György Spiró - Captivity

The first time Uri saw him in Philo’s company, he nodded. Philo would undoubtedly have taken him — unlike me — to save him from the Bane; he would not have left the city until he had been found.

Hippolytus had his revenge — it may have taken two and a half years, but he had his revenge.

I can leave Alexandria now.

Uri announced to the alabarch that he wished to go back to Rome; it was time he returned home to his father. Delegations were still not permitted to leave Alexandria, but this did not apply to individuals.

The alabarch did not try to detain him. He provided Uri lavishly with money and entrusted him with a letter to be handed over to Severus, one of the Roman elders. Uri was not familiar with anyone of that name, but had no doubt that he existed and he would find him.

Philo was relieved to be saying farewell; he embraced Uri, tears came to his eyes, and he kept on saying “My son! My son!”

Tija, with a smile, patted the grandson of a slave on the shoulder. Marcus, who was just in the middle of reading a book when Uri announced he was leaving, waved his right hand politely and went on reading.

Uri had a feeling that the missing teeth in his lower jaw gave all of them the shudders. I remind them of the Bane; it’s best if they never see me again.

And I’ll never see them again, Uri thought happily.

He went down to Lysias’s tavern down by the harbor. He found his Greek friends sitting there; the moment they saw him they flinched, but then they invited him over, with extreme courtesy and great pleasure, squeezing together to make room, and ordering a drink which they set down before him. Uri took a seat, sipped the drink and asked about what they happened to be studying, whereupon they started to grumble about the teachers as hey had in the old days, though they were careful to skirt the matter of Abdaraxus. Lysias also came over and gave him a friendly pat of the back, quoting perfectly from memory some of Uri’s old impromptu epitaphs, which his old friends received with even greater acclaim than ever; even the new students in attendance laughed in all sincerity.

Sotades, seated at the end of the table, kept on talking to people on his right and left, before finally making up his mind, picking up a beer in one hand, getting to his feet and stepping over. Space was made for him so he could sit down next to Uri, who first asked after the health of his sister, mentioning that he had never seen a lovelier looking woman in his life and nor would he until the end of his days.

Sotades told him that there was at last a suitor whom his proud sister had not rejected out of hand, though their father was still of two minds — the fellow was decent enough, but his family did not have any money, so who knew? Maybe my sister will never get married, he said, and grow into a sour old maid. After that, he launched into what was really on his mind: Agrippa should not have given orders for a procession, that was a mistake, a big mistake, a fatal mistake. The Greeks had justifiably felt that Jews had become presumptuous, they wanted too much, and no wonder what they did after all that. He regretted hugely what had happened, he deplored it, he had taken no part in anything, but the Jews had plainly brought it upon their own heads, he was involved in nothing, he had sat it out to the end at home, didn’t so much as set foot outside the door, he had witnesses that he had never done anything.

Hedylos, who was seated opposite them, seemed to have been waiting for an opening, because he too got to his feet and, leaning over the table, shouted that the Jews could only blame themselves. They had committed many crimes against the Greeks over the centuries, a great many unforgivable crimes, cheated them out of their money, yes, every single Greek, it had been proved, not Uri, of course, who was just a newcomer, but all the same he was a Jew, and in Alexandria the Jews had always betrayed the Greeks, so no wonder they had been on the receiving end this time.

Others told him to can it, don’t do that, don’t do that, and Pamphilus argued back: What Jewish crimes, Jews are no different from anyone else! You can find white and black sheep in equal proportions among them all! One is like this, another like that! And their religion is just as stupid as anyone else’s! Everyone’s religion is stupid! Every religion is inhuman and barbarous!

At that a good-looking young boy stood up, presumably a first-year student, and declared that Apion had written that Jews worshiped an ass’s head made of gold in their Temple, and he should know, because Apion was a learned rhetorician, a pupil under Theon of Tarsus, none greater than him, and the son of this great Theon was none other than the famous orator Dionysius who was now being unfairly persecuted for his speeches, though he had never lifted a finger against one Jew.

Circling a finger around his head, Pamphilus showed exactly what he thought of the man’s mental abilities, sharply questioning in a loud voice just who had been persecuting the stump orator, when he was perfectly free as usual to prowl around wherever he wanted.

Whereupon a man strolled over from another table and declared that the Jews drank Greek blood; in the inner sanctuary of the Temple at Jerusalem they had fattened for a whole year for slaughter a Greek merchant who had innocently dropped by. No lesser a person than King Antiochus Epiphanes had been an eyewitness to this; when he conquered Jerusalem and entered the Temple to pay homage to the Jewish god he found the bloated hapless wretch tied to the altar in the inner sanctuary in the midst of a pile of human bones, and had him released.

“There’s nothing in the Holy of Holies!” yelled Pamphilus. “Nothing, nothing at all since the Jews’ Ark of the Covenant was stolen! And no humans were ever sacrificed there, or anywhere else!”

The hell they weren’t, went through Uri’s mind, what about the valley of the Hinnom, in olden times? But he kept quiet.

“Jews are treacherous, it’s in their blood,” the junior student went on. Uri did not know him. “In the fortress of Pelusium on the Nile the defenders were Jews, notwithstanding which they let in Gabinius, the Roman proconsul of Syria, and his army! They were bribed to do so by Antipater!”

“The Jews resisted the Romans, though, at Leontopolis in the land of Onias. They were alone in fighting for the Greek cause!” shouted Pamphilus.

“And then they switched sides!” came an unexpected contribution from Lysias. “They furnished provisions to the enemy! At Memphis it was they who were the first to assist Mithridates of Pergamum, then us!”

All that had happened a century ago; it was just on the tip of Uri’s tongue to call this to their attention when Hedylos bellowed:

“All Jews should be deported! Let them go to Rome! We’ve offered to pay one thousand sesterces per head for them! That would mean Rome gets three hundred million, but they’re not stupid, because they sent back the reply that they weren’t wanted even for that much! Well, in that case let them go to their allies among the blacks of Ethiopia!”

Hoots of jubilation followed.

Sotades then added:

“I truly like Jews, and I’ve given every sign of that, but now they’re trying to lord it over us with the idea that they suffered more than anyone else — that’s one thing I can’t stand about them!”

Someone then called out from the next table that the Jewish word “Sabbath” was derived from the Egyptian word sabbo , which Lysimachus had written meant a tumor of the testicles in the slang of the hetaerae — and they should certainly know.

There was a great roar of laughter; Pamphilus sat there palely, Hedylos and Sotades joined in the mirth. Sotades gave Uri a friendly slap on the shoulder. Uri got up and went back to the palace, which had never been his home.