“Cephas is an Archdruid,” said Jucundus. “He’s more powerful than the Druids of Britain, although he’s a Jew. He demands all sorts of things, just like the Druids. One must wash oneself and wear clean clothes, one must pray, tolerate insults, turn the other cheek if someone hits one, and he’s got other tests of self-control too, just like Petro. And we have secret signs too, by which the initiated recognize each other.”
“I’m sure Cephas does not teach you any ill,” I said, “and the exercises he asks of you demand great strength of will. But you must realize that all those are secrets. You mustn’t talk about them to anyone.”
Pretending the utmost secrecy, I took my mother’s wooden goblet out of the chest and showed it to Jucundus.
“This is a magic goblet,” I told him. “The king of the Jews himself once drank from it. Now we’ll drink from it together, but it is so secret that you mustn’t ever tell anyone, not even Cephas.”
I mixed wine and water in the goblet and we drank from it together, my son and I, in the dimly lit room. I had the impression that the liquid did not lessen in the goblet, but it was only an illusion caused by the poor lighting. I was seized with a great tenderness and I suddenly realized, as if in a vision, that I must tell the truth about Jucundus to my father, in case anything should happen to me.
Without further ado, we set out for Tullia’s fine house on Viminalis. Jucundus behaved perfectly and looked around with wide-open eyes, for he had never seen such a magnificent private house. Senator Pudens, who was Cephas’ patron, lived in an old-fashioned way and I had not made any alterations to my house on Aventine, although it had become very cramped over the years. To rebuild it would have upset Aunt Laelia.
I left the boy with Tullia and shut myself up with my father in his room to tell him all about Jucundus. To tell the truth, I had not seen my father for a long time. I felt pity for him when I saw how bald and round-shouldered he had become, but of course he was already over sixty. He listened to me without comment and without once looking straight at me. Finally he spoke.
“The destinies of fathers appear in distorted forms in their sons,” he said. “Your own mother was a Greek from the islands and your son’s mother was a Briton from the Iceni tribe. In my youth, I was dragged into a shameful scandal of poisoning and falsifying a will. I have heard such terrible things about you that I cannot really believe them. I have never been especially pleased about your marriage to Sabina, even if her father is the City Prefect, and I have no desire to go and see the son she has borne
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you, your Lausus, for reasons I need hardly explain to you. What spark of wisdom made you have Jucundus brought up by Cephas? Cephas and I have been acquainted since the days of Galilee. He is less brusque and excitable than he was then. What plans have you for the boy’s future?”
“It would be best,” I said, “if I could get him into the school on Palatine where famous orators and pupils of Seneca train the sons of our allied kings and the provincial nobility. His wretched Latin would not attract attention there. He could make useful friends among his contem-poraries, if only Cephas can subdue him a little first. When the administration of Britain is reorganized, there will be a need for a new Romanized aristocracy. The boy is of noble Iceni stock on the distaff side. But for some reason, Nero does not want to see me at the moment, although we are friends.”
“I am a member of the Senate,” said my father after a moment’s thought, “and I have never before begged a favor of Nero. I have also learned to keep my mouth shut in the Senate, which is more due to Tullia than to me, as I have lived with her during all these years and she has always had the last word. The situation is very confused and the records in Britain have been destroyed, so a clever lawyer could easily find evidence that the boy’s parents had received Roman citizenship in return for their services. It should be even easier as his father is not known. And it wouldn’t even be distorting the truth if you once went through a British form of marriage with his mother. Your own mother has a statue outside the Council House in Myrina. You could pay for a statue of your Lugunda in the Claudius temple when Colchester is rebuilt. I consider you owe that to the mother of your son.”
The strangest thing of all was that Tullia meanwhile had become quite enchanted by Jucundus and could not do enough for him. In spite of her strenuous efforts, her plump beauty had begun to fade and her chins had become a wrinkled bag. When she heard about the sad fate of Jucundus’ mother, she burst into tears and swept him into her arms.
“I can see from his mouth, nose and eyebrows and also from his eyes, that the boy is of noble birth,” she cried. “His parents must have possessed every merit except discrimination, since they’ve appointed a man like Minutus as his guardian. Believe me, I can tell gold from brass at a glance.”
Jucundus patiendy endured her caresses and kisses like a sacrificial lamb. Cephas’ training was already bearing fruit.
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