Finding him unsympathetic on the subject of the Christians, Britannicus ceased to speak of them. On the other hand, he soon discovered that Clemens knew more about them than himself.
‘Are you a Christian, Flavius?’ asked Britannicus, when they were alone, after one of these conversations.
‘I have not been baptised,’ he answered. ‘No one is regarded as a full Christian until he has been admitted into their church by baptism.’
‘Baptism? What is that?’
‘It is the washing with pure water,’ said Clemens. ‘Our Roman ceremonies are pompous and cumbersome. It is not so with the Christians. Their symbols are the simplest things in the world. Water, the sign of purification from guilt; bread and wine, the common elements of life, taken in remembrance of Christ who died for them.’
‘And are the elders of these Christians—the presbyters, as they call them—the same sort of persons as our priests?’
‘I should hope not!’ said Clemens. ‘They are simple and blameless men—more like the best of the philosophers, and more consistent, though not so learned.’
The entrance of Domitian—whom they more than suspected of having listened at the door—stopped their conversation. But what Britannicus had heard filled him with deeper interest, and he felt convinced that the Christians were possessors of a secret more precious than any which Seneca or Musonius had ever taught.
But the happy days at the Sabine farm drew to an end. When November was waning to its close it was time to return from humble Phalacrine and its russet hills, to the smoke and wealth and roar of Rome.