Perennius paused and waved on the other members of his party as they followed the village priest. Sabellia was at the end of the line. The agent fell in step beside her and asked in Celtic, “Where’s the altar? You have one for sacrifice, don’t you?”
“Not for sacrifice,” the woman snapped. “Christ was the world’s sacrifice.” But her face promptly pursed into the look of uncertainty it had shown before the agent’s gaffe. “It must be movable,” Sabellia said. “The building isn’t like any church I’ve been in. Anything I’ve been in.”
“Sit down, guests,” Father Ramphion said with a two-handed gesture. “Accept the thanks of this valley which your presence blesses.”
The central table was, like those around it, a cloth-draped panel supported by two trestles. There was nothing of civilized formality about the meal, with guests reclining on couches around a small table filled with delicacies. At the other tables, villagers sat on benches. In the center, six stools surrounded the table. Father Ramphion had positioned himself at the end further from the hidden door. Perennius nodded and took the chair across from the local man. When the remainder of the party had ‘ seated themselves along the sides, the priest clapped his hands. The singing and shuffling of feet on stone floors ceased at once. Muffled echoes continued to rasp among the odd angles for long seconds thereafter.
Villagers joined hands with their neighbors to either side. Those who were standing moved into the gaps between tables and joined them so that the whole room was linked by a double ring of hands. Father Ramphion made a ritual gesture, crossing his torso. Then he lifted his eyes and his hands. “Almighty God,” he prayed in a voice which the room made reedy, “we thank you for blessing us, your servants, by sending the Anointed and Dioscholias his apostle into our midst to make known your will. For thirty-three years we have kept your ordinances that the Anointed may return when the way has been made smooth for him. Continue to bless your servants, and bless these strangers to your use. Let it be so.”
Sixty-odd feet above the table, the bell clanged twice. The dim air quivered among the heavy columns. The priest relaxed. “Welcome, strangers, to our feast of love,” he said in a normal voice. When he sat down, the cheerful bustle resumed all around.
While the offered meal was not of urban refinement, neither was it a simple one. The skeleton of it was wheat bread and chunks of lamb roasted on skewers. Both dishes were marvellously fresh and delicious. Beside those staples of a rural feast, there were a score of different cheese, egg, and vegetable courses, most of them offered cold. The one most to Perennius’ taste was a collation of cucumbers and cultured goat’s milk touched with additional herbs. The agent noted Sabellia’s eyes open in surprise. Her tongue spread the morsel she had taken carefully around her mouth as she separated flavors and piquancies. Her expression was appreciative.
There was no difference Perennius could see between the servitors and the villagers eating at the other tables. They all wore homespun and had the calluses and sunburn of people who worked outdoors. Those who carried food and water among the diners did so with enthusiasm if not the polished obsequiousness of men and women whose whole lives were sent in ministering to others. As the meal progressed, those who had first been doing the serving sat down to eat. They were replaced by some who had eaten already.
Sestius noticed the situation, too. He pointed with a cheese-laden wedge of bread and remarked, “Father, where’s all the slaves? Don’t tell me you all work your plots alone out here.” Sestius’ Cilician was rusty, but it was still more serviceable than the agent’s own.
Ramphion smiled. “We have no slaves in this valley, no. But then, we have no private plots of land, either. We decided, our forefathers – ” Someone came by with a bowl of chives in yogurt. The priest dipped some out with his index and middle fingers, licked the taste off, and waved the dish down to the others at the table. Perennius noticed that each dish was offered first to Father Ramphion, and that he always sampled it openly – even ostentatiously – before the strangers were asked to try it.