To be rid of them, I finally promised them money and a refuge at my properties in Praeneste and Caere. But they would not agree until I had promised to go to Tigellinus myself and defend the Christians as best I could. I had held the rank of Praetor and the Christians would find me much more use to them than they would the somewhat dubious poor-law-yers. Finally they left my house hesitantly, still talking loudly together, so that my garden became deserted.
Meanwhile the arrested Christians on the parade ground had had time to organize themselves and gather around their leaders, who after consulting each other decided to forget their internal differences and put their trust in Christ alone. He would be sure to send his spirit to defend them. They were all frightened by the cries of pain which could be heard coming from the dungeons and they consoled themselves in their anxiety with prayers and songs of hope.
Among them were several people who knew the laws and went from man to man and woman to woman, comforting them by telling them of the Imperial precedent in Paul’s case. The most important thing now was that no one, even if threatened with the worst forms of torture, should confess to being guilty of fire-raising. Such a false confession could be devastating to all Christians. Persecution and suffering for the sake of the name of Christ had been foretold. They could acknowledge Christ, but nothing else.
When I arrived at the Praetorium, I was astounded by the number of people who had been arrested. At first I was reassured, for not even a madman could believe that all these people had committed arson. I met Tigellinus at an appropriate moment, for he was temporarily completely confused and had no idea what to do. In fact he rushed up to me and shouted at me that I had given Nero an inaccurate account of the Chris- tians, for hardly any of them seemed to be criminals.
I denied this emphatically and told him I had never said a single word to Nero about the Christians.
“I know nothing but good of them,” I said. “They are quite harmless and at their worst squabble amongst themselves on questions of faith, but they never have anything to do with State matters or even the people’s entertainments. They don’t even go to the theater. It’s madness to accuse such people of the burning of Rome.”
Tigellinus gave me a frightening grin, unrolled one of his lists and read out my own name.
“You must know all about it,” he said scornfully, “as you’ve been denounced as being a Christian. Your wife too, and all your household, but no names mentioned.”
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I felt as if a heavy cloak of lead had fallen over me and I could not speak. But Tigellinus burst out laughing and hit me with the scroll.
“You don’t think I take such reports seriously, do you?” he said. “I know you and your reputation. And even if I should suspect you, I could never suspect Sabina. Whoever reported you didn’t even know you’d divorced her. No, they’re hardened criminals who out of sheer ill-will wish to demonstrate that noble circles in Rome have also been drawn into their superstition.
“But the conspiracy seems to be surprisingly large after all,” he went on. “What puzzles me most is that they all voluntarily and gladly admit that they worship Christ as their god. I can only imagine that they’ve been bewitched. But I must put an end to such witchcraft. When they see that the guilty are punished, I’m sure they’ll be frightened and quickly denounce this madness of theirs.”
“Perhaps you’d be wise,” I said carefully, “to destroy your lists. What do you mean by the guilty?”
“You’re probably right,” said Tigellinus. “Believe it or not, there are both Consuls and senators reported as alleged Christians. It would be better to keep such insults secret, otherwise our men of standing will be shamed in the eyes of the people. I don’t think I’ll even say anything to Nero about such insane things.”
He looked at me penetratingly, with a cheerful glint in his ruthless eyes. I guessed he would keep the lists and use them for blackmailing people, for of course every important man in Rome would be prepared to pay anything to prevent that kind of stain on him. Again I asked him what he had meant by the guilty.
“I’ve more than enough confessions,” he boasted.
When I refused to believe it, he took me down into the cellars and showed me, one after another, his whimpering and half-dead victims.
“Of course, I’ve only had branded criminals and deserting slaves tortured, as well as one or two others I thought were holding something back,” he explained. “A thorough beating was enough for most of them, but as you see, we’ve had to use red-hot irons and iron claws in some cases. They’re pretty tough, these Christians. Some of them died without confessing anything, but just shouted for help from Christ. Some confessed as soon as they saw the instruments.”
“What did they confess?” I asked.
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