The Tentmaker


"Hey! Hephaeston!"

The tough-looking sea-captain looked up at Lucias' hail.

"Lord Lucias! How are you?" He scanned our faces and then recognised me as well. "Lord Arxes! Your father is well?"

"Yes, sir, but he is busy this morning so he couldn't come."

Hephaeston nodded. "Yes, he said he might be. Are you coming with us across the diolkos?"

"Yes, sir." I grinned broadly. "My father asked me to be in charge127 ."

Hephaeston smiled back at me and made a secret sign, which I rather clumsily returned. "A man now, eh, young lord, knowing all the mysteries? About time, too. We old ones won't last forever. How about coming to Rome with me? You need to travel and make contacts for when you take over your father's business."

"I'd love it, sir, but we have to be back at classes tomorrow," I apologised.

The captain made a face. "All this learning, Lord Arxes. It'll make your brain soft, you mark my words."

"I think it already has," I sighed. "I'd love to be out at sea again."

"Maybe next time," Hephaeston consoled me. "Now, why don't you both step aboard and see if the cook can find something good to eat while I settle up with the harbour-master."

This was a fancy of the captain's, dating back to the days when I was a small boy and anything edible was good. Now my tastes were more refined and although the rough fare cooked up by the sailor-chef was still acceptable as food, it was far from being a treat. In any case, all the crew were busy overseeing the lading or preparing to sail.

Still, Lucias and I leaped at the chance to go aboard "The Great Bear", as my father's ship was called. We stood on the port rail, our backs to the bustle of the dockside, gazing out over the blue waters of the Aegean. The ship rocked slightly in the waves that made their way past the small breakwater1 and we did our best to pretend that we were intrepid mariners braving the dangers of the open sea.

The sun was just past the zenith when Hephaeston joined us at the rail.

"All finished, Lord Arxes. We're just casting off to row round to the diolkos. Care to come up by the steering oars?"

As a boy I had often been allowed to stand by the steersman and sometimes I was even permitted to hold the huge oars, though I was always conscious of a strong hand hovering over the handles, just in case. This time Hephaeston found some excuse to send the steersman away and Lucias and I handled the oars, twisting them in obedience to the captain's brisk commands.

"Well done, lords," Hephaeston teased when we had guided the ship to run aground, its nose grating on the shingle of the beach. "I'd offer you both a job as steersmen if you didn't have to go back to school!"

A sailor at the prow tossed a rope to one of the slaves waiting on the shore, who looped it round a post driven into the ground.

"Won't be long, lords," he called. "How heavily are you loaded?"

Hephaeston swung himself over the side and splashed ashore. I watched him stride across the beach to the little hut where the overseer sat and greet the man like an old friend.

"My father always says that this is the hardest part of crossing the diolkos," I told Lucias.

"What is?"

"Fixing the price." I told him. "That old robber there will swear that our ship is too heavy or the slaves are too tired or that he offered a sacrifice without a heart128 this morning."

"And Hephaeston will swear that the ship is so light it will practically fly over the diolkos on its own and that he's had a rotten voyage and can't afford to pay a single drachma."

"Right." I grinned. "Hey! At least that slave told the truth. There's the ship!"

I pointed up the diolkos to where a mast was just rising up above the skyline. While the sailors scurried around getting our ship ready to leave the water we leaned on the rail and watched the approaching boat come over the crest and start on the downhill run.

We had a good view as the straining slaves stopped the boat at the top of the final slope while the sailors swarmed aboard and those whose business it was dashed from wheel to wheel applying a final dab of grease to the axles. On the command everyone stood clear and the slaves loosed the ropes. A couple of men dashed forward and put their shoulders to the trolley and the boat began to move, slowly at first and then with gathering speed.

"Here she comes!"

A sheet of water crashed into the air as the ship took to her native element, showering all around with spray, sending waves splashing far up the beach and making us rock violently. The slaves plunged in after the ship, some to seize the ropes that the sailors were busy undoing and casting over the sides; others, I suspect, just to cool off after their exertions. The oxen, having found by experiment that sea water was not good to drink, snuffed noisily at the ripples and turned aside to the troughs of spring water that stood ready for them.

As soon as the ship had been rowed out of the way by its sailors the slaves pushed us off the beach and towed us into position over the cradle, an operation that involved a good deal of shouting and yelling. Our sailors ran back and forth, handling the ropes the slaves tossed over the sides in order to fasten us securely to the trolley.

"All ashore!"

The sailors jumped overboard and swam or waded to the beach, to lend their aid to the first hard pull up the slipway out of the water. Lucias and I watched from the rail as the oxen were manoeuvred into position and the lines hitched up to their yokes.

"There are advantages to being the owner's son," I joked. "Dry feet!"

When all was ready the overseer gave a shout and at once whips cracked, the slaves and sailors bent to the ropes and the great trolley began to move slowly out of the water. As soon as the prow was overhanging dry land I swung over the side and dropped to the ground.

"Come on," I called up to Lucias. "Let's give a hand."

I ran up to one of the ropes and threw my weight into the struggle to draw the boat from its native element. Slaves ran forward and began to dab grease into the great wheels, to replace that washed out by the salt water, and the axles began their groaning and protesting, a horrid screeching that would continue until we reached the water at Lecheae.

"Right," Lucias said as soon as the ship was up the first steep pitch, "I'm not being paid to do this. Let's go up the top and catch the breeze."

The diolkos goes straight up to the summit of the isthmus and up there we would get the benefit of the breeze, which was from the west today. Side by side we strode up the stone paving, silent under the hot rays of the sun.

"I'm glad I'm not pulling a heavy ship," I exclaimed, breathing heavily.

"Me too!"

Once we reached the top of the slope the breeze cooled us and dried the sweat from our foreheads so that we began to laugh and banter again. Behind us came the ship on its trolley, surrounded by the toiling slaves. We sat down on the curb and waited until it reached us and then strolled along beside it over the level ground and down the further slope.

At the top of the slipway the slaves stopped the ship and Hephaeston, the sailors, Lucias and I clambered aboard for the bit I enjoy most. The slaves released the ropes and we plunged down the ramp and crashed into the sea.

"Whooahaaay!" I yelled, wiping the salt water off my face. "That was great!"

Lucias said nothing, but he was grinning too.

"Excuse me."

Hephaeston waited politely for us to move and then stepped into the prow, a battered copper cup in his hand. He poured a small libation of red wine into the sea and closed his eyes. Lucias and I maintained a reverent silence while his lips moved in a prayer to Neptune for a successful voyage. Behind us the sailors bustled about, casting off the ropes that held us to the trolley.

When he opened his eyes again Hephaeston scanned the horizon for a moment before turning to us.

"Hmm. Nothing."

"What do you mean?" I queried.

"I keep hoping that I'll see a flight of birds right off the bows. Very auspicious, that. I saw it once and it was the best voyage I ever had, sea smooth as a pond all the way and good prices when I reached port. Ah well, I'll pop into Lecheae and consult a professional129 before we leave." He raised his voice. "Come on, you lot. Time to go."

The sailors cast off the last few ropes and took their places at the oar-benches. It seemed like no time until we were tied up alongside the quay at Lecheae where Glaucus and the donkeys were waiting.

"Any problems, lord?" Glaucus called from the shore.

"None at all." I leaped lightly from the deck onto the quay. "You won't be needing me to oversee the loading, will you? I'll bet you know more about that than I ever will."

Glaucus nodded, pleased by the compliment. "No, lord. You can go back to Corinth if you wish."

Lecheae is as busy as Kenchreae but somehow lacks its character, probably because it is so close to Corinth. It is only two miles from the city to Lecheae and most of that distance is lined with villas and other buildings. In fact, the road is protected by an extension of the city walls, just like the Long Walls that joined Athens to its port of Piraeus.

There is a certain amount of open ground between the two, however, where you will usually find half a dozen shabby huts inhabited by refugees fleeing from war or landless peasants - or even escaped slaves - looking for work. One of the huts, the usual collection of sacking and tree branches, stood out from the rest because of its neatness. Beside it, next to the broad, stone-paved road, someone had propped up a strip of black hair-cloth as an awning, under which I could make out a couple of figures sitting.

"I wonder what they are selling?" I pointed to the crude tent.

Lucias shrugged. "Shepherds with sheep cheese and goat yoghurt?" he suggested.

Neither of us was particularly interested in cheese or yoghurt. I carried on talking to Lucias - I was telling him about Alexander's Jewish philosopher at the time - and just happened to glance at the tent and its occupants as we passed. Two of them were sitting on the ground deftly weaving the long strips of material whose woof threads were fastened around their waists. The third, a woman, was seated on a stool, spinning, while a younger man stood near her, talking. There was something familiar about the young man and I peered more closely.

"Alexander!"

At the sound of his name the young man looked round.

"Arxes! Lucias! There you are! Come on in."

He held up the side of the tent and beckoned us to enter. I looked at Lucias and he looked at me. Somewhat reluctantly we stepped under the awning. It wasn't like Alexander, the son of a wealthy merchant and rather too aware of his social position, to be associating with nomads or shepherds130. I was about to ask him where his philosopher was when he got in first.

"Meet my friends," Alexander introduced us. "Lucias and Arxes. They attend the same lectures I do. Lucias is the son of a Roman trader. Arxes is Greek: his father deals in cloth. He might be able to sell your cloth for you."

Now that we were in out of the sun I could see more clearly. The two men were sitting in shallow depressions in the ground working at simple hand-looms, such as shepherds might use. One end of the woof threads was tied high on the poles holding up the awning, the other end was wrapped around the men's waists and spread apart by simple sticks. The men were weaving coarse black thread similar to what the woman was spinning and their fingers moved nimbly enough, yet to look at they were Greek - or Roman - gentlemen. Both men were clean shaven and the man nearest to us had a neat haircut.

The woman was just as much of a surprise. She wore a clean chiton, carefully draped and fastened at her shoulders with gold pins that were obviously expensive. Her hair was piled up on her head in a sophisticated style that must have taken several hours to achieve and though she rose from her stool to receive us and modestly drew her shawl over her head, there was neither peasant shyness nor lower-class boldness in her manner.

"Welcome, Lucias and Arxes," she said. "I am Priscilla and this" - she pointed to one of the seated men - "is my husband Aquila. We are from Rome ourselves."

I gaped at her. She spoke in Latin with the pure Roman accent that mere provincials so often imitate and never achieve. Even Lucias seemed taken aback: his father has the accent but as his Greek improves Lucias is rapidly losing it and becoming vaguely Corinthian.

"Th - thanks," he stammered. "You're from Rome? What are you doing here?"

Priscilla sat down and took up her spinning again. "My husband is a Jew131. You must have heard of Caesar's decree banning Jews from Rome?"

"Oh?" Lucias sounded vague, which was hardly surprising. Although Rome is the capital of the empire, it is a long way away and events there have to be pretty dramatic for us to hear about them, let alone remember them. "Wasn't there a riot of some sort? I seem to remember that a chap called Crispus - or was it Chrestus132? - was mixed up in it."

Aquila looked up from his weaving. "Christos."

"Who?"

"Christos. He wasn't mixed up in it. He was the cause of it."

"What did he do?" I asked. 'Christos' was a Greek name, though why Jews should be rioting about a Greek I couldn't imagine - unless he had insulted their religion or their God.

"He didn't do anything. He wasn't even there. You tell them, Paul."

The second man put down his shuttle and looked up at us. I guessed that he was about the same age as my father, but he was virtually bald and his face was wrinkled and weather-beaten, yet he looked kind and smiled easily133.

"I don't mind," he said, "provided I am allowed to speak Greek."

His accent was as much Asian Greek as Priscilla's had been Roman. Lucias and I protested that he was welcome to speak Greek, we both understood it. He smiled and stretched, working his fingers as though they were stiff from clutching the shuttle.

"Christos, as you know, means 'one who is anointed'. In our Hebrew language we call such a person 'messiah'."

"You know what we believe about the messiah," Alexander interrupted, a strange look of excitement on his face.

The stranger waited until Lucias and I had nodded and then continued. "I believe that Jesus, a teacher from Nazareth, is the messiah."

We both looked at Alexander who stared back at us, his eyes shining.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I don't know." Alexander hesitated, then spoke in a rush. "Paul spoke in the synagogue on Sabbath and makes a very good case. This Jesus certainly seems to have fulfilled many of the prophecies written in our Scriptures."

"He fulfils them all," Paul spoke quietly.

Alexander suddenly grinned. "You should have heard the arguing after Paul's speech. Everyone in the synagogue was talking at once, some agreeing with him and some declaring that he was a deceiver."

"That's how it was in Rome," Priscilla broke in. "Only there the arguing got out of hand and became rioting. A couple of Roman citizens were killed and Claudius ordered all the Jews out of Rome."

"Why on earth did they attack Roman citizens?" Lucias queried. "Even a mob should have known that the emperor wouldn't stand for that?"

"Because they believed in Jesus," Aquila answered. "The mob deliberately sought them out and attacked them to stop them teaching about Him."

"Romans believed in Jesus?" Lucias sounded startled. "Romans believing in a Jew?"

"Many Romans believe in Jesus," Paul broke in. "And Greeks." He looked at me and smiled again. "Jesus is not just the Jewish messiah. He is the saviour of the world."

Lucias sat down on a rock near the woman's stool and gestured for me to join him. "You'd better tell us about this Jesus. Who is he?"

Paul leaned back against the ground, propping himself on his elbows. "Jesus is the son of a carpenter from Nazareth. He was born in Bethlehem in the reign of Augustus - and one of our prophets predicted that the messiah would be born in that town. His mother was a virgin, which again is according to the prophets, and God was his father."

Lucias flashed me a glance. Many heroes have been born of the union of immortal gods with mortal women and it was not unknown for the woman to be a virgin134, though truth to tell I often wondered whether such tales were not just some poor girl trying to explain the consequences of an all too human love.

"In the fifteenth year of Tiberius Jesus was about thirty years old, when a youth comes fully of age according to our customs. At this time a man called John began to preach near the River Jordan and most people regarded him as a prophet. Jesus came to John, who recognised him as the Christos of God. From that time on Jesus began to preach and teach, gathering followers around him. He travelled throughout the land of Israel, doing many wonderful miracles, healing the sick, curing lepers and even bringing the dead to life."

Lucias and I again exchanged glances. Wandering miracle workers were two a penny in Corinth, though most of their 'miracles' turned out to be carefully orchestrated tricks if you took the trouble to investigate them. The only real miracles happened in the Asklepion up by the north gate - and they were rare enough.

"He brought the dead to life again?" Lucias queried.

Paul nodded. "Yes. In one case, a man who had been dead for four days."

"This was seen by trustworthy witnesses?" The doubt was obvious in Lucias' voice.

Paul smiled. "Oh yes. Virtually the whole of Jerusalem was there. I have spoken to people who saw the miracle happen. There was no doubt that the man had been dead: the smell was terrible!"

I grinned at the detail and then frowned. There was the well-known story of the woman who came to life again after seven days - Heraclides wrote a famous essay about it135 - though that woman had not decayed. A miracle worker who could really call the soul of a dead person back into his body after it had been four days in Hades would be pretty impressive. It certainly supported Paul's argument that this Jesus had a divine father.

Lucias gestured for Paul to continue his story.

"The chief priests and elders of our nation became envious of Jesus' popularity and eventually arrested him and condemned him to death. Of course, as a tributary nation we don't have the authority to execute anyone, so they had to take him to the procurator, Pontius Pilate. They accused Jesus of treason to Rome and persuaded Pilate to sentence Jesus to be crucified."

Lucias and I raised our eyebrows. Pilate was just about ancient history to us, but I felt sure we would have heard about something as dramatic as a condemned or crucified criminal escaping under mysterious circumstances - which was what Paul was obviously going to claim next.

"Jesus was taken outside Jerusalem and nailed to a cross. He died six hours later."

"He died?"

Lucias and I spoke together. What sort of a hero - or messiah - was this who died? And died shamefully136 on a cross? He must have done something terrible to make the gods so angry with him.

Paul nodded. "He died. In fact, to make sure that he was dead one of the soldiers stabbed him through the heart with his spear."

"So why do Romans believe in a man who is dead?" Lucias spoke slowly, puzzled by the stupidity of an educated Roman who would have anything to do with an executed Jewish rebel.

"Because he isn't dead." Paul's smile flashed at us. "Three days later he came back to life again. He was seen by many people, including myself."

"You mean he reappeared as a spirit demanding vengeance," Lucias nodded. "Like Caesar appearing to Brutus before Philippi137 ."

"No." Paul shook his head. "He came to life again in a bodily form and appeared to his followers in broad daylight, once to as many as five hundred people."

There was a pause during which I heard the small sounds of Priscilla rubbing the spindle along her thigh to set it spinning and her husband working at the loom and then I spoke up, politely but firmly, to point out the truth to this ignorant Jew.

"That's impossible. The dead cannot come back to life again - and if they did, they certainly wouldn't want to take up their bodies again."

"Why not?" Paul asked.

"Because Aristotle tells us that the mind is better freed from the body138."

"Careful, young man." Paul wagged his finger at me. "Aristotle says that that is the popular opinion, not his teaching."

I gaped at him in astonishment. I was not used to Jews who could quote from the philosophers. "Is that true?" I asked Lucias, who was better acquainted with the writings of the Master.

Lucias blushed. "I can't remember," he admitted. "I only had time to read the book once - and in a hurry at that."

"I'm sure Athenodorus said the same thing," I defended myself. "May I bring him to talk to you, sir?"

"Who is Athenodorus?" Paul asked.

"He's our teacher," I explained. "He lectures to a group of us on ethics and rhetoric and philosophy and things."

"Well," Paul sounded doubtful. "I am happy to talk to anyone, but I'm not going to argue with any more philosophers. I had my fill of them and all their gods139 in Athens." He chuckled. "When I came here I determined that I would do nothing except talk about Jesus and his crucifixion. If people don't like it, that's too bad."

"Can we come tomorrow?" I persisted.

Paul shrugged. "Sure. I'll be here - and maybe you could ask your father about our cloth? It's good quality: I learned my trade in Tarsus, my hometown140."

127 Although Hephaeston is, presumably, a free man, slave-owners and businessmen were encouraged to give personal supervision wherever possible. Xenophon, in The Estate Manager, approvingly tells the following tale: "The story about the Persian's answer is a good one, I think: the king of Persia happened to get a good horse and wanted to fatten it up as quickly as possible. So he asked a recognised expert on horses what it is that fattens up a horse most quickly. 'The master's eye,' replied the man, as the story goes. And I think, Socrates, that the same is true elsewhere: the master's eye is the most effective way of producing good work." (p. 334) Return

128 In his Natural History XI.lxxi Pliny claims that, "On the day when Caesar as dictator first went in procession dressed in purple and took his seat on a golden throne, when he performed a sacrifice the heart was lacking among the organs. This gave rise to much debate among the students of divination, as to whether the victim had been able to live without that organ or had lost it at the time." Return

129 Well-trained, professional augurs were highly respected members of society. In his History of Rome XXV.i Livy, speaking of a wave of superstition that swept over Rome, says: "Prophets and priestlings had come into their own; and their number was increased by the rude peasantry driven into the city by fear of famine from the farms which the long years of war had made dangerous or left uncultivated, and by the prospect of easy gain from others' ignorance, a trade they followed with the assumed confidence of recognised professionals." Return

130 Manual workers generally were despised by the upper classes. As Socrates remarks in Xenophon's The Estate Manager, "The manual crafts, as they are called, have a bad name and are not rated at all highly in our countries. There are good reasons for this. You see, those who work at them and apply themselves to them are forced to be sedentary and spend their time out of the sunlight and sometimes even to spend their days by the heat of a fire. As a result their bodies are ruined and this physical debilitation is accompanied by considerable weakening of their minds too." (p. 300) By "sedentary" he meant that they could not spend their time exercising in the gymnasium or walking about the agora discussing philosophy. Return

131 The name Priscilla may refer to a connection with the distinguished Roman clan or gens of the Prisci. It is possible that she was a Roman citizen who had married a Jew, and the fact that in most instances her name comes before that of her husband would support this idea. On the other hand, she may have been a former slave, for slaves frequently took the names of their owners when they were set free. Return

132 Suetonius, in his The Twelve Caesars (p. 202) remarks, "Since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chrestus, Claudius expelled them from Rome." 'Chrestus' is probably a variation on the Greek 'Christos'. Return

133 This comes from the famous description of Paul in the apocryphal Acts of Paul which describes how Onesiphorus waited for Paul. "He went to the king's highway that leads to Lystra and stood expecting him, looking at those that came, according to the description of Titus. He saw Paul coming, a man small of stature, thin-haired upon the head, crooked in the legs, of good state of body, with eyebrows joining and nose somewhat hooked, full of grace; for sometimes he appeared like a man and sometimes he had the face of an angel." Return

134 As Celsus points out in his On the True Doctrine, "Clearly the Christians have used the myths of the Danae and the Melanippe, or of the Auge and the Antiope in fabricating the story of Jesus' virgin birth. A beautiful woman must his mother have been, that this Most High God should want to have intercourse with her! An interesting point in itself, since if, as their philosophers (copying ours) say, God by nature does not love corruptible bodies, he cannot love a woman!" (p. 57) Return

135 This is mentioned in Pliny's Natural History VII.lii though it is implied there that either the woman was not truly dead or the whole story was false. Return

136 Plutarch, in The Age of Alexander tells us of a certain tyrant who was arrested and tried. Finding the mob against him, "he threw away his cloak, rushed across the theatre and dashed his head against one of the stone steps in an effort to kill himself. He did not enjoy the good fortune of dying in this way but was taken away while he was still alive and crucified like a common thief." (p. 184) Return

137 The story appears in Plutarch's Fall of the Roman Republic, the "Life of Caesar"

"Brutus fancied that he heard a noise at the entrance to the tent and, looking towards the light of the lamp, which was almost out, he saw a terrible figure, like a man though unnaturally large and with a very severe expression. He was frightened at first but, finding that this apparition just stood silently by his bed without doing or saying anything, he said, 'Who are you?' Then the phantom replied, 'Brutus, I am your evil genius. You shall see me at Philippi.' On this occasion Brutus answered courageously, 'Then I shall see you.' and the supernatural visitor at once went away. Time passed and he drew up his army against Antony and Caesar near Philippi. In the first battle he conquered the enemy divisions that were opposed to him and, after routing them, broke through and sacked Caesar's camp. But in the night before the second battle the same phantom visited him again. It spoke no word, but Brutus realised that his fate was upon him." (p. 309) Return

138 Aristotle actually says: "A further source of hardship for the soul would be its indissoluble admixture with the body; and indeed we must actually avoid this, if it really is better for the mind to be without the body, in the popular saying." De Anima I.iii Return

139 Pausanias, in his Guide to Greece I.xvii, remarks: "Among the things in the market at Athens not well known to everyone is the Altar of Pity. The Athenians are the only Greeks who pay honours to this very important god in human life and human reverses. It is not only that love of the human race is in their institutions, but they worship gods more than other people; they have altars of Modesty and Rumour and Impulse; obviously, people who have more religion than others get their share of good luck in proportion." He also mentions the altar to "Unknown Gods". Return

140 Tarsus was renowned for the quality of its goats' hair cloth, which was used for tents and sails. Return