‘Well, they were all talking about it in the schuk, so old Miriam said, they knew the old yeled whose rosch was really cut off, some of them saw it after it was done, the rosch I mean, and said that’s old whatsisname. And the other one, he got away, and he’s alive in somebody’s cellar, there was a naarah who saw him, she thought it was his ghost at first but it wasn’t. There’s been a bit of trickery, old Miriam said, and it’s a king’s job not to be tricked, she said. That’s what I heard in the kitchen,’ Bernice said.
The king furiously rang the bell by his bed and at length Blastus came in. Blastus looked at the king without deference: it was plain to him that Herod Agrippa I was not long for this world; Blastus was only thirty and he had a non-monarchical future to think about. The king let his daughter tell the story again. ‘Have you heard the like from anyone?’ Herod Agrippa asked, fierce and wincing. Blastus had to admit that he had. ‘Get back to Jerusalem,’ the king ordered; ‘get the police on to this. I want that man’s head on the block and everybody else’s head who covered up the truth from their king. I want blood, and by God I’m going to have it.’
‘After the ceremony? The opening of the games, that is?’
‘Now. Take horse now.’
When Herod Agrippa appeared amid clamouring Caesareans and distinguished visitors and the clangour of sounding brass and thumped drums he looked not only in robust health but unutterably majestic, for he wore his glittering gown of silver that the early sun caught, he shone like a planet. His face had been farded and he had been fed an energising drug and, when he spoke, it was with the deliberate articulation of one who is slightly drunk. He met his Roman visitors in the gaudy anteroom to the royal box of the circus, saying: ‘We welcome the honourable senators Auspicius and Cinnus to our royal port of Caesarea. We trust that they will find their entertainment satisfactory. We have arranged – what have we arranged, Blastus?’ But Blastus was on his way to Jerusalem. The under chamberlain said:
‘Wild beasts, majesty. Gladiators.’ One of the two emissaries from Phoenicia got in quickly then with an open box of bright jewels and the cynical language of courtiership, saying:
‘Majesty – I say majesty inadvertently – deity, I would say. Your holy personage glows like a god. Your people need no god but Herod Agrippa. And here, holy one, are gifts unfit for a god but all that humble and erring humanity could contrive for the decking of one who already outshines the sun, the moon and a myriad constellations.’ Herod Agrippa greedily dipped his heavily ringed right hand into the casket and raised a particularly finely wrought wristband to the light. Then he saw something fluttering in from the open casement. A bird. It settled on one of the ropes on which fresh flowers of the season had been festooned in the king’s honour. A little white owl. It looked at him without deference. Then Herod Agrippa remembered something. Many years ago, when he had incurred the displeasure of the Emperor Tiberius, he had been put briefly into chains and made to share an open-air prison with criminals of the common sort. He had been leaning against the bole of a tree, and in the branches of that tree were twittering birds. But one did not twitter; it hooted. A white owl, more mature than this. He had been frightened at first, believing owls to be birds of ill omen. But a prisoner from the Rhineland had laughed and gutturally said that this bird meant Herod Agrippa would be released soon, which he was. But the German had also, without laughing, said that next time Herod Agrippa saw a white owl it would mean that he had only five days more to live. ‘Take that bird away,’ he now shouted, then collapsed.
He howled in agony and was borne swiftly away on a litter to the palace. Should not, muttered some of the bearded councillors, have accepted the Phoenician blasphemy as his due. He elevates himself to the divine, and the divine responds by striking him down. But Luke, had he been present and not awaiting the return of Paul to Antioch, there to baptise him into the faith, would have delivered a less fanciful diagnosis: the rupturing of a hydatid cyst, the writhing of tapeworms in the final royal stool confirming it.
The death of Herod Agrippa I was nowhere regretted. Even his funeral lacked the extravagant gestures of mourning which the eastern territories are so cynically adept at furnishing. He was shoved into the tomb of his royal ancestors with minimal ceremony. He had blasphemed, though passively, and he had, after five days of condign suffering, given up the ghost with a cry that had sounded like a curse. The party of the Zealots, after a dissatisfied intermission of their plans for liberation from a foreign yoke, were now able to resume their secret meetings and their amassing of arms in secret places: things had reverted to the only situation most of them had known before the three-year reign (in Judaea that is; he had had rule of the neighbouring territories for seven) of one who, despite the gestures of autonomy, had been no more than a Roman puppet. Now they awaited the appointment of a procurator and some years of renewed but impotent disaffection, the only state in which they were really happy.
The law promulgated at last by Claudius and the Senate by which no Jews, except those who had been able to purchase full Roman citizenship from the Empress Messalina, were permitted to remain in Rome brought shiploads of refugees to Caesarea, refuge being glossable as repatriation, but few of these Jews had ever seen Palestine or even wanted to see it. There were a great number of Nazarenes among them, and the Jerusalem church gloried in expansion. The high priests of the Jewish faith, sickened by Herod Agrippa’s vindictiveness, which had no roots in genuine piety, guilty also at the execution of James, in which they had acquiesced uneasily, left the Nazarenes alone. Some converted Pharisees, speedily apostatising under the brief monarchy, now dusted off the intermitted faith they brought out of the cupboard, and they were loud in their demands that its essential Jewishness be proclaimed and regularised.
Peter, no longer in hiding, presided over a great meeting of Nazarenes in the open air on the Mount of Olives. He had carefully prepared his inaugural speech with the help of John Mark, and he spoke as follows:
‘Members of the faith, friends of the faithful, we are assembled in a time when little would seem to hinder the growth of this church in Jerusalem and the daughter churches of Asia. The rule of Judaea is, as you know, reverting to Rome after the unregretted death of its king. We expect a procurator appointed by the Emperor Claudius, and we anticipate a measure of Roman justice and a measure of Roman indifference. My brother and colleague James – whose name none of us can utter without sad but triumphant memories of his martyred namesake – has been granted the authority of head of the Jerusalem church. We may call him the overseer or episcopos or bishop of Jerusalem. My work lies elsewhere, as does that of so many of my colleagues – such as Paul and Barnabas, who are busily bringing the word to the Gentiles. We are met here to consider a particular problem – that of the relationship between these same Gentiles and those followers of the Lord Jesus Christ who, brought up in the Jewish faith, consider themselves still, despite so many radical changes, to profess that faith. The word is with Matthias.’
Matthias got up from the grass, spitting out an olive pit first, and spoke thus:
‘Father Peter, as I must call him, and brothers in the faith – I put the matter plainly. We followers of the Lord Jesus, blessed be his name, came to his teaching not as a new thing but as the fulfilment of a very old thing. His coming was foretold by the prophets, his lineage is of the House of David, his messiahship came as a salvation to the Jewish people. If I may put it simply – the Jews first, the Gentiles after. This sums up the mission of our brother Paul, who first enters the synagogue of any town he visits, addressing Jews who may or may not accept the word, but also those Gentile Godfearers, as they are called, who, in his experience, have been quicker than the Jews to follow and absorb the new teaching. Now a Gentile who follows Christ follows also the law which preceded Christ. He is bound to the law of Moses. He is bound to the acceptance of circumcision, to the abhorrence of unclean food, to the avoidance of fornication and the forbidden degrees of marriage—’
Peter
cut in here, saying: ‘You mean he must conform as a Jew before he can conform as a Nazarene. I sense in Matthias’s words a certain rebuke of myself as the one who baptised the Roman centurion Cornelius into the faith without demanding that he change his eating habits or have his foreskin cut. But we have no ordinance which compels the baptised Gentile to accept the laws of Jewry. That must be made clear: The faith is for all. Foreskin-cutting does not come into it.’
A priest of low rank stood up to say: ‘I am not yet a follower of Christ, though I – and many of my brothers here present – am inclined to his way. Indeed, we Pharisees, who accept the resurrection of the body, are halfway there. But you cannot expect us, who call ourselves Jews and, though ready for the act of baptism, must always call ourselves such, to accept the modes of the Gentiles. More, you cannot even expect us to mingle with Gentiles and call them our brothers, since, according to our prior beliefs, they are an unclean people.’
Peter cried out angrily at that, having that vision to support him: ‘Nothing that God has created can be called unclean. That too must be made clear. Jesus Christ enjoins brotherhood on all who follow him. Circumcision and food laws do not come into it. Brothers, listen.’ For there were some belligerent mutterings going on there on the Mount of Olives, an olive being, as you may know, an emblem of peace. ‘Listen, I tell you.’ They listened, most of them. ‘A good while away God made choice among you, that by my mouth the Gentiles should hear the word of the gospel and believe. And God, who knows the hearts of men, gave the Gentiles the Holy Spirit, even as he did to us. And he made no distinction between us and them, cleansing their hearts by faith. Now why do you make a trial of God, that you should try to put a yoke on the necks of Christ’s disciples which neither our fathers nor ourselves were able to bear? What we believe is this: that we shall all be saved through the grace of the Lord Jesus – Jew and Gentile alike.’
There were more murmurings and one or two shouts from the back. Another man in priest’s robes got up, older than the other, and spoke reasonably. He said: ‘We get reports of the evangelising work of the man whom we remember as Saul, and of the others. We hear that the Gentile converts to your faith, not yet mine, regard themselves as a special and privileged people who follow their own laws, or the lack of them. They shout out about being saved by the Lord Jesus, who has cleansed them of all sin, past, present and to come. So they can behave as they wish, jumping into bed with their mothers and grandmothers and nieces and daughters, nephews and sons too for all we know. Outside any decent law, do you follow me? Love one another, and we all know what that can mean. Only the Jewish faith lays down what you may and may not do. Eat a bit of pork and you’ll end up eating dogshit and saying how good it is with a little mustard. Fornicate freely and you’ll start buggering sheep. What I’m saying is this: this story of universal love and everlasting life isn’t enough. People have to behave. People have to have clean genitals and not carry the muck of the towns and the sand of the desert inside their prepuces. Nazarenes have to be Jews first. I propose that that be laid down as a fundamental law.’ And he sat again on the grass, applauded by many. James the Little, who no longer needed the distinguishing sobriquet, James the only James, James stood and said:
‘Brothers, listen. We know that long centuries ago God went first to the Gentiles, looking among them for a people who would follow his law. He found the Jews instead, but he said that the rest of mankind may seek the Lord, and, and now I quote sacred scripture, “all the Gentiles upon whom my name is called”. What I conclude from this is that we stop troubling the Gentiles about these matters, but that we write letters to our new churches in Asia, telling them not to worship idols, not to commit fornication, not to bugger and sodomise, not to eat food that’s been strangled and contains blood. Will not this serve our need? Compromise is always to be followed. And that compromise weds the word of Moses to the word of Christ.’
‘They have to be circumcised,’ somebody shouted, and others took up the cry. Peter, angry, yelled:
‘Is the spread of our faith wholly to be tied to—What’s the word, John Mark?’
‘Coition. The organs of generation.’
‘What I say is that a good deal of the work of our men in the Asian provinces is spent fighting goddesses who stand for—’
‘Coition.’
‘Coition. People fornicating around and getting blessed by a goddess for doing it. In those places of the Gentiles you could say that the big enemy is the female genitals. And here in Jerusalem some of you people are making the genitals of men into a kind of rod forbidding entry into the Lord’s congregation. What we’re supposed to be concerned with is the soul and love and salvation. You make all that of less importance than having a piece of skin snipped off your—’
‘Organ of generation.’
‘Organ of generation.’
But the demand for Nazarene Gentile circumcision went on. ‘We’ll mention it in a letter,’ James called. Somehow he had not thought that the spread of the faith and its organisation would entail the writing of letters. Christ had never written any. None of them were letter-writers. Paul was different, of course. He represented the new way. On his brief visit to Caesarea with the famine relief money he had been writing letters all day long. They had never had anything in writing before.
Marcus Julius Tranquillus received a letter, a note rather, telling him to watch his step and signed Quidam amicus. He had destroyed the note on receiving it, but he sat now in the dining-room of the little rented house on the Janiculum brooding about it. He was not watching his step. He was taking action. Tonight he had an appointment. Why night? Narcissus, the Greek freedman, had said night and he had his reasons. The trouble was that it was dangerous to have enemies at night. During the day you could avoid them. Night was different.
Sara was clearing the table after their evening meal, and Julius’s brother-in-law Caleb sat at the table trying to force a white grape into the mouth of little Ruth, who resented being weaned and spat out solidities. But she sucked the scant juice of the grape.
‘Time for her bed,’ Sara told her brother, taking the child.
‘I must get work,’ Caleb said. ‘Get married. Set up a family of my own.’
‘If by that,’ Sara said, ‘you mean you’ve outstayed your welcome here—’
‘No. Just restless. And whatever the work is, it won’t be my real work.’
‘Killing the Romans. Not very complimentary to your Roman brother-in-law.’
‘Oh,’ Caleb said, ‘Julius thinks as I do. The Roman Empire is a great sham. Foul with corruption and yet it thinks it has this mission to clean up the world. I don’t want to kill Romans. Not ordinary ones. They’re just human beings. The Roman state is something else.’
‘Julius gets paid by the Roman state,’ Sara said, rocking the baby in her arms. ‘But thank Jupiter or somebody he’s no longer serving the wife of the Roman state.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Caleb said. ‘When did that happen?’
‘Eh? What? When did what happen?’
‘He wasn’t listening,’ Sara said. ‘He was brooding about being removed from the beauteous company of the divine Messalina.’
‘I have to go out,’ Julius said.
‘Tonight? Why?’
‘I have to go to the Palatine.’
‘Walk? It’s a long way.’
‘Only a mile or so. Downhill. Something to do with being given a new commission perhaps.’
‘And yet you look gloomy. I do honestly believe,’ Sara said, ‘that you miss the divine Messalina.’
‘Don’t tease me,’ Julius said. ‘I never felt safe. And don’t use words like divine. There ought to be an opposite to that word, but I don’t know what it is.’
‘There’s an opposite in Hebrew,’ Caleb said.
‘She gave off a kind of—I don’t know how to describe it.’
‘She looked like ice,’ Sara said.
‘You’ve never seen ice.’
‘I’v
e seen her. Admittedly only from a distance. Beautiful like ice.’
‘No ice there, I can tell you. Sizzling imperial smiles. When she—Never mind.’
‘When she what?’ Caleb asked.
‘When she asked for discretion. That was her big word. But now I have to be indiscreet. Caleb – I mean, Metellus – We have to be discreet there, don’t we? There’s something—Never mind.’
‘The Jews are coming back to Rome,’ Caleb said. ‘The Romans can’t do without us. The synagogues will be opening up soon. With Roman troops outside to stop riots.’
When Sara took little Ruth to her cradle in the main bedroom, Julius said: ‘What I wanted to say was – will you walk with me as far as the Palatine?’
‘Gladly. But is it—’
‘No, it’s not safe. Nothing’s ever safe these days. Especially at night.’
‘Shall I bring my—?’
‘Yes, bring that. I may be foolish, but a married man has to be – well, cautious. You’ll understand that one of these days.’
‘I’ve learnt to understand about caution.’
He put a shine on his dagger while Sara sang little Ruth to sleep:
‘When the wolf howls
Feel no fear.
Romulus and Remus
Dropped no tear
When they heard the wolf’s howl
Drawing near.
Mamma is coming.
Mamma is here.’
Julius went first down the hill, limping still, cloaked, sword gripped under his cloak. Caleb, dressed like a Roman citizen, followed after. The Via Aurelia was empty of traffic. When they had passed the Marine Theatre three men jumped on Julius from some arbutus shrubs. Caleb ran thirty paces and was athletic with his dagger. He struck down one of the assailants. This assailant tried to crawl back to the bushes in his blood. The other two ran off. ‘Not very efficient,’ Caleb said. ‘We’d better question this one. Looks as though it’s too late, though. See that gash. At last I’ve killed a Roman.’