The Christian Jews and the mob which had joined them had their own leaders too. To my astonishment, I met at my father’s and Tullia’s house the argumentative Aquila, his wife Prisca, and a few other respectable citizens whose only fault was that they had leanings toward the Christian mysteries. I had gone to see my father to talk about Claudia. I was now visiting her twice a week and staying overnight with her. I felt strongly that something should be done about it all, though Claudia had made no direct demands.
When I surprised my father and disturbed the meeting, he told me to wait a moment and then went on talking.
“I know more than a little about the king of the Jews,” he was saying, “for after his crucifixion, I was in Galilee and was myself convinced that he had risen from his tomb. His disciples did reject me, but I can confirm that he in no way roused the people in the manner that is happening here in Rome.”
I had heard all this before and could not think why my father in his old age kept repeating the same old story. But Aquila tried to explain.
“Whatever we do,” he said, “we are everyone’s stumbling block. We are hated more than the idol-worshipers. We can’t even maintain mutual love and humility among ourselves, for everyone thinks he knows best. The ones who are most enthusiastic to spread the word are those who have just found the way and acknowledged Christus.”
“Anyhow, they are saying that he himself threw fire over the earth and separated man from wife and put children against their parents,” said Prisca. “And that’s just what’s happening here in Rome, although we mean well. How love and humility can bear fruit in quarrels, disunity, hatred, spite and envy, I cannot imagine.”
As I listened to them, I was filled with righteous anger.
“What do you want of my father?” I cried. “Why do you torment him so that he has to wrangle with you? My father is a kindly, good-natured man. I won’t allow you to involve him in your idiotic quarrels.”
My father straightened up.
“Be quiet, Minutus,” he said. Then he looked far back into the past and finally spoke again.
“These matters can usually be cleared up by discussing them,” he said, “but this matter is becoming more involved the more it is discussed. But as you have asked my advice, then I would suggest this. Ask for a respite. In Emperor Gaius’ time, the Jews in Antioch benefited greatly from this advice.”
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They stared at my father without understanding what he meant.
“Separate from the Jews,” he said, smiling absently, “leave the synagogue, stop paying the temple taxes. Build your own meeting-houses if you want to. There are rich people among your followers. Perhaps you can collect large gifts from men and women who think they can buy peace of mind by supporting different gods. Don’t annoy the Jews. Keep silent when you are insulted. Keep your distance, as I do, and try not to hurt anyone.”
“These are hard words,” they all said at once. “We must bear witness to our king and proclaim his kingdom. Otherwise we are not worthy of him.”
My father spread out his hands and sighed heavily.
“His kingdom is a long time coming,” he said, “but undoubtedly it is you who share his spirit and not I. Do as you wish. If the matter comes before the Senate, I shall try to put in a good word for you. But if you’ll permit it, then I’ll not mention the kingdom. That would only make you politically suspect.”
They were content with this and left just in time, for Tullia met them in the arcade on her return from her round of visits, and she was not pleased.
“Oh, Marcus,” she said. “How many times do I have to warn you against receiving these questionable Jews? I’ve nothing against your going to listen to philosophers. If it amuses you, you can help the poor, send your physician to the sick and give dowries to parentless girls. But, by all the gods, keep away from the Jews, for your own sake.”
Then she turned her attention to me, complained about my bad shoes, the careless folds in my mantle and my badly cut hair.
“You’re not among crude soldiers anymore,” she snapped. “You should take more care of your appearance for your father’s sake. I’ll have to send you a barber and valet, I suppose. Aunt Laelia is too old-fashioned and shortsighted to notice any longer.”
I replied sullenly that I already had a barber, for I did not want to have any of her slaves dogging my every footstep. It was true that on my birthday I had bought and freed a slave for whom I had felt sorry and I had helped him to set up on his own in Subura. He was already doing quite well, selling women’s wigs and the usual procuring. I explained too that Aunt Laelia would be deeply offended if a strange slave came to see to my clothes.
“Anyhow, one has more trouble than joy from slaves,” I said. Tullia remarked that it was entirely a matter of discipline.
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