The Blood of the Martyrs by Naomi Mitchison Read Free Book Online

kid,’ said Manasses, ‘you’ll have the stuffing out.’
    â€˜Wish I had his stuffing out!’ said Phaon.

    Manasses said low: ‘Don’t be a fool. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get worse done to you than that before you’re much older. There’s some houses—’
    â€˜You’ve told me that already!’ said Phaon, and his voice rose to a squeak. ‘But I won’t stand it! Not always.’
    Argas looked up, frowning, from his bucket and rags, and Manasses caught the boy by the wrist and said very quietly, ‘It won’t go on always. We know that.’
    Phaon choked and swallowed. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Yes. We are not to be oppressed. He shall fill the hungry with good things.’
    Manasses whispered back the answer, ‘And the rich He shall send empty away.’
    But Argas was watching Beric and Lalage, scrubbing towards them. Half aloud, he said to Lalage, ‘Got your pay yet?’
    Lalage answered rather oddly, ‘I think I am being paid now.’
    Beric was disturbed by her speaking. He looked up and saw Argas, but he did not seem to mind now that Argas had seen the spilled wine and the blow. Perhaps Argas, also, had once been free and proud and then lost everything—what was it?—lost power, lost possessions, lost love. He had never thought of Argas that way before; he had been one of the slaves, just one of the slaves. Now their glances met, fumbling, and he heard Lalage saying into his ear, ‘Make the sign, Beric, son of Caradoc the king, the way I showed you.’
    Uncertainly he made the sign, and Argas, sitting back on his heels in the dirty water, answered him quick with the same sign, and Manasses and Phaon came slipping round from the other couch and made it too. Manasses whispered urgently to Lalage, ‘Does he know the Words, too?’
    â€˜The words?’ said Beric, bewildered. ‘I don’t know what you’re all talking about! I don’t even know the name of the one you follow.’
    Manasses, behind, whispered, ‘Take care!’
    But Argas, watching him steadily, said, ‘We follow Jesus, the Christ, who died for us.’

    Something in Beric gave a sickening jump. He said in horror: ‘Then you’re—Christians?’ And he looked from one to the other; he was in a trap. Somehow the slaves had got him down, tangled him, like Flavia had. Only it was Lalage this time!
    She answered him. ‘Yes, friend.’ And the others nodded.
    He broke out, increasingly upset, ‘You, Manasses. You poured me out my wine this evening. And you were a Christian all the time!’
    He clenched his fists, he wanted to hurt Manasses. If only Manasses hadn’t stayed so quiet. If Manasses hadn’t smiled and said, ‘Do I look as if I wanted to poison you?’
    â€˜But,’ said Beric, ‘Christians are—’
    â€˜Dirt,’ said Lalage. ‘So we are. I told you.’
    â€˜But you dance in all the best houses, Lalage!’ said Beric desperately. ‘And Manasses … Argas … little Phaon … I can’t understand it. In this house! And you look just the same as you always did!’
    â€˜Do we?’ said Argas.
    Beric stood up, looked from him to Manasses, went over to Phaon and tilted up his face and stared at it. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t. No. You don’t look like slaves. You look like men. So that’s what it does.’
    Manasses said, ‘We’ve been reborn. We’ve been like this ever since, but you’ve only just seen it. Friend.’
    â€˜Why are you calling me friend?’ Beric asked. He only wanted to know, but Manasses and the other slaves took it as a rebuke and stood silent and uncomfortable.
    It was Lalage who answered. ‘Because you made our sign. After that none of us could help calling you friend. Don’t you like him to say it? Isn’t it a good