Cephas tried, somewhat childishly, to demonstrate his learning by quoting the Jews’ holy scripts. He brushed aside Hierex* flattery and urged him to praise only God, the father of Jesus Christ, who in his mercy had allowed Hierex to be reborn into eternal hope.

Hierex became tearful and admitted honestly that although he had noticed a kind of rebirth in his heart, his body was still subject to selfish demands. Cephas did not judge him, but just looked at him, his eyes both mild and clever at the same time, as if he had seen through all human weakness but at the same time recognized a scrap of true searching for goodness in this wretched slave’s soul.

Hierex eagerly asked Cephas to tell us how he had saved himself from King Herod, and about the miracles he had performed in the name of Jesus Christ. But Cephas had turned to look at me attentively and did not wish to boast of his miracles. Instead he gently made fun of himself by telling me how little he had understood Jesus of Nazareth when he had followed him before the crucifixion. He also described how he had not even been able to keep awake while Jesus was praying on his last night on earth. When Jesus had been captured, he had gone too, and around the fire in the prison yard he had denied knowing Jesus three times, just as Jesus had foretold when Cephas had boasted that he was prepared to share his sufferings.

I sensed that Cephas’ strength lay in this kind of simple story, which he had repeated so often year after year, that he knew them all by heart. In the simple and illiterate way of a fisherman, he well remembered Jesus’ own words and teachings, and with his humility, he tried to set an example to other Christians, who like Hierex could swell like toads in the name of Christ.

No, Cephas was not an unattractive man, but I sensed that he could be frightening should he become angry. He did not make any attempt to convert me either, after looking at me steadily for a while, which offended me slightly.

On our way home, Hierex expounded his own views to me.

“We Christians,” he said, “regard each other as brothers. But as all people are different, so are we Christians different. Thus we have Paul’s side, Apollus’ side, Cephas’ side and then we who simply like Christ and do as we think right. So we are always at each other’s throats because of our internal strife and envy. The newly converted are the worst at squab-bling and the first to reproach the quieter ones for their way of life. Since meeting Cephas, I on my part have tried to appear no more excellent or blameless than any other man.”

221

My enforced delay in Corinth unsettled me and I did not feel at home in my own house. I bought a beautifully carved ivory team of horses as a present for Nero. I remembered his playing with a similar one as a child when his mother would not allow him to go to the races.

The feast of Saturnalia had long since passed when I eventually, after a stormy passage, returned to Rome via Puteoli.

Aunt Laelia was bowed and quarrelsome and reproached me for not writing to her for three whole years. Barbus alone was genuinely pleased to see me and told me that when he had had a bad dream about me, he had paid for the sacrifice of a whole bull to Mithras for my welfare. When he heard about my experiences, he seemed to be convinced that this sacrifice had saved me from my imprisonment in Cilicia.

The first thing I wanted to do was to go to Viminalis to see my father, to whom I felt a stranger. But Aunt Laelia, who had by then calmed down, took me to one side.

“You’d better not go anywhere,” she said, “until you know what has happened in Rome.”

Seething with malicious excitement, she then told me how Emperor Claudius had decided to give the man-toga to Britannicus, despite his youth, and had then in a drunken moment rashly mentioned Agrippina’s lust for power. So Agrippina had given him poisonous mushrooms. This was being spoken of all over Rome quite openly, and Nero knew about it. He was said to have declared that mushroom stew could make a man into a god. Claudius had been proclaimed a god, and Agrippina was having a temple built for her deceased husband, but few people had applied for the priesthood.

“So Rome is the same old hotbed of gossip as before,” I said bitterly. ‘We’ve known for two years that Claudius suffered from stomach cancer, although he wouldn’t admit it himself. Why do you deliberately try to spoil my happiness? I know Agrippina personally and I am a friend of Nero’s. How can I possibly believe such terrible things of them?”

“Narcissus too was given a push into Hades,” Aunt Laelia went on, without even having heard what I had said. “To his credit, it must be said that he did burn all Claudius’ secret records before committing suicide. Agrippina had wanted those at any price. In that way, he saved the lives of a great many men. Agrippina had to be content with a hundred million sesterces which she demantled from his estate. Believe it or not, but I know there would have been a blood bath if Agrippina had had her way.

222

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