VOLUMEN I
Obliti privatorum; publica curate.
I knew our family was destined for a lifetime of conflict on the day my older brother, Numerius, learned about Spartacus. He and Tiberius, who was only two years older, had been learning about the history of Rome, and when the tutor had taught about the rebellion of Spartacus and his followers, Numerius had been inspired. As soon as he was dismissed from lessons that day, he had run joyfully through the fields, declaring that although Spartacus had perished many decades ago, the cause would never die until all men were free.
Pater stormed out to the fields and seized his wayward son roughly by the wrist, dragging him back to the villa as Numerius continued to yell, "Spartacus sum! Ego Spartacus sum!"
Since my father had never been known for his patience or mercy, I shuddered to think what kind of punishment was in store for Numerius, but Pater simply made him stand with his nose against the wall. While my brother stood there, Pater gave him a long, stern lecture about the consequences that would occur if ever the name of Spartacus was mentioned again, especially in the presence of the slaves.
"Remember," Pater concluded, "Spartacus was hacked to pieces by the cold steel of swords that tore his flesh and broke his bones! Is that what you want?! Of course it isn't! No one with good sense wishes to be Spartacus, and remember, all surviving followers of Spartacus were crucified along the Via Appia!"
"Yes, Pater. I will remember," Numerius answered.
"You may go!"
Numerius darted off, but I knew the punishment had not taken its desired effect. Perhaps my brother would learn to be more careful, but from that day forward, the slaves secretly gave him the nickname of Spartacus Secundus.
Having to crush rebellion had put my father in a horrible temper, so he drank vinum, which often lulled him to sleep, but not before making him more irritable. That night, as he walked out to the slave quarters to inspect his property, he noticed a small scrap of material sticking out of the haystack near the barn. Upon closer inspection, Pater reached into the hay and pulled out a scroll.
Many Roman citizens were not educated enough to know how to read, but although Pater had innumerable faults, illiteracy was not among them. A quick glance at the writing gave him enough reason to order an execution, and he immediately called for all his slaves to gather. Mater ushered us outside as well, but we made sure to keep our distance.
"What is this?!" my father demanded furiously, holding up the scroll where all the slaves could see it.
None of the slaves answered.
Pater shoved the scroll in front of the overseer's face. "What does this say?!"
"I cannot read, master," the overseer replied.
"Can any of you read?!"
No slave was foolish enough to admit to literacy while being questioned about writing that upset the master, so they all remained silent.
"This is a scroll written by a traitor!" Pater began. "He is an atheist, for he does not believe in the gods of Rome!"
The slaves gasped in surprise and murmured among themselves.
"Let all slaves take their turn renouncing Iesus Nazarenus!" my father ordered. "Form a line! Make your renunciation and spit on the scroll! Afterwards, I'll burn it!"
"Master, I cannot!" one voice exclaimed.
There were gasps moments before horrified silence settled over the group. A slave from Londinium gently took the scroll from Pater's hands.
"I will not live to see this scroll spat upon and burned, for it is a copy of a wonderful letter. Someone cared enough to write it as he heard the original letter read to a group, and now it has been given to us."
Pater scowled, crossing his arms. "What about this letter is so important that you force me to burn you with it?"
The slave didn't even flinch at the threat. "It is about the saving grace of…"
"Saving grace?!" Pater's baleful lower was dark and cruel. "Can Iesus save you from me?!"
"He will, either by deliverance in this world or by welcoming me into the next."
My father turned to address the rest of the slaves. "Who else is prepared to gamble with the afterlife?! Does anyone else believe in divine favor in this world or the next?!"
To his surprise, another slave stepped forward. "I do, master."
Yet another slave repeated the sentence, which was then echoed by another still. To shorten an otherwise lengthy tale, Pater covered the tunics of nearly two dozen slaves with pitch and lit them on fire. As they screamed in anguish, the Londinium slave threw the scroll in what he knew would be an unsuccessful attempt to save it from burning. Pater started for it with a torch.
"I will drown it!" exclaimed Publius, my younger brother. "Pater has much to do already. I am too young and foolish to light fires, so I will take the scroll to the river and drown it."
Pater laughed. "You do that, boy! You go make a bunch of heretics out of those fish!"
Publius grabbed the scroll and ran. When we found him later, he had collapsed on his bed. At first I thought he was asleep, but when Mater began to remove his sandals to make him more comfortable, she noticed that he had lost consciousness, and she shouted for help.
Her favorite Greek slave, a young woman whose real name I had forgotten since Mater simply used the nickname Serva, rushed to our aid. When she saw my brother, she went immediately for some cool water and a cloth.
"It was no doubt the heat," she explained, lightly dabbing my brother's forehead with water, "or perhaps it was a bit of a fright for his young mind."
When Publius revived, he said nothing. Although he was getting to the age where he valued independence and preferred to be seen as a young man rather than a child, he allowed Mater to embrace him as if he were a mere toddler.
Not until years later did I learn the true fate of the scroll. Publius hid it, offering it to our grandfather the next time he visited for Saturnalia. Pater was out in the fields, and I was picking flowers for Mater while Tiberius and Numerius went fishing. Publius asked Avus if he would take a special scroll and give it to his friends. Avus agreed, and my brother disappeared for nearly a quarter of an hour. When he returned, he had the forbidden scroll. Although he was bewildered at first, Avus promised the scroll would be given to a group of appreciative readers.
Pater never cared for our grandfather, for Avus was always telling stories of his life as a younger man, tales that I firmly believed to be a sign that he was losing his mind with age. Pater would have been just as happy to sever all ties with him, but if word reached the ears of the people of Rome that a politician refused to offer hospitality to his own father on holidays, Pater's career would have been finished.
Forget private matters; be mindful of public ones.