King of Kings

'As you see, I have leisure to talk,' said Aulus with a smile.

'Aulus Valerius Festus,' began Ballista with some formality, 'when you were brought before me, I gave you time to reconsider. You have had – '

'Three months and seventeen days,' supplied Demetrius.

'Ample time,' Ballista continued. 'You are one of the honestiores, an educated man from one of the leading families of Ephesus, a member of the Boule of the city, an equestrian of Rome. Will you not renounce this treasonous cult of slaves and the humiliores?'

'I am a Christian. We do nothing treasonous. Night and day we pray for the emperor and the imperium.'

If your first tactic does not bring down the wall, try another, thought Ballista. 'You meet before dawn and after sunset, secretly, in the dark, like conspirators. You remind the educated of Catiline and his band in the monograph of Sallust: meeting at midnight to swear foul oaths, drink human blood and plot the fall of Rome.'

'We do nothing of the sort. We merely remove ourselves from the prying eyes of our neighbours and those in our families who might inform against us.'

'The authorities say you reject their power. Do you deny you call a meeting of your cult an ecclesia, an assembly?'

'It is just a word.' Aulus spread his hands wide. 'Our Lord ordered us "to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's".'

'I have been talking to those who have returned to the traditional gods and reading some of your books.' Ballista was pleased to see the Christian's annoying calm somewhat disturbed by this. 'Your holy man Paul told you to ignore Roman judges and take your disputes to the priests you call Bishops.'

The Christian was silent for a time. Then he burst out, ' "Answer not a fool according to his folly!" '

In the long silence that followed, the mutterings of the aged Christian could again be heard: seals, dragons, horns; woe, misery, unhappiness. Flies buzzed somewhere in the distance. Near at hand, someone moved behind the partition.

'I will give you one last chance. If you do not take it, I will have to order your execution,' snapped Ballista. 'Just offer a pinch of incense and a prayer to Zeus, and you can go free.'

'I will not. I am a Christian. "He who sacrifices to the gods, and not to God, shall be destroyed." ' Aulus' voice was loud, sonorous, implacable.

'Can you not say the words and believe what you like in your heart?'

'Never! What would you have me be? One of the Helkesaites? A follower of heretics like Basilides or Heracleon?' He glared with self-righteousness.

'I have no idea what you are talking about,' said Ballista. 'You mean there is more than one type of Christian?'

'Never! There is but one holy church. The ones I named are cursed heretics. And they will burn for ever in hellfire!' He laughed a strange laugh. 'You have already released several of these heretics. They think themselves clever. They think themselves Christians. Fools! They will discover different on judgement day.'

A thought struck Ballista. 'Do you know anything of the Christian priest Theodotus who betrayed Arete?'

'He was no Christian, but a foul heretic, a follower of the Phrygian whores, a Montanist – even now his pitch-black soul is tormented in Hell,' thundered Aulus. 'Any true son of the Catholic Church knows the Apocalypse will not fall for at least another two hundred years.'

Before Ballista could pursue Aulus' mysterious statements, the makeshift curtain parted and the young Christian mother who had appeared before Ballista on trial looked through. She addressed herself to Ballista. 'I have just got my child to sleep. Can you be quiet?' She spoke with the icy self-possession the northerner remembered.

'Of course.' Somewhat taken aback, Ballista spoke quickly to her. 'I will decide your place of exile soon. I should have done so sooner. In the meantime, I hope you are not too uncomfortable? I see you have a curtain for some privacy.'

'It is not for privacy,' interjected Aulus. 'I erected it myself. She is another heretic, a follower of Apollos, a long-damned local heresiarch. The curtain is to prevent her spreading contagion to those of the true church confined here.'

Behind the curtain the child started to cry. The woman went to soothe it. Aulus laughed. Anger rising in him, Ballista turned on his heel and left.

Back in the civic agora, standing outside in the fresh air by the Bouleuterion, Ballista called the head gaoler over. The anger hot in him, Ballista spat out orders. No visitors were to be admitted to the Christians. No one was to take in food, drink, lamps, clothes, bedding; above all, no books. Let them live on prison fare, nourish themselves with prayer. Any gaoler found breaking these orders, found taking a bribe, would be treated as a Christian suspect. He would find himself on the rack, heading for the arena. The cells were to be searched; any luxuries, anything treasonous, was to be confiscated. Aulus Valerius Festus and the old fool who talked in tongues were to be thrown in the deepest dungeon.

Ballista paced furiously back and forth across the Stoa Basilica. The old man would probably die in there. Maybe the equestrian would too. Perhaps they all would. Good. Most likely it was what they wanted anyway. Fuck them. The Christian woman? Fuck her too. Fuck them all. Christians to the lion.

But the woman had a child. The boy must be what? About a year old. Two days earlier, news had reached Ballista from Antioch: he had a second son. Born five days before the kalends of December, the boy was healthy, the mother doing well. Imagine if the fates had been different. What if Julia and the boy were imprisoned? What – a more horrible thought than any – if Isangrim were in the dark hell of an imperial gaol?

'Wait!' Ballista looked away, beyond the civic agora, beyond the red-roofed houses climbing the slopes. He looked up to the bare mountainside above, where the grey slabs of rock thrust through the greenery. It was nothing like his homelands in the north, but it was untouched by the imperium. It was wild and free. It was clean. That bastard Corvus was right: Ballista hated this. It was not even as if the people he was persecuting seemed to belong to the same sect as the bastard who had betrayed him in Arete. He was caught between Scylla and Charybdis: on the one hand, the self-righteous intransigence of the Christians; on the other, the implacably cruel imperial orders and the inhuman gloating of the pagan mob. What was Ballista doing to these Christians? What was he doing to himself?

As he rescinded his orders, Ballista made a vow to himself. That very day, he would send the woman and child to a comfortable place of exile, one as safe as he could find. Then he made another vow to himself, a much more dangerous one: the persecution in Ephesus would stop. He could not order it. But there must be a way to make the process fail, to bring it grinding to a halt.

Ballista thought of the volatile crowd in the stadium at Ephesus. He thought of the riot in the hippodrome in Antioch. Yes, there was a way. The first duty of a governor was public order. He was the vicarius to a governor. Therefore, his first duty must be public order. He knew the sophistry would not save him if he were caught. It was ridiculously dangerous. But a man has to have a code to live by. A man has to live with himself. It was an upmarket brothel, just across from the library of Celsus in the centre of town. Maximus had chosen it. He had been there once or twice, not enough to be a regular. The high prices meant it was seldom very full, and he had wanted somewhere quiet to talk to Calgacus about the very dangerous thing they would do the next day.

'Do you know what she said to me?' Maximus beamed.

'No, I do not.' Calgacus' tone and demeanour showed a supreme lack of interest.

'She said' – Maximus drew himself up to his full height – 'she said I was the best she ever had.' He raised his arms from his sides, spread them wide. He half turned, first one way then the other; a victorious gladiator basking in the applause, waiting for the palm of victory.