[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.So will you be told by me or will you not?’‘What he could try,’ James the Little said, ‘is that concentration of Greeks down in Bethany.It’s a powerful weapon, you see, the big whip becoming one of the faithful.It’s a bit of a waste, sending him off home to think things over.’‘I’ve thought things over,’ Paul said once more.‘Go on then,’ Peter said resignedly.‘Stick to the fringe of the city.But as soon as they break your head with a stone come back here for your passage money.Barnabas and Thomas had better go with you.See how you get on.We don’t just let anyone preach the word, you know.You can’t just suddenly know it all, just like that, with a twist of the wrist.’‘Leave me out,’ Thomas said.‘I’m too old for yon stone-throwing.’Marcus Julius Tranquillus breathed northern sea air, looking out in a chill dawn across bilious green waters to a ghost of white cliffs.He had a woollen cloak wrapped about him.He admired the steam of his breathing and that of his companion on guard, Rufus Calvus, who was neither bald nor haired reddish brown.‘Britannia Britannia Britannia,’ Marcus Julius sang, stamping on the shingle near the long line of landing craft.‘What do the natives call it?’‘There’s no one name.Each tribe has its own little region which it thinks to be the big world.’‘And now the real big world rushes in.The Roman eagle spreads its wings—’ There was no need to complete the pleasantry, known, in many languages, all over the Empire.Rufus Calvus laughed guiltily.He said:‘This is known as building an empire.Ultima Thule.The edge of the world.And what do we bring?’‘Law.Order.Roads.Temples.For worship of the divine Caligula.A more pertinent question is: what do we take back?’‘Slaves.Tribute.Gold.Silver.To replenish,’ Rufus Calvus spoke the words in a mockery of the senatorial rhetorical manner, ‘depleted ah coffers.Britannia as a cure for imperial poverty.’ A bucina brayed.There was soon a whole ringing consort of bucinae all over the camp that lay behind them.‘We’d better take post.’Vast forces for the invasion.The camp sprawled far.Troops put on breastplates round fires that had been kept alight all night long, shivering.Piled shields and pila clashed and squeaked.Drums rolled.Tuba and bucina groaned in antiphony.Soldiers lined up by companies under barking under-officers.Horses were dragged whinnying towards their sea transportation.They smelt cold and did not like it.There was a swish of swords removed for inspection and then sheathed.A forest of spears arose from the dunes.Officers bawled, faces red raw with the morning’s razor.Tents were struck and loaded on to carts that were wheeled towards the boats.Waves crashed, gulls wailed.The tribune Cornelius Sabinus inspected in preparation for the imperial inspection.Trumpets.From his tent yawning came Gaius Caligula, queasy from the night’s wine.He walked pompously, staff lined up behind him, to the inspection of the legions, to which had been attached a segment of the Praetorian Guard.The inspection was long, shivering, thorough.The Emperor complained bitterly of the cold, an affront to his divinity.The sun was well up by the time he was ready to be helped on to a cart in order to address the assembly.He addressed the assembly with due solemnity, though not well heard in the rear ranks:‘Soldiers of the Empire.Your brave hearts and fine bodies have come to the northern shore of our province of Gaul.From here you will embark and sail to the shores of Britannia.Britannia will fall to us and be ours.This is an exceptionally solemn occasion.The last province of the Roman Empire awaits our acquisition.But first – there is an important thing to do.You see these shells spread all along the shore as far as eye can reach? They are Roman property.Hence they must go back to Rome.Gather them.’No one there could believe what he had heard.The Emperor repeated pettishly:‘Gather them.Gather them.Quickly.Put down your arms and gather them.’Cornelius Sabinus’s voice was near inaudible.‘All of them, Caesar?’‘Gather them.Gather them.’Incredulous, trembling, the great disciplined force was reduced to a horde of children gathering seashells on the shore.‘Where – where shall they put them, Caesar?’‘Let them gather them in their helmets, which might have been made for the gathering of shells.And then empty their helmets into those transport wagons.’‘This will do it.This,’ panted Marcus Julius faintly, gathering shells.‘What?’ white-faced Rufus Calvus asked.‘He can’t survive it.The humiliation of the army.The shame of it.He can’t he can’t—’ Gathering shells.All along the coast.Shells being gathered.The dry rustle of the shellfish market in Neapolis multiplied abominably.Gaius Caligula examined a single shell with minute attention, saying:‘Beautifully made, aren’t they? Exquisite workmanship.That old god, whoever he was, had remarkable creative gifts.But the new god gets the benefit of them.That’s as it should be.’The knuckles of Cornelius Sabinus whitened and whitened as he gripped and gripped the hilt of his sword.But Gaius Caligula was still a god.His effigy was being manhandled out of one of the dock warehouses, ready for dragging to Jerusalem, while Paul was stepping aboard the ship that would carry him to Tarsus in Cilicia.His head had, true to Peter’s prophecy, been split, he had bruises on his jaw, and he limped
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]