György Spiró - Captivity

They saw a large market to the left, so they went over to take a look. This could not be the market in the Upper City, Uri realized, as he had seen from the wall that it was situated in the square directly in front of Herod’s palace, and here there was no sign of any palace. They started asking vendors where the other market was located and were directed farther south.

They finally got to the Upper City and, upon emerging from the winding alleyways, they kept on southward until they reached the city wall. They proceeded westward beside the wall until they got to a gate. Uri recognized the large building at the southeast corner of the Upper City as the Antonia Fortress, where he had already had the pleasure of being quartered. To the right rose the Temple, its top occasionally visible among the haphazard jumble of streets and houses, as he too could now see, though he still felt nothing. The youths were trembling in their excitement, hardly able to walk, dumbfounded. Uri again asked passersby where the person in question resided, but none knew.

Finally someone came to a halt.

“Joseph ben Nahum?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t live here but in the City of David.”

“But I was told,” Uri said with some irritation, “that I should look for him in the Upper City.”

“Well, then you’d better go to the palace of the high priest. That’s where the Sanhedrin comes together.”

Uri was startled. There were memories tying him to one of the arches of that palace.

“What does he have to do with the Sanhedrin?” Uri asked.

“He’s a member,” the man said, bowed politely, and went on.

The youths were flabbergasted. Theo, whom they were accompanying, was paying a visit to no less than a member of the Sanhedrin! Uri glanced at them. They would be talking about this for weeks back home, and even next year it would still be a topic of conversation during the reaping and winnowing.

I’ve become as famous as that dumb Manasseh, Uri thought. He laughed out loud.

Everyone knew the way to the palace of the high priest, though it was far from easy getting there because they repeatedly had to turn left and right in the twisting streets.

Finally a small square opened before them in front of a two-story palace. Uri stopped and looked along the wall at ground level. Yes. Arches carved from ashlars, seven each to the right and to the left of the ornamental gateway. It was here that vendors had set up their stalls before they were moved in front of Herod’s palace and the arches were bricked up to create twelve prison cells. Their doors could only be reached from inside, each of them separately. There was just one row of bricks separating them from the square, so if a person shouted from inside, he could be heard outside. Why did it never occur to us to shout?

Something still did not add up. If he was in the cell and facing the door, then the slit window had been high up and to the right, but the windows could not have abutted one another, as there had been fresh air coming in through them.

“I’ll only take a moment,” he quickly said to the idling youths, and set off along the wall toward the left of the north-facing main entrance.

He turned at the corner of the building and looked up.

At a height of around seven feet was a small vent facing east. The slit window of the corner cell.

That was where he had been imprisoned with the two robbers and the third person and then alone.

There were women walking about in the street, baskets or pitchers in hand. People must have been roaming around like this back then as well; it would have been possible to shout to them, and they would have heard.

He listened to test whether he could hear anything from inside. Maybe there were prisoners in the cell right now. He heard nothing.

Inside they did not know they could be heard. Or else the cell was empty.

But then what could he have said back then to those on the outside? That he was innocent but had been arrested? Even if he had yelled and been heard, what were they supposed to do? They would have quickened their pace in alarm. He was surprised that he had heard no street noise through the window — or was it forbidden to come this way during festivals?

In Rome there was just one prison, the carcer , a small, aging building kept purely for show. Although in the provinces of Italia there were workhouses for escaped slaves, robbers, and thieves, all arrested people were held in their own homes. It would have been very odd to have defendants packed into the basement rooms of the palace of the Pontifex Maximus, the chief of the priests, especially given that the Pontifex Maximus for quite some time had been none other than the emperor, who lived on the Palatine (or at least lived there in principle, as Tiberius had for many years been living on the isle of Capri).

Uri strolled back to the elated youths and motioned to them that they should wait before knocking on the palace gate. It was opened, revealing two Jewish soldiers standing sentry. Uri said that he was looking for Joseph ben Nahum.

“Who’s looking?”

“Gaius Theodorus from Rome.”

There was a lull as some people inside murmured something.

“You can come in,” a voice said.

Uri turned around and waved to the youths, who just gawped as they watched him enter and the gate slam behind him.

A guard escorted him without a word along the ground level to the right — the opposite direction from where his former cell lay. Uri heaved a sigh of relief. The corridor received light from an inner space to the left; a well-trimmed garden with tall trees, clipped bushes, and fountains. He then found himself in a small room with a window cut high up in the wall, reminiscent of his old cell, and the guard shut the door.

Joseph ben Nahum was a gaunt, elderly gentleman, each and every hair white, even his eyes were a pale gray that was almost white. There were a number of stools and a table on which there were scrolls.

Joseph offered Uri a seat.

“What was it like with Master Jehuda?” he inquired affably.

“Interesting,” said Uri frankly. “I would find it hard to say what exactly I learned in the village, but I don’t have the feeling it was a waste of time.”

“Splendid,” said Joseph. “We have not placed any pilgrims with him so far, but that seems to indicate that we might do so in the future.”

Uri kept quiet; it was not his place to raise any objections to this honor.

Joseph also fell silent, and Uri sensed that he was hesitating.

He thought back to the young official who three months ago, in the Antonia Fortress, had directed him to Master Jehuda. He could not recall any of the man’s features. He glanced at Joseph’s face; this one he would be able to recollect in the future.

“We are well aware, dear Gaius, that you wish to return to Rome, but until the opportunity to do so arises, you might place your knowledge and experience at our disposal. We would be extremely grateful.”

“First of all I want to go to Alexandria,” Uri said, surprising even himself.

Joseph nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, we can assist with that,” he said.

“It’s something I really want,” Uri said in excitement.

“I’ll do what I can,” Joseph declared.

It’s not certain that he’s an enemy, Uri thought. The white-haired man appealed to him, but caution was no bad thing.

“What was the trip from Rome like?” Joseph queried.

Uri was staggered. How far back that now seemed!

“Easier than I imagined,” Uri replied. “We didn’t drown in the sea, we weren’t slaughtered by highwaymen, we didn’t die of hunger even once.”

Joseph laughed.

“Lots of people come from Rome for Rosh Hashanah,” he said. “You could go back with them. Until then we’ll place you in a pilgrim group. We were thinking it would be good for you to be with the Babylonians. They’ve got a nice place, and they’re hospitable.”