THE APOCRYPHY

A tale of Rome

I’m putting this up for THROWBACK THURSDAY…

(Updated comments are in bold lettering.)

I wasn’t going to put this up for a while yet (and I’m still not). It’s my Magnum Opus. (If I went to University and took a writing course, this would be my thesis paper.) I started the first iteration of it when I was 28. I based my hero (Lucipedes/ Corinthianus) on my age at the time, so I wouldn’t forget how old I was when I started writing this. It was so long ago, in fact, that I was (still) using a typewriter. I have three different drafts of it laying around (somewhere). It got too long, and too unwieldy, so I decided to leave it until I had time to actually work on it. That time is (not) now, obviously, because I’m retired. (But I’m also busy writing serials right now.) I will get to it, but not until sometime next year—or (probably after) if my readers say they want it now. Just to warn you, one of my drafts is 1200 pages. Let’s say, 285,000 words. Or is it 320,000? Can’t remember.

I decided to put this up (at the time) because two other writers I followed here put up historical pieces based in, and on, Romanesque history, (although they were more Historical Fantasy, much like my King Arthur story, while this is Historical Fiction). This story takes place in Rome, starts in the year 48 CE. The letters were written in 112, by Pliny the Younger to the story’s antagonist Marcus Praetonius (Cornelius Gaius). (The letters are each written in one long paragraph because they didn’t have paragraph breaks in their writing back then.

I put this up when I had 263 Subscribers, almost a year ago — September 6 2023 — which at the time I thought was a lot. Now I’m ten away from 600! With a total of 1323 Subscriber/Followers combined. And you know what, it’s always going to seem like a lot.)

So here are the letters, a prologue if you will…

THE APOCRYPHY

                    BOOK ONE

ROME

                PART ONE

      ASIATICUS

Letter I

Pliny to Marcus Praetonius

A.D.III ID. MARTIUS

865 A.U.C. 

(MARCH 13 112 CE)

I cannot think of a better way to have spent an evening than with two amphorae of wine, a table full of food, and talking to an old friend about how things used to be—and all while being entertained by Numideaen dancers, no less! I suppose seated up there on the Viminalis, one eventually learns to enjoy the leisure that comes into play while living in the sunset years of his life—as you described it in your latest letter. I see it’s an activity I must take the time to enthusiastically pursue.(As I am hoping to soon retire from public life myself.) The only question that remains to be asked is why you have yet to move away from the noise and corruption of daily life in Rome? I feel I must apologize for my companion that evening, but Cornelius Tacitus exclaimed later how he has found a true font of historical acumen with all that you had to offer about your childhood in Rome. But then, how many men these days can claim they were ten years old when Sejanus fell from power? How many even remember who he was? And who can say they assumed the toga virilis when Gaius Caesar came to the purple? With the death of my guardian Verginius Rufus three years ago, it stands that you remain as the lone representative of that bygone age. The only thing Tacitus could say during the litter ride home was how much of a fool he’d been for having denied himself access to all you have witnessed through the years. I do hope you take him up on his offer for dinner and describe that dreadful year of Civil War with Emperor following Emperor, finally ending with our Flavian dynasts. As much as I look forward to reading it even as it comes from Tacitus’s pen, hearing it from the mouth of Rome’s only living witness would be far more exciting—the way history should be learned, or so my late Uncle always told me. When it comes to our more recent history however, it’s the years of Claudius’s rule that have always fascinated me. I’m afraid I can’t agree with Tacitus’s portrayal of him as a ruthless and cruel ruler—I prefer to abide by your memories, as much as I still abide by Rufus, with both of you declaring how Claudius undertook to obliterate all traces of Gaius. But if any man’s writing stands up to the test of time, I’m certain it will be Tacitus. So there’s every possibility that the world will only know Claudius through Tacitus’s words, and little else. If there’s any underlying fault to be found with Claudius, perhaps one could say he should have been censured for his choice in women; it is clear that is wherein his weakness lay. Is it any wonder that Tacitus says he hopes he’s never forced to introduce you to young Suetonius Tranquillus? These historians guard their sources too selfishly for my taste. Cluvius was the same when he wrote his Roman history—and even apologized to my guardian for having cast him in such an heroic light. But Tacitus is the better writer—the greatest living writer since before the halcyon days of Livy—and so by all rights should be the first to hear history as it was meant to be—lived. I suspect Suetonius knows this—I’m sure he hears and sees evidence of it everyday—but pays no mind to it as both men have such varying tastes and differing styles as to what they consider worthy of Clio’s graces—for surely any man can see the Muse has graced Tacitus more with her gifts. But a man of such distinguished ancestry—a true hero of Rome and with the agnomen of Parthicus no less—that a man can have lived to such advanced old age is a gift of the gods, my friend. That a man can live through such turbulent times and remember so much of what’s been forgotten and pushed aside is proof the gods of Rome won’t let the past be forgotten.

Letter II

Marcus Praetonius to Pliny

A.D. IX KAL. APR

865 A.U.C.

(MARCH 23 112 CE)

I have not been called Parthicus for a great number of years, dear Secundus, and it strikes me with a deep sense of pride that there are still a few men left out there who remember these things about me. It helps to tickle the vanity of an old man when you remind him of his youth. Had I died an honourable death in Parthia—or forced to open my veins as Corbulo was even after his greatest victories—perhaps my memory would have been preserved, like that of your guardian Verginius Rufus. However, unlike my distinguished ancestor Scipio Africanus, the name Parthicus never readily caught on for me. Perhaps that is because it was Nero who gave it to me, instead of a man like Vespasian, or his good son Titus? (Is it not ironic how one denotes the character of a man’s sons with such cognomen as ‘Good’, or ‘Bad’, or worse still, ‘Mad’, as if that will explain everything that needs to be said?) Perhaps the loss of my name is as simple a thing as bad timing, for you remember how it was soon after that, that one of the many conspiracies against Nero finally came to fruition? I have long felt that name should have gone to Corbulo, and perhaps should even go to him now, posthumously? Maybe I can add it as a stipulation to my will? An addendum, or a post script as they are wont to call these things now, for fear my Shade will not rest easy until Corbulo’s heirs take from me the name of Parthicus. Rome was lucky to have had generals like him on the frontiers—like your friend Tacitus’s father-in-law, Agricola—because without men like them the Empire would have lost a great many of her provinces. Parthia has become our greatest rival on the military stage, and since the world is Rome’s, I feel we must destroy Parthia now, before she destroys us. I feel I have been the Senate’s Cato with my dire warnings of ‘Parthia must succumb’, but all to no avail as my warnings have fallen on deaf ears. And so like her great generals, Rome is lucky to have had men who will always stand up to despotism—even at the sacrifice of their own lives. It is, however, unfortunate that by the time they have acted, the despot’s rule has turned into one of tyranny—which always seems to be the watchword for change. It happened to Caligula—as Sejanus before him while Tiberius enjoyed his retirement in Capraea—just as it happened to Nero. I suppose that is why it came as such a shock to me when Domitian charged Epaphroditus with Nero’s murder twenty years after the fact—even though he was Nero’s Freedman and acting out of mercy with Nero having botched his own suicide. But that is the way of the despot, is it not, for shortly after that Domitian himself was murdered by a former slave. Life may not be predictable, but is subtle in its unpredictability, and those subtleties can bring down Empires. As I recall that night, you asked me about the Christians and how the Empire first dealt with them—and by that I don’t mean the persecution set upon them by Nero—for I fear the answer I gave you was evasive at best, and non-committal. (The gods will hold me to the truth on that!) However, I have in my possession a certain number of writings—scrolls, documents, extracts, and the like—that have come to me through various and sundry means over the years, and which may shed some light on the subject as far as the origins of these Christians are considered. I shall have the whole bunch sent over to you for your inspection and sincerely ask that you drop them over the side of your ship once you have completed your investigation. My primary reason for this is if a Mystery Cult loses its mystery, then it is the people themselves who are made to look like fools. I prefer not to leave such an epitaph behind as a reminder. I had planned to burn them with me on my funeral pyre, but now feel entrusting them to your final care a more worthy choice.

Letter III

Pliny to Marcus Praetonius

A.D. III NON. APR.

865 A.U.C.

(APRIL 2 112 CE)

My interests in the Christians are two-fold, I readily admit. I have recently been given a post in the Orient—to the distant lands of Bythinia—and while I may have been looking forward to a healthy retirement in the countryside, now readily accede to the needs of the Emperor who asks me to investigate claims the Bythinians have made as far as the conduct of their former Procurator is concerned. And so I leave within the week. It has also come to my understanding that a certain cult of Christians has established itself within the populace. I am at a loss as to how one is supposed to deal with a cult he does not understand. The first being, what do they mean by, ‘a certain cult of Christians’? How many cults are there? I was led to understand there was just the one. What is the great Mystery about them? This is why I turn to you. It has long been a habit of mine—from my early days in the Law Courts of the Forum—to prepare myself with primary investigations against whatever allegations may have been laid against clients of mine. And while the Christians are not my clients in that respect, I have always had a difficult time coming to terms with ordering innocent men and women to certain death. Refusing to make libations to the Emperor’s image is punishable with death, and these people know it, yet still insist on denying the Imperial deities.

Letter IV

Marcus Praetonius to Pliny

A.D. XVIII KAL. MAI.

865 A.U.C.

(APRIL 13 112 CE)

If you wish to understand these Christians my dear Pliny, then you have to look into their past—to the youth of this abomination, and, as much as it pains me to say, my own as well. My own life was inextricably mixed up with these Christians right from the beginning, and only lately have I been able to wipe the stigma of that stain off myself by outliving everyone else involved. You may have heard that my first wife, Lavinia Valeria, was killed during Nero’s initial persecution—which pales when compared to the lengths Domitian haD advanced his structured butchery—and I would not be able to deny it were I to be questioned on it. So, in order to understand how something as sedentary as a Mystery Cult could deceive an Empire, one has to understand the evil that first stirred it to wakefulness. Most of the Mystery Cults here in Rome have been established for two hundred years or more; I have no doubt it will be the same with these Christians—give them another hundred years and they’ll be running the place. The Bacchus Cult originated in the Achaean provinces more than four hundred years ago remember, and was as persecuted then, as these Christians are now. Only then they were under the aegis of their god Dionysius, and perhaps it was that sweeping Hellenist culture of theirs that helped resolve the staunch Roman heart into accepting them? But taken together with Isis and Mithras, these Cults have all had to fight adversity and persecution before becoming firmly established within our Latin society. And that is the thought that interested me. It was your own uncle who encouraged me in my cataloging of the events that followed, but I took it a step further with the purchase of private papers once those involved had been killed. That is why I feel confident when I say as old as I am now, when I was younger I seem to recall how there were two Cults worshipping the same god. There were the Jews, who called themselves Nazarenes, and these same Christians we know today. I am sorry, but my knowledge as to what is so different between the two of them ends there. So, as much as they may have to face the adversity of an Empire, they are also at odds with themselves. Perhaps I should reconsider thinking the Christians will be running the place? One needs to adopt a wait and see policy as to which one will inherit the Empire. I feel the answers you seek will be found within the numerous bundles I have sent you. They are numbered as they were discovered; most were written by a poet named Corinthianus, who is also known by the name of Lucipedes. If one is to believe his tale, it is the account of how one man devised a religion based on an obscure Judean Cult—(the same one I mentioned before, these Nazarenes)—so that he might enrich himself. (Please, if there is a god of Irony, tell me now so I may start making offerings to him as well.) This man was unknown when he lived in Rome, and it saddens me to say that I remember him, as he was a slave in my former father-in-law’s house and had been there since childhood. He was almost thirty—or looked to be that old—when my father-in-law freed all of his slaves. He accompanied my former wife to Antioch where they promptly disappeared—together with this man Corinthianus. That would have been during the reign of Claudius, in the eight hundredth year of the city. One does not forget things like that. If one is to let himself believe these Cults have come to our city through the will of the gods, then it become easier understanding how they have managed to survive for this long; for who can fight the will of the gods? Sacrifice is never enough, it seems. (Once again I have to make a sacrifice to Irony. Perhaps a libation will do?) One need only read the words of Corinthianus to see that things are not always as they seem.

Letter V

Pliny to Marcus Praetonius

A.D. IV KAL. MAI.

865 a.u.c.

(APRIL 27 112 CE)

I trust you had an enjoyable dinner with my friend Cornelius Tacitus and remembered not to be too gruff with him. He’s a man of infinite insight and consummate Reasoning as I am certain you were quick to discern. He believes that with Reason a man is capable of analyzing every aspect of the Human Emotion—Ethos as he calls it—for Reason is unique among the faculties assigned to us in being able to evaluate itself. I cannot see what he hopes to propose with his assessment of self-evaluation, and do not wholly believe in what he says, believing Ethos to be the characteristic spirit of a people, rather than the system he believes it to be. He says it is more than just a question of what it is, and what it is capable of—or even how valuable it is—because it is Reason that allows us to pass judgement on others. So it is only appropriate that the gods have given us the best and most efficacious gift, he says: the ability to make good use of impressions. But standards of Reasonableness and unreasonableness vary from person to person—just as we consider things that are good or bad, as well as harmful or beneficial—this is why education has no goal more important than bringing about our preconception of what is reasonable and unreasonable into alignment with Nature. You are the one who ultimately knows yourself, he asserts—which is to say that you know how much you are worth in your own estimation, and therefore at what price you will sell yourself; because accordingly, people sell themselves at different rates. Tacitus is a man who knows his worth. He sets it above all others because he feels that his worth is not only found within his writing for Rome and Romans, but also in his claim that he is writing for Posterity as well, whom he claims is his true Muse. His is a truly complex mind, but I feel you will rise to the occasion and accept him for his idiosyncrasies in belief—which brings us to that god of Irony you feel so compelled to praise. Because a man may hold onto the idiosyncrasies of a philosophical turn, like my dear friend Cornelius Tacitus, but not religion as it is—for it is a State religion here in Rome—there is not much room for latitude in movement. This is what allows us to not only accept these Mystery Cults, but also seek them out. With the Christians however, there is one minor difference, or discrepancy—or perhaps you could say it is a major difference—that being the acceptance of everyone with a promise of sins forgiven and life everlasting. On the subject of the gods, there are those who deny the existence of Divinity outright; others who say that God exists, but is idle and indifferent to Mankind and does not pay attention to anything. A third group says that God exists and is attentive, but only to the working of the heavens and not the affairs of Man. A fourth group contends that He does attend to earthly affairs, including the welfare of humanity, but only in a general way, without worrying about individuals. And then there is this last group—and I include Odysseus and Socrates among them—who say they cannot make a move without God’s notice. One needs to examine the concept of God and the gods carefully, because if the gods do not exist, what sense do we make of the command, ‘to follow the gods’? And how can it be a sensible goal if they exist, but do not care about we mortal beings? Even supposing that they exist, or care, if that care does not extend to people, and in point of fact, to me, personally, it is still not a worthwhile goal. The intelligent person, after due consideration of the question, will decide to submit his will to the ruler of the universe, just as a good citizen submits himself to the laws of the State. The Christian it seems, willingly puts his God ahead of the state, and with the promise of life eternal, willingly goes out to face his death like the staunchest of Stoics. A man must ask himself, ‘How can I follow the gods always, and how can I adapt to God’s government, and so be free?’ Freedom, you see, is having events go in accordance with our will, not contrary to it. This, it seems to me, is the fundamental difference between one’s pursuit of the gods, and the Christians’ acceptance of their God, that there is no freedom and no acceptance of these fundamental differences. This is why I want to thank you for the loan of your scrolls. As for dropping them into the coldness of Poseidon’s bosom, a part of me screams that this is wrong, while another part of me agrees that once a Mystery Cult loses its identity to the people who worship it in blind faith, or subjugation-—or is that word subjection instead?—then it will collapse in on itself. You need not fear for the secrecy of these Christians. Let me assure you that I will be sending them back no sooner do we reach Bythinia, expecting to having finished reading them in their entirety during the course of my voyage. I have already opened the first scroll and am convinced that nothing will come between the work and me until we reach landfall in the eastern Provinces. I promise that upon my return to Rome we will have a long discussion on the Christian issue and what it means to be Roman.