György Spiró - Captivity

The very next day, Jews broke out at several points, surprising the soldiers, who did not dare leave their sentry posts; whole families, dozens of people rushed out past them. Uri was watching from the upper story of one of the buildings as the Jews raced to the west along deserted streets.

That night a few stole back, reporting that at first the Greeks in the marketplaces had accepted their money and had given them something to eat in return, but then the mob had attacked, slaughtering many women and children, while elderly people had been bound and taken away. Once again fires were lit and anyone the Greek rioters caught was smoked to death.

Two of them had seen a burned-out synagogue; there were corpses of men littering the ground in front, their heads and genitals cut off. They may well have resisted when Greeks attacked the house of prayer.

In the Sector there was chanting of psalms and prayers.

On the Friday, a Septuagint was brought out of one of the houses and as the Sun went down many hundreds prayed in the street, scattering earth over themselves.

The Greeks patched up and strengthened the walls. They worked slowly, under military supervision, no longer showing the enthusiasm they had when it had been motivated by their own rage.

Infants with bloated stomachs lay in the streets, their emaciated mothers trying in vain to breast-feed them; the men looked straight ahead with madly gleaming eyes.

The elderly went hungry too.

Everyone was famished, but all the same the streets became covered with excreta: people were no longer continent; by now their own tissues were being eaten up.

I need to get out while I still have the strength, Uri thought. He was hunched over on the banks of the canal, his legs drawn up so that his knees were pressing into his stomach to relieve the pain; around him were people chewing on weeds. Uri was not chewing anything but keeping a close eye out in case a mouse or rat that he could swat were to appear.

It was the last week in August. He needed to get out by September at the latest. Which is to say, by Germanicus.

Not yet though: he first needed to weather the Egyptian New Year, then the emperor’s birthday. The Greeks were bound to go rabid during the celebrations.

The elders conferred, quite needlessly, but they still conferred. Uri held his peace, feeling only a leaden weariness, his head drooping every now and then.

“What is that spy doing here?” someone called out in a high-pitched voice.

Uri was startled to consciousness.

It was Tryphon’s son, Demetrius, who was standing in front of him, his big nostrils pulsating angrily.

Uri got to his feet.

“This is the alabarch’s spy!” Demetrius squeaked.

The elders tiredly muttered something; they had no wish for an argument to break out.

“How could you have the nerve to barge your way in here, you scum?” screamed Demetrius.

Uri stood and looked at the handsome, horse-faced boy, who was now skinny like everyone else in Delta.

“If I’m stuck here with you, and not in any position to leave either,” said Uri coolly and collectedly, “then I am hardly likely to be the alabarch’s spy, am I?”

Demetrius narrowed his eyes to slits in hatred.

“You’re Philo’s ass-plug, you scum!” he hissed.

Uri was amazed: the boy was jealous.

“That is neither here nor there right now,” he noted in a conciliatory tone.

“He’s been co-operating nicely with us,” said Nikolaeus wearily. “Leave off, both of you.”

“He’s one of them,” hissed Demetrius, flouncing hysterically out of the room.

On the morning of August 29, the Egyptian New Year, a great clamor broke out beyond the northern gate. Squealing piglets were being tossed at the walls, making a big popping noise as they struck, their bellies torn apart, the intestines slithering out, their legs twitching. The northern gate was suddenly thrown open. On the other side of the street facing the gate, a dozen of so crosses were lying on the ground; behind those several ox-drawn carts were standing. The soldiers brought out some well-fed Jewish prisoners, some were tethered to the recumbent crosses, others lashed to the wheels of the carts, which were lifted up by the soldiers. To the sound of cheering from the Greek onlookers, the crosses were slotted into holes that had been excavated where some of the paving stones had been torn up, then they were pulled upright and secured. The carts were then rolled backward, over the prisoners fastened to their wheels, then they slowly set off, the oxen driven around in a circle, over and over, smashing bones, flaying flesh from bodies.

One of the men was tied behind a cart by his legs and dragged until not one shred of flesh was left of the man.

Uri, his eyes screwed up, watched the proceedings from one of the windows and, enthralled, returned again and again to look until the evening. That was how long the biggest Dionysias that Alexandria had ever seen went on. Musicians played their music, drummers drummed, horns were blown, strings plucked, improvised kitchens were set up for the celebrants and a northerly breeze blew the smell of roast meat over to south Delta, along with whiffs of rotting human flesh. Plastered Greeks drank and vomited, vomited and drank. Many more who died on the crosses early that afternoon; they were not taken down by the soldiers. Their relatives gathered at the north gate and called out to the dying, invoked God, and pleaded, sobbing, with the soldiers to be allowed to take down the dead bodies themselves. The soldiers just laughed and ignored them. Or they invited the despairing relatives to come and get them, and anyone who did venture through the gate was bound and then broken on the wheel.

The cries of the dying were heard all day outside the Sector; psalms were sobbed through all day inside the Sector.

A few of those who had been crucified were still alive the next day, some even managed to groan out reassurances to their family, blessing a wife, a little son, a little daughter; the Eternal One would in all certainty have vengeance. We shall rise again and be reunited, they called out, though up till then, being Sadducees, the Jews of Alexandria had not believed in the resurrection of the dead and an afterlife. They spoke Greek, not being able to speak any other language, and the soldiers found it very amusing.

After three days of this it was the turn of another feast: Emperor Gaius’s birthday.

The north gate, which had been closed overnight, was opened and three cohorts marched in. They lined up, and a centurion demanded that the elders be brought out.

The elders were rounded up.

The centurion then read out the prefect’s decree that the Jews were hiding weapons in their houses — those must be surrendered.

“But we have no weapons,” muttered Nikolaeus.

“We are going to carry out a search of the houses,” the centurion announced.

They entered the houses, with at least ten soldiers, armed to the teeth, going in together and the remainder standing guard outside, quite unnecessarily as the weakened Jews would not have been able to attack them anyway. Fathers tried to conceal their daughters from the eyes of the soldiers, for which they were dragged out and beaten. A few kitchen knives were recovered and quite a few cudgels, but no other weapons were found. Married women were gathered together, the soldiers taking digs at any husbands who protested, then, along with the girls, they were hustled off through the gate.

The centurion rasped out an order:

“Prefect Flaccus wishes to hear any complaints that you may have. Euodos, Tryphon, and Andron should present themselves and be led to the palace!”

Those who were named presented themselves; they were surrounded by a detachment and led off.