“That they had set fire to Rome on orders from Christ, of course,” said Tigellinus insolently, looking straight at me. But when he saw my disapproval, he added: “Or whatever you like. One or two vaguely admitted to setting fire to houses together with the soldiers. I haven’t in fact discovered anything more criminal or conspiratorial than that. But several men who otherwise look quite worthy have voluntarily admitted that they thought that their god had punished Rome with the fire because of the city’s sins. Isn’t that enough? And others have told me that they had expected to see their god come down from the sky as the fires were burning, to judge all those who do not acknowledge Christ. That sort of thing sounds like a secret conspiracy against the State. So the Christians must be punished for their superstition, no matter whether they set the fire going with their own hands or whether they had unknowingly agreed to the whole cruel plan.”
I pointed to a young girl who lay bound with leather straps on a blood-stained stone bench. Her mouth was bleeding and her breasts and limbs were so torn by the iron claws that she was clearly dying from loss of blood.
“What has that innocent girl confessed to?” I asked.
Tigellinus rubbed the palms of his hands together and avoided my eyes.
“Try to understand me a little,” he said. “All morning I’ve had to work with dreadful coppersmiths. I must get at least a little pleasure out of all this. But I was really curious to know what she had to confess as well. Well, I got nothing out of her except that some great man or other would soon appear and judge me and throw me into the fire as a punishment for my evil doings. A vengeful girl. They all seem to talk about fire for that matter, as if they were especially attracted to it. There are people who find pleasure in watching fires. Otherwise Nero would hardly have chosen just that night to sing from the Maecenas tower.”
I pretended to look more closely at the girl, although it made me feel sick to do so.
“Tigellinus,” I said deliberately, “this girl looks like a Jewess.” Tigellinus was appalled and gripped my arm.
“Don’t tell Poppaea, whatever you do,” he said. “How in all the names of the underworld could I tell a Jewish girl from an ordinary one? They’ve no signs of recognition on their bodies as the men have. But she was definitely a Christian. She wouldn’t denounce her madness, although I promised to let her go alive if she abandoned such superstitions. She must have been bewitched.”
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Fortunately, after this dreadful incident Tigellinus decided to stop torturing his victims and had them brought back to life again so that they could go through with the punishment the Emperor meted out to them for arson. We went back to his own private interrogation room, where he was told that Senator Pudens Publicola, an old man of the Valerian family, had arrived together with an elderly Jew and was demanding loudly to speak to Tigellinus.
Tigellinus, unpleasantly surprised, scratched his head and looked help-lessly at me.
“Pudens is a mild and silly old man,” he said. “What can he be angry with me about? Perhaps I’ve gone and arrested one of his clients by mistake. Stay here and help me, as you know about the Jews.”
Senator Pudens came in with his white old head trembling with rage. To my surprise, it was Cephas who was with him, his worn shepherd’s stave in his hand and his bearded face red with agitation. The third was a youth called Cletus, pale with fear, whom I had seen once before acting as interpreter for Cephas.
Tigellinus rose and began greeting Pudens respectfully, but the old man rushed up to him, aimed a kick at him with his purple boot and began abusing him.
“Tigellinus, you damned horse dealer, fornicator and pederast!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re up to? What are these false accusa-tions against the Christians? How far do you think you can go with your insolence?”
Tigellinus humbly tried to explain that he never mixed his private life with his office of Praetorian Prefect. He was not the only pederast in Rome and he was not in the least ashamed that he had been a horse breeder during the days of his exile.
“So stop insulting me, my dear Pudens,” he said. “Think of your dignity and that you are addressing me as a civil servant and not a private individual. If you have any charge to bring, I will listen with patience to your case.”
Cephas raised his arms and began to speak loudly in Aramaic without even looking in my direction, as if he had turned to a stranger in the same room. Tigellinus followed the direction of Cephas’ gaze.
“Who is this Jew?” he said. “And what is he saying and who is he talking to? I presume it is not sorcery, and that someone has seen to it that he has no magic charms or dangerous amulets.”
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