2

THE DAY OF MARS

IN THE SUBURRA, behind the firewall that separated the Forum of Augustus from Rome’s most notorious neighborhood, Philologus opened the wooden shutters, letting a hazy stream of light into the dark apartment. He was grateful for summer days when they didn’t have to choose between letting the light in and keeping the cold out. He smiled at the wildflowers Julia had transplanted into the window boxes, and he dipped his hand into the fire bucket to pour a bit of water on them. “I hardly slept,” he said to Julia. “People shouting ‘Fire!’ and the yelling of the fire brigade woke me up, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Third time in four days. I always feel guilty for being so happy when I realize it’s not our building.”

Julia smiled at him. “No need to feel guilty for being concerned about the safety of our children. Being on the fifth floor . . .” She shuddered to think of how difficult it might be to get her family out of the building if there were a fire. It made her extra careful as she warmed some stale bread over the small copper brazier.

“At least being on the fifth floor means we get light in the mornings.” Philologus looked at the children. The youngest ones were already up. The twins, Nereus and Nerea, always got up together, since the first one to wake always woke the other. Anastasia, the youngest, was sitting on the end of her parents’ bench bed as Julia brushed her hair. The older two were another story: Prima, the oldest, and Olympas. Philologus gave their mats a nudge with his foot. He looked at his children. “Well, I may be tired, but at least I won’t have to climb any scaffolds today.” He tried to sound positive, but he was wondering how he was going to feed his family. Today was a new reality for him. He had woken up with a nagging uncertainty about himself. He had no guild, which meant no work and no patron. No identity, and no way to provide.

Where Romans Lived

Most people in Rome lived in high-rise apartment buildings called insulae (singular insula), which were built close together—with only narrow alleyways between most of them—and stacked five or six stories or sometimes as many as ten stories high. The footprint of one of these buildings would have been around twenty-five hundred square feet, though the walls could be as thick as one and a half feet, decreasing the inside area to just over two thousand square feet. The first floor might be a shop, or divided into several smaller shops, or it could be the home of the owner of the building, in which case it might be quite comfortable, even having running water coming in through lead pipes.

The upper stories of each building were rented flats called cenacula (singular cenaculum). In some cases there may have been only a handful of flats in a building, if each floor was one flat, but it was probably the case that most floors were subdivided into smaller flats. There may have been as many as forty thousand of these apartment buildings in the city, with as many as two hundred thousand rented flats, each with an average of five or six people living in one apartment. Furniture for most people would have been very humble, and in any case there was not enough light in the apartments to enjoy anything like what we would call décor. A low shelf along the wall or a wooden bench covered with a mat would have served as the bed, and there might have been a simple table with a stool or bench. The windows would have been covered with wooden shutters, so that closing the shutters always meant that no light was coming in. Some apartments may have had balconies or window boxes with flowers and vines growing in them. The upper floors would have been more risky in case of a fire, and the top floor would have been right under the roof, which would have been prone to leaks. For these reasons the rent was probably cheaper the higher up one went. On the other hand, the top floor had access to the roof, which might have allowed tenants to raise pigeons for their eggs.

Apartment buildings were investments, not only for the owners but also for investors, who would rent out multiple flats and sublet them to tenants. However, older buildings were often unstable, and even though new building laws were instituted over time, the buildings were very close together, which meant that every building was in danger if a neighboring building collapsed or caught fire. Tenants must have lived in constant fear of these disasters, especially given that many tenants used portable stoves and constantly had to light candles, lamps, or torches to see at night, or any time the shutters were closed.

Nicer apartment buildings may have had resident slaves or slaves who made the rounds of buildings owned by the same person. We can imagine slaves bringing in water to a common cistern or sweeping out the stairwells.

The wealthiest people lived in privately owned houses called domi (singular domus), something like small villas, usually set on hilltops or in the quiet neighborhoods outside the city wall. These were large enough for an extended family along with household slaves. There could have been as many as fifty people living in a domus, though the slaves would not have had their own rooms. Slaves would have had mats or cots that were kept in storage during the day and pulled out into the hallways or open areas of the home for sleep at night. Other slaves slept in areas otherwise used for storage, such as under a flight of stairs.

Like apartments, houses would have had wooden shutters on the windows, but they would have also had curtains. The furniture of a domus would have been covered with cushions, and the walls would have been painted with colorful outdoor scenes and elaborate geometric designs. Most domi would have had kitchens for entertaining. A few might have had ovens for baking bread, but most people bought their bread at the market.

As a space for Christian worship, a cenaculum might have held ten to twenty people, while a domus could have held fifty people or more, especially in the case of a wealthy house equipped with a private auditorium meant for lectures and readings.

Figure 2.1. Remains of a Roman apartment building showing the stairs to upper floors, Ostia Antica

Outside the city wall, in the quiet neighborhood along the Tiburtinian Road, Urbanus and his wife, Sabina, were waking up in their separate bedrooms. A slave had rung the bell announcing that dawn was coming soon, and for Urbanus, that meant he needed to get ready to receive his clients. Sometime during the night he had been too hot and had thrown off his knee-length linen tunic and slept only in his loincloth. He pulled himself out of his large wood-and-ivory bed, found the tunic among the blankets and down pillows on the floor, and pulled it on over his head. He found his leather belt on a chair and wrapped it around his waist. Then he put on his house shoes and sat down at his desk to work on some correspondence as a slave brought in a tray with bread and water spiked with a little wine. Two slaves stood by quietly with candles until Urbanus was finished with his letters, and then they began the meticulous process of wrapping Urbanus in his toga.

Sabina was already seated in her makeup chair—an armless chair with a backrest and ivory inlays, and one of her most prized possessions. She was wearing her cotton corset and ankle-length cotton tunic. One slave was weaving a tiara into her long black hair while another applied white foundation to her face and arms. A fortuneteller read her horoscope and tried to show her a zodiac chart as the hairdresser attempted to wave her away. Sabina sighed at the knowledge that the fortuneteller never really told her anything useful, let alone true.

Sabina also had a tray of bread and water—one-fifth wine to four-fifths water. Her hairdresser plucked her gray hairs as red makeup was applied to her cheeks and lips, and black on her eyebrows and around her eyes. Sabina always insisted on brushing her own teeth, with toothpaste made of ground-up animal horn, and then applying white paint to the top teeth in the front. She looked at her wavy reflection in the copper mirror and squinted to see her teeth. She was proud to have so many of them left.

After putting on her belted dress tunic, another slave helped her choose necklaces, rings, anklets, earrings, bracelets, and a brooch for her most colorful shawl. The last thing to go on was an amulet, which Sabina hoped would give her good fortune. It was a silver pendant with the image of an eye on it. The “seeing eye” looked back at anyone who might cast the evil eye in Sabina’s direction, thereby distracting the evil eye or reflecting it back toward the envious observer.

The hairdresser then packed up all of Sabina’s makeup and accessories into a portable travel kit to be ready to go to the baths in the afternoon. Sabina put on her house shoes and headed out of her room, making her way to the kitchen to start the day by directing the household slaves. She could see her husband’s clients beginning to line up to pay their respects and ask for favors. Although it was not yet dawn, she knew Urbanus would begin seeing them, one by one, until he had met with them all, including the widows of clients who had died.

Stachys was not the first to see Urbanus, since some of his clients who worked in trades came well before dawn so that they could be at work on time. But when Stachys arrived, the slave in charge invited him to the front of the line. Urbanus kept his promise and welcomed Stachys warmly, even addressing him in Greek, in spite of knowing Stachys spoke Latin fluently. Stachys called Urbanus by name and received a sincere handshake before leaving. As Stachys was about to turn to go, Urbanus said, “Join me at the baths this afternoon?”

Stachys was pleased and quite surprised to get an invitation from Urbanus. He couldn’t find the right words to reply at first but didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he just nodded. Finally he said, “Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

“Well, meet me here first, and we’ll walk there together. See you at the eighth hour.”

All of this made Stachys feel very proud and increased his honor in the eyes of the other clients, who hid their jealousy as best they could until Stachys was out the door. Getting to go to the front of the line also meant that Stachys could get home in time for the last half of the morning prayer meeting of the Way-followers.

As Stachys came into the house, the group was standing with eyes and hands raised as Marcus prayed. Stachys had missed the reading of the commandments as well as the exhortation to live by them, but he was actually relieved since he found all that a bit tedious. He had a hard time understanding why the God of the Judeans and Way-followers should care whether they also worshiped other gods or how they treated other people. The gods of the Greeks and Romans didn’t care about such things. It had always seemed to him like an odd kind of virtue, acting favorably to people who could never return the favor. But, he had reasoned, since this God didn’t require sacrifices, he was an odd sort of God. And after all, Stachys had been on the receiving end of unjust treatment in the past, and he knew deep down that there was something better, something right, about being good to people. There was something compelling about this strange God, and anyway, Stachys reasoned, he wanted to please Maria and wanted to be part of the family that included her and her son. He couldn’t quite explain it, but she was living proof that this God and his kind of virtue was a good thing.

Stachys entered the gathering just in time to recite the prayer that Iesua taught the first Way-followers. He didn’t claim to understand all of it, but he liked saying it. And he liked knowing that his stepson Marcus had been there to hear Iesua teach it for the first time. Then they sang that psalm that Maria was singing the day before. The gathering was over, and people quickly dispersed to begin their day.

“Salve, Stachys!”

“Oh, salve, Scrap.” Stachys was a bit startled. He hadn’t seen Scrap sidle up to him, but then Scrap was always sneaking up and talking loudly when people least expected it. Stachys was often annoyed at how talkative Scrap was for an eight-year-old boy, and he couldn’t get used to the idea of a slave calling him by name. “Where’s young Clemens? Shouldn’t you be getting back to his father’s house with him?”

“My master is talking with Marcus. I’m just waiting. I guess you came in late because you were meeting with your patron, right? My master says your patron is Urbanus. Did you know that Philologus was kicked out of his guild? He can’t work as a plasterer any more, and he’ll never be a stonemason now. Did you know that? What’s he going to do to feed his family, Stachys?”

“I don’t know, Scrap. You know, I should probably go talk to Marcus too. Be well, Scrap.”

“Be well, Stachys.” Scrap ran over to Philologus, who seemed genuinely glad to talk to him. Philologus and Julia’s children gathered around Scrap and took his hand, dragging him off to play Acorns or Blindfold Bucca.

Stachys walked over toward where Marcus was talking with Flavius Clemens, the son of the senator Clemens the Elder. Stachys always felt a bit self-conscious in the presence of the senate class, but in this case he was more interested in avoiding a conversation with the eight-year-old slave boy. However, as he approached, the fact that Marcus and Clemens spoke in whispers, combined with the wide purple stripe on Clemens’s cloak, made Stachys wish he could turn around and go talk to someone else. But they saw him coming, and it was too late.

Exposure

In the Roman world, life in general was precarious, but the fact that violence and death were forms of entertainment tended to reinforce the idea that some life was expendable. Both preborn and newborn life was considered disposable, and the head of a household could decide that a baby was to be discarded. Even being born on the wrong day could mean that a baby would not survive. For example, it was considered to be a bad omen to have been born on the day of Caligula’s father’s death, so many newborns were exposed on that day.

For most of Roman society, abortion (usually drug induced) and infanticide were perfectly acceptable. The latter was usually performed by a midwife, on the instructions of the would-be father. If the husband of the woman who had given birth had any suspicions of the parentage of the baby, or had any reservations at all about raising the child, he could simply order the child killed. This could be done by drowning in a bucket, or more often by exposure. Exposure usually meant simply putting the baby in the garbage and leaving it there to die from the elements or by wild animals. It’s hard to know how many babies died this way, but we do know that a significant number of the babies left on the garbage piles were picked up and raised as slaves, often to be prostitutes. It is certain that more girls were exposed than boys, since girls were considered a financial liability.

The early church was universally against such practices, based on the conviction that all humans were created in the image of God, and therefore no one should be considered expendable. The Didache, a first-century church order manual, makes opposition to abortion and exposure one of the hallmarks of Christian identity. In other words, it was part of catechesis to instruct those preparing for baptism that Christians do not abort or expose babies. In the second century all the Christian apologists wrote against abortion and exposure.

“Stachys, you know young Clemens.”

“Yes, good to see you Dom—” Stachys stopped himself from calling Clemens “lord.”

Clemens smiled and shook Stachys’s hand. “We’re all equals here, Stachys. No need for formality.”

Stachys could not understand why someone from the senate class would say that to someone who was not even an equestrian. No doubt the elder Clemens would feel dishonored to hear his son say such a thing.

Marcus broke the awkward silence. “Stachys, we may need your help. Clemens and I are talking about the plans for smuggling Peter into the city. Can I count on you to play a part if we need you?”

Stachys hesitated, looking down at his fidgeting hands. He did not want to get in trouble, but he didn’t feel he could say no to Marcus, so he just nodded his head.

Marcus continued, “When he arrives at Ostia, our friends there will get him safely off the boat and take him to the Tavern of the Seven Sages.”

Clemens looked surprised. “A tavern?”

“Don’t worry, brother. It’s the best place for Peter to stay out of sight.”

“Are you sure? We wouldn’t want anyone to think Peter is going there to . . . to be an upstairs customer.”

“If anyone there knows who Peter is, then we have a bigger problem. Clemens, I need you to be the one to go there and get him. Take some trusted slaves—the toughest ones you have—and go and bring him into the city. I’ll send you word when he’s there, and then you’ll go get him and bring him to Pudens’s house. It’s going to be night, so have torches ready.” Clemens nodded, and Marcus turned to Stachys. “Once I get word that Peter’s ship has docked, we will have to get to Clemens right away. I might need your help getting the message to him.” Stachys nodded.

At the camp of the Praetorian Guard, Lucius Geta paced back and forth across the barracks’ anteroom, which functioned as his office. One of the praetorians entered and saluted. “My lord Geta, I have a message from Narcissus.”

Geta put out his hand to receive the small scroll sealed with wax. He looked at the seal to confirm that it had the insignia of Narcissus, freedman and secretary of the emperor Claudius, pressed into it. Then he broke the seal and quickly unrolled the scroll, skimming it for the answer he was looking for. “Va cacá! I was worried this might happen. It looks like he’s going to give the prefecture of the grain supply to that nobody Urbanus. I can’t believe Claudius is letting his freedmen give out important appointments. We should never have made that palsy-ridden cripple emperor!”

The soldier cleared his throat and looked down at his boots, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Geta looked at the soldier. “Do you know who Urbanus is?”

“No, lord.”

“Equestrian. Lives on the Tiburtinian Road, and has some farmland south of the city. Olives, mostly, I think. I want you to find out everything you can about him. And when the time is right, I want you to be ready to kill him. Understood?”

“Yes, lord.”

“You’re dismissed.”

The soldier saluted, turned, and left.

After lunch, Stachys walked to Urbanus’s house. An old slave he knew let him in, and he took a seat on a bench in the atrium to wait for Urbanus. By the time Urbanus came out, he had exchanged his toga for a cloak, and his house shoes for sandals. He greeted Stachys warmly and shook his hand. Urbanus looked around his home and smiled. “Do you miss it?”

“Living in your household?” Stachys didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so he weighed his words carefully. After a pause, he decided he could be honest with Urbanus. “I mean no disrespect, but I have grown fond of the peace and quiet in my more humble home.”

“Well said!” Urbanus laughed. “This house is grand, and that brings honor to my name, and my family. But it does mean more activity than I would like on some days. It’s not as though we need all of these slaves. But the more slaves you have, the more wealthy you look, and that’s what matters.” Urbanus sighed. “I mean, how would it look if we started freeing slaves just because there wasn’t enough work for them to do? But honestly, I don’t know where half of them are at any given time. At the taverns, gambling, no doubt. Come, let’s go.” As they made their way to the door, they met Sabina, coming out of the kitchen.

Stachys bowed. “Domina.” He figured it was not a blasphemy to use the feminine version of “lord,” since no one could confuse a matron for the Lord Iesua.

Sabina nodded to Stachys and turned to her husband. “Going out to spread your own fame far and wide, I see,” she said with sarcasm.

Urbanus’s smile left his face, and it was quickly replaced by a scowl as he glanced at Stachys. “You disrespect me in front of my client? And look at yourself! All that gold jewelry speaks more of you than my actions do of me. Maybe I should take it from you and melt it down, along with your mirrors, and make you a gold and copper veil to cover your mouth!” Urbanus stomped out of the house, with Stachys trying to catch up.

The two men walked mostly in silence as they made their way to the Field of Mars. “We’re going to the Baths of Faustus—on me,” Urbanus explained. “I usually go to the Baths of Fortunatus, but they haven’t changed the water in a while. You’ll like the Baths of Faustus.”

Roman Baths

Virtually everyone, of all social classes, went to the baths. Most people went in the afternoon, during the “siesta” time, but even the people who worked during that time would have been expected to take some time off from work to go to the baths daily. Only the wealthiest Romans would have had bathtubs in their homes, so almost everyone bathed outside the home. Large bath complexes were subsidized by the state and were either free or had a very minimal charge. Smaller bathhouses were privately owned and would charge for entry. Some of these may have been for women only, but most were coed, and in the first century men and women bathed at the same time. Given that all five hundred thousand inhabitants of Rome were going to the baths, there must have been hundreds of bathing complexes, in every neighborhood.

Emperors and senators built huge bath complexes and opened them to the public in order to increase their own fame and create a sense of indebtedness to them. All the bathing houses would have included locker rooms, in which people put their clothes and shoes in baskets to be watched by slaves while they bathed, as well as space for massages and exercising. The larger complexes had exercise yards surrounded by colonnades that included many works of art. In the exercise yards men could wrestle, hit punching bags, practice swinging a sword against a wooden post, and play a variety of ball games with different kinds of balls. It seems that they even had a game that was something like rugby. Others watched the games, played drinking games, and bet on the contests in the exercise yard. Men and women might have run around the perimeter of the yard, and women had their favorite games as well.

Bathers went in sequence, first to a steam room, then to a hot pool, and then to a warm bathing pool. They used oil the way we use soap, and the oil was scraped off their bodies with a strigil, a curved metal scoop. After this came the cold pool, and then people dressed for an afternoon of leisure. Some of the bath complexes included libraries, lecture halls, shaded gardens for taking a walk, food vendors, and sometimes prostitutes.

Figure 2.2. Remains of a Roman bath complex showing the exercise yard, Ostia Antica

Figure 2.3. Remains of a Roman bath complex showing the mosaic floor of one of the pools, Ostia Antica

Stachys was sure he would. He almost never spent the money to go to the smaller, private baths. But since there were many of them in Rome, Stachys couldn’t remember whether he had ever been to the Baths of Faustus. He walked alongside Urbanus in silence, anticipating a luxurious and relaxing afternoon.

Stachys followed Urbanus as they went from the heat and sun into the dim and shadowed halls of the Baths of Faustus. Like most bathhouses, the rooms were decorated with mosaic floors, colorfully painted walls, and Roman copies of Greek statues. There was already quite a crowd, and as they walked through the portico Urbanus waved to some friends who were playing “triangle,” throwing a ball back and forth between three people. Some more muscular men were wrestling in the nude, while another group rubbed oil and sand on their bodies to get ready to wrestle the winners.

Stachys followed Urbanus into the dressing room, where they took off their cloaks, tunics, sandals, and loincloths and put them in a basket. A slave, whose job it was to watch over the clothing, stared at Urbanus and Stachys briefly to memorize their faces. Then he put the baskets with their clothes on a shelf along the wall. The two men walked out into the atrium, where the many noises of the baths echoed off the tiles. Musicians played, food vendors shouted their merchandise—Urbanus stopped for a sausage—and the sounds of people playing games, yelling to each other, came in from the portico. Men gathered around a barber, talking loudly, and the masseurs slapped the skin of their customers. Stachys tried to pretend that he was not looking at the naked bodies of the women who were bathing. Urbanus led Stachys to the massage area and over to two men standing over open tables.

“Just a massage,” Urbanus said to one, as he climbed onto the table.

The other masseur looked at Stachys expectantly. When Stachys didn’t say anything, the masseur said, “Just a massage for you, too, or do you want the works? It costs a little more, but you won’t be sorry.”

“Just a massage.” He lay down on the massage table and closed his eyes, listening to the music of the panpipes and oboes.

“I hate that instrument,” Urbanus said, referring to the sound of the reeds. “Too shrill.” The masseur oiled them up and rubbed them down, and then scraped the oil off with iron strigils.

After their massages, Urbanus and Stachys put their tunics back on to go into the exercise yard, but Urbanus didn’t feel like exercising, so he bet on the wrestlers, while watching the women play “roll the hoop.” Stachys went for a run around the perimeter of the portico, and then was invited to join a group of men playing handball. After the game, Stachys wandered around the yard looking for Urbanus. He noticed a group of men sitting around the Praetorian prefect Lucius Geta, who was talking to them. Stachys couldn’t hear most of what he was saying, but he did make out the words “Tiburtinian Road.”

Eventually Stachys found Urbanus coming from the portico of the prostitutes. The men left their tunics in the dressing room and headed for the steam room. After taking a steam, they moved to the hot tub, then the warm bath, and finally the cold pool.

Once Stachys and Urbanus had dressed, they walked through the garden, admiring the sculptures. Stachys thought to himself how pleasant and peaceful it was. He was truly relaxed, and he thought that this was exactly the lifestyle he was looking for, the kind of life that financial advancement would buy him. He wondered whether joining the school of the Way-followers was a betrayal of his patriotic duties and expected loyalties—in other words, was it going to be bad for business?

As they walked through the portico, Stachys and Urbanus could hear speeches coming from the lecture halls. There were philosophers teaching their students, and public readings of books, and one man was reading a book written by the emperor himself on the history of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. “Did you know,” Urbanus whispered, “that the emperor Claudius used to do public readings of his own books?”

“I’ve heard that. Why did he stop? Was it because of the speech impediment?”

“Yes. He has such a mumble that his reading is more pathetic than anything.”

“I’ve heard that as well. And now he wants to add new letters to the alphabet? Do you know, I’ve heard people tell jokes about him.”

“Once I heard him read from a book he was writing about dice games. I tell you, Stachys, I felt sorry for him, I really did. The man’s been ridiculed his whole life, even by his own family. Why he would want to write their history I’ll never know. But of course that was all before he became the emperor. Now he rarely appears in public. But who can blame him?”

As Stachys and Urbanus left the Baths of Faustus, Urbanus took the opportunity to talk to Stachys, patron to client. “I’ve heard some good news, Stachys.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems I am first in line for the prefect of the grain supply after all.”

“That is good news.” Both men looked down as they walked, trying not to turn their ankles on the broken potsherds and other garbage, and trying to avoid the merda in the street.

“Yes, but of course you know that there is no such thing as a free lunch.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, nothing is given for nothing. Narcissus is offering me the prefecture, but he expects something in return.”

“What does he want, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No, I don’t mind. We’ll get to that. But first, you were asking me about helping you get into imports, right?”

Stachys’s heart started to beat faster with the prospect of business advancement. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I believe I can make that happen for you. But I’ll need something from you in return.”

“What is it? Anything you want.” Stachys was feeling grateful for the afternoon at the baths.

“Good. In order for me to get the prefecture, Narcissus wants me to set up one of his newly manumitted freedmen with a position as a tutor. Now your son is just the right age, if I remember—what’s his name—Tertius?”

Stachys’s heart sank as he thought about handing his son over to a tutor, and having to pay for it as well. “Um, Tertius, yes.”

As they made their way through the heart of the city, it was getting much noisier. People were now bumping into Stachys and Urbanus on all sides, and it was getting difficult to carry on their conversation. Someone stepped on Stachys’s foot. “Great Mother!” He made the manus cornuta, the horned hand, and pointed it in the direction of whoever had stepped on him. “They really need to get the merda carts out here and take some of this away.”

Urbanus pressed for a definite answer. “So, can I tell Narcissus we’re agreed?”

“I don’t know if I can say so right now.”

Urbanus exaggerated the look of betrayal and disappointment on his face.

Stachys pretended not to notice and continued, “I have to talk with Maria.”

“Talk with Maria?!” Urbanus was now indignant. “Who is the father of your household, you or Maria? Hades, she’s not even his mother.”

“True, but she’s the only mother he has ever known, and I’ve seen her threaten to strangle a man who said she’s not his mother. And these Way-followers . . . they really don’t like the tutor-student relationship. They say the sex is taking advantage of the boys.”

“What do you mean, as if it’s bad for them? But how else is a boy going to start his own network of friends? This man could be your son’s patron someday. And anyway, Tertius is not a man yet. He can choose to be dominant if he wants to when his beard comes in. There’s no shame in starting your career as another man’s favorite.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Stachys couldn’t find the words to take issue with what Urbanus was saying, but he also could not imagine how he was going to tell Maria.

“Stachys, I think that Judean woman is going to end up dishonoring you. I’m worried about you, taking up with these Way-followers. By Priapus, what kind of antisocial, unpatriotic club is this that wouldn’t let a boy accept the benefits of a relationship with an older, more powerful man?”

Urbanus’s own words stuck in his throat. He knew he was being unfair to the Way-followers and that their only motivation was to protect the innocence of their children. Even as he condemned their anti-Roman ways, he was strangely drawn to the strength and courage of their convictions.

“That’s not all they don’t allow,” Stachys muttered, half to himself.

“What else?”

“Well, let’s just say, if I am initiated to their table, no more prostitutes for me.” Stachys didn’t let on that he had already given up visiting the prostitutes in order to enter the catechumenate. Truth be told, it was a condition of his union with Maria.

“What?!” Urbanus was horrified. “How dare they interfere with a man’s right to choose to . . . ! Well, it’s a man’s own business what he does with his body!”

“It’s true. If I join them, there is a whole list of things I can no longer do.” But Stachys’s protests were halfhearted. In his mind he knew that the lifestyle sacrifices were not his problem—he was more worried about what becoming a baptized Way-follower would do to his ability to conduct business.

“Then you must not join them! No one can make you. No woman is worth that!” Urbanus kept on sputtering in disbelief and disapproval, and yet Stachys could only shrug, indicating that he had no answer, so the two men walked on in silence. Urbanus’s first thoughts were in defense of his own righteous indignation, but soon his words echoed in his head. No woman is worth that. He thought of his wife, Sabina. Is she worth it? he asked himself. Would he give up so much if she asked him to? As they walked along without speaking, Urbanus eventually concluded that Sabina was a very good wife. He wondered what he would do if he had to give up other women just to keep her. Would she be worth it? He could not easily say that he would leave her and break up his home, even for the lifestyle he was used to. His own thoughts surprised him. When they reached the Fontinalis Gate, Stachys said his goodbyes, and thanked Urbanus for his generosity. Urbanus looked Stachys in the eye and said, “I do not know your Maria well, so I should not have said that no woman is worth that. It could be that some women are worth it.” Stachys nodded to indicate there were no hard feelings, but there was nothing left to say at this point. Urbanus nodded back, and the two men parted.

Stachys walked toward his house, but his pace got slower and slower as he tried in vain to think of how he was going to begin the conversation about Tertius and a tutor with Maria. He passed a disabled beggar and spit on the ground in front of her.

“Stachys!” It was Marcus. “Stachys, we talked about this. We do not spit at the crippled.”

“Sorry, force of habit. You know, the evil eye.” He turned to the beggar. “Sorry.” Marcus gave him a look, and so Stachys pulled out his small leather bag and dug out the smallest coin he had. He dropped it on the ground in front of the beggar, who snatched it up quickly. He felt bad for spitting at her, but something bigger was nagging at him. Was the tutor-student relationship really a bad thing? Could he say no to Urbanus? He hadn’t thought about his own childhood in the household of Urbanus’s father in a long time. But he knew one thing. He wished he had had a father who could have said no. But if he had had to play the part of a woman in order to become a man, why shouldn’t his son? Stachys hoped that the God of the Way-followers would see that he had given alms to the beggar. He hoped that this God would help him figure out what to do.

Marcus shook his head. “Stachys, just because someone is poor doesn’t mean they’re envious. And even if they are, they can’t stare at you and make some misfortune happen to you.”

“I know, I believe that, but . . .”

“The evil eye has no power over you. You don’t need superstition to protect you from it. If you’re worried about it, pray like I taught you.”

“Right. Pray. I will. Thanks.” Stachys went into the house, and Marcus followed him in. “Marcus, do you mind if I talk to your mother alone?”

“No, not at all. C’mon, Tertius, let’s go fill up the water jugs.” Marcus and Tertius each took a jug, and they headed out the door toward the nearest fountain.

When Stachys told Maria of Urbanus’s offer, Maria was visibly agitated. She couldn’t look Stachys in the eyes, and Stachys noticed her hands start to shake. After a long silence and a heavy sigh, she forced out the words, “You know . . .” She cleared her throat and tried again, her voice quivering. “You know what the apostles say about that. You know it’s wrong.”

“Now Maria,” he said as calmly as he could. “Sometimes you don’t understand Roman customs. This is what’s expected of a boy who wants a career. Urbanus is doing him a favor.”

After a long pause, Maria shook her head, with her mouth open, but nothing came out. Finally, she was able to whisper, “No.” And then a little louder, “No. No you can’t. You say you want to be initiated to our table, but then you do this. This is not what we do, you know that. The apostles are against it.”

“But that’s because they’re all Judeans,” Stachys protested. “They don’t understand Roman customs, either. And they don’t understand that this will help my career, too—it will help all of us.”

“Peter will never baptize you while you have your son in that situation.”

“About that . . . I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking maybe I’ll postpone baptism for a while. My patron will soon be prefect of the grain supply, and I will have the opportunity to advance my business. This is what I’ve been saying, it will help all of us. But I can’t take care of business and maintain my network if I’m too restricted by rules and commandments.”

Maria tried to hold back tears, but soon she began to cry. Stachys let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you see that what you’re asking of me—what the Way-followers expect—it’s too much! You’re asking me to become a traitor to the empire. To betray my ancient traditions. Can one swim upstream in the Tiber?” Maria turned away from Stachys and stood with her back to him, sobbing.

Stachys turned and walked out of the house. He felt he could not go back for the evening meal and worship, since he was afraid Maria would have the whole gathering praying about this, and Marcus was going to want to lay hands on him and ask their God to help him with his decision—which meant Marcus would be asking their God to change his mind. Stachys didn’t know where he was walking, but he walked with conviction anyway. Soon he found himself at the river, walking over the bridge into the neighborhood of Trans-Tiber. It seemed as though all of his plans were falling apart. Advancement was in his grasp, and then Urbanus’s request . . . the very thing he thought would bring security now seemed like a threat. He wondered why safety seemed so elusive.

As Sabina directed the household slaves in the preparation of dinner at Urbanus’s house, Urbanus covered his head and began the evening ritual. He opened the shrine cabinet near the front door and took down the bronze statue of the household god. He brought the statue to the center table in the dining room and placed a small amount of food on the statue’s plate as an offering. Then he left an offering in the pantry for the gods of the storeroom as the family and guests gathered in the dining room and reclined on the couches. The reclining benches were set on three sides of the room, in a squared-off U-shape. Urbanus and Sabina reclined at the head of the room, at the top of the U. Their guests took their places, with the highest-ranking guests closest to the hosts and their unmarried daughters seated on chairs behind them. The slaves began serving the first course, beginning with Urbanus.

At Stachys’s house, a very different kind of dinner was coming together. Just like they did every night, the families brought food to share. Philologus and Julia arrived with their children, apologizing that they had nothing to bring, but Maria assured them that this was what the agapē was for, and someday they would have an abundance, and others would come empty-handed to benefit from their surplus.

Household Religion

In Roman society the head of a household, or paterfamilias, was considered the priest of the family. He performed rituals of worship and sacrificed to several (often unnamed) deities who were believed to watch over the house and its inhabitants. The priests of Roman religion wore a hood or covered their heads to prevent them from seeing bad omens. Bad omens often came in the form of lightning, birds flying in an unfavorable direction, or other phenomena in the sky. The hood prevented the priest from looking up at the wrong time. Apparently, if the priest didn’t see it, it didn’t count.

Many homes had shrines or altars, and privately owned houses often had idol niches built into the wall near the door. These shrines or niches held small statues of the patron gods of the household. The lares were the good spirits that watched over the house, and the shrine or niche that held the bronze statue was called the lararium. On certain days of the month, flowers were placed at the shrine, and at family meals a small offering of food was put in the lararium as a sacrifice and sign of trust in these unnamed gods. The penates were the gods who watched over the pantry or storeroom. They were the guardians of the household’s food supply. Sometimes the penates were depicted in the form of snakes, after the Greek version of these gods, and in fact, finding a real snake in the pantry was thought to be a good sign since snakes kept rodents away.

Some households also had shrines to Vesta, the goddess of the hearth, as well as Janus, the two-headed god, who looked toward both the past and the future. This god was thought to guard the threshold or doorway and watched over the comings and goings of the family.

For most Romans, religion was a matter of participation in good citizenship and meant keeping up the rituals for the sake of the gods’ protection. What we might call personal devotion was not a part of traditional Greco-Roman religion but did come into Rome with the mystery religions from the East. In time, Christianity was seen as one of these suspicious mystery cults that advocated “personal religion”—that is, religion based on individual or small group conversion and commitment. Although many Romans were suspicious of religions based on personal devotion, they did have their own brand of personal belief, which mostly had to do with what we would call the occult—astrology, horoscopes, fortunetelling, and magic.

Figure 2.4. A typical example of the lares (singular lar), or household idols, this idol was probably used in traditional (pagan) family rituals in ancient Rome. (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

Figure 2.5. Another example of the lares (singular lar), or household idols. Note the plate in the deity’s left hand, which could have been used for the placement of a small offering of food as part of a mealtime ritual. (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

Figure 2.6. An example of a household shrine from a wealthy house, Ostia Antica

Figure 2.7. A mosaic shrine or idol niche (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)

Stachys was conspicuously absent, but Maria acted as though she hadn’t noticed, until it was time for prayer requests. She tried her best to word her concern delicately, but Tertius could sense that it had something to do with him. Marcus gave him a comforting look, and the people at the gathering prayed.

After the call-and-response “Lord, have mercy,” Marcus sat down at the front of the room and spoke. “As you know, ever since our Lord Iesua ascended into the heavens, we have been anxiously waiting for him to return, as he promised. But it has now been seventeen years, and obviously he hasn’t come back yet. Why he delays, we cannot say, but we find ourselves without most of our Judean brothers and sisters, who know the Scriptures and who heard Iesua teach. Even most of the people who were in Jerusalem on that Pentecost are dispersed. And now we hear that some of the Way-followers in Greece have even died without the blessing of seeing the Lord return. So, after speaking with Peter and getting his permission, I’ve started writing a biography of sorts—the story of Iesua, and Peter, and the other disciples. It’s not finished, but I’d like to begin reading sections of it to you at our evening gatherings, so you can hear and remember the stories of what our Lord Iesua said and did.”

The room buzzed with hushed excitement as everyone whispered their approval. Marcus opened a scroll and began to read. “When Iesua left the synagogue—mind you, I’m not trying to write down everything that happened, and it won’t be in chronological order; it’s really just a collection of stories about the things that happened during that time—When Iesua left the synagogue, he went to the house of Simon—that’s Peter, by the way—he went to the house of Simon and Andrew, with Ja—”

Marcus’s throat caught as he tried to speak the name “James,” and everyone became silent as a feeling of melancholy hung over the room. Most of the group had never met the oldest son of Zebedee, but they knew that he had been executed by Herod Agrippa eight years earlier.

Marcus tried to suppress his emotion. James had always been good to him when he was an eleven-year-old boy desperate to keep up with the men as they followed Iesua around and listened to his teachings. In truth, everyone was good to young Marcus, but James was especially kind to him, perhaps because Marcus’s Hebrew name, John, was the same as James’s younger brother. Or maybe it was because James knew that Marcus’s father, Maria’s first husband, had died trying to protect John the Baptizer from execution. Marcus could remember when his father went to ask the Baptizer whether he was the one or whether they should wait for another. He could remember waiting for his father to come home that day, but he never came home. Marcus cleared his throat and continued. “He went to the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Simon’s mother-in-law lay sick with a fever. They immediately told him about her. He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up. Then the fever left her and she waited on them.”

The group murmured with elation to hear a story of Iesua healing someone. “A miracle!” they said.

But Maria was silent. Remembering the murder of James brought the doubts rushing back to her mind. How could the Lord let that happen? James, and Stephen, and Marcus’s father. She worried that someday that kind of danger could come to Rome, and then what? Would she lose her son, too?

Marcus addressed the group. “Do you confess with your mouth that Iesua is Dominus?”

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

“Do you believe in your heart that the Father raised him from the dead?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will be saved.”

After another prayer, Marcus said, “Tonight’s Thanksgiving Bread was brought by Ampliatus and his family, from their home just north of here on Lata Street.” Ampliatus handed the loaves of bread to Marcus, who held them up. “Although we meet in different homes, in different parts of the city, we are one—and we are one with all Way-followers who meet in every city, in every part of the world—and so we share the one bread to remind us of our unity.” He looked at Prisca. “We remember that we are also one with those brothers and sisters who should be here in Rome with us but who are banished and scattered, like Prisca’s father and mother, Aquila and Priscilla. Iesua said, I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. This is the bread that comes down out of heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down out of heaven. If anyone eats this bread, he will live forever, and this bread that I give for the life of the world is my flesh. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him. This is the mystery of our faith. The Christos has died; the Christos is risen; the Christos will come again.”

Marcus led the group in the Our Father and then said, “Brothers and sisters, John the Baptizer pointed to Iesua and said, ‘Look—here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’ Now let’s take some time to examine our spirits and ask ourselves whether we have failed to obey the commandments of the Lord.” He paused for a while, and then went on. “With that in mind, we confess our sins to the Lord. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.”

Then Marcus held the bread up for everyone to see. “Iesua said, Take this, all of you, and eat it: this is my body which will be given up for you.” Marcus held up the cup of wine and said, “Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me. Look—here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Marcus broke the bread and began to pass the pieces around.

Philologus, Ampliatus, and young Clemens were ready with their baskets. Marcus put three large pieces of the Thanksgiving Bread into the three baskets, and the deacons took off out the door to bring the bread to the other gatherings. Then the group settled into a more relaxed posture and shared a meal of all the things the people had brought from their homes, including fish, cheeses, a mixture of fried sardines and anchovies, a stew of lentils and lupin beans with zucchini, and bread with hummus.

As the meal was winding down, Rhoda started singing, and the others joined in. She sang each line, and the rest of the gathering echoed:

He is the image of the invisible God

The one who brings forth all of creation

For all things were created by him

All things have been created through him and for him

He is before all things

And all things are brought together in him

He is the Source

First to come forth from the dead

So that in all things he might be the ultimate one

For it seemed good for all the fullness to reside in him

And through him to reconcile all things to himself

Having made peace through him

When the singing was done, and Philologus and the other deacons had returned, they lit some torches and took the leftovers from the meal out to some people who were known to the group to be hungry.