Jonathan Trigell - The Tongues of Men or Angels

‘By this time, Nazarenes had travelled as far as Phoenicia and Alexandria, but aside from my own brief travails in Arabia, the message had been passed solely to Jews. However, in Syrian Antioch, Greek Gentiles, too, were beginning to listen and join, and when news of this reached the ears of the Church at Jerusalem, Barnabas and I were sent to Antioch to preach and encourage the faithful.

‘We lived some years with the community there. The people of Antioch called our movement Christianoi. I suppose you’d translate it as “the faction promoting messianism”, a dreadfully insulting and derogatory slur. But Antioch was nonetheless a place of marvels, perhaps the third greatest city in the world, and more beautiful than any save Rome herself, so it was well to be established firmly there. And we increased the numbers of brothers considerably, until perhaps two hundred believed, or maybe three … No, write five hundred. Now I think about it, it was much closer to five hundred.

‘But at the end of that time, the Holy Spirit came into Barnabas and me and told us that we must once more travel and spread the word. And the Holy Spirit thought it best that we start with Cyprus, because that was where Barnabas was originally from, plus it was just a short sail across the strait from Antioch. And so, sent on our way by the Holy Spirit, that was exactly what we did: myself and Barnabas and another brother, John-Mark. Or, at least, I thought him a brother back then.

‘We landed at Salamis and straight away went into the synagogues to proclaim Jesus as the saviour soon to return. And our successes were such that very soon word reached the proconsul of Cyprus himself, a great man called Sergius Paulus, who then summoned us.

‘Barnabas was afraid, for fear of what the governor might do. And John-Mark didn’t want to go, because he still regarded Rome as some kind of enemy. But they were both quite wrong in the event.

‘Because the proconsul was a magnificent man, statuesque and noble, and it was the Holy Spirit that had guided us to him. Our meeting was doubtless destined, for many great things were born of this encounter.

‘Sergius Paulus was a prudent ruler. If he had a single character flaw, it was that he was too open to superstition, because from the moment we were led into his court, I could see that he was part in thrall to a worm-tongued hanger-on of a magician. A lizard-faced, bulge-eyed, curtain-creeper called Elymas. Though a Jew, Elymas was shaven smooth, but for a little thumb-stump of beard in the manner of the Egyptians, and he was covered with queer blue tattoos, quite against the proscriptions of Leviticus. And he wore so many bangles and amulets that as he moved it was as though cheap timbrels tinkled after him. He called himself a sorcerer and fancied himself as a magi of old and as an interpreter of dreams. But if he had any powers at all, they were as nothing next to mine, as you will presently hear.

‘Sergius Paulus questioned us — Barnabas, John-Mark and me — and I expounded at length and with some eloquence of all that we had learned and seen. And of how the ancient texts, with which the proconsul had already some familiarity, contained within them the evidence that Jesus was the Messiah. And it was clear that Sergius Paulus was becoming persuaded by me, and no doubt by the Holy Spirit also.

‘Fearful of losing his influence, this Elymas began to whisper into Sergius Paulus’s ear after each and every thing that I said. And I could tell from Elymas’s crooked-slit smile, like a spider’s leg, that whatever he was whispering, it was done to undermine and denigrate my words and to clench his master to himself.

‘So I accused him straight to his face of being a child of the devil and an enemy of everything that is right, and told the whole assembly that Elymas was full of all kinds of deceit and trickery and was determined to pervert the right ways of God.

‘Shortly after I said this, Elymas was taken dizzy and had to sit down, while I continued to preach. And then Elymas said he felt unwell and asked to be excused. Of course, it was the hand of God that had struck against him. Because, before he could depart to his chambers, he became blinded, barely able to see the light of the sun. Mist and darkness came over him, and he wailed like a babe and groped about for someone to lead him away by the hand. And when the proconsul saw what had occurred through my power, he was amazed and believed with all his heart that Jesus is the Christ.

‘This blinding of Elymas was the first and perhaps the greatest of all the miracles I would perform. What happened to him afterwards, I don’t know. Maybe he was sucked off to whichever power of the underworld he served. But Sergius Paulus, his entire household and not a few of the others were reborn that very day, baptized in the sparkled fountain at his villa. And there was such joy and rejoicing in the name of the Lord. And not a little humility on the parts of Barnabas and John-Mark, who had counselled that we should not go to the proconsul and were then forced to concede that I had been right all along.

‘But further momentous things were to happen in that place because, in a manner of speaking, I was reborn as well. Sergius Paulus insisted that he become my patron and gave me a letter of recommendation. And, as is not uncommon in Roman patronage, he suggested that I henceforth use a part of his name, as a mark of his special favour. And I was eager to do just this, so others would know of and celebrate the great miracle that I had performed in blinding the sorcerer. From that day onwards, I shed the name Saul, just as a man who has come into a great inheritance would throw away the clothes he had worn in poverty. And the world would come to know me as Paul.’

This arena is small, provincial. It’s probably in Galatia or Asia or somewhere, judging by how hot it is. But it might be in Hispania or Gaul, or even Britain, if this is just a particularly sultry summer’s day. It is hard to tell precisely where this is because all Roman arenas are as similar as their shields. The Romans have a certain manner of doing things and it involves making each new place where they arrive identical to everywhere they have been. Often the natives — who previously had different ways and might have got a little stuck in them — initially don’t approve of this. But once a sufficient proportion of the men of fighting age have spilled their innards onto the fields; once enough families, split, raped and wretched, have been sold into slavery; once an adequate number of villages have been razed to the ground and their shrieking occupants put to the sword, the locals generally come around. Rome is a civilizing influence, after all. And arena sports are just one of the many marvels of civilization they bring.

This being a provincial arena, though, the band isn’t up to much. There’s a man on some kind of trumpet, curled like the shell of a snail, another beating a goatskin drum, and that’s about it. But to judge by the blood seeping into the sands, the morning’s games have been good.

It’s just a couple of andabatae on the programme now, condemned criminals, flailing about at each other in helms with no eye-holes. It’s not the best of the arena sports, but you would have to have a heart of stone not to laugh a bit. To add to the fun, this first one is rather fat: his flesh wobbles with his every thrust into the empty air. He’s so corpulent, in fact, that you could bet his penis has all but disappeared into the flappy folds of his groin. Really they should make him battle unclothed to be even funnier, but he wears a loincloth, like all the damnati . Most men don’t fight well when they’re naked: they instinctively feel bested and defensive. For andabatae , who can’t see anyway, you wouldn’t think it would make much difference, but seemingly it still does. What is really hilarious currently, though, is that the fat man’s adversary isn’t even out on the sands yet, so the flabby fool is wasting his energy slashing away like this.