György Spiró - Captivity

“That could be,” said Uri.

“You don’t live in Delta.”

“No, I don’t.”

The man pondered, then shrugged his shoulders and turned away, still chewing.

Uri looked around. There was a fever of activity, with each family tugging its belongings after it in a handcart: chairs, pots, blankets, candlesticks. It seemed the Greeks in northern Delta had allowed the Jews to take some things away after all; that meant less resistance than if they had started pillaging everything straightaway.

Uri’s stomach was growling. He had not had anything to eat since that morning, and that had only been fruit. I’ve got out of the habit of doing without food, he thought. It’s high time I got used to it again.

“How is it possible to provide for this number of people?” Uri asked.

“There’s no way,” the man responded.

“So what is going to happen?”

“The Eternal One will come to our aid,” said the man.

Uri peered questioningly at his face to see if he was joking, but he found it impossible to tell.

“If a person is hungry and thirsty but has no money,” Uri went on, “what is he supposed to do?”

“Croak hungry,” the man suggested.

Uri pondered.

“And if that’s not to his liking?”

“Steal,” the man offered a new suggestion.

Uri guffawed. People were racing about, wailing, beating their breasts or just sitting forlornly, convulsed, on the ground. The man’s calm struck Uri as extraordinary.

“You don’t live in Delta either, do you,” said Uri, more by way of a statement than a question.

“No,” said the man. “I have no relatives in Alexandria.”

“Neither do I,” said Uri.

“Just be glad, then!” the man suggested, “like me.”

Uri hemmed.

“I’m called Gaius Theodorus,” he said. “I’m from Rome.”

The man’s eyes glinted.

“I know who you are! You usually sit next to the alabarch in the Basilica.”

“That’s me.”

The man’s look turned suspicious at that.

“What are you doing here?” he queried, interrupting his chewing.

“I was sent here by the alabarch to spy out the land for him, and, by the way, so that I should curl up and die as soon as possible.”

The man gave Uri’s sweat-soaked tunic a once over, thought a moment, and nodded.

“You got there too late, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“They’ve long since left the city,” the man stated. “They’ve got their own private army; they’ll survive. They pay off the Greeks and they’re taken care of. But how come you speak Aramaic? People here don’t!”

Uri gave a brief explanation.

“My name’s Aristarchos,” the man said in response. “I’m a seaman; my family lives in Tyre. I’ve been held up in the port for a week now; I wasn’t allowed to unload so I rowed in by dinghy. I’ve been in negotiation for six days now; they wanted to shift the whole cost of the delay onto my shoulders, as if I had been refusing to unload… They’re dead stupid, the Jews here! Very rich, very arrogant, and very stupid. They curse, hint at infractions of the law and meanwhile play tricks, getting me to pay even for my board and lodgings, instead of paying the Greeks a bigger bribe… I’m fairly sure every Jewish boat has been pillaged, mine included. All that was left on it were two of my men; the rest have spent a week drinking in the harbor area… I’m curious as to whether those two men of mine are still alive or have been poleaxed.”

“When these here come to be poor, they may come to their senses,” Uri ventured.

“They won’t!” Aristarchos forecast. “They’ve been pampered for three hundred years; nothing’s going to help them.”

At the corner of a nearby street a fight broke out, and many people hurried over to take a look.

“That’s something like a storm must be for you,” said Uri.

Aristarchos spat.

“Not really,” he said. “At sea you at least know what to expect, but not here.”

Uri’s stomach rumbled again.

“Have you got any money?” he asked.

Aristarchus did not answer straightaway.

“A bit,” he said finally.

“So you’re not going to starve,” Uri suggested.

“I’ll ride it out for a while,” said Aristarchus.

They stood wordlessly. From the other side of the wall the laughter of the Greeks was audible; a stone block had dropped on someone’s toes, that was what they found amusing.

Uri had to concede that the limits of the newly won friendship extended only so far and no farther.

“God be with you!” he said and set off back toward the interior of southern Delta.

The uproar, terror, quarreling and wailing went on. Some young men broke into a shop and pounced on the food. A dried-out flatbread rolled into Uri’s path, as he happened to be poking around the neighborhood, so he wolfed it down. Delta’s indigenous inhabitants did what they could to defend their homes against the strange Jews, but some of them realized that this was not going to work and so thought it better to admit a family or two now so that they would have some help later holding off the rest. The dimmer ones proclaimed their rights, shouting from the windows. From the taller buildings lots of people were looking out from the upper floors, reporting what was going on at the far side of the wall. The Greeks were organizing a guard; they might have no military weapons, but they did have cudgels. Uri took this to mean that Flaccus had not opened the arsenals, which was a good sign, but then again he was not scaring off the rabble, which was a bad sign because that was something he could have done a long time ago. Either of the legions could reach the city in less than a day, and the uproar was now in its third day.

That evening Uri lay down on the street; he was tired. He sought out a gateway in which many people were already sleeping in the hope that he’d find safety in numbers. When he awoke the next morning, however, his sandals were missing, even though he had tied the laces tightly to his ankles. They must have been cut off; numbers had given no protection to his sandals. Uri just laughed; a least he would not have to worry about them any more.

The whole of the next day he prowled around south Delta. Others were also prowling around, searching for something to eat and drink; the fine palms and papyrus trees along the broader main thoroughfares were cut down, chopped up and then kindled to boil cauldrons of water brought from the canal to be used in cooking or to drink. Men gestured, yelled, and conferred; children ran around happily and freely; women cooked, cried, shrieked, yelled, and gave orders. The search for shelter went on. Families kept jealous and determined watch on their handcarts, their remaining possessions piled up on them, with the eldest lying on top to protect their belongings with their bodies.

Supposedly yet more new people were being squeezed into Delta. On the north side, the Greeks built a gateway to act as the sole exit; everywhere else the wall was fortified. Flaccus would come to the assistance of the Jews. The Eternal One would assist them. They prayed and pleaded. The alabarch would assist them. But the alabarch was not there, the abject scoundrel; he was in discussions with Flaccus. He was discussing nothing with Flaccus; he had turned tail and run from the city. His army had clashed with the Greeks; there had been no clash. But the alabarch’s bankers were in negotiations with the Greeks, seeking to buy them off. We won’t negotiate with the Greeks! Everything should be returned to us, and compensation would even be paid! Those who had been murdered could not be given back, and what compensation could make up for them?

Late that afternoon, news spread that the Council of Elders had assembled; there were fifteen of them; and names were given but Uri did not recognize one. Some twenty-five names were bandied about: fifteen of those, then. They wanted order to be kept. That would be good. They would distribute people among the homes. That would also be good. Everyone who had been long established in southern Delta would be compelled to accept at least two families. Or four, even five. But then who’s going to make them? The elders would be organizing a guard of fit and strong young men. About time too. The Eternal One can see how we’re holding our ground. He won’t desert us in this hour of need either.