György Spiró - Captivity

“Where is she from, if I may ask?” Uri inquired.

“She’s the consort of the king of Adiabene.”

Uri did not venture to ask where exactly Adiabene lay. It was most likely a tiny kingdom somewhere in the East, though west of Babylon. He seemed to recall hearing the name before, only he had not taken much notice.

“From Rome’s point of view,” Joseph said, “it’s probably barely noticeable…”

Uri broke out laughing, and even Joseph had to smile.

All at once Uri saw before his eyes lines from a scroll: “The marriageable girls are sold by auction to the bridegrooms, always selling first those who are the more highborn…”

“For just as ablution is customary after touching a corpse,” Uri quoted aloud from memory, “so also is it customary after intercourse. And in accordance with a certain oracle the custom of Babylonian women is the have intercourse with a foreigner…”

“I have no idea if it is still the same today,” said Joseph, “but around fifty years ago Strabo took the descriptions of others, and they are unlikely to have been all that fresh at the time, but anyway for him the description applied to all the Assyrians, and it was more a fable than a fact.”

Uri nodded respectfully. Joseph spoke Greek and was a well-read man.

“Right now King Monobaz is their ruler,” Joseph carried on. “A sort of tribal king, but Rome recognized him, and so did the Parthians. His wife, Helena, and their eldest son Izates let it be known not so long ago that they wished to convert to Judaism, but Monobaz did not. As a result the palace where you’ll be working is being built for Helena, the Jewish queen, and Izates, the Jewish heir to the throne.”

Uri was amazed.

“They converted — to Judaism?”

“What’s strange about that?” Joseph commented. “There are plenty of Greeks, too, who convert in Syria, in Hellas, in Macedonia, in Armenia, you name it…”

“But a queen? And the heir to the throne?”

Joseph nodded.

“The story is that a clever merchant by the name of Ananias paid a visit, and he converted them. Only I know of no merchant by that name. I do, however, know a former high priest, the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the present high priest…”

Uri was shocked.

“It’s a royal family,” said Joseph. “We couldn’t refuse. There was one difficulty, however, one that was hard to overcome, which is that Queen Helena was not only King Monobaz’s consort but also his older sister.”

Uri was even more amazed. Jewish law forbids incestuous marriage between a brother and sister.

“What was the solution?” he asked.

“Helena could not divorce, because then she would no longer be queen,” Joseph responded. “But if she were living separately from her husband, then from the moment she converted it was possible to handle her like a divorced woman.”

“But what if she did not get a divorce bill?”

“Since Monobaz was not Judaized, he could not be compelled to produce a divorce bill. Helena married her younger brother under the laws of Adiabene before she was converted to Judaism, and by converting she was absolved of all previous sins.”

Uri shook his head.

“But it still can’t be lawful,” he said. “Herod the Great slept with his sister Salomé, but even he didn’t dare marry her.”

“The interesting case is not Helena. Izates would be willing to get circumcised, and he’s the heir to the throne of Adiabene! Just think about it, Gaius: Adiabene will have a Jewish king. The only legitimate Jewish king in the whole world! Antipas is only tetrarch, and so was Philip before him, but Izates will be king — and as a Jew! Rome has assented, although incestuous marriage is also forbidden there.”

Uri sipped the wine. Joseph was speaking quietly. From the surrounding rooftops, loudly and all at the same time, neighbors were talking, children shrieking, women laughing; they had little interest in the queen of a small far-off country becoming Jewish.

Large forces are at work, Uri reflected.

If Rome had assented, then that meant the emperor Tiberius had given his assent, and if the reports were true, Agrippa, who wanted to become a Jewish king, had access to him. What Joseph had said suggested that the heir to the throne of Adiabene, a child still, wanted to be circumcised, which would make him Agrippa’s rival, and he in turn was supported by Jerusalem against Alexandria, the supporter of Agrippa.

Something still did not add up.

“As far as I know,” he said, “Herod the Great had his son Alexander killed, and his sons, Tigranes and Alexander, and their descendants in turn became the kings of Armenia… So Armenia down to the present day is ruled over by a Jewish king…”

Joseph nodded.

“That’s true, but then Armenia is a long way away, and it’s far from certain that the emperor insists that Herod the Great’s descendants should become Jewish kings…”

That applies to Agrippa as well, Uri thought to himself.

It can’t be pure chance Joseph is sending me to work on that building site, Uri thought. When I’m brought before Agrippa, I’m supposed to report to him that a big palace is being put up in the City of David for the mother of a future Jewish king.

“Agrippa is well aware of all this,” Joseph spoke.

Uri blushed in the dark.

“I’m not a spy,” he declared.

“I never thought that you were,” said Joseph. “I didn’t say it because of that. But the workers know also, so don’t be left knowing less than them. The queen and her son will move into the palace on Yom Kippur, since there will be a huge celebration anyway, and then the whole world will know about it. In any case, you won’t meet Agrippa before then, because the high priests informed him long ago that he was not welcome in Judaea.”

“Does that mean I have to remain in Jerusalem until Yom Kippur?”

“Until then for sure.”

They sipped their wine.

“Don’t let yourself stand out among the workers,” Joseph advised. “Don’t be any more diligent than them. Someone will come in the morning, and he will accompany you to see the foreman. It would not do if you were treated like a peasant; you’re a Roman citizen, a pilgrim, and a cabinetmaker. They have a hut on the Mount of Olives. Some of the workers live there, the rest sleep in the street in the city. You would do best to sleep in the hut; you have to pay, but it’s worth it. Watch your money, though it won’t help. The wages are handed out a week in advance; that’s the custom. None too clever, I have to say, but one can’t do anything to change it; the arrangement evolved when people did not steal. Pay for your supper a week in advance. The owner of the hut runs a good canteen. Use the rest of the money to buy yourself a pair of sandals.”

The foreman had a stick in his hands but it seemed too long to be used for beating people. Uri took it to be a plain old standard-bearing pole. He did not seem pleased that he was being made to take on a cabinetmaker.

“Well, all right, then,” he said when Uri’s companion, a burly, middle-aged man had repeated that it was the Sanhedrin’s wish. “We’ll find something for him to do.”

The middle-aged man went away, leaving Uri standing in the half-finished building, on the ground floor of which men were seated and sprawled.

“We’re waiting for the tiles,” said the foreman. “Right now there is no cabinetmaking work. I’ll drop a word later on to have you taken onto the payroll. What’s your name?”

“Gaius Theodorus,” said Uri.

“What kind of name is that?”

“It’s Latin. I’ve come from Rome.”

The foreman raised his eyebrows in wonder, then shrugged his shoulders and went off.

Uri looked around at the palace under construction.