The Blood Of The Martyrs. Naomi Mitchison
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the church at Ariminum was her sister. ‘She was all right,’ said Argas, relieved at not having anything more difficult to talk about, ‘only she had twin boys last May. Did you know?’
‘Fancy that—twins!’ said Eunice. ‘Did you see them?’
‘No. I—I wasn’t there long.’
Eunice looked at him quickly. ‘Are you baptised?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No fear! It’s all lies.’
Eunice opened the door of the oven to see her batch of bread; a sweet hot air came out at him. After a minute she said gravely, ‘Then why did you come to me?’
Uncomfortably and angrily he answered, ‘I didn’t know you were one. If you are! Anyway, I’m going.’
He felt he oughtn’t to have eaten the pastry. Well, she gave it him—it was her look out! ‘Do you want to go?’ she asked. ‘It’s cold out.’
‘Got to get back,’ he mumbled; he knew it would be cold.
She said, ‘Don’t you want me to lend you a warm cloak?’
He turned at the door. ‘Forgiving me, are you?’ he said. ‘Rufus started doing that and I knocked him out!’
‘Did that stop him?’ asked Eunice.
Argas came a step nearer. ‘What do you think you’ll get out of all this forgiving? I tell you, I won’t be baptised!’
‘If poor people can’t do that for one another,’ said Eunice, ‘there isn’t much left for them that’s worth doing.’ Then she said, ‘Why don’t you stop, now you are here, and give me a hand with the dough for tomorrow?’
Well, that wouldn’t hurt. It would make up for the pastry he’d eaten. ‘Well, where is it?’ he said.
She taught him how to knead properly and thoroughly; he had never done it before. It amused him to be doing something, not because he’d been made to, but because he’d been asked to, and with an accompaniment of bad jokes from Eunice, who had dropped all that about Christians. And a good job too. He finished it off, while she saw to the bread that was baking and then mended a boy’s tunic. Once or twice customers came; she seemed to be on good terms with them, and they paid cash down. When the dough. was thoroughly kneaded Eunice gave him some delicious ends of fresh white bread—masters’ stuff. Then she said he must take the warm cloak and come back another evening and do some more kneading for her. He looked at her sideways: was she trying to get at him? Well, if he thought she was when he got home, he’d keep the cloak and never come back!
However, he did come back a week or so later. It would be nice, he said to himself, to have some more pastry, and he didn’t mind if he did do some more kneading for the old lady. When he came this time there was someone else sitting by the oven, a metal-worker called Rhodon, a skilled man from Asia. At first Argas thought he was free or at least a freedman, but by and by found he was a slave too, but getting a small wage; he would be able to buy himself out some time. He was tired out and Eunice had made him a hot drink. When he left, Argas said to Eunice, ‘He one of you Christians?’
Eunice said quite gravely, ‘You mustn’t ask questions.’
Argas felt hurt, or thought he did. ‘So you believe I’m going to give you away!’
Eunice said, ‘We have to be careful.’
‘Then you don’t trust me,’ said Argas, and went on kneading angrily.
After a time Eunice said, ‘I’m not sure if you know just how badly we Christians are looked on in Rome. We might have the police on us any time. They say we’re atheists. Not respectable, that means! And not respectful, either. Not of their things. And you might even get a reward for putting the police on to me.’
‘Catch me going to the police!’ said Argas contemptuously.
‘It might be a big reward,’ said Eunice. ‘Big enough to—help you get free.’
‘Oh, come off it!’ said Argas, moving along the kneading trough, suddenly aware how very much he would like that reward—if it really—if she wasn’t—but, anyway, he wasn’t that sort! Out of the blue there came at him the image of his old master, Metronax, talking about honour and justice, things that were in the care of the remote gods, but yet existed, and existed alike for master and slave. In Athens. His hands were all doughy, but he rubbed his upper arm over his face, so that she shouldn’t catch him crying. Eunice had begun shaping little rolls; she said nothing. After a bit Argas said, ‘Then—could it be really dangerous—being a Christian?’
‘Yes,’ said Eunice, ‘we’re all right so long as things go tolerably well with Rome. But if things looked dirty—well, they might want to take it out of us—see?’
‘I don’t mind if I join,’ said Argas.
Eunice answered slowly, ‘But I’m not sure if we want you, Argas.’
‘Oh, all right!’ said Argas fiercely.
‘Don’t knead so hard. The bread won’t rise even, and I’m not going to lose my reputation for your temper.’ She went over to him, and took on the dough herself; then, ‘If you still want to be one of us in another ten days, come back.’
It was more than ten days before Argas came back, but he did as soon as he had a chance. It was another bitterly cold night, and the warmth of the bakery made him almost dumb again. He was strictly determined on what he was going to do, even though he knew it meant being forgiven. After all, it was sense what they’d told him at Ariminum. Nothing altered that. Eunice came to him quickly. ‘Come in, son,’ she said. He sat and warmed his hands and feet by the oven. She offered him a bit of pastry, but he refused it.
At last he said, ‘Here I am, if I’m wanted.’
Eunice said, ‘Some of the others will be round later. We’ll talk to them about it. And then, if you know what you’re doing, we’ll think about letting you have the baptism.’
Argas said, ‘I want it now—tonight.’
‘But, my dear, you can’t,’ said Eunice, ‘you’ve got to understand what it’s about, and then you must fast for two days.’
‘I do understand,’ said Argas, ‘and I have fasted.’ He looked at the floor and trembled a little. ‘When it looked like a chance of me getting out tonight, I started. I’ve had nothing but water for a couple of days. That’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Have you prayed?’ asked Eunice.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, low. ‘I prayed right enough.’ He still wouldn’t look at her. He added, ‘You see, at Ariminum I was taught everything. What it was about. The Way of Life. It looked like sense to me, even then. Only everything went wrong.’ He sat there, shivering, his eyes shut; by and by he whispered a little more of what had happened to Eunice; he felt a bit sick. After a time he heard Eunice talking in a low voice to a boy. He did not even look at the boy. He was intent on something which might elude him, something deep in him and yet infinitely elsewhere. He shut all the doors of his senses. He only woke, with a jump that sent his heart pounding into his throat and stomach, when somebody laid a hand on his shoulder and said his name; he saw that the room was half full of people. He didn’t know who any of them were, except Rhodon the metal-worker. He only knew that this must be the congregation.
Eunice said, ‘I have told them.’ He stood and they looked at him; it was like being put up to be sold; their eyes were stripping him. One of them, a young man rather older than he was, began asking him questions; he knew the answers. They had been in his mind since summer; they were sense. He knew the Words. When he was through, a woman in a long cloak of good stuff and wearing fur shoes, asked him other questions, putting things a different way; he answered her too. Now they were whispering to one another. He thought he must do the hardest part now; he collected his mind