me that the Christians usually met without attracting attention and also answered evil words with good. But the Christian Jews also had a legal right to go into the synagogues and listen to the scripts and to speak there. Many of them had taken part in the raising of the new synagogues.
I took Claudia home through the warm summer night, past Vatican and out of the city. We saw the glare of fires and heard the murmur of the crowd across the river. Wagons and carts loaded with foodstuffs on their way to the market halls were waiting, crowded together on the road. The country people wondered anxiously what was happening in the city. It was whispered from man to man that one Christus was rousing the Jews to murder and arson. No one seemed to have a good word to say for the Jews.
As we walked, I began to limp and my head ached. I was surprised that I had hitherto not felt any ill-effects from the injuries I had received in the fighting. When we eventually arrived at Claudia’s hut, I was feeling so wretched that she would not let me return, but begged me to stay the night. In spite of my protests, she put me to bed in her own bed by the light of an oil lamp, but then sighed so much as she busied herself around the room that I had to ask her what was wrong.
“I’m neither pure nor without sin,” she said. “But every word you told me about that shameless Briton girl has fallen like drops of fire on my heart, although I can’t even remember her name.”
“Try to forgive me that I could not keep my promise,” I said.
“What do I care about your promise?” wailed Claudia. “I’m cursing myself. I am the flesh of my mother’s flesh and the profligate Claudius is my father. I can’t help it if I am deeply disturbed to see you lying in my bed.”
But her hands were as cold as ice when she clasped mine in them. Her lips too were cold when she bent down and kissed me.
“Oh, Minutus,” she whispered. “I haven’t had the courage to confess to you before that my cousin Gaius violated me when I was only a child. It amused him sometimes to sleep in turn with his sisters. That is why I’ve hated all men. You’re the only one I haven’t hated, because you accepted me as a friend without knowing who I was.”
What more need I say? To console her, I drew her into bed with me and she trembled with cold and shame. And neither can I justify my action by saying she was older than I, for I must admit I became more and more ardent until she came to me, laughing and crying, and I realized that I loved her.
When we woke in the morning, we both felt so happy that we did not want to think about anything but ourselves. Radiating happiness, Claudia was beautiful in my eyes despite her coarse features and thick eyebrows. Lugunda became a distant shadow. Claudia was a mature woman in comparison to that immature, capricious girl.
We exchanged no promises and did not even wish to think of the future yet. If I were oppressed by a vague feeling of guilt, I comforted myself with the thought that Claudia knew very well what she was going. At least she had something else to think about besides the superstitious mysteries of the Christians. I was pleased about that.
When I returned home, Aunt Laelia commented acidly on the anxiety she had felt when I had been out all night without telling her about it beforehand. She looked at me carefully with her red-rimmed eyes and said reproachfully, “Your face is as radiant as if you were brooding on some shameful secret. As long as you haven’t strayed into some Syrian brothel.”
She sniffed my clothes suspiciously. “No,” she went on, “you don’t smell of a brothel. But you must have spent the night somewhere. Now don’t go and get yourself involved in some sordid love affair. That will lead to nothing but trouble for both you and for others.”
My friend Lucius Pollio, whose father had become Consul that year, nunc to see me in the afternoon. He was very disturbed by the rioting.
“The Jews are getting more and more insolent under the protection of their privileges,” he said. “The City Prefect has been interrogating arrested people all morning and has definite evidence that it is a Jew called Christus who is rousing the slaves and the mob. He’s not an ex-gladiator, as Spartacus was, but a traitor who was condemned in Jerusalem but in some way came to life after being crucified. The Prefect has ordered his arrest and has put a price on his head. But I’m afraid the man has already fled the city now that his rebellion has not succeeded.”
I was greatly tempted to explain to the learned Lucius that by Christus the Jews meant the Messiah they believed in, but I could not reveal that I knew too much about this seditious teaching of theirs. We went through the manuscript of my book once again to make the writing as clear as possible. Lucius Pollio promised to find a publisher if the book passed the acid test which public reading constitutes. According to him, the work might do quite well. Claudius would be glad to be reminded of his own successful campaign in Britain. One could flatter him by showing an interest in the affairs of Britain, and in this respect my book should prove excellent, according to Pollio.
The differences of opinion over the ownership of synagogues which had originally given rise to the rioting amongst the Jews were settled by the City Prefect, who proclaimed that all those who had contributed to the raising of them should have the right to use them. The strict Jews and the more liberal Jews had their own synagogues. But when the Jews who recognized Christ took over a synagogue, the other Jews removed the valuable scrolls and preferred to set fire to the synagogue rather than let the hated Christians take it over. From this, new troubles arose. In the end, the faithful Jews made a great political blunder by appealing to the Emperor.
Claudius was already angered by the riots which were disturbing the happiness of his new marriage. He became even angrier when the Jews dared to remind him that he would not now be Emperor but for their support. It was in fact true that Claudius’ drinking companion, Herod Agrippa, had borrowed from the rich Jews of Rome the money needed to bribe the Praetorians after the murder of Gaius Caligula. But Claudius had had to repay exorbitant interest on the money and for other reasons did not want to be reminded of this incident which had wounded his vanity.
His drunkard’s head began to shake with rage. Stammering more than usual, he ordered the Jews to leave and threatened to banish them all from Rome if he ever heard of any more disturbances.
The Christian Jews and the mob which had joined them had their own leaders too. To my astonishment, I met at my father’s and Tullia’s house the argumentative Aquila, his wife Prisca, and a few other respectable citizens whose only fault was that they had leanings toward the Christian mysteries. I had gone to see my father to talk about Claudia. I was now visiting her twice a week and staying overnight with her. I felt strongly that something should be done about it all, though Claudia had made no direct demands.
When I surprised my father and disturbed the meeting, he told me to wait a moment and then went on talking.
“I know more than a little about the king of the Jews,” he was saying, “for after his crucifixion, I was in Galilee and was myself convinced that he had risen from his tomb. His disciples did reject me, but I can confirm that he in no way roused the people in the manner that is happening here in Rome.�
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I had heard all this before and could not think why my father in his old age kept repeating the same old story. But Aquila tried to explain.
“Whatever we do,” he said, “we are everyone’s stumbling block. We are hated more than the idol-worshipers. We can’t even maintain mutual love and humility among ourselves, for everyone thinks he knows best. The ones who are most enthusiastic to spread the word are those who have just found the way and acknowledged Christus.”
“Anyhow, they are saying that he himself threw fire over the earth and separated man from wife and put children against their parents,” said Prisca. “And that’s just what’s happening here in Rome, although we mean well. How love and humility can bear fruit in quarrels, disunity, hatred, spite and envy, I cannot imagine.”
As I listened to them, I was filled with righteous anger.
“What do you want of my father?” I cried. “Why do you torment him so that he has to wrangle with you? My father is a kindly, good-natured man. I won’t allow you to involve him in your idiotic quarrels.”
My father straightened up.
“Be quiet, Minutus,” he said. Then he looked far back into the past and finally spoke again.
“These matters can usually be cleared up by discussing them,” he said, “but this matter is becoming more involved the more it is discussed. But as you have asked my advice, then I would suggest this. Ask for a respite. In Emperor Gaius’ time, the Jews in Antioch benefited greatly from this advice.”
They stared at my father without understanding what he meant.
“Separate from the Jews,” he said, smiling absently, “leave the synagogue, stop paying the temple taxes. Build your own meeting-houses if you want to. There are rich people among your followers. Perhaps you can collect large gifts from men and women who think they can buy peace of mind by supporting different gods. Don’t annoy the Jews. Keep silent when you are insulted. Keep your distance, as I do, and try not to hurt anyone.”