14 - In Search of a Scapegoat

Nero was content. For once his beastly nature was sated. Rome had served as the model for his great ode. Now Rome lay at his feet like a ravaged, brutalized woman. He set about at once to save what was left of her, or more accurately, to deflect suspicion from himself. He was seen everywhere, taking personal command of the legionaries who demolished rows of houses in the immediate path of the fire with battering rams. The order was finally given to open the sluices of the aqueducts, which had remained shut during the conflagration for some mysterious reason. The destruction was finally halted.

For nine days the fire had raged, and a vast part of Rome had been converted into a glowing pit. Only those quarters on the outer ring were completely unscathed, including the Via Appia and the Trans-Tiber, where most of the Jews lived. The Tiber acted as a barrier and not a single house was touched. Also the precincts containing the great empty palaces of the Campus Martius and the Forum were untouched. Four precincts in the heart of the city, the most densely populated, were completely gutted, while six were partially demolished when the fire brigades tried to clear a wide space around the flames.

The heart of the city was a vast, glowing oven, covered with the ruins of fallen walls and roofs, which buried whatever and whoever remained behind. The people who had managed to escape crowded the streets of the other precincts, making passage and communication all but impossible.

And here comes Caesar as the tenderhearted father of his people. He had the great Campus Martius, with its baths, gardens and temples, opened to the homeless. He even placed his own gardens, palace, and circus on the Vatican heights across the Tiber, at the service of the city. As soon as they could enter, tens of thousands of slaves were set to work clearing the ruins, and carrying the ashes and rubbish in sacks, baskets and carts to the banks of the Tiber. All available ships were mobilized to bring stores of grain and olives up the river from the port of Ostia and then remove the huge heaps of refuse to be dumped into the open sea. Each day Nero visited the people, who wandered among the ruins of their former homes hoping to save some remnant of their possessions, or to identify the charred bones of their loved ones. He called up a profusion of tears over the misfortunes of his people. He even went so far as to lift homeless orphans in his arms, so that Rome might see to what depths Caesar had been moved by the universal calamity.

Nero promised the people a new city the like of which no ruler in the history of the world had ever bestowed on his subjects. It would be a city of glorious, wide streets, of great, regular houses of a certain, limited height, with wide facades, and in every house there would be a supply of fire-fighting equipment. As the first token of his intentions, Caesar ordered his treasury to extend credit to every citizen who was prepared to start rebuilding his home, and a tax was laid on every province of the empire to finance the reconstruction. Engineers and architects were called in, and great quantities of fire-resistant stone were brought in. Nero promised to build a vast ring of colonnades, baths, theaters and circuses.

And of course, there was his “Golden House” that would stretch all the way from the Palatine to the Esquiline, combining his palaces on the two hills.

Nero worked feverishly with the architects and engineers. Hundreds of thousands of slaves were rounded up and set to work and order was gradually restored.

But there was a problem.

The Roman populace was mournful and unresponsive. They no longer cared to watch the antics of their ruler with gross good humor. They no longer acted content with “bread and circuses,” and they openly applauded the mimes and rhymesters who mocked the imperial criminal. Rome was no longer what it had been.

Oh they listened to the words Nero offered and they accepted the gifts he gave, but they said nothing. Everywhere Caesar was, the people looked away. He shed his tears in vain. Even his promise to arrange a performance of the mighty poem “The Destruction of Troy,” in which he’d immortalized the catastrophe, failed to move them.

The people refused to be whipped into a mood of enthusiasm, for they were certain that it was Caesar, and Caesar alone, who was responsible for Rome’s destruction. It was no secret that Caesar had always dreamed of a new Rome, and of a “Golden House” to immortalize his name, and hundreds of people had seen and now testified of the men running around the city throwing lighted torches into the stores of the Circus Maximus on the eve of the fire’s outbreak. And word soon got around that Nero had posted himself on the summit of a tower on the Esquiline and chanted his ode.

And so the Romans turned to the gods. The corrupt and cynical masses underwent a religious revival, and the temples were suddenly filled with worshippers, especially the Vulcan temples. The Sybilline books were consulted for the significance of the disaster, and Roman matrons renewed the practice of bringing offerings to the Capitoline Jupiter and to the other gods. It was clear that Rome had averted its face from Caesar and turned it toward the gods.


Nero couldn’t hide from the truth; something had happened to the soul of the Roman people. Words and gifts alone wouldn’t take away the memory of the nine days of horror. The screams of dying children still rang in the people’s ears, and the nights were haunted by memories of themselves and their dear ones running back and forth in panic between the blazing ends of narrow streets.

A scapegoat was needed.

And where better to find a scapegoat than among that element of the Roman population that was the weakest, the most alien, and the most despised?

“The Jews, who blaspheme our gods, and refuse to take part in our religious festivals!” said the poet Lucan, a long time enemy of the Jews. “They despise us and refuse to worship Caesar. They have a horrible and mysterious religion, a god who nobody sees, and who demands they sacrifice their happiness, and even their lives, to him. They let themselves be sacrificed like sheep for the sake of their god. Would it be any wonder if their god commanded them to destroy the city of their enemies?

“Have you noticed how many candles they light on the seventh day? Doesn’t that prove their god is a lover of fire? And how about the fact that not a single Jewish home was destroyed by the fire, but stopped dead on the banks of the Tiber? Not only that, it didn’t even go in the other direction, along the Via Appia, where the Jews have settled recently. The people of Rome will easily understand that these aliens are the only ones capable of committing such a crime.

“And what about their talk of a certain ‘Christ,’ who has supposedly appeared as their liberator? Who is this ‘Christ,’ and what does he threaten?”

Lucan pointed to the number of Roman temples destroyed in the fire as additional proof that only the godless Jews could have perpetrated the crime.

* * * * *

When Nero called together the council of his intimates to discuss the question of finding a scapegoat, he also invited old Seneca.

Ever since Nero freed him from the consular office, Seneca had clung to his private life, spending his days either in his city home or at his country estate. He gave himself completely to his studies, and was engaged in a final, desperate search for the essence of the divinity he’d never been able to find among the gods, but that he believed could be found in the laws of nature. He was working on a thesis in which he compared the laws of nature with the laws of ethics. He discovered that there is not only an imperative logic of cause and effect in natural law, but also a higher logic that provides a counterpoise to evil. This brought him to the threshold of that faith he never entered.

“We believe,” he wrote, “that we are in the temple of nature; but the truth is we still linger in her corridors.”

Though he never crossed the threshold, his new perceptions did influence his character. Near the end of his life, he actually began to live in closer accord with the principles he’d so long proclaimed in his letters. He overcame his lust for worldly possessions, he abandoned the pursuit of wealth, and he lived the life of a Nazarite, eating only bread and water. His only wish was to be forgotten by Nero and by Nero’s shameful world, so that he might dedicate himself to his studies without interruption. In this he was disappointed, for Nero demanded his presence in the council on important occasions.

At the secret council that discussed the question of the scapegoat, Nero asked Seneca for his opinion.

“I consider,” said Seneca, “that the Jewish faith in an invisible god, and their blind devotion to him, is something fit for slaves, but unworthy of freedmen. Nevertheless, their faith is legal and has had the sanction of all the greatest Caesars. They’ve lived in Rome since time immemorial, and can be found in every part of the empire. The people are in daily contact with them in a hundred ways. And though it’s true that people make fun of them, it’s also true that many have begun to imitate them and visit their synagogues, both here and in the provinces.

“It won’t be easy to convince the Romans that people whose shops and stores are in the rich streets of the Campus Martius, and on the Via Sacra, and who are spread in all precincts of the city, would set fire to Rome in an act of self-destruction. Besides, persecuting the Jews here might start a rebellion in Judea, and riots in other parts of the empire. Nor would it be off the mark for me to say that one cannot wipe out the evil deeds of others by committing evil deeds oneself.

“Nor, Caesar, can one cleanse oneself of guilt by accusing the innocent. It is only by good deeds that we can cleanse ourselves of our own guilt. Therefore I relinquish the greater part of my possessions to rebuild Rome. And it is my advice that all present do likewise.”

The old philosopher looked calmly at Nero as he uttered these words.

Caesar was dumbstruck. He tried to speak, but all that came from his mouth was the tip of his tongue. His short, fleshy neck expanded, until it resembled a huge goiter.

But Seneca was at peace. A patient smile settled on his hard, granitelike features. His eyes were filled with a fresh, steady light. For the first time, he overcame the fear of death and said what was in his heart rather than what Nero wanted to hear.

“Tigellinus!” exclaimed Nero, his voice hoarse with rage. This told the courtiers that Seneca’s end had not yet come, for if it had, Nero would have smiled softly instead of showing anger.

Tigellinus began in a pious, restrained voice, “The calamity fallen on the city of our gods is so great that only you, O Caesar, were able to fittingly lament it in your immortal ode. The gods are aghast at the destruction of their temples, and they cannot be placated, O Caesar, by prayer and sacrifice alone. Who knows what greater calamity awaits us if we do not placate them with the act of vengeance they want?

“Rome is sick and angry. Rome is thirsty for the blood of those who have reduced her city to ashes. This act of horror can be atoned for only by a greater act of horror. The only way to win back the favor of the gods is to find the guilty and visit on them such punishment as will satisfy the gods. The Romans must see torn flesh, bleeding and burning in an act of retribution.

“You, O Caesar, must show honest Romans that you will not stand by indifferently when they clamor for revenge. You must appease Rome and the gods by a judgment that no Caesar before you has ever carried out. There must be great spectacles, at which all the punishments rained by Pluto on the daughters of Danaus are rained down on those who are guilty of Rome’s destruction.

“And who are the guilty? Surely not all the Jews. I agree with Seneca. We can’t take an entire people and throw it to the beasts. We can’t ascribe guilt on a religion sanctioned and legalized by a line of Caesars. That could indeed cause riots.

“But who says all Jews are guilty of burning Rome? Certainly the rich merchant of the Campus Martius or the Via Sacra wouldn’t give his own shop to the flames. There are certainly decent Jews, who’ve adopted our manners and our civilization.

“But there are masses of poor Jews on the other side of the Tiber who are called ‘Christians,’ after a certain criminal, Christ, whom Pontius Pilate put to death. Do you know what the name ‘Christ’ means? It means ‘the anointed one.’ The fanatical Jews believe that this Christ is a king and Caesar. They believe that he rose from the dead, and that he will soon return and ascend a throne of judgment. And do you know who he will judge? You, Nero. He will judge you and me, and anyone who doesn’t believe in him!”

A burst of laughter came from the assembly, partly of derision and partly of relief. Tigellinus waited, then continued, “This Christ is their Caesar, O Nero, not you. And as if that criminal fanaticism weren’t enough, they try to bring others down to their level. Roman slaves are infected with this disease, including some of my own. They don’t think of themselves as slaves. They insist on knowing their own children and creating their own families. They avoid work on the Jewish Sabbath, and they disobey any commands that are contrary to their ritual. They have only one Dominus, Christ.

“Search well, all of you. You will find the pestilence among your own slaves. Worse, I’ve heard that there are Roman matrons, wives of patricians, who are tainted with the criminal superstition. I have reason to believe that the wife of a certain senator, who shall remain nameless, has accepted their faith. And that’s not all! The legionaries have also been corrupted. There are slaves, freedmen, and legionaries in your house, Nero, who worship Christ rather than you. They meet secretly at night and celebrate mystic rites. They bow before an ass’s head and eat human flesh. They drink the blood of slaughtered infants. I have this on the authority of my own spies.

“It is they who set fire to Rome at the command of their god. They are to blame if our gods have withdrawn their favor from us. I’ve already ordered that my Christian slaves be put to the torture, so they may reveal the names of their fellow conspirators. The courts will do the rest.

“Rome demands revenge, O Caesar. The gods demand revenge! The whole world demands revenge against the enemies of mankind! And your hand, O Caesar, shall be uplifted to give the gods, and Rome, and the world, that which they demand!”

Nero rose from his chair, went over to Tigellinus, and kissed him resoundingly on the mouth.

13 - Day of Wrath

A few days after the magnificent banquet thrown by Tegellinus, he arranged for the entire city to witness Caesar’s departure from Rome when he set out for his summer palace at Antium. The procession was like nothing anyone had ever seen before. The Roman masses, especially the poorest of the plebes, saw the grandeur and wealth of the emperor streaming out into the country.

No one could count all the senators, generals, patricians and matrons, carried in their litters as they followed the glittering chairs of Nero and Poppea. There were many freedmen with their overseers, chamberlains and staffs of servants. Who could count the bathmasters, hairdressers, perfume mixers, masseurs, wardrobers, cooks, waiters, butlers, and wine tasters? There were hordes of slave musicians with their instruments.

And of course, the dancers, actors, comedians, clowns and mimes, many famous throughout the empire, weren’t left behind either. And as these went along they danced, they tumbled, and they caricatured the great of Rome, including some of those actually in the procession. They sang, made obscene jests, and uttered their vulgarities against the aristocracy. Some even dared to hint at Caesar himself, alluding to one who’d sent his own mother and stepfather into the nether world. One imitated a woman floundering in the water, Caesar’s attempt to drown Agrippina. Another lifted an invisible drink to his lips and contorted himself in mimic agony, mocking the death potion that Claudius had finally been made to drink. The mob howled with glee.

Behind the mimes came the freaks and cripples, some more animal than human. They hopped on one leg or crawled on all fours. The more grotesque the creature, the more the mob strained to see them. From roofs and niches ragged spectators shouted encouragement, and spasms of merriment passed like waves across thousands of brutal faces. And after the freaks came the animal fighters, the men reserved for battle with wild beasts in the arenas, leading chained lions and tigers.

The procession lasted several hours. The front was already entering the Via Sacra when the end was at the Equiline hill. It poured through the Forum and into the Via Nova, past the Circus Maximus, winding about like a huge serpent. Nero wanted all of Rome, and particularly the poorest sections, to see him and hail him on that day. He kept on blowing kisses to the mob with his stumpy fingers, and the mob answered in a delirium of joy. The mob was so happy to see all these things, that it even applauded the long procession of asses that provided the milk for Poppea’s daily baths.

* * * * *

A few days later, on the night of July eighteenth, in the year sixty-four, according to our reckoning, fire broke out in the oil and flour depots among the houses of the thickly populated area around the Circus Maximus.

Now there was nothing remarkable about a fire in Rome. Indeed the city had a fire brigade, for the maze of streets was filled with flammable material. Whenever a fire broke out, police, soldiers, and even nearby citizens were called on to help in localizing it by razing the adjoining buildings.

But no one tried to stop the fire on this night. On the contrary, many witnesses later reported that they had seen certain individuals running through the alleys with lighted torches and throwing them into the houses. The fire spread with lightning speed, feeding on stores of oil, grain, and rope. A dense, choking cloud of smoke burst from the flaming houses, so that it became impossible to get to the center of the fire.

Soon other fires began to appear from various corners of the area. No one tried to stop the men running with the torches, for they acted like men who’d received instructions from the authorities. The billows of smoke became so heavy that it was impossible to even get to adjoining houses to demolish them and create a space around the conflagration. The population could only flee from the asphyxiating flames.

In an incredibly short period of time, the fire leapt across into the Circus Maximus. The immense structure was empty and there was plenty of flammable material there from wooden materials of all kinds to hay and straw for the animals, as well as multitudes of masks and costumes for the actors. Everything fed the fire, and the flames sprang higher and higher, so that within an hour or two the whole vast building was a roaring inferno, from which waves of intense heat spread out in all directions.

One wave rolled toward the lower slopes of the Aventine hill, where a number of granaries immediately flamed up, the fire leaping through alley after alley of flimsy and dilapidated houses of Rome’s poorest inhabitants. A second wave threw itself mightily on the Coelian hill, while a third wave flung itself up the slopes of the Palatine hill.

The fire did meet with some resistance there in the massive buildings erected by several generations of Caesars. There were temples that had been standing for centuries. But the resistance was only temporary. Continuously fed from below by inexhaustible stores of fuel, the fire grew in volume and intensity until even metal gates and railings melted. With a triumphant roar it hurled itself across to the military barracks and the stables of the German mounted auxiliaries, seizing building after building.

After their initial hesitation, the fire brigade and police did what they could to pull down row after row of buildings, but they could no more have stopped the advance of the flames than they could have held back the tide at Ostia. Millions of sparks and tongues of flame simply blew across the spaces they created. The buildings behind the firefighters would begin to burn and no sooner did they level these than the buildings on the farther side were already beginning to glow. With the heat and blinding smoke on all sides, the fire fighters lost their sense of direction. Exhausted, bewildered and choking, they simply fell at their posts, like insects sucked in by a candle flame.

For three days and nights the fire raged until the whole vast area of three precincts, among the most populated in Rome, had been converted into a fiery sea. The city of Rome was covered with a dense cloud of smoke by day and illumined by lurid flames at night. When the fire came to the banks of the Tiber, the flames suddenly stopped and changed direction. Instead of moving from the Palatine hill into the Forum, where it would again have encountered some resistance from a group of massive stone buildings, it mounted the sirocco wind that set in and turned toward the Esquiline hill, and like a beast licking its prey, began to lick the houses on the lower slope.

The flames had to work harder at the stone buildings on the hills and overcome them one by one, but in the valleys there was no such resistance and the fire could spread effortlessly and joyously, covering the dense labyrinths with a thick pall of flame and smoke. It seemed like the fire was a living thing with a conscious will of its own.

The valley that meandered between the irregular slopes of the Aventine and Coelian hills was a particularly choice tidbit. The twisted stairways, niches and narrow alleys set up a series of draughts. The foundations of the houses were rotten, the walls supported by countless wooden buttresses, dry as kindling. The cellars and lower floors were filled with moldering refuse, rags, and smashed furniture, to say nothing of the store of house fuel in each cellar.

Many of the inhabitants, having waited until the last moment, were caught in the fiery trap. Mothers snatched their little ones to their bosoms and tried to escape over the rooftops. But most of them never made it, for somewhere on the third or fourth floors the wooden stairways gave way under them. Some people jumped through windows to be dashed to death on the glowing street or buried under collapsing walls. The men snatched up as many of their most precious possessions, the tools of their trade or most valuable pieces of merchandise, and fought their way into the street.

The pavements were cluttered with tools and merchandise made of cloth and leather, as well as bundles of sandals and furniture. These not only burst into flame under the showers of sparks, they also prevented the people from escaping, so that those who did manage to get into the open found themselves running like insane things in a circle of flame from which there was no escape. The young, the old, the sick, some running, some crawling, some being carried, collapsed while fleeing. There was no way to know where the next sheet of fire would burst out. People on the upper slopes tried to run down into the valleys; those below tried to make their way to the upper slopes. Wherever they turned, the implacable beast confronted them. Fire just seemed to rain down from heaven and to burst upward from the earth.

Men and women went mad, either with screaming panic or with dumb paralysis, for the fire seemed to develop hypnotic power to draw people into its blazing heart. Some of them might have escaped, but they became victims of a self-destructive panic or of a horror that robbed them of the will to act. Some scurried about insanely with no plan at all. Others sat on their bundles of household goods with faces devoid of all intelligence or feeling, and waited for the destruction to reach them.

Some actually threw themselves into the flames. Women, tearing themselves out of the grips of the men who tried to hold them back, went racing back into houses to try to rescue their little ones. Some merchants and artisans, seeing their life’s accumulation of possessions or the means of their livelihood in the flames, ran into the roaring ovens to perish. Some stood around laughing hysterically, or crying out to the gods or against Caesar, before giving themselves to the fiery death.

Survivors were camping in the streets, for even in places where the fire hadn’t reached, no one dared to stay indoors. It seemed the gods had condemned Rome to a fiery destruction, and they had no way of knowing if their house would be next.

The untouched areas were literally jammed with people, not just freedmen, but with thousands of slaves who weren’t just homeless but without masters as well. Without a place to report to or someone to give them commands, they just wandered aimlessly through the jammed streets. Rumors circulated that Caesar had ordered that Rome be burned so that not one stone would be left on another.


There was no feeling of unity among the people of Rome, being made up of races, tribes, and nations, both civilized and barbaric, from every part of the empire. The slaves in particular, whose lives had been nothing but labor and punishment, had only hatred in their hearts for their masters, and many took this opportunity to help themselves. There was also a vast underworld criminal class, for whom the hour of chaos was the hour of harvest. Its members now swarmed out freely from their hiding places and a wave of criminality followed the wave of fire. The wretched victims who escaped with little bundles of food or household goods weren’t safe in the streets, and countless murders took place, often for just a handful of food. Even the houses of the rich were defenseless.

The “Pax Romana” that kept a world in order collapsed at the heart of the empire.


On the sixth day, the still unexhausted fire surrounded the entire Esquiline hill, and reached the palaces of the aristocracy, including one of Nero’s. Patricians lived on the summit of the Esquiline, among theaters, temples, and ancient monuments.

A frightened Tigellinus sent word to Caesar to return to Rome at once. He called out the Praetorian Guard and had them use battering rams against a ring of buildings to clear a space on the Esquiline. This succeeded in holding the fire back, but not before it destroyed many famous national monuments, including the Temple of the Vestal Virgins. Even the palace that held the masterpieces brought to Rome from Greece was destroyed. Many statues lay in fragments among the fallen and shattered columns. Precious vessels of Corinthian bronze, ancient Greek vases whose sides were adorned with bas-reliefs by the old masters, were now either shapeless masses of metal or heaps of shard. Among the blackened remnants of ivory stools and couches were scattered the ashes of rare manuscripts, silk carpets and hangings imported from Persia and India. And in the midst of this smoking chaos there hung the faint odor of Oriental unguents and perfumes, the immense collection of toilet articles that were the pride of Sabina Poppea.

The belly of Caesar’s house had been ripped open, like the belly of the pig on that festive night in the Agrippa gardens, and its contents scattered abroad.


Caesar finally returned to Rome to find that the fire had indeed dried up the swamp of poverty and ugliness at the foot of the Palatine, but it left the swamp on the farther side of the Esquiline, the Suburra, in all its foulness. At the end of the sixth day, when it seemed the flames had been brought under control, they suddenly broke out anew. This time the place of origin was in the gardens of Tigellinus, which bordered Caesar’s gardens on the side leading toward the Suburra.

Once again mysterious men were seen running through the streets of the slums bordering on the Circus Maximus, throwing blazing torches, soaked in oil and flax, into the houses of the poor. This time the conflagration wasn’t as sudden or as furious, but it was better prepared and more solidly founded. Step by step it proceeded down the slopes of the hill until it reached the cramped homes of the Suburra, where it found an immense accumulation of fuel. It spread swiftly, roaring from street to street, until it joined hands with the fire on the Via Sacra, where the great shops and magazines of the rich merchants were still blazing. Thus the Esquiline hill was surrounded on three sides by an immense sea of fire.

Standing on the summit of a watchtower that had remained unscathed in the central area of the Esquiline, Nero looked down on the capital of his empire transformed into a blazing pit. He could hear the desperate screaming from the trapped population of the Suburra. He could even make out, by the lurid sheen of the flames, tiny individual figures scampering about like poisoned mice. In any direction he looked, there was fire, only fire. Rome was roasting like a sacrificial beast on an altar.

Caesar put on an actor’s robe, covered his face with an actor’s mask, took up his harp and broke into ecstatic song for the benefit of those who were with him, improvising his “Destruction of Troy.”

“Your song is worthy of the model, O Caesar!” said Petronius, indicating the burning city with a wide gesture. “The world will forever remember both.”

12 - Nero

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus became – a bride. He – or she – put on the rose-covered veil of a virgin and went through the long and complicated ceremony of marriage with one of his liberated slaves. This included the blessings of Apollo’s and Aphrodite’s priests and the sacrifice of a suckling pig. And the place of honor among the guests was reserved for Sabina Poppea, his wife.

This wasn’t the first time Nero had gone through such a marriage, in the full presence of the Court, including the council of ministers, the commandant of the Praetorian Guard, and the highest military figures of Rome. Some time before this he’d “married” another man, but on that occasion the other man had been the bride. This launched a jest among the wits of Rome that would no doubt have meant death to repeat, which said “How great would it have been for Rome and the world if Nero’s father had taken such a bride.”

Some people at the second wedding observed that Nero made a better bride than groom, for with his great fleshy bosom he looked more like a heavy widow than an Augustus. His hairdresser also found it easier to arrange his hair in girly ringlets. Indeed it was when Nero was in his manly mood that the hairdresser suffered. No way could the smooth, oily skin, the round flesh and full lips be manipulated into a suggestion of masculinity.

And the feminine effect was heightened whenever Caesar opened his mouth for his mouth, which his flatterers assured him was the noblest ever heard by human ears, was that of a capricious and affected woman.

The court poets recited a collection of excellent odes that said that Aphrodite herself was smitten with envy over the beauties of the “bride.” Of course they had to be careful to include a number of blemishes in the poems, so that the meter and metaphors would not compete with Caesar’s own songs. Petronius, that arbiter of taste and master of obscenity, put everyone, including Tigellinus, to shame with his flattery.

All in all, the spectacle was thoroughly in the spirit of the time, for Rome was worthy of Nero, and Nero was worthy of Rome.

It took a certain degree of resourcefulness and inventiveness to keep Nero in good humor. Chariot races were all well and good, but Nero was easily bored. He’d had his fill of gladiatorial shows and of course he was always the winner in the chariot races. He needed triumphs of a more difficult kind, for as Muses began to push out gladiators and the ringing harp drowned out the drumming of horse’s hoofs, every member of Nero’s entourage was suddenly expected to become an expert in the arts.

Patricians and senators had always thought it beneath a Roman’s dignity to have an opinion on a statue or a poem. But suddenly it was a matter of life and death to be able to speak like professors. So they sent to Athens for the most intelligent slaves and the most admired works of art. Rome became the repository of the treasures of the Greek temples, and the culture of Greece was elevated to the status of a fashionable craze. To be able to quote the Odyssey and the Iliad in the original was now almost indispensable for anyone seeking social distinction.

A plague of poets and reciters broke out in the imperial city, and one might hear classic verses quoted anywhere Romans assembled, in the baths, restaurants and barbershops. And it all stemmed from the master of Rome. Nero wanted to be a poet, therefore every Roman had to be at least a critic of poetry.

In fact, Nero was forever threatening to leave the capital of the empire and to settle in the capital of culture, Athens. He complained that Romans were incapable of appreciating his immortal works. When he appeared in the arena, their enthusiasm, he said, seemed to be lacking in proper warmth. Only the Greeks would understand what his spirit brought to the world. And Nero actually toured the provinces like a strolling player, to win the plaudits of his subjects. When he recited in the arena in predominantly Greek Naples, he was given such a thunderous reception that he complained at the comparative coolness and doltishness of the Romans. He started to talk of a great triumphal round of performances with a climax reserved for Athens.


Unfortunately for Tigellinus, he didn’t have even the slightest rudimentary skills when it came to literary taste. His learned slaves perspired greatly in trying to teach him a few ready phrases, but he could never remember them at the right moment. But Tigellinus had other ways of winning Caesar’s favor. On this day, for example, the commandant of the Praetorian Guard arranged a great banquet in honor of the “bride.” The banquet was to be held at the artificial lake in the gardens of Agrippa.

The banquets Tigellinus arranged put every other form of entertainment to shame. Exotic foods from the farthest corners of the world, game fish and fruit out of season, dishes no one had ever tasted before were Tegellinus’ substitute for literacy. And the banquets were always prepared so lavishly that the remains could be distributed to thousands of citizens in the name of the imperial master. Furthermore, Tigellinus spent a great deal of time subsidizing corn imports in Nero’s name, distributing vast quantities of oil and wine, providing magnificent spectacles, and seeking out the most skillful gladiators and largest herds of wild animals, so that Rome might make merry and applaud Caesar.

Besides arranging banquets, Tigellinus hired many “clients” to bring the cheers of the masses to Nero. So as he passed through the streets of Rome in procession to the banquet, Nero was stopped by a huge delegation of “clients” hired by Tigellinus for the occasion. The people threw themselves before his sella, stretched their hands to him, and babbled hysterically, “Apollo, don’t leave us! What will we do without your music?”

“August Caesar, Rome languishes for the sound of your voice!”

“The gods have given you to us, Apollo! Sing for us!”

Nero was touched by the demonstration. His thick lips settled on a smile as he looked out over the prostrate mass of supplicants. Poppea and his other wives, of both sexes, looked at him imploringly. It seemed that Apollo had been conquered.

But the satisfied smile did not last long, for part of the procession’s path took it through the foul, narrow alleys of the Suburra. It was summer in early July, and the day was hot, the air heavy. The windows of the high apartment houses were black with spectators, who waved veils and kerchiefs at him. But there were no roses or other flowers to counteract the stale, fetid air here. There was no wind on this day, and the foul, standing air enveloped the parade. Caesar’s face became contorted with disgust. The smell of putrefying meat and fish rose thickly from the cellars, mixed with rancid odors from oil, vegetable and vinegar. The hot sun had also done its work on the human bodies, the mattresses in the apartments, and the heaps of garbage outside.

Nero thought about the “Golden House” he wanted to build, a huge edifice to link his palace on the Esquiline with that on the Palatine. Here he would assemble the costliest works of Greek art. He would build a giant amphitheater for the performing arts. It would be greater than anything any Caesar had ever before attempted. But was it to be built over a garbage dump?

The Suburra had to be uprooted. All the narrow, filthy streets of Rome had to be leveled with the ground. A new city had to rise from its ashes, eternalizing his name and filling unborn generations with incomprehension at his achievements. Let the centuries know the inexhaustibility of his talents and his divinity. It was his duty to transmit his inspiration to the world.

His attendants sprinkled him with perfume and dropped precious oils on his skin, but it was all in vain. Nero wanted to retch, and the quivering didn’t stop until he’d been carried into the Agrippa gardens. The sour, sick look on his face warned his courtiers that Nero was in a foul humor, and dread fell on them. Each one trembled for himself and looked for ways of making himself scarce.

Caesar was given to rapid changes of mood, however, and a few minutes after being carried into the riot of colors and the voices of laughter and joy that filled every corner of the gardens, the smile reappeared on his heavy lips and his fleshy jaw was lifted from the womanish bosom.

He perked up even more when he discovered what entertainment Tigellinus had arranged for him. A flotilla of barges covered with thick tapestries, decorated with garlands, and linked to each other with silk ropes floated on the artificial lake. Rows of wooden booths were erected on the lake shore containing the wives and daughters of the emperor’s suite sitting or laying in suggestive poses, a combination of imperial splendor and gross vulgarity particularly suited to the imperial taste.

Crocodiles floated on the surface of the lake, ready to pounce on anyone who should make a false step and fall into the water. For another element in Nero’s favorite amusements was that of danger – to others. Tigellinus knew that Nero would love to see someone tumble off a barge into the waiting jaws of a crocodile, and in any case, it would be fun to see the spectacle of terrified slaves who had to bring the dishes to the barge from their small boats. The reptiles, their appetites whetted by the smell of food, swam after the boats and set them rocking.

The girl dancers who had to perform on narrow ledges running around the barges were pale with terror, and the guests, reclining on couches at their tables, laughed drunkenly at the antics of the slaves and dancers. The laughter rose into a shout of excited merriment when an unhappy girl slipped and fell into the water with a scream. A huge pair of reptilian jaws closed on the white body, and the water was stained red.


The food was rich and greasy. Boat after boat unloaded cargoes of roast white pheasant from remote provinces, huge boiled lobsters holding smaller marine animals in their claws, like shrimp, crays, and starfish. Finally a whole table was transported to Nero’s barge. It contained a pig still in its skin, amid green leaves and miniature bushes. Tiny pigs were laid around the larger animal in sucking poses.

Sabina Poppea half lay and half sat at Nero’s side. She was in an advanced stage of pregnancy and did everything to show it off. Like the animal brought to Caesar’s table, she had her long, heavy breasts uncovered, the nipples painted red to bring out the pallor of her skin. Her brown eyes, cold and motionless, were fixed contemptuously on the distance. Her amber colored hair was woven into thick plaits coiled like a crown on her head. The heavy golden ornaments on her throat, ears, and arms, and the great uplifted curve of her body, suggested the white marble statue of Helen, with whom she identified herself. No muscle quivered on her face. It was as if she, not Nero, were in control of her destiny.

But then Nero lifted up a huge carving knife and slit the belly of the pig, out of which tumbled a mass of tiny sausages, and a sudden flicker of terror passed across Poppea’s eyes. As the guests reached out and grabbed for the delicacies, she had the frightful thought that some day Nero would do to her what he’d done with the pig, plunge a knife into her and scatter her vitals on a table. She shuddered from head to foot.

* * * * *

Afterwards, when the clusters of torches were lighted on the barges and the guests visited the booths on the edge of the lake, Nero remained in the company of his favorites. Tigellinus approached him on bended knee and begged him to sing for the entertainment of the company. Nero categorically refused. His face was clouded again, like when he went through the Suburra earlier.

“No one in Rome loves me,” he exclaimed in a melancholy, womanish voice.

“No one loves you?” cried Tigellinus in horror. “Command me, my Caesar, and at a word I will throw myself to the crocodiles.”

Tigellinus immediately realized he might have just uttered his own death sentence, and all the blood drained from his face.

Fortunately, Nero paid no attention to the offer, much to the disappointment of Petronius. Nero only grimaced sourly with his thick lips, drew down his eyebrows, and let his eyes sink into the surrounding folds of fat.

He said, “If you Romans loved me, you would know what I desire and I wouldn’t have to say it.”

The courtiers looked at each other in bewilderment. They opened and closed their mouths without saying anything, until finally, wrinkling up his eyes even more than before, Nero exclaimed, “Rome stinks!”

The courtiers stared back with consternation. Apparently Nero disliked Rome. They knew what happened to a man Nero disliked. He only had to indicate dislike, had but to lift up his little finger, and a soldier would appear. No instructions were needed. It was enough for Nero to have expressed displeasure. But what in the name of Pluto was to be done if it was Rome that Nero disliked? The courtiers were tongue-tied. Even the quick-witted Petronius was at a loss for words.

Tigellinus was the first to come to.

“Rome would rejoice to go up in flames for your sake, O Caesar. Rome longs to burn for you! Rome will burn for you!”

The fleshy folds retreated from Nero’s face. A spark of triumph lit their watery depths. Nero put his hand heavily on Tigellinus’ shoulder.

“See! This is the only friend I have in Rome!”

This was clearly Tigellinus’ day. He had scored a great victory over his enemies.

Petronius, the craftiest and most gifted of the sycophants, stood off to the side, observing Tigellinus’ triumph. The vicious smile died on his lips. He put on an earnest look, struck a pose, and stretched out his hand to Nero.

“Now I see it! Now I understand! What is Homer’s description of the burning of Troy? For you, O king of poets, the gods have reserved the greatest of all songs of flame. You will be the singer, and Rome, the queen of cities, will by your model!”

Nero rose from his couch, approached Petronius, and kissed him on the mouth.

Petronius shot a triumphant, crooked smile at Tigellinus.

11 - Babylon

Paul’s words to Antonius that, because he saved a soul Jesus would reward him by conferring on him the privilege of sharing his own suffering, sank deep into the new believer’s heart. From that day on he lost all fear of physical pain. He didn’t go out of his way to incur punishment, of course, but neither did he seek to avoid it by dereliction of his faith. And since he was determined to make no secret of his faith, he soon began to be singled out among the slaves of Tigellinus by his odd behavior.

One day a fellow slave, much older than Antonius and a worker in the same stable, incurred the displeasure of his master. An overseer saw that Gloria, one of the master’s favorite horses, had been too closely tied by the tail so that it became restless and unmanageable. The offender, Colon, a Corinthian slave, was led out to be punished.

Now there was a certain system of punishing slaves. The younger ones, capable of many years of service, were handled with care. They suffered, but not in a way that would make them unfit for service. With an old slave, it didn’t matter if his bones were broken and he was crippled for the few remaining years of his life. So Colon was stripped of his sackcloth shirt, the iron collar was closed around his neck, and the powerful slave with the flagrum, the massive, bone-breaking whip, was summoned.

Then something happened that was never heard of before. Antonius, trembling and covered with sweat, came running, and threw himself at the overseer’s feet. He was the guilty one, he declared. It was he who tied the knot too tightly and too high on Gloria’s tail. He was the one who ought to be punished.

It didn’t quite work out the way he’d hoped, for the puzzled overseer decided to punish both slaves, so Colon’s bones were broken and Antonius’ flesh was cut with the light lash. But this was the queer behavior that attracted attention to Antonius.


Antonius was not only young, and a willing worker, he was also well-built, with a powerful chest, narrow hips and powerful thighs. So he was often coupled with healthy slave women to bear a strong, new generation of slaves. He’d obeyed without question with no concern over who the woman was and without the slightest interest in the result of the coupling. Slaves weren’t allowed to have “families.”

But now it began to be noticed that Antonius was failing in his duty as a breeder and that he wouldn’t couple when admitted to a slave woman. But this wasn’t the worst of it. After being punished several times for his dereliction, Antonius did attach himself to a certain slave woman, but only to her. He expressed his determination to know who his children were and he acted as if he had a right to create a family of his own. When the woman gave birth, Antonius asserted that he was the father, and on several occasions he was caught in secret meetings with his mate, who brought the child out for him to see.

Not that this was the first time some slave had shown this tendency to exclusive preference and had made the attempt to build up a family relationship. But the application of the whip, or even the threat of it, had been enough to cure them of such notions. The child would also be taken away from the offending woman and given to another for nursing. Thus most mothers forgot who their offspring were and didn’t even know who they were nursing in the general confusion of the slave quarters.

Antonius’ obstinacy in the face of the lash was a direct and dangerous threat to the whole system. It started to affect other slaves and their breeding partners. The privilege of family was only for freedmen, and for slaves to attempt such a thing was nothing short of rebellion.

After a while it was noticed that the slaves taking part in this conspiracy had other practices in common. They seemed to have created a sort of brotherhood with a system of secret signs used to reveal themselves to each other. They might make certain gestures, or they might draw a rough symbol of a fish or an anchor on the ground.

This, then, was no accident. It was the manifestation of a cult.

Furthermore, it became known that many of the suspected slaves met together in the evenings, either in the courtyard or in the slave quarters, sang strange songs and uttered strange names. Most amazing, they were sometimes caught exchanging a kiss of greeting. Along with these bewildering and irritating manifestations of secrecy, there was a perceptible downturn in the number of pregnancies. Sometimes a couple that had been thrown together for breeding purposes was caught kneeling side by side and murmuring the name of a secret god by the name of Christ.

Inevitably these things were found to be connected with the Jews, those people who were the butt of Roman satire for wasting one day in seven by closing their shops and assembling in their synagogues. But now, “the day of the Jews” seemed to have crept into Tigellinus’ household in some incomprehensible manner. Every week on that day certain slaves were missing, and many of those who were in their quarters evaded their tasks and went about murmuring the name of Christ under their breath.

The attempt to put down this unprecedented form of revolt began with a series of scourgings. This had no affect. The punishment was received without complaint, and the slaves went on working quite faithfully at their daily tasks. But on the seventh day the same laziness manifested itself, the same disappearances took place, and throughout the week there was the same avoidance of the indiscriminate couplings.

This infection wasn’t peculiar to the slaves of Tigellinus’ household, nor even to just the slave class. Rome suddenly woke up to the fact that “the day of the Jews” had taken hold of great numbers of slaves and soldiers. Every seventh day there was a general movement toward the Jewish quarter in the Trans-Tiber, where slaves and soldiers were seen loitering around the synagogues.

It was one thing for freedmen and women to visit the synagogues; this had always gone on. But these were whole groups of slaves slipping away from their work on “the day of the Jews” and mingling with soldiers on the bridges leading to the Jewish quarter.

Upon investigation, it was discovered that this new, more earnest, and more malevolent form of Oriental fanaticism was a particular sect called “Christians,” who derived their name from a certain Jew criminal, Chrestus, who was put to death by Pontius Pilate in Jerusalem. According to the sect’s superstitions, this Chrestus had risen from the dead and become the liberator of the Jews. Anyone who joined the sect, Jew or non-Jew, accepted the unclean practices and base beliefs of the Jews as their own.

Even though legal, the Jewish religion had never enjoyed the respect of the Roman world. The masses made it the butt of a special type of humor, and aristocrats and philosophers despised it. Even their “clients”, who spent their days gossiping in the baths or in the porticoes of the Campus Martius, aped their employers and toadied to the plebs by their attacks on the Jews. Pamphleteers, taking their cue from Apion the Egyptian slanderer, invented the most fantastic stories regarding the nature and appearance of the Jewish God. Whatever was repulsive and degrading in the minds of the mockers they attributed to the Jewish religion. They were incapable of forming even the faintest conception of the ethical contents of Judaism.

And now that this “Christian” sect had come out of the Jewish religion, all the ignorant spitefulness and obscenity was transferred to them. But there was a tone of malevolence in the new attack that had previously been absent. As long as the Jewish religion was confined to the Jewish quarter, it was simply derided as a grotesque curiosity. But as soon as it stepped across the threshold of the synagogue and into the “households” in its new “Christian” form, it ceased to be merely grotesque and became sinister. It mattered little in Rome if an occasional freedman chose to make himself absurd by sneaking into a synagogue to hear a Jewish preacher, or even imitate the observance of the seventh day. But it was intolerable that the indulgence of Roman law should be exploited by the Jews to spread a theory of equality and liberation among the slaves in the name of this Chrestus. What else could this be called but revolt?

The fact was that Christian agitation had penetrated to countless households, disturbing the relationship between slave and lord, encouraging a fantastic conceit among the former and limiting the authority of the latter. The very speed with which the agitation was spreading indicated, moreover, that in the case of Chrestus the Romans were confronted with a demonic manifestation of power that they interpreted according to their own hideous immorality. As the number of Christians grew, the slanders spread about them by the pamphleteers became correspondingly more horrible.

* * * * *

Vestian Suberus was a typical “client.” Born a slave in one of the provinces, he won the favor of his master with flattery and unnatural vice as a youth. He was set free, adopted, and then made the heir of his owner, who died of poisoning shortly afterwards. Suberus sold the estate and moved to Rome.

Driven by his ambition for a political career, he hid his servile origin with a set of false documents and sought to bribe his way into an official appointment. He kept a rich home, bought handsome slaves, entertained lavishly, and bought frequent gifts for Caesar’s favorites. He also hired a claque of clients and in every other way conducted himself like a patrician. But he underestimated the ferocious competition of the capital. He not only spent his fortune in the hunt for office but went into debt and almost became a slave again. Somehow he managed to avoid that and was left with two hungry, half naked slaves. Finally he lost even these two at dice.

He moved with his wife, whom he treated like a slave, into the top floor of a foul half-ruined apartment house in the Suburra. He had no children to burden him, for he threw any that were borne to him into the gutter or into the Cloaca Maxima.

He did, however, mange to save his “toga,” the emblem of his status as a freedman, and used it to find employment as a client with a rich patrician. Early each morning he put on his toga, which his wife kept carefully in repair, and hurried to his lord’s house to wait with the other clients to form part of the procession that accompanied him through the streets. For this he received six to ten sesterces a day, depending on the employer’s mood, and an occasional length of cloth for a toga. He was also entitled to the baths and spectacles as a freedman and to the daily quota of bread and wine distributed occasionally by Caesar or by some patrician currying favor with the mob.

Suberus spent much of his time in the amphitheater, where fights between gladiators or between condemned criminals and wild beasts often went on for days at a stretch. It wasn’t the sight of disemboweled men that drew him there; his eyes were fixed on the elderly women, matrons and widows who found a last thrill for their jaded nerves and shriveled flesh in the combats. Nor was he alone in this quest. A host of charlatans and ruffians frequented the arenas in the hope of attaching themselves to one of the wealthy female spectators. But even here, Suberus couldn’t sustain the competition. In vain did he whisper passionate words into unresponsive and sometimes literally deaf ears.

Vestian Suberus was no longer young. His eyes were rimmed with red, his cheeks puffed up, his limbs flaccid. He moved slowly, his belly sagging under his toga. All day long he watched younger men stalk the matron he was stalking and he knew he didn’t stand a chance. Late in the afternoon, weary with the fruitless vigil, he would go to a free bath. Then he would remember that there was a hungry wife waiting for him at home, a wife who was quite capable of emptying the chamber pot on his head if he came home too late. So he would turn toward the Suburra, spend a few sesterces on a piece of putrefying meat, and bring it home for supper.


One day Suberus sat before the great façade of the Baths of Agrippa in the Campus Martius in the company of a handful of “freedmen” like himself, the scourings of the city. The conversation turned, as it did so often, to the barbarous Oriental cult of the Christians that was making such inroads among the slaves.

“And do you know what they do at their mysterious meetings in the synagogues?” Suberus was saying, repeating what he’d heard in his employer’s domus the day before. “They bring in an infant, cover it with flour, make a gash on its body, and let the blood run into a beaker. Everyone sips the blood and smears their privates with it. It’s how they unify themselves with their god.”

“No, no,” said another idler. “That’s not the Christians. It’s the Jews who do that. They have a Temple in Jerusalem with a place that only their High Priest can enter once a year. For a whole year they keep a Greek in that room, and push food in there for him to eat. At the end of the year, the High Priest kills the Greek, then passes out the flesh to be eaten. I heard this from Apion when he was here in Rome.”

The speaker was a learned freedman who wrote pamphlets for his employer and painted posters that were put up at night on the walls of the Forum buildings.

“The Jews worship an ass’s head that they keep in the Temple,” added a third.

“The Christians do that too.”

Not to be outdone, Suberus said, “Christians, Jews, they’re all the same. They have all the same superstitions and some new ones besides, worse than the old. You know what they do at their secret meetings, men and women both? They strip themselves and –“ here Suberus leaned over and whispered in his neighbor’s ear, not because he was ashamed to say it aloud, but because he knew it would titillate the curiosity of the others.

His neighbor burst into laughter.

“You know what the worst thing is?” cried one. “I heard that neither Christians nor Jews ever reject a child, even a cripple! They raise them all. It’s one of the reasons they’re crowding us out of the city.”

“They’re not all like that,” said one. “I know some Jews who have businesses here on the Campus. They dress like Romans and talk like Romans, and even go to the amphitheaters and circuses. They wouldn’t do such things.”

“Oh sure, some of them are civilized; they’ve learned some of our manners. I have Jewish friends, and they’re just as good as we are. But the poor Jews over there,” he said as he jerked his thumb toward the Trans-Tiber region, “what they do in the secret synagogues, homes and courtyards! Have you ever been in the Jewish quarter when they observe their seventh day? What a smell! Nothing but onions, garlic, and sour wine. It’s enough to poison you. And who knows what goes on behind those curtains, by the light of their lamps and candles? I can believe just about anything of them.

“And mark this. The Christians are always among the poorest Jews, fanatical foreigners who keep their Asian ritual as if they were still at home in Judea.”

“It’s a wonder Caesar’s tolerated this evil danger so long,” said the pamphleteer, earnestly. “You know what? I’m going to write a new pamphlet on this very subject, and read it out in the Forum and in the baths, for anyone to hear. I tell you, Rome must be saved from the Jews, and soon, or it’ll be too late.”

* * * * *

Spring was approaching on light, fresh wings. First a mild wind blew from the south, dissolving the veil of gray from the face of heaven. Then the earth became young with a green blossoming. Willows shook in the little garden of the house of Hermas, out on the Via Appia, among the mausoleums of the great, not far from the Jewish quarter. Paul’s congregation assembled there now that he, Aquila and Priscilla were gone, and Hermas had been placed in charge.

Old Simon Peter was there standing in a ring of the faithful to tell them, as he always did, stories of the time he served Messiah. His heart was heavy for whenever spring came he remembered the sufferings of the lord. But this spring he was even sadder than normal, for he was troubled with deep forebodings, as if his spirit was warning him of dread trials about to descend on the congregation of Rome.

This morning he told them about the time he and his brother Andrew were mending their fishing net by the bright shore of Kineret in the homeland when they saw their savior approaching. He beckoned to them with his right hand, saying, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” They followed him from that moment on. And here was old Simon, still a fisherman, and they of the congregation were God’s fish.

He also told them of that spring day when out of fear he watched the lord from behind a wall in that narrow little street bearing the cross on which he was to die. The lord’s white robe was blood-spattered and streaked with the sweat of his anguish.

“Jesus did not put the cup away from his lips, and so every believer must be prepared to drain it again and to bear his cross and to let his blood be shed.”

Then he spoke of the frightful day approaching that would herald the second coming.

“The day of the lord will come like a thief in the night. The heavens will dissolve with fire, and the foundations of the earth will melt! Beloved brothers! Prepare for that day, and be diligent to be found faultless, that peace may be with you. Be ready for the time of the great witnessing, when you will testify for the lord!”

Evening came, and the shadows fell on the breathless group of men, women and children clustered under the hanging willow branches. When Simon’s voice ceased, his listeners were afraid to move. It was as though the dread day was about to dawn and even a whispered word would hasten its coming.

10 - With Jews a Jew

Paul’s liberation was the beginning of a new dedication. That morning he felt like an eagle released from a cage. There was not a moment to lose. The congregations of Ephesus and nearby cities were waiting for him. He hadn’t yet been to Laodicea and Colossae, and he’d written to Philemon to prepare a lodging for him. And what about his beloved Galatians and Philippians, who were so faithful? Hundreds of faithful soldiers were waiting for him.

Paul immediately assembled all his workers: Timothy, Mark, Luke, Priscilla and Aquila. A great new enterprise was to be launched, for Paul had learned that a sect of false and narrow pietists had risen in Asia Minor that sought to convert the faith of Christ into a rigid Nazarite and ascetic discipline, a variety of Hassidism. They rejected the world altogether, denied themselves wives, and did nothing but fast and pray in solitude, transforming the universal appeal of the faith into a spiritual privilege of a handful of adepts. To Paul this new tendency in the congregations was even more dangerous than the assault of the Gnostics. He felt that only his intervention among the congregations could check the tide of the wild pietists, and he needed all the help he could get.

Titus was already in Crete, and Aquila and Priscilla were about to leave for Ephesus. Timothy would follow later to help them strengthen the congregation, choose leaders, and purify the spirit. But first Timothy had another task to perform.

Paul was sending him to Jerusalem with a letter to the congregation there. With the martyrdom of James, Paul would send an offer of peace; an attempt to make whole what had been split, to reassert the common bond of blood.

And so, ready to leave Italy from the port of Puteoli, Paul dictates his letter to the Hebrews.

In the letter Paul refers back to what he learned at the feet of Gamaliel. He reviews the Torah from Genesis on, weaving quotations from it and the prophets into the letter, making use of the methods he learned in the school of his youth, interpreting the verses according to the tradition of the Pharisees. The tone of the letter is Jewish. No one but a pious Jew who had never departed from the tenets of the traditional faith could have written it. He doesn’t use the second person, but the plural first: not “you,” but “we.” He is no longer at odds with his brothers. He does not abrogate the Torah. On the contrary, it is through the power of the Torah of Moses that he would win them to Christ.

He addresses himself to their imagination and fantasy. He knows what sanctity attaches in the mind of Jews to the High Priesthood, and he would make an eternal priest of Christ. Christ is descended in the flesh from Abraham himself.

“He didn’t take on himself the nature of angels, but the nature of Abraham. Therefore it was fitting for him to be the equal of his brother in all things, that he might be a compassionate and faithful High Priest before God, who forgives the sins of the people.”

“For as he alone suffered so he is able to help others who are tried in him.”

He speaks tenderly of the fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as well as of Moses and the prophets, and even of the Torah. He adorns the letter throughout with quotes from the Torah.

“For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel. . . . I will give my Torah in their midst, and I will write it on their hearts, and they will be my people and I will be their God.”

He sees Jesus Christ as the fulfillment of the sacrifice. He compares him to the Holy of Holies in the Temple, but all Jews enter it, not just the High Priest.

Thus he speaks, “a Jew to Jews.” And like a prophet of consolation he evokes the great and glowing hope beyond the night of trial, terror, and anguish. He brings the Jews to Christ, not by threats and gloomy forebodings as he has done before, but by putting the glory of the High Priest’s robes on Christ, the robes he wears on the Day of Atonement when he enters the Holy of Holies to win forgiveness and reconciliation for the Jews.

“Jesus Christ has come in order to be a High Priest in the good things to come, by a greater and more perfect sanctuary, not made by human hands. Neither by the blood of bulls and goats, and the ashes of a heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifies us for the purity of the flesh, how much more shall we be sanctified by the blood of Jesus Christ, who through the Spirit offers himself without spot to God? How much more shall we be sanctified, and purged from dead works, to serve the living God?”

Toward the end of the letter Paul adds, “Whoever he loves, he disciplines,” and he reminds his fellow Jews of the saying of Hillel, “Follow peace and holiness with all men, without which no man shall see the Lord.”

He exhorts them to renewed observance of the Abrahamic practice of hospitality.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for some have thereby entertained angels unaware,” an allusion, striking deep into Jewish memory, of the encounter between Abraham and the angels of God.

He tells the people of Jerusalem of his longing to see them again and implores them to pray to God that he might be “given to them” speedily. He ends the letter with the news of his liberation. He doesn’t do this in open language, but rather indirectly, knowing he will be understood.

“Know that our brother Timothy has been set at liberty,” he writes.

But he knew they were well aware of the saying of the Pharisees, “That which the rabbi is, the pupil is also.” If Paul the teacher was imprisoned, so was his pupil; and when Paul was set free, so was his pupil.

Having finished the letter, Paul entrusted it to Timothy, who had learned the holy language in his childhood days, and Timothy set out for Jerusalem. Then Paul gathered his companions about him and took ship for Asia Minor.

09 - Sabina Poppea

Sabina Poppea was the granddaughter of Sabinus Poppeus, a Roman governor of many provinces and much honored by Caesar. Poppea’s mother had been a famous beauty of whom many countless odes had been written by the poets of her time. Poppea inherited her mother’s stately figure, rosy, luminous skin, and her magnificent crown of copper colored hair, which her slave hairdressers had a special way of shaping in cunningly wrought waves and hollows that caught and hid the sunlight in a strange translucent play.

There were two features of Poppea that made men crazy and drove women into paroxysms of jealousy. Those were her slender, towering throat and her dazzling skin. She heightened the effect of the latter by constantly bathing in donkey’s milk and by the use of exotic oils and balsams prepared and applied by a large staff of experts.

As a teenager, Poppea married and disposed of two husbands and inherited a huge fortune from each. Her wealth, added to her beauty, made her the most famous and most desired woman in the imperial court.

Poppea’s ambition was every bit as magnificent as her beauty. She aspired to be the wife of Caesar, not in name alone, but in power as well. So the first time she met him, she showed that she was not easily won, although she knew she’d overwhelmed him with her beauty. She played, she encouraged, she retreated. She flirted with Otto, the handsome young prince, right in Caesar’s presence. And she let Caesar understand that if he wanted her for a wife, he’d have to rid himself of his mother, the ambitious and scheming Agrippina. She even ridiculed him for remaining tied to his mother’s apron strings and for compromising his dignity. She threatened to leave Rome, and go to some distant province, so that she wouldn’t have to see his humiliation. In the end she had her way, and Nero put his mother to death.

But even then the wedding didn’t happen right away. Even though Seneca consented to the suggestion that Nero divorce his wife, to whom he owed his throne, old Burrus, the commander of the Praetorian Guard, couldn’t permit Nero to cast away Octavia, the daughter of Claudius and granddaughter of the mighty Augustus. Poppea conspired with Tigellinus and Burrus was poisoned.

Nero then divorced Octavia, which caused a storm of resentment among the Romans, who respected Octavia as the representative of the glorious Julian line. And Seneca moved to his country estate to dedicate whatever remained of his life to his studies and to the famous moralistic letters he wrote to his friends. Faenius Rufus and the infamous Tigellinus took over the reins of government.

Banishing Octavia was not enough and Poppea didn’t rest until she sent Octavia into that banishment from which there is no return. Twelve days later, Poppea came to the palace as Nero’s wife, accompanied by her five hundred donkeys, the providers of her baths.

One of the odd things about Poppea was that she had a queer inclination toward monotheism, and even flirted with the Jewish God of Jerusalem. Roman matrons in general were currently under the influence of the priests of Isis, who were as numerous in Rome as in their native Egypt. And this ordinariness was precisely why Poppea attached herself to the Palestinian deity. For her it was a mark of distinction, like her baths of donkey’s milk and her exotic perfumes. She got a perverse pleasure from her attachment to the universally despised monotheism of the Jews.

Not that she had any intention of actually making the Jewish God the dominant principle of her life, of course, or to accept any moral responsibility. Poppea had only one worship, her own beauty, and one morality, her dominion over Caesar. Her body was her temple, and she the high priestess. She prayed to her white skin, her large, almond-colored eyes and her copper-colored hair. She would rather die before these objects of adoration lost their magic. Her flirtation with the Jewish God was only an expression of her boredom.

There was enough of it, though, to allow certain Jews to exploit it for the benefit of some of the prisoners who rotted in Caesar’s prisons.


One day, a Jewish actor of Rome brought a young aristocrat of Jerusalem, a member of the priesthood, to Sabina Poppea. The young man had a thorough and worldly education. He spoke excellent Greek, was acquainted with Greek literature, and had taken to writing history. He’d asked for the introduction in order to plead for three priests who’d been sent to Rome as prisoners by the Proconsul Felix. His elegant speech, sprinkled with many quotes, greatly impressed her, and she decided that she could learn everything about the mysteries of the Jewish God and the services in His famous Temple from this man. So she took care of the business he’d asked, and began peppering him with questions about life after death, a known feature of the Jewish religion.

The young man confirmed that the Jews believed that each person would rise from the dead in the same form he had in life. The thought that she could arrange to be resurrected in the beauty and charm she alone possessed deeply interested Poppea. So she decided it would be a good idea to please the Jewish God. She felt she’d gotten off to a good start by her intervention on behalf of the three priests. She also saw to it that the young aristocrat, whose name was Josephus, not leave the palace empty-handed. She made a mental note to issue instructions that her body not be burned when she died. And she decided to obtain a couple of Jewish priests to form part of her suite and accompany her, with her other attendants, when she passed through the streets of Rome.

But that was about as far as she could go. It just wasn’t her style to be bound up with obligations, penalties, or discipline of any kind. Her dream was to become the “Helen of Rome,” with a temple of her own, in which worshippers would offer sacrifice after her death. She certainly couldn’t openly ally herself with a people who were universally ridiculed in the theaters and circuses and were the butt of every satirist and pamphleteer, who were said to worship an ass’s head and to waste one day of every seven in meaningless idleness, and who refused to touch pork.

But she liked the part about resurrection, and so whatever service she could render to this God, without too much effort, she would do. There was the freeing of the priests, the presents to the visitor, and the occasional favors to the Jews, such as purchasing cosmetics and balsams from the Jewish women. What more could be expected of her?


On another day, two Jewish balsam sellers stood before the great lady as she sat back luxuriously on her couch. Her white skin filled the room with a subdued luster, overlaid by the glow of her hair. Countless vases and phials, of bronze, silver and glass, filled with the essence of Oriental plants were ranged about her. The instruments of her toilet, scissors, tweezers, and files of every shape, lay on a table, while a row of hair curlers glowed in a brazier. A staff of naked slaves attended her under the direction of her chief masseuse. The utmost care had to be taken to cause her no physical pain while attending to her beauty. The slightest twinge brought immediate retribution, usually in the form of glowing tweezers applied to the skin of the clumsy slave. And if Poppea happened to be in a less gracious humor, she might condemn the sinner to the crocodiles.

While some of the slaves worked on her hair, weaving it strand by strand into cunning folds, others applied layer after layer of salve on the white skin, then removed it and poured on precious oil. One specialist was occupied with Poppea’s eyebrows, another with her breasts, and others with her fingernails and toenails. Egyptian slaves behind curtains produced soft music. Other slaves laid out tunics, veils, and sandals that Poppea would wear to that night’s banquet.

Suddenly, Poppea’s face clouded over, and her delicate rose-white face turned to crimson. She reached over and thrust the prongs of a pair of tweezers into the breast of the slave who was manipulating her eyebrows. Without a word, she closed the tweezers with all her strength. The slave turned white, but uttered no sound. Her knees gave way, and she fell to the floor. Two African slaves came forward and carried her away. Poppea didn’t even look around. She only signaled to the two Jewish women to speak.

“Great lady!” said one. “This oil I bring you today is pressed from a secret plant that grows only in one part of the world, the wilderness of our native Judea. Only our priests know the secret of extracting its essence. One drop of this oil, mixed with salve, brings a sunlight brightness to the skin. There is not a queen anywhere in the world to whom this oil has been offered before. Today, for the first time, we received a few drops direct from Jerusalem. I mixed it with salve and I bring it as a gift to our great lady.”

The speaker, Dark Hannah, who was known to many Roman matrons, bowed low before Poppea.

Then her companion spoke, “And I have brought you O Empress, a balsam pressed out of a cactus plant that grows in our land. The cactus is as hard as granite, but it cannot be ground, for in grinding it loses its virtue. It must be beaten softly for three months, until the oil comes out on its own. The oil is called Helbonah, and it is treasured more than precious stones. Queen Bernice is the only one who has had the use of it till now, and she had it only in tiny measure. We had the cactus sent to us from the Holy City, and we beat it for three months.”

Poppea signaled to her slaves, who took the phials from the women.

“Try them out,” she commanded.

A drop from each phial was poured into a slave’s hand, which was rubbed and warmed, to bring out the aroma of the salves. Then the hand of each slave in turn was brought under Poppea’s nose. She seemed pleased.

She ordered that the Helbonah be applied to her skin at once, and while she was being thus administered to, the Jewish women took courage and bowed again. Stretching themselves in the manner of slaves was forbidden by their religion, so they merely inclined their heads, and bowed from the waist down.

Dark Hannah spoke, “Everywhere in Rome and throughout the world the great lady’s graciousness and goodness is spoken of as much as the beauty that has won Caesar’s heart. Loveliest of women, you who has the key to Caesar’s heart, we come before you to beg your clemency on behalf of a holy man, a messenger of God, who has been held prisoner in Rome for two years. The man is innocent of any crime and has committed nothing against the laws of Caesar or against the laws of our God.”

“Why was he brought to Rome, then?” asked Poppea.

“Great lady! The High Priest placed him under arrest for believing that the dead rise again. The priests do not believe in the resurrection, but all our rabbis do.”

“Why wasn’t the man judged in Judea, according to the laws of the land?” asked Poppea. “Why was he sent to Rome?”

“The man is a Roman citizen, and he appealed to Caesar. His name is Paul, and he is an apostle of Jesus Christ.”

Poppea paused. This was interesting. A Roman citizen had appealed to Caesar and had been kept in chains for two years without a hearing. Two years! Just because Caesar was too busy singing his own poems to his own music.


Poppea was the only person in Rome who could dare to speak the truth to Nero, and later she brought up the case to him.

“Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius,” she said, “considered it a point of honor to try those who appealed to them in person. But this man has waited two years for justice, and my Caesar has done nothing for him.”

Thus was Paul’s appeal to Caesar finally answered. Well, not by Caesar himself, for he couldn’t tear himself away from his more important occupations despite Poppea’s reproach. A deputy heard the case in the palace of justice on the Forum.


Every lawyer brought “clients” to a trial with him to applaud his words in an attempt to influence the judges. These claques might consist of a regular group of clients or of men hired for the occasion, and they usually filled the hall. But Paul had no lawyer. So on this day, the hall was empty. Besides Paul and Caesar’s deputy, there were two advisers and secretaries.

Since the High Priest had not only failed to send a formal accuser to the trial, or even advise any Jews in Rome about Paul’s crime, the deputy’s only source of information was the report submitted by the one-time procurator, Festus. So Paul defended himself exactly as he’d done before Felix, Festus, and Agrippa.

He’d never offended against the laws of Rome or those of the Jewish faith, a faith that was sanctioned and protected by the Roman Empire. “But this I confess. I serve the God of my fathers according to the ways of my sect. I believe all that is written in the Torah and in the prophets.”

Then he added, “The only difference between them and us is that we say that Christ has already come. As to the resurrection, my sect agrees with the learned men and lawgivers of Israel. They too believe the dead will rise from their graves.

“It’s only the Sadducee sect that has persecuted me. The Pharisees in the Sanhedrin found no fault with me, neither did King Agrippa when I defended myself before him in Caesarea. King Agrippa declared me innocent, and he said to Festus that I might have gone free. But I’d already appealed to Caesar by then.”

The tribune acting as Caesar’s deputy that day had a great contempt and disgust at the mention of the barbaric cult of the Jews. He also regarded Paul as a maniac, much like Festus had. And he felt that it was a great defect in the Romans to have extended the tolerance of their laws to the Jewish faith and to have encouraged the follies of a cult that preached a resurrection, a Christ, and destructive practices that he knew were slowly penetrating into the homes of the Romans by way of the matrons of the city.

But the law was the law. It was only his job to administer it. So that same morning Paul was set free.

For nearly five years he’d been a prisoner in chains. Now his dispute with the Jews was at an end.

08 - As A Beloved Brother

After he delivered the child into safekeeping, Antonius found himself incapable of returning to his master. The exaltation that had carried him started to ebb away, and he was once again seized with terror at the thought of what he’d done. In committing this first exercise of free will, he had dared to destroy the huge discipline that had governed him since the day he was born. His faith was too young to provide him with the confidence of experience. He’d broken with ancient custom and deep-seated habit, but he didn’t have a new custom and a new habit to replace them. He wandered through the streets and when evening came, he found himself in the Suburra.

The Suburra was a low lying area between two hills and was the refuge of Rome’s human debris, her poor and sick, criminals and escaped slaves. It lay near the Forum and the elegant Via Sacra, and was, in a sense, the human Cloaca Maxima, the drainage of Rome’s misery, crime, and disease. The streets were narrower here than in any other part of Rome. The tall houses shut out the sky and passages led from house to house, creating a vast, impenetrable labyrinth, with caves, niches and secret places. The lowest dregs of society swarmed like moles in the underground of the Suburra. The diseases they brought flourished in the dirt and stench of their refuge. Very rarely did a ray of sunlight penetrate to the narrow streets, and the earth underfoot was damp, for when rain fell it didn’t drain away but soaked into the soil and accumulated in the cellars.

At night the district was extremely perilous. Murder and robbery lurked in the darkness. The houses, built of cheap material, were dilapidated, and fragments of roofs and walls tumbled into the street. The lower floors were supported with flying buttresses, under which the “merchants” kept their stores. The top floors were often nothing but gaping ruins, where families lived like wild animals in the midst of exposed rafters and heaps of rubble and brick.

The police dared not venture into the Suburra at night, and an escaped slave found it easy to hide there indefinitely if he found the means of sustenance. And a Roman slave had learned to live on very little, on decaying vegetables and occasional crusts. Sometimes escaped slaves formed little bands. They would send out scouts to signal the approach of the carts rolling in from the countryside before dawn. A regular assault would take place and masses of provisions of grain, fruit, and even sides of beef, would be taken away.

Antonius knew of the Suburra and its hiding places, so that night he found a niche in a cellar where six other slaves also made their home. When Antonius entered, they neither welcomed him nor rejected him. They didn’t even interrupt their conversation, which consisted mostly of gross jests and insults.

After a while they turned their attention to the newcomer. They called him a few names, such as “Mercury’s messenger,” the good news bringer, the messenger of Fortuna, and carrier of the horn of plenty. They also addressed him as Nero’s cupbearer. Then they came up to him and searched his clothes to see if he had any money. But they found nothing on him but his robe of sackcloth, so they turned away and picked up their conversation.

“If the guards catch me,” said one, “I’ll say I’m a murderer. Then they’ll throw me to the beasts. That’s better than being a slave.”

“Me too. I know what’ll happen if I go back to my master. I’ll be killed and quartered and given to the fish in the pool. Why shouldn’t I amuse people in the arena, instead?”

“What do you care who eats you, fool, the fish or the beasts?”

“Maybe so. But I’ll tell you what. Whoever catches me won’t have it easy. A dozen lives for mine, I say.”

“The same for all of us. I keep my sesterce tied around my neck, for Charon.”

“You’d do better to spend it on wine as long as you can drink. Don’t you know the old boatman takes no slaves on his ferry? Slaves must stay on this side of the Styx, so they can be reborn as animals.”

A voice came from the corner. “Slaves have no gods.”

“True. In our domus the slaves are put out before the sacrifice. They say Apollo is offended when a slave is allowed in the temple.”

“I know a god who came down to earth and suffered the death of a slave to redeem all men from sin,” called out Antonius.

Amid laughter, several voices answered, “A god who died like a slave? What kind of god is that?”

“He’s the god of all men and knows no difference between slave and free. All who believe in him are brothers.”

“Slaves, too?”

“Slaves too. Those of us who believe in him sit at the same table in a common bond of love. We all become one in him.”

“Even slaves, you say?”

“Slaves and freedmen become brothers in him.”

“Then what are you doing here with us?” asked a mocking voice. “Why don’t you go to your brothers?”

Antonius thought about this. Why didn’t he go to his brothers, and hide among them?

“Well said,” he answered, at last. “Tomorrow I’ll go to my brothers. I know one who will receive me.”

“Tell us, who are these brothers, who will hide slaves from their masters?”

“My brothers are Christians. Each one who believes in this god calls himself a Christian.”

“Christian?” someone repeated. “What’s the name of the god who makes all men brothers?”

“Jesus Christ.”

One of the men came closer to Antonius.

“Did you say Jesus Christ?”

In the darkness Antonius could just make out a wild, hairy face and two swollen red eyes. A hand, heavy and shapeless, like the paw of some primitive beast, fell on his shoulder.

“I know that name.”

“Where did you hear it?”

“In the house of my master, Philemon, in Colossae.”

“Was your master a Christian?”

“Yes. A man came to our city and told my master of the new god, and my master was baptized.”

“And yet you ran away from him. Was he harsh?”

“No! I stole money from him and ran away to Rome. I always dreamed of being a freedman. Now I live in this hole, and I’m scared to death to leave. You know what they’ll do if they catch me.”

“Your master will forgive you.”

“What? A master forgive a slave for stealing? Never. He’ll cut my hand off.”

“But if your master is a Christian he’ll forgive you, I say. The God of the Christians says we must forgive each other just like He forgives us.”

“No!” said the other, obstinately. “A thieving slave is not forgiven.”

“Christ forgives all who pray to him. And your master will forgive you and take you back.”

“I’m not a Christian.”

“You will become one.”

“I can’t be a Christian. I’m a runaway slave and a thief.”

“Anyone can become a Christian. Christ accepts all who come to him.”

The man’s voice changed. “I know. I just can’t bring myself to do it. I would have gone out to find the Christians already if I wasn’t so afraid of being recognized.”

“Christ sent me to you. Tomorrow I’ll take you to Christ’s messenger.”

* * * * *

Before dawn the next morning, two slaves appeared before Paul’s house on the Aventine hill. One of them was ragged and filthy, his feet caked with mud, his hair falling wildly over his face, and his eyes timid. The other, younger, cleaner, and his sackcloth still whole, was surer of himself. Timothy hadn’t met Antonius, so when he came to the door and asked them who they were, they simply told him they were slaves who’d escaped from their masters. Antonius said he was a Christian and he told the story of why he escaped from his master. Onesimus, hearing Antonius’ confession, told the story of his crime and his escape from Colossae.

The soldier on guard that morning was a brother Christian, so Timothy brought Antonius and Onesimus in. Paul recognized the stable boy he’d brought into the faith, but then he amazed the other man by describing Philemon, the very master Onesimus had fled from. Paul asked Timothy to wash Onesimus, feed and clothe him, and take him to Priscilla.

Once that was done, Antonius told Paul of his “crime” of refusing to throw the infant into the Cloaca Maxima, his flight from his master, his meeting Onesimus, and his decision to seek the counsel and aid of the apostle.

Paul listened to the end, then kissed the young slave, and said, “My beloved son, Antonius, you’ve found favor in the eyes of Christ. He was the one who guided you from the beginning, so you might save the infant and thereby be led to save another soul, Onesimus. Your portion in Christ is great, and he has set a greater reward aside for you.”

“What is my reward?”

“To suffer for Christ.”

Antonius turned pale. But Paul held his hand and went on, “You will return to your master’s house and fall at his feet and beg forgiveness for having been gone this long.”

“And the child?” asked Antonius, trembling. “What should I say about the life I wouldn’t take?”

“You should say nothing. Your master wanted to kill the child, so it is no longer his. You adopted the child in Christ. Therefore, he’s yours, and is a child of Christ in the spirit.”

“They’ll cut my body to pieces with the whip,” said Antonius, and he shook with fear.

“The lord will be with you, and he will save you from their hands. And as for the lashes you’ll receive, that’s nothing in the service of Christ. When they scourge you, think of what Christ suffered for you and think of them as lashes shared with him. You will feel yourself bound to him forever. Go, my son, and endure your suffering like a freedman in Christ, a true Christian.”

His heart strengthened, but his flesh still shrinking, Antonius returned to the domus of Tegellinus and did as Paul asked. He appeared before his overseer, threw himself on his knees, and begged forgiveness for his absence of that night.

Even though he was only a stable boy, Antonius was a willing and useful slave. Therefore, he wasn’t condemned to the heavy lash, whose thongs were so loaded they broke bones. He was given the lighter lash, which cut flesh, but left no crippling effects. And he was only given thirty lashes. As the blood streamed from his naked back, Antonius thought of the suffering of Christ, and he felt the words of Paul come true. In his agony, he felt the union of his spirit with Christ, and not a moan or whimper escaped his lips.

That day Antonius the stable boy was the only free man in the princely establishment of Tigellinus.


Two weeks later, Onesimus again appeared before Paul, a new man inwardly and outwardly. His hair was cut and combed, his chin shaven, and his body decently covered. During the two weeks he was with Aquila and Priscilla he gave himself to Christ and was received into the brotherhood of believers.

Paul called for papyrus and writing implements, and with his free right hand, he wrote a letter to the master of Onesimus, Philemon of Colossae.

“I plead with you for my son Onesimus, who became a believer under my care. He was useless to you in the past, but now he is useful to both you and me. I would have kept him with me to serve me in my bonds in spreading the gospel, but I wouldn’t do this without talking with you first so that you wouldn’t feel you were being forced, but could do it of your own free will. And maybe it was necessary for him to leave you for awhile so that you might accept him forever, no longer as a servant, but as a beloved brother, especially to me, but how much more to you, in the flesh and in Christ. Therefore, if you count me as a partner, accept him as you would me, and if he has wronged you, or owes you anything, let it be written on my account. I, Paul, have written this myself. I will repay it. Prepare a lodging for me, also, for I trust that through your prayers I will be given to you.”

A slave had fled from Philemon. Paul returned him, a brother.