The drawing up and sealing of the deeds and the customary gift to the Mercury priests came to a considerably larger sum than the purchase tax would have done. The slave dealer began to regret the deal and took me for a cleverer purchaser than I in fact was. He had already taken his oath, however, but in the end I paid him the hundred gold pieces he had at first asked, just to be rid of him without further ado.

When we finally left the temple of Mercury, the boy unexpectedly thrust his hand into mine as if he felt lonely in the everyday noise and bustle of the street. I was seized with a strange feeling as I held his small hand and led him home through the josding city of Rome. I thought of the possibility of acquiring Roman citizenship for him when he was older, and then adopting him if I could persuade Sabina to agree. But those problems would come later.

Nevertheless, I had more trouble than joy from my son Jucundus. At first he would not even speak and I thought the horrors of war had turned him dumb. He smashed many objects in the house and refused to wear the clothes of a Roman boy. Claudia made no headway with him at all. The first time Jucundus saw a Roman boy of his own age outside the house, he rushed at him and beat him over the head with a stone until Barbus managed to intervene. Barbus suggested a severe beating, but I thought one should try more gende methods first and spoke to the boy myself.

“I’m sure you are mourning your mother’s death,” I said. “You were dragged here with a rope around your neck like a dog. But you aren’t a dog. You must grow up and become a man. We all wish the best for you. Tell us what you would like to do most?”

“Kill Romans!” cried Jucundus.

I sighed with relief, for at least the boy could speak after all.

“You can’t do that here in Rome,” I said. “But you can learn Roman customs and habits and one day perhaps I can make you into a Roman knight. If you stick to your plans, you can return to Britain when you are older and kill Romans in the Roman way. The Roman art of war is better than the British, as you yourself have seen.”

Jucundus sulked, but my words had perhaps some effect on him. “Barbus is an old veteran,” I went on craftily, “even if his head does shake. Ask him. He can tell you about batdes and warfare much better than I can.”

So, Barbus once again had the opportunity to tell the story of the time when he had swum fully equipped across the Danube between the ice floes with a wounded centurion on his back. He could show his scars and explain why unconditional obedience and a hardened body were the inescapable foundations for efficiency as a warrior. He acquired a taste for wine again and he wandered about Rome with the boy, taking him to bathe in the Tiber and teaching him to express himself pungently in the Latin of the people.

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But Barbus was also troubled by his wild temper and one day took me to one side.

“Jucundus is a bright boy,” he said, “but even I, hardened old man that I am, am horrified by his descriptions of what he is going to do to both Roman men and women one day. I’m afraid he witnessed terrible things when the Britons’ rebellion was crushed. The worst of it is, he keeps rushing up the slopes to shout curses over Rome in his barbaric language. In secret he worships gods of the underworld and sacrifices mice to them. It’s quite obvious that he is possessed by evil powers. Nothing will come of his upbringing until he is freed of his demons.”

“How can we do that?” I asked doubtfully.

“Cephas of the Christians is a great one for driving out demons,” said Barbus, avoiding my eyes. “He’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met at that sort of thing. At his command, a raving man becomes as gende as a lamb.”

Barbus was afraid I would be angry, but on the contrary, I thought that for once it might prove of some use that I put up with Christian meetings and meals in my house and allowed my slaves to believe what they liked. When Barbus saw that I was in favor, he eagerly began to tell me that Cephas, with the help of his pupils who knew Latin, was teaching children humility and obedience to their parents. Many citizens who were troubled by young people’s increasing lack of discipline sent their children to their holy day school, at which, in addition, the instruction was quite free.

Several weeks later, Jucundus came running up to me of his own accord, seized my hand and dragged me into my room.

“Is it true?” he said. “That there’s an invisible kingdom and that the Romans crucified the king? And that he’s coming back any time now, and then he’ll throw all the Romans into the fire?”

I thought the boy showed sound judgment in not immediately believing what he was told, but coming to me for confirmation. At the same time, however, I was put in an awkward position.

“It’s true the Romans crucified him,” I said cautiously. “On a notice on the cross it said that he was the king of the Jews. My father saw it happen with his own eyes at the time and he still maintains that the sky darkened and the mountains were rent when he died. The leading Christians think he’ll come back quite soon. And it’s about time, for it’s over thirty years since his death now.”

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