"Much depends on who is interested in him," Pertinax suggested. "Usually a man's relatives—"
But the governor of Antioch's fat hand made a disparaging careless gesture. "He has no friends. He has been in the carceres (the cells in which prisoners were kept who had been sentenced to death. Under Roman law there was practically no imprisonment for crime. Fines, flogging, banishment were the substitutes for execution.) more than a month. I was reserving him for execution by the lions at the next public games. Truth to tell, I had almost forgotten him. I will write out a warrant for Norbanus' execution and it shall be attended to this morning. And by the way—regarding the Olympic games—"
"The emperor, I think, would like to see them held in Antioch," said
Pertinax.
The merchants strolling to the baths stood curiously for a while to watch one of the rapidly increasing sect of Christians, who leaned from a balcony over the street and exhorted a polyglot crowd of freedmen, slaves and idlers. He was bearded, brown-skinned from exposure, brown- robed, scrawny, vehement.
"Peculiar times!" one merchant said. "If you and I should cause a crowd to gather while we prated about refusal to do homage to the gods—of whom mind you, the emperor is one, and not the least—"
"But let us listen," said the other.
The man's voice was resonant. He used no tricks of oratory such as Romans over-valued, and was not too careful in the choice of phrases. The Greek idiom he used was unadorned—the language of the market-place and harbor-front. He made his points directly, earnestly, not arguing but like a guide to far-off countries giving information:
"Slaves—freedmen—masters—all are equal before God, and on the last day all shall rise up from the dead—"
A loiterer heckled him:
"Hah! The crucified too?—what about Maternus?"