‘Speak on, Britannicus,’ she said. ‘Agrippina is less our enemy than she was. She has withdrawn her spies. We are not worth the hatred of any one else. Of the slaves who chiefly wait on me, most are faithful, and some are Christians.’
‘You have guessed my meaning, Octavia. Of the men and women around us, how very few there are, except the Christians, who are pure and good. How comes it?’
‘Their strange faith sustains them.’
‘But does it not seem inconceivable that the gods—or that God, if there be but one, should have revealed the truth to barbarian Jews?’
‘I don’t know, Britannicus. Who is the most virtuous person you know—I mean, excepting the Christians?’
‘Have we met any—except perhaps Persius and my Titus? and—well, perhaps the most virtuous of all is that little slave, Epictetus.’
‘Yet Epictetus is a Phrygian, and a slave, and deformed, and lame. And as for the Jews, you know that your friend Titus thinks them the most interesting people in the world; and it is whispered that some of the noblest ladies in Rome—Otho’s wife among them—have secretly embraced Judaism.’
‘Poppæa does little credit to their religion if all be true that is said of her. But Pomponia is a Christian, and Claudia, the fairest maiden in Rome. Whether they hold truth or falsehood I know not, but if religion has anything to do with goodness there seems to be no religion like theirs.’
‘Britannicus,’ she answered, ‘like you, I am deeply interested in all that Pomponia has told me; but I will tell you what has struck me most. Nero, and Seneca, and Agrippina, and all the rest of them, are full of misery and despair, though they are rich, and praised, and powerful; but these Christians, on the other hand, are paupers, hated, persecuted—and yet happy. It is that which amazes me most of all.’
Britannicus sighed. ‘Octavia,’ he said, ‘I would gladly know more of this foreign superstition, which makes men good amid wickedness, and joyful amid afflictions; which makes women like Pomponia, and girls like Claudia, and boys like Flavius Clemens.’