Hiatus

The author has temporarily put this blog on hold as she devotes all her writing time to finishing her novel, a historical fiction set in fourth-century Egypt.

Jesus Fish (Ichthys)

250 CE, Oxyrhynchus, Egypt

Around mid-afternoon on a tepid January day, Avitus’ city was greeted by the banter of clocking horse hooves. A magistrate under Emperor Decius had arrived in the marketplace atop a magnificent black Parthinian stallion, accompanied by two lictors riding honey-colored Spanish horses, and an entourage of some ten soldiers fortifying their back end. The lictors flaunted identical fasces—rods of bundled birch wood with a bronze blade projecting from its middle— which were carried over their left shoulders as symbols of Rome’s power. They dismounted and stood on either side of the magistrate, whose cream colored toga boasted the distinguished purple hem, impelling the people of Oxyrhynchus to gather around. The magistrate had come to sniff out those of the Christian faith, a religious sect growing in number whose adherents posed a great danger to the strength and stability of the empire.

Gesturing to draw close, the magistrate shouted, “Men, women, and children of Oxyrhynchus, faithful city of the Roman Empire, lend your ear so that I may tell, in a few words, of the constitution of your Imperium, which faces a distressing danger. Perhaps you have already heard about those derelicts who call themselves Christians, rejecting the gods of our forefathers in favor of some charlatan whom they call Christ, who has proclaimed himself the son of god, convincing the gullible with magic, incantations, and incredible stories, and using trickery and deceit to win over feeble minds. These Christians threaten the pax deorum; they will bring ruin to the earth and to our race!” he shouted.

Avitus had learned long ago of the pax deorum, a pact between man and the gods in which they agreed to preserve and protect the heavens and earth in exchange for man’s habitual prayer and sacrifice. To neglect these duties was to solicit the wrath of the gods, precipitating the decline, or even destruction, of humanity. Mimicking the words of their leader and namesake, these Christians were grossly insulting in their insistence that only their god held sway over the universe, and they were dangerous in their impious belief that their god was worthy of worship, but none others.

“Their pestilence is spreading like a cancer to all reaches of the Roman Empire, and it must be stopped,” the magistrate roared. The people of Oxyrhynchus looked around at one another, their eyes overwrought with suspicion, and their mouths overcome with gossip as they fell into the grips of speculation.

“I have come with an edict issued by Emperor Decius to seek out these rabble-rousers. For the safety of the empire, each inhabitant of this city will be required to make a public sacrifice attesting to your loyalty of our ancestral gods,” he said, knowing any Christian would refuse, for their sacred writing had laid down that he who sacrifices to other gods shall be utterly destroyed.

“Those of you who agree will receive certificates that will keep you safe from harm. Those who refuse will be executed—hung by a tree, stoned, or set ablaze,” the magistrate yelled, his words growing bolder as he spoke. “You will have until sundown tomorrow to visit me at the temple of Zeus where you may receive your certificate, or refuse and meet your death. We have men stationed at your city gates, so I advise no one attempt escape,” he said with a growl.

Avitus bowed out from the crowd and walked briskly toward his home, fearing he would soon be forced to forsake his life in the name of the Christian faith. Just outside the marketplace, he passed by a group of men bantering, their concern plainly written in the creases of their brows. Avitus approached them, hoping they could not discern his desperation.

“Good tidings, gentleman,” he said, casually drawing an arc in the sand with his foot. The men looked down to the ground with surprise. The old man standing to his right touched his toe to the sand and drew an arc mirroring his, creating the outline of a simple fish. All present drew a sigh of relief, knowing they were in good company—among Christians.

The fish symbol had been adopted by Christians in the first century, when persecutions against them first began, and was drawn on walls to designate meeting places, or used to distinguish friend from foe, as Avitus had done. The fish had biblical significance—several of Jesus’ twelve Apostles were fisherman; Jesus had commissioned the Apostles to go out and fish for people (Matt 4:19); and Jesus fed the five thousand with two fishes and five loaves (Mark 6:41)—but it also offered Christians a discreet symbol since the fish was also associated with pagan gods, being associated with Aphrodite and Isis, as well as the zodiac sign of Pisces. Christians even made an acronym of the Greek word for fish, ΙΧΘΥΣ (Ichthys): Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior (Ίησοῦς Χριστός, Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σωτήρ).

Avitus and his Christian comrades, choosing not to become martyrs like various of their fellow Christians had, quickly began plotting their escape from execution, planning to leave Oxyrhynchus as soon as the veils of night were drawn. If they could successfully sneak past the guards, they would venture to the countryside where the magistrate and his men would not bother to go. Some planned on purchasing a certificate of sacrifice on the black market, while others would simply wait out the persecution, though this was not the first, nor would it be the last time Christians were sought out and punished.




The Truth of the Matter: All the information given regarding the fish—its pagan associations, biblical significance, and its symbolic adoption and use by the Christians—is true. The information given regarding the persecution of Christians under Emperor Decius, including the requirement of public sacrifice in exchange for a certificate (called a libellus), is also true. Four of these certificates were, in fact, found near Oxyrhynchus, Egypt, dating to 250 CE, when this story takes place. It was also accurate to peg the Roman Empire’s hatred for the Christian faith to the fact that they threatened the pax deorum, though that is but one reason among many that Christians were persecuted in antiquity. The characters in this story are fictional.

Evil Eye

Circa 200 BCE, Rome, Italy

Marius was a notorious boxer. Spectators gazed upon him as if he were a god, some admiring his height, some his girth, but all in agreement that the rippling beneath his skin—a product of a bulging musculature—was a fantastical sight to behold. Still, his record was not without blemish. When matches were fought with cestuses—ox-hide gloves loaded with iron knots and nails—strength mattered less than a methodical swing. On one calamitous day, as Marius was bringing his fist around to bear on his opponents cheek, his arm was met with the torrential blow of a cestus that snapped his humerus bone clear in half.

With a damaged arm hanging limp at his side, Marius was unable to console his pregnant wife, Tullia, with a warm embrace as she cried hysterically for his pain, and their loss of income. A physician set Marius’ bones back into their correct position with a bone lever, and all would have been well by the birth of their first child, except the bones were improperly set, leaving Marius’ arm mangled, darting sideways in a disgusting manner. That was the end of Marius’ boxing career, and the beginning of a life of anger, resentment, and envy.

The day his son was born was to be one of great jubilation, but instead, Tullia forbade Marius from looking upon his child. For it was said that Marius possessed an evil eye.

“The glance of your eye may have an injurious effect, and this we cannot risk!” she insisted, hiding her newborn in a throng of blankets. She feared her son’s physical perfection would stir jealousy within her husband. “You know well that his young being—yet of weak and tender constitution—can be easily harmed by an invidious glance.”

It was well known, in Rome and throughout the civilized world, that when a man looks at what is excellent with an envious eye, a malignant influence darts out from his pupils and infects the air. The infected air penetrates the victim, being drawn in through the nose and mouth, and pollutes his body, causing potent injury or death.

“But we have strung a dozen amulets around his neck!” Marius pleaded. “The head of Jupiter, an eye, crocodile, swan, serpent, thunderbolt, phallus, lion—each one possessing its own protective quality. These will shield him in case envy is stirred within the inner recesses of my being,” he petitioned, but Tullia would not allow him a single look at his son.

Driven temporarily mad by his predicament, Marius rushed into their bedroom and rummaged though his wife’s jewelry box until he held two beautiful brooches in either hand. Unclasping their pins, he thrust one in each eye, feeling neither pain nor regret as the pins pierced his pupils—only relief. Rendering himself blind, Marius grinned, knowing he would soon be able to hold his newborn son.



The Truth of the Matter: The earliest known reference to the evil eye occurs on Sumerian clay tablets dating to the third millennium BCE. The evil eye was feared by numerous cultures in antiquity, including the Assyrians, Jews, Egyptians, and Muslims. During the Hellenistic and Roman periods, belief in the evil eye was widespread, and was cited by such authors as Aristophanes, Plutarch, and Plato. Within this story, the characters are fictional, but the information related regarding the evil eye is factual.