3
THE DAY OF MERCURY
FOR STACHYS, THE DAY BEGAN in the best possible way that a Roman client could hope—with an invitation to dinner at his patron’s house that evening. Stachys knew he should be happy about the invitation, but he was not naive. He knew that the invitation came with strings attached and that at some point in the evening, Urbanus was going to press him for an answer to his request. It would come at a time when it would be extremely difficult to say no.
Stachys walked home from Urbanus’s house in the rain. By the time he reached the Fontinalis Gate, he was soaked and feeling sorry for himself. Still, he didn’t go inside right away. He stopped and looked at his house. The house that once was his to rule as he saw fit was now taken over by this gathering of Way-followers with all their strange and foreign rules. What had Maria done to him? He could barely remember when he first realized that he would rather have her around than some younger, more Roman wife. He had moved her from her apartment across the river, along with her son, Marcus, and her freedwoman, Rhoda. What exactly had he promised her about seeking membership in the Way-followers? He couldn’t really remember, and he couldn’t remember whether he knew what he was getting himself into. He only knew that from that time on it was like falling down a hill, and he found himself in the school of the Way-followers, with the expectation that when Marcus thought he was ready, he would be baptized. He sighed and walked through the door as a crack of thunder shook the house.
Stachys dropped his denarius into the open hand of Maria, who said nothing to him. And since today was a fasting day, there would be no sesterces for lunch or a shave. Those coins went into a small wooden box on the shelf that had once functioned as an idol niche. Marcus looked into the box and counted the coins.
Stachys was annoyed at the group of people gathered in his house. He found Ampliatus especially annoying. Ampliatus was always so happy. Stachys squinted at him, making a fist with his thumb between his index and middle finger, and subtly pointed it at Ampliatus.
Marcus was speaking with the deacons. “I understand you’re skeptical, but I saw the governor of Cyprus become a believer, so anything is possible. There’s nothing the Lord can’t do.”
“I know something the Lord can’t do!” It was Scrap, tugging at Marcus’s tunic.
Marcus patted his head. “I don’t know, Scrap, I think the Lord can do anything. What is it that you think the Lord can’t do?”
Scrap paused as a smile spread across his face. “The Lord can’t lie.”
Marcus and the deacons laughed. Philologus said, “He’s got you there, Marcus.”
Marcus said, “Well said, Scrap! You make an excellent point!”
Stachys couldn’t help but chuckle. Marcus, the man Peter left in charge of the Way-followers in Rome, stumped by a slave boy. He shook his head, turned, and walked out the door without saying goodbye to anyone. The rain had slowed to a drizzle now, so Stachys didn’t mind it much. Rain made the streets muddy, but it also washed much of the merda into the sewer, so the fora would smell a lot better for market day.
As Stachys walked past the Forum of Caesar, he looked into the bookshops, where the booksellers’ slaves were copying scrolls. He scanned the parchments nailed to the doorposts with lists of documents for sale. It seemed as though every time he passed by there were more and more books available in Latin. He nodded to Atrectus, the shopkeeper of his favorite bookshop. Atrectus nodded back to be polite but quickly turned back to his task of putting scrolls into pigeon holes. He knew Stachys was a looker, not a buyer.
Stachys pushed his way into the Old Forum, where the senators were heading into Caesar’s Curia. Today was the only day this month that the Senate would be in session. Stachys could see the spear set up in the forum to advertise that there were slaves for sale. He moved on quickly, passing the “bargain” slaves who had tried to run away, with their shaved heads and their face tattoos or branded foreheads. Then he walked past the cheapest slaves, the ones who had tried to commit suicide. Such a thing had to be disclosed to a potential buyer, because it made these slaves a risky investment. But Stachys looked at them with a kind of respect—almost admiration—that they had responded to their misfortune with the noble solution of suicide. But of course, as slaves they had no legal right to kill themselves, because they were someone else’s property. They must not have been the slaves of citizens, Stachys reasoned, because the slave of a citizen would become a citizen himself, if he only waited long enough. Nearby, a slave was begging his master not to sell his young son away from him. Stachys felt awkward witnessing the scene, so he moved on.
Slavery
Slavery in the Roman Empire was based on the rights of conquest, which meant that in any war the winners had the power to enslave the losers. There was no assumption that slaves were less intelligent than their masters. They were simply less fortunate. And there was no stigma attached to skin color that was used as a justification for slavery, so in the ancient world one could not tell who was a slave by appearance. On any given day, walking around the city of Rome, one would have seen many citizens, noncitizens, foreigners, and slaves, all interacting with one another, and would not necessarily have known who was who.
Many Roman slaves were freed, creating the status of freedmen, or former slaves. The freed slaves of Roman citizens also became citizens, so in some ways freedmen had a better life than the free poor. Freedmen often took the family names of their former masters and often continued to work for them, sometimes remaining in the household. In that case they would have continued to receive their food and lodging, but their time was not always their own, and so they (voluntarily) lived a kind of hybrid existence, somewhere between slavery and freedom. Freedmen were considered part of the extended family of their former owners and were often given the right to be buried in the family tomb, so long as they and their descendants agreed to take part in the upkeep of the tomb.
By the time of our story, Roman conquest of other lands was winding down, which means that fewer and fewer slaves were coming from the spoils of war. Most slaves in the empire were born or sold into slavery or were enslaved as the result of a criminal conviction. Many Roman households would have had no slaves at all, but some estates could have had hundreds or even thousands of slaves, especially in the case of farms or ranches. The imperial household may have had as many as twenty thousand slaves. Within these estates, foremen slaves managed the other slaves, since the owners could not possibly know them all by name.
Most male slaves were freed after about age thirty, and female slaves were freed after their childbearing years, in their mid-forties (though in both cases manumission for those outside the city, where the main occupation of slaves was farm work, may have been put off until later). For some freedom could be more of a curse than a blessing, because even though most slaves remained connected to the household after manumission, a slave who was unruly or sickly could be freed in order to be abandoned.
Slaves who tried to run away might be branded, tattooed, or forced to wear a collar with an inscription that gave the name of the owner and instructions for sending the slave back. Normally, though, slaves in Rome did not wear any distinctive clothing or markings. At one time slaves had been made to wear an earring; however, the Romans did away with the practice presumably so that slaves themselves would not be so aware of just how many of them there were. A slave revolt in Sicily in the second century BC, and the famous revolt of Spartacus in the first century BC, made the Romans wary about the possibility of slaves organizing.
Slaves were always expected to be sexually available to their masters. We might assume that Christian households were the exception to this rule. For all the prevalence and acceptance of prostitution, we should remember that any man who owned female slaves did not need to pay for sex.
In addition to working within a household or on a farm or ranch, slaves did many of the same jobs that free people did. In fact, the consolidation of land outside Rome into large slave-run estates meant that the city had an increasingly large population of freeborn workers (including former farmhands) who were unemployed or underemployed and who resented the slaves, whom they perceived were taking jobs away from them. Many slaves were not Italians, and yet if they were the slaves of citizens, they had a track toward citizenship and even upward mobility. Freedmen of citizens were citizens, and although they could not rise into the equestrian class, their sons could.
Figure 3.1. An example of a Roman slave collar (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Stachys strolled on toward the wine market, where he haggled over the price of an amphora of wine and then made arrangements for it to be delivered to Urbanus’s house before the banquet that evening. He knew Urbanus would never serve it to his guests, but he wanted to show his appreciation for the invitation. Then he went down to Marble Street, past the grain silos, to the Aemilia Gate and the bakery market, to arrange for the week’s groceries and bread for his household. Then it was time to take care of business. Stachys walked to the warehouses at the foot of the Palatine Hill and checked his store of olive oil. He casually lied to Turranius, the superintendent of the imperial storehouses, minimizing the success of his business. No need to invite the evil eye, he thought. Other wholesalers were bustling around, talking with the brokers, making deals on everything from paper to bricks, from cured meats to gemstones and precious metals.
Then it was time to make the long walk out to Urbanus’s farm, where he would meet with the tenant farmer and discuss the price of olives and schedule the use of the olive press. Stachys considered making a speculative offer on the next olive crop. If he could buy the olives at a reduced rate before they were ripe, he could save some money. But it was a gamble, because if the crop was bad, he would lose money.
Figure 3.2. Roman warehouses at the foot of Palatine Hill
It was just as well that today was a fasting day, Stachys reasoned, because there would be no time for lunch anyway. Good thing Maria didn’t know that he was looking forward to a rich banquet at Urbanus’s house on the Tiburtinian Road. Stachys’s thoughts wandered back to the previous day at the baths, and he wondered why the Praetorian prefect Lucius Geta was talking about the Tiburtinian Road.
At that same time, Lucius Geta was consulting an oracle in a grotto below the temple of Jupiter. He wanted to know whether the child his wife was about to deliver was going to be a boy or whether he was going to have to disappoint his wife again by refusing to raise a daughter. As he ducked his head and entered the grotto, a priestess sat on a tripod stool in the middle of the cave, eating mushrooms from a dirty handkerchief. When it was Geta’s turn, he stepped up to the priestess’s assistant and offered her a special cake he had bought at a very high price. The assistant set the cake down on a small table, next to the offerings of those who had come before Geta. The priestess popped a mushroom into her mouth and closed her eyes. The assistant nodded to Geta.
“Will the child be a son?” he asked.
The assistant chanted the question to the priestess, who silently consulted with Apollo, presumably asking him to inquire of Jupiter whether Geta’s wife was going to give birth to a boy. Apparently Jupiter answered, and Apollo relayed the message to the priestess, who, after a long silence, chanted the reply:
A mother’s hopes will be fulfilled
This child of hers will surely live
A father’s life and works repaid
A fitting reward the gods will give
Geta smiled, tipped the assistant, and walked out of the grotto. The gods knew his intention to have a girl killed, so if the child would live, it must be a boy. And the part about him getting a just reward for his life of service to the empire—the gods were granting him good fortune, which, he reasoned, was about time. As he stepped out of the grotto and into the light, he was so deep in thought that he almost bumped into his tribune, who was waiting for him. He stared at the tribune as his eyes adjusted to the light. “Have you done what I asked?”
“Yes, lord. I have men in plain tunics watching his house and following him wherever he goes.”
“Good. If he is named prefect of the grain supply, I want him dead before he can take office.”
“Yes, lord. Consider it done.”
Peter closed his eyes and took a long whiff of the sea air, letting the cool breeze blow through his tunic as he gripped the ship’s rail. When he opened his eyes, the sun was bright and the sky was a clear blue. Up ahead, the island of Malta dominated the horizon. Peter thanked his friend and Lord Iesua that he would soon have a break from the sea—he would soon put his feet on solid ground for a while before continuing his journey to Rome.
That afternoon Philologus pushed and jostled his way through the Field of Mars, toward the place where Julius Caesar had been assassinated almost one hundred years earlier, in the portico at the back of the Theater of Pompey. Today was the distribution of bread, and since Philologus had not worked in two days, he was hoping to get some bread to help feed his family. As he made his way to the distribution point by the temples behind Pompey’s portico, he could see that many others had gotten there before him, and a few of the emperor’s freedmen, along with Turranius, the superintendent of the imperial storehouses, and some representatives of the millers’ guild were trying to get people to line up in an orderly fashion. Turranius stood up on the steps of a round temple of Hercules and tried to get the crowd to quiet down. “Please line up according to status!” he shouted.
A few people moved toward the front of what was supposed to be a line, but most of the people gathering could not hear Turranius. Philologus’s heart sank as he saw that there were relatively wealthy people at the front of the forming line—even a few equestrians with their purple-striped cloaks and their gold rings. The emperor’s freedmen patiently showed the growing crowd where to stand, and as the mob slowly turned into a line, everyone was placed in the line according to social class, with the highest status at the front of the line. Philologus found himself standing toward the very end, all the way at Agrippa’s pantheon.
Figure 3.3. Remains of republican-era temples. Visible in the background are the arches under the street, which are the remains of the Portico of Pompey, part of the Theater of Pompey complex.
Three hours later, Philologus was just close enough to the front of the line to hear Turranius announce that there was no more bread and the dole was closed. As always happened, the bread ran out before the truly needy people received any. Philologus walked away, disappointed but not broken. Still, he didn’t know how he was going to tell Julia.
Maria had invited Julia to join her and Rhoda for the day’s trip to the markets. Julia accepted, not because she planned to buy anything but because she welcomed the company. She admired Maria and looked up to her, and she always liked to be around Rhoda because no one ever knew what Rhoda was going to say next. She was the one who said what others were only thinking, even if it was not exactly polite. But she always told the truth and often quoted the Lord Iesua when he said, “The truth will set you free.”
The women met at the Portico of the Argonauts, near the Saepta Julia, the largest shopping center in the Field of Mars. Rhoda greeted Julia with a smirk and a twinkle in her eye. “Salve, Julia. It’s so nice of you to invite us to your shopping center. It’s quite a thing to have such a monument named after you.” Julia giggled, loving the joke and the attention.
“I need some new shoes,” Maria said, changing the subject. “Actually, that’s not true. I don’t really need new shoes, but I want to look at new shoes . . . so I’m ready when I do need them.” The other two women laughed as the three of them turned toward the cobblers. Since their men normally did most of the shopping for everything except women’s clothing and shoes, the women were taking the opportunity for some social time. And unlike the cobblers’ shops in the Suburra, the Saepta Julia was a shopping center for luxuries, which meant that it was the place to see the newest fashions.
What Romans Ate
The common people ate bread, cheese, fish, polenta (either as a porridge or fried into patties), fried sardines and anchovies, beans, eggs, olives, zucchini, peas, lentils, and chickpeas. They probably could not have afforded meat very often, but when they did have it, it was usually sausages, chicken, or pork. Trade guilds and other clubs had banquets (often held in temples) that included a sacrifice, and they would have served the meat of the animal that had been sacrificed.
Wealthier people ate more meat, including beef and organ meat such as kidneys, livers, and tripe. They might have eaten boar or other game as well as goose and rabbit. They also enjoyed fruits such as pears, grapes, apples, plums, and dates. There do not seem to have been any citrus fruits there yet, though there is some evidence that people perhaps had lemons. Seafood might have included lobster, snails, and oysters, in addition to the many fish available. Desserts included cakes, muffins, nuts, and other delicacies sweetened with honey (they did not have sugar). According to some sources, the wealthiest Romans ate delicacies such as small birds or mice roasted, dipped in honey, and rolled in poppy seeds.
Romans used salt, but they did not have pepper. Their main condiment was garum, a salty sauce made from fermented fish guts. They put it on almost any kind of food, similar to the way Americans use ketchup.
Romans had silverware, which consisted mainly of spoons, knives, and toothpicks. They did not use forks. Wealthy people might have had gold utensils and glass goblets, while poorer people used pottery. However, it was not unusual for even modest homes to have silver, since a set of silverware was a common gift given to clients by their patrons.
Figure 3.4. Bronze Roman cooking pots, of the type used by a more affluent household or a food vendor (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Figure 3.5. Bronze Roman cooking pots (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
After checking out the latest in women’s shoes, the three strolled on through the Enclosure for a leisurely walk in the shade. They browsed the art dealers, bookshops, spice merchants, perfumers, and the mirror shop. They watched the ivory carvers for a while and then looked at the silks—the newest and most exotic commodity in Rome.
It was at the silk shop that Maria recognized Sabina, Urbanus’s wife. Maria approached Sabina respectfully and greeted her. “Salve, noble Sabina. I am Maria, wife of Stachys. Your husband is my husband’s patron.”
“So he is,” replied Sabina warmly. “And I know my husband is looking forward to his presence at the banquet tonight.”
Maria tried to hide the fact that she didn’t know Stachys had been invited to a banquet—and on a fasting day. But she knew the invitation did not include her. She knew this was one of those banquets that was only for the men. “I’m sure he is very grateful for the invitation,” she said. “Sabina, may I present Rhoda and Julia.”
“Oh.” Sabina was caught off guard. She had thought Rhoda and Julia were Maria’s slaves and did not expect to be introduced to them. “Salvete.”
Maria saw Sabina’s discomfort and recognized the issue. “My apologies. Rhoda is my freedwoman, and Julia is our friend.”
Sabina seemed to relax at the explanation and smiled warmly. “May the Great Mother be good to you.”
Rhoda spoke up without hesitation. “Thank you, but we don’t put our faith in Cybele, or Fortuna, or whatever you call her. We only worship the one true Deity.”
There was an awkward silence. “Ah, yes,” Sabina nodded. “Yes, my husband has told me a bit about your religion. I must say, it does seem simpler to consolidate all of one’s religion into a single god. What I don’t understand is . . .” Sabina paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Can one god really watch over everything? Can one god be the god of the hearth and the god of the pantry? God of the doorway, and god of the city gates? How can one god be responsible for all of that?”
Maria responded quickly before Rhoda could say something sarcastic about the impotence of the Roman gods. “We believe that the one whom Iesua called Father is all-powerful. That means there is nothing outside his sphere of influence. He needs no other gods, and in fact there is no room for any other gods.”
Rhoda jumped in. “The Roman gods, if they even existed, would be limited. They have to stay out of each other’s way and defer to each other’s sphere of influence. What kind of god is that? That’s not real deity! True divinity is all-powerful, not . . . partially powerful.”
Sabina was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Maria said, “Forgive us, we didn’t mean to lecture you. Rhoda here is very passionate about our religion. As we all are.”
“I can see that,” Sabina said. “Your passion for your god is honorable. I only fear that, should the . . . um, other gods hear you, they might take that passion as a form of disrespect. And that could bring misfortune on us all, if the gods should choose to punish our city.”
Maria decided the smartest thing to do was to let Sabina have the last word. She made some halfhearted comment about being respectful of Sabina’s time, and Sabina took her leave and headed off to the fortuneteller. After she walked away, both Maria and Julia let out a sigh of relief. Maria gave Rhoda a look that said You have to be careful what you say, but she knew there was no point in saying it out loud.
But Rhoda wasn’t looking at Maria. Rhoda was looking at a group of Vestal Virgins, wearing their distinctive bridal veils and red hoods. The one in the lead stopped their procession and looked around with an attitude of frustration. She shouted, “Claudia!”
“Here, Domina,” came the reply from behind a column. A woman who was evidently Claudia emerged and hung her head.
Rhoda pointed at the lead vestal and whispered to Maria and Julia, “That’s Vibidia. She’s the elder vestal. Do you know she can pardon a man condemned to death? All she has to do is say so, and the man goes free.”
“Just like that?,” Julia had a hard time believing that a woman could have such power in Rome.
“Just like that,” Rhoda answered. “If she pardons a man, even the emperor can’t go against her—they have to let him go free.”
Vibidia seemed about to raise her voice again, but her tone softened. “Claudia, where were you?”
“Looking at the silks, Domina.”
“Looking at the silks, though you still have twenty-five years with us before you’re free to wear them. And so you fell behind, causing us to have to wait for you. This is the same carelessness that you showed the night you let the sacred flame go out. I would have thought the beating you received from the emperor himself would have taught you to take more care in the future. You should consider yourself fortunate that it’s bad luck to spill a vestal’s blood, otherwise you might have found yourself in the arena!”
“I will never let the flame go out again, Domina.”
“I’m certain of that.” Vibidia moved close to Claudia and lifted her chin to force eye contact. “Come. Don’t fall behind again.” Then she turned and walked away, with her entourage in tow.
Claudia hesitated, falling to the back of the procession. As soon as the rest of the vestals were out of hearing range, Claudia turned toward Rhoda and whispered, “I want to know more about your God.” And then she ran off to catch up to her sister priestesses.
All of a sudden, the women could hear yelling and screaming coming from behind them. People started running in every direction, as Julia looked at Maria and Rhoda with a look of panic on her face. Maria grabbed both Rhoda and Julia by the arm and pulled them into the shade of the Portico of Hecatostylon, shielded from the running mob by its many columns. The women could hear groups of men shouting curses and chanting something about the failed bread distribution as they began rioting in the streets, smashing and looting the shops of the Saepta. Shopkeepers were in the process of desperately trying to install the wooden panels that locked up the shops at night, but many of them had been using the panels as tables. It was a pitiful sight, shopkeepers sweeping their handmade wares off of the tables so they could use the wooden planks to close the front of the shop as looters were picking up the merchandise off of the floor. Shopkeepers’ wives and daughters screamed and scrambled up the ladders into the lofts above the shops.
Maria knew that the city militia was normally only mobilized at night, so it would take a long time for them to come and calm the situation. The women couldn’t afford to wait it out, especially since there was always the chance that the rioting gangs of men would graduate from looting the stores to attacking whichever women happened to be close by. Maria tightened her grip on the arms of Rhoda and Julia and pulled them to the corner of the portico. “We need to head for higher ground,” she whispered. “The temple of Venus at the top of the seats in the Theater of Pompey. The mob won’t go there, and if they do, we can go inside the temple. They wouldn’t dare profane the place with violence. And Iesua would understand.” Maria waited for a lull in the movement of the crowd, and then she pulled Rhoda and Julia out into the sun and headed for the Theater of Pompey.
The three women ran as fast as they could through Pompey’s portico and past the stage of the theater. As they headed up the steps that ran along the seats, they heard a scream. Maria and Rhoda kept running, but Julia stopped and turned around. On the floor of the theater, she could see a woman struggling to get to her feet, with two men standing over her, grabbing for her jewelry. Julia shouted at Maria and Rhoda. The women turned around, but by then they could only see Julia’s back as she ran down the steps toward the theater floor.
Maria screamed, “Julia!” She hesitated, not knowing what to do.
But Rhoda was decisive. “Let’s go!” She turned to follow Julia, and Maria followed her. When they got to the bottom of the steps, Julia was already confronting the two men who stood over the woman on the floor. Maria recognized the woman. It was Sabina.
Julia was yelling at the men to leave Sabina alone, but her small stature was less than intimidating. They started to laugh at her, but then Rhoda ran up, and Maria, and the men were outnumbered. If looks could kill, the look on Rhoda’s face would have burned them to a crisp, and so they backed off and eventually walked away. Julia helped Sabina to her feet as Sabina felt around her neck to make sure the key to the household strongbox was still there, and then they all made their way up the steps to the temple of Venus. The sound of the mob was getting louder, so they went into the temple. Sabina began to whisper to the statue of Venus at the back of the temple. She was starting to ask the goddess for help, but she was interrupted by the sound of Maria praying out loud. Sabina looked back to see Maria, Rhoda, and Julia standing in a tight circle, with hands uplifted and eyes closed.
“Lord Iesua, protect us. Lord Iesua, protect us. Lord Iesua Christos, protect us.”
Stachys, meanwhile, had his own problems. After collecting what was owed to him for the sale of olive oil and paying what he owed, there was a respectable sum left over—a sum that he had now lost at the gambling table. He sat in the back room of the tavern, sweating and playing on credit. The table steward brought him a mug of wine—mixed strong by his request.
But he wasn’t the only one losing. Another man at the table kept waving away a nervous slave who could see his own prospects draining away with his master’s losses. Stachys felt more sorry for himself than ever, and the effects of the strong wine were only enhancing that feeling. He thought about the money he was losing and felt the pressure to win it back, or else he would have to explain to Maria why he came home in debt rather than with money in his hand. Then he started to tell himself that he should not fear Maria, that he was the head of the household, after all, and he should be able to do whatever he wanted with his money. By Priapus, he was a success!
Figure 3.6. Roman dice, carved from animal bone (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Eventually Stachys thought of his son, and how he wanted his son to be a success. That would mean getting a good start on a career as soon as possible. This tutor could be a stepping stone to a wealthy patron. Who knows, Tertius could one day even join the equestrian class—something a freedman like Stachys could never do. Stachys thought about his own patron, Urbanus. He thought about Urbanus’s father, but then dismissed the thought from his mind.
He asked Fortuna for good luck and then felt guilty about it, hearing in his mind all the things Maria and Marcus would say to him if they knew. Had the gods ever answered his prayers? Not that he could remember. Would the God of the Way- followers do any better? Maybe. Maybe not. If the gods didn’t reward, then they also didn’t punish, so there was no risk in abandoning them, he thought. But why just replace the traditional gods with a new one? Maybe, Stachys thought, he didn’t need any at all. In any case, if he were to say no to Urbanus, he would be throwing away his own career. He would lose everything he worked for. There was no decision to make. Tertius would have a tutor. Stachys rolled the dice.
Across the river in Trans-Tiber, another gathering of Way-followers was preparing for their evening meal in a small apartment. Apelles, the leader of the gathering, welcomed everyone. As the people filed into the cramped space, the men talked among themselves, and the women took stock of the small amounts of food they had brought. It was mostly beans and bread, with some olives, a few pigeon eggs, and some small fish.
Trans-Tiber was one of the poorest and most densely populated areas of Rome and was the home for many of Rome’s Judean population until the edict of Claudius banished them. Not all Judeans left, however, because many of them were slaves and were owned by non-Judeans. The Way-followers at Apelles’s apartment included some of these remaining Judeans as well as some of the Judean believers who had once attended the gathering at Aquila and Priscilla’s awning shop. It also included some dockworkers who worked the cargo boats on the river, as well as other slaves and former prostitutes. Herodion, a freedman of the household of Aristobulus, was there with a few slaves of that house. Some of them were baptized, but others were still in the school, not yet baptized. It was a tight fit, with over twenty people in the apartment.
Figure 3.7. A typical street in modern Trastevere, the “Trans-Tiber” of ancient Rome
Apelles stepped to the front of the room and got everyone’s attention. “Brothers and sisters . . . let us pray. . . .”
Stachys was proud to hear his name echo in Urbanus’s dining hall as an older slave announced his arrival. This slave who was once his peer had just washed his feet and was now showing him to his place at one of the reclining benches around the center table. It was the lowest place according to status—on the end of the bench—but Stachys was just happy to be there. He looked at the place setting with awe. A gold spoon and knife—the same workmanship as the silverware set that Urbanus had given him on his first Saturnalia as a freedman. But real gold. A carved ivory toothpick. A beautiful, translucent blue-glass wine cup. The central table was already set with a tablecloth and filled with appetizers of hot sausages, small birds roasted in egg yolk, Damascus plums, and honey balls. Two silver trays held tiny roasted mice dipped in honey, one tray with poppy seeds and one without.
The Roman Banquet
In 1 Corinthians 11, when Paul criticizes the behavior of the Corinthian Christians at the agapē meal, he is basically accusing them of acting as though the eucharistic gathering were a Roman banquet. Wealthy households hosted banquets, which was part of the Roman culture of trading favors. Patrons invited their clients, though it was not unusual for the lower-class guests to receive inferior food and wine compared to the host’s peers. Guests of a lower social class might also find themselves using inferior utensils, or the slaves of the household might be instructed to count the silverware before the guests left for the night.
The Roman dining room was called a triclinium, which refers to the fact that the basic setup was to have three reclining benches around a central area in a U-shaped arrangement. Of course, actual dining rooms could have more or fewer benches, depending on the wealth of the household and the kind of dinner parties the hosts expected to have. The benches had a kind of shelf or narrow table attached for each person’s food. Most people ate in a reclining position, leaning on their left side with their head toward the center and eating with their right hand. Sometimes unmarried women sat on chairs or stools, since that was considered more modest, but couples would recline together.
Figure 3.8. Roman silverware. Notice there are no forks! (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
The area in the center might have had a portable serving table with a tablecloth, which would be moved when the time came for entertainment. The entertainment might have been hired performers, or for everyday dining it might have been slaves from within the household who could play music or dance.
Figure 3.9. Roman drinking glass (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
Figure 3.10. Silver wine goblets with apparent olive-branch motif (National Archaeological Museum, Naples)
“Stachys, my friend!” Urbanus greeted his client warmly and shook his hand, then turned to face the whole group. “Friends, I’ve spared no expense. We’re having Falernian wine tonight!” Then he whispered into Stachys’s ear, “Thank you for the amphora. That was most gracious of you.”
Stachys knew that the wine he had bought that day was not as good as Falernian wine, but he knew he had done the right thing by giving a token gift to his host.
Urbanus raised his voice again, lifting his glass. “Vita vinum est!” The guests all raised their glasses and drank to the health of the host.
“Vale,” they all said. “Be well!”
Urbanus turned to Stachys. “Stachys, try the mice—they’re delicious.”
Stachys was not sure. “Do they take the bones out?”
“Oh, Stachys, you make me laugh! If they took the bones out, they wouldn’t be crunchy, would they? Look, just pick it up by the tail, like this, and pop it into your mouth whole. You can bite the tail off if you don’t want to eat it.”
Urbanus announced that the fish in the first course were from his own fish ponds on his farmland. In addition to the fish, the first course included beef, kidneys with peas, tripe, lobster, goose, rabbit, figs, and lots of bread. Bowls of salty, fermented fish sauce were placed around for dipping or spooning onto any or all of the dishes. Stachys passed on the lobsters because they looked to him like giant bugs, but did his best to try everything else.
Stachys noticed that his hands shook a bit as he dipped a piece of bread in the fish sauce. He realized that he was somewhat nervous in the presence of Urbanus and his peers. Turranius was there, alternating between burping and lamenting the violence after the dole bread ran out. “I don’t know what these plebs expect,” he whined, then belched. “There are a half million people in this city, a third of whom are of too low a status to expect that they will ever receive any benefits of imperial generosity. After all, what can the riffraff do in return? It’s ridiculous. Don’t they realize that the dole is not about feeding people? It’s about keeping the bakers baking. The bakers’ guild demands it, to keep the prices up and the income flowing.” He belched again. “And my own, uh . . . gratuity . . . is not insignificant of course.” The men laughed as Turranius banged his chest with his fist.
“Well, we have nothing to worry about here,” Urbanus reassured the group. “I’ve hired extra security tonight. A few of the gladiators from the training school. They’re standing guard outside the door as we speak.”
“Good to know, Urbanus,” someone said.
Another chimed in, “Well done.”
The main course came, and Stachys’s blue eyes lit up to see a whole boar, surrounded by dates and delicate muffins. More bowls of fish sauce arrived, along with tiny bowls of salt. And of course, everyone’s cup was kept full of that good Falernian wine. Stachys thoroughly enjoyed himself, burping appropriately to show his appreciation.
Stachys listened to the conversation as Urbanus’s friends took their turns showing their respect and admiration. One of the guests asked, “Urbanus, how are your daughters? I hope they’re well.”
“Yes, they are, thank you for asking. They’re growing like weeds—it’s almost time for me to start thinking about marriage arrangements.” It suddenly occurred to Urbanus that he was the only one in the room with two daughters, something that would seem odd to the nobility of Rome. “Of course we considered exposing the younger one, but I could see it would have upset Sabina, so I relented. Soft of heart I am, I admit it. And now soft of purse as well, as it turns out.” The other men chuckled.
By the end of the course, Stachys started to feel a bit more comfortable among his patron’s peers, and so he decided to speak up and take part in the conversation in Latin. “Urbanus,” he said thoughtfully, “Does the Praetorian prefect, Lucius Geta, live near here?”
Urbanus seemed to be taken aback by the mention of his enemy’s name, and he didn’t know why Stachys would bring him up. “No, Stachys, why do you ask?”
“Only because I overheard him at the baths, talking with some of his men. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I did hear him say something about the Tiburtinian Road.”
Urbanus was visibly shaken. He fumbled for words, and eventually something like “I don’t know why he would,” fell halfheartedly out of his mouth. Then a slave entered the dining room and whispered to Urbanus. “Ah!” Urbanus seemed glad to have a distraction. “For tonight’s entertainment, I have brought in a troupe of exotic dancers from Egypt.” The center table was removed, and four belly dancers twirled into the room, wearing their traditional wispy costumes. Musicians followed them in and positioned themselves at the end of the room. As soon as they were in position, a drumbeat sounded and the dancers stopped, taking a pose and standing motionless. Another drumbeat and the dance began. Courtesans filed in and took their places near the guests, reclining against the men’s backs as they watched the dancers.
The slaves moved around the outside of the reclining benches, serving assorted desserts that included cakes, pastries, cheeses, nuts, grapes, apples, pears, oysters, and snails, along with strong wine, warmed and sweetened with honey. Stachys didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, and he didn’t like the look of the oysters and snails, so he stuck with the cheeses, nuts, and fruit. He marveled at the exotic nuts, including some kinds he had never seen before. The courtesan at his back pulled herself closer and stroked his arm, which made him feel self-conscious and a little guilty.
Stachys didn’t see Urbanus leave the dining room, so he was surprised when Urbanus’s slave tapped him on the shoulder and told him he was wanted in Urbanus’s atrium. Stachys knew the time had come when he would have to pay for his dinner. Not in money, of course. If only that were an option. He got up and went to the atrium, where Urbanus was waiting for him.
“Stachys, what do you think Geta was talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Stachys shook his head, surprised to be asked about his offhand comment.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and there is no reason he should have mentioned the road outside my door unless it had something to do with me.” Urbanus paced. “Stachys, I think he means to do me harm.”
Stachys didn’t know what to say, so Urbanus got to the point. “I need to know whether you’re going to agree to my request, because if you refuse me, I will be dishonored.” The volume of Urbanus’s voice started increasing. “That will put me in a weak position with Geta, and he will certainly take the opportunity to move against me. If he can convince my creditors to call in their loans, I could lose my land. And then what? I’d have to work for a living.” He thought a while and sighed. “I would have to kill myself, of course, which would solve the problem for me, but it would leave my daughters to become prostitutes.”
Stachys spoke quickly to try to reassure Urbanus and get him to lower his voice. “I understand. If all of that happens to you, it will be bad for me too—I would lose my patron. I have no intention of putting you through that.”
Urbanus was visibly relieved. Stachys continued, “It’s just that . . .”
Urbanus stiffened again. “Just that what?”
“It’s just that . . . my wife.”
“Stachys, I can’t believe you would let her tell you what to do like this! And I can’t believe that she would want you to throw away your career, not to mention the normal, expected lifestyle of a Roman man.”
Stachys was confused. Part of his confusion was over why he should be so confused about this. He found himself saying, “Although . . . there are some in the senate class who are Way-followers.” Urbanus raised his bushy eyebrows. Stachys continued, but his voice tapered off into a mumble. “There’s Pudens, and Marcellus, young Clemens . . .”
With a sinking feeling, Stachys realized that he lacked the courage to take a stand with Urbanus, and Urbanus seemed to take his inability to give him a direct no as an implicit yes. Urbanus put his arm around Stachys’s shoulders. “Let’s go back into the dining room. Tomorrow we’ll tell Narcissus the good news.” With that they walked back to the desserts, the dancers, the musicians, and the courtesans.
When Ampliatus arrived at Apelles’s flat, bringing the Thanksgiving Bread from Marcus’s gathering, he could barely squeeze into the apartment. He pushed his way to the front of the room and handed the basket to Apelles, who took the bread and set it on a small table. After the prayers and the sharing of the bread and wine, the cramped tenement echoed with joyful singing:
He existed in the form of God
He did not consider equality with God something to cling to
But he emptied himself
Taking the form of a servant
He came to be in the likeness of humanity
He was recognized as a man by his appearance
He humbled himself
Becoming submissive, even to the point of death
And therefore God exalted him to the highest
And gave him the name above every name
So that at the name of Iesua every knee would bend
And every tongue admit that Iesua the Christos is Dominus