György Spiró - Captivity

He ought to have realized in time; it was quite certain that his father had placed his trust in his son realizing it and acting accordingly.

As Agrippa’s courier he had been granted countless opportunities to acquire skills, make his fortune, find a job and acquire prestige in Judaea, Jerusalem, and Alexandria. He had needed only to tell a few white lies, curry a few favors. He should have dropped out of sight, got married in Judaea or Alexandria, learned a trade properly: goldsmithing or diamond cutting — something in which his eyes were an asset, and not get so entangled with his family, neither his father nor the others.

Uri shivered. His father had not known him all that well: he had not supposed that Uri would return home out of love for him.

My father never knew that I loved him!

He was the only one I did love. How come he was unaware of that?

It flashed before him: he needed to endeavor to make his son believe that he really did love him — otherwise Theo, too, would live his life under a misapprehension.

My father did die on my account after all.

He could safely have declined to make the loan to Agrippa; after all, what would have happened? Agrippa would have turned to someone else; he could have gotten a lousy two hundred thousand sesterces from anyone. But his father had requested that Uri be given a place in the delegation, and Agrippa had done just that.

My father wanted to make me happy! He did love me, for all that I am blind as a bat!

He ought to have announced the glad tidings to all and sundry, but he couldn’t because he was surrounded by strangers.

Agrippa made no special effort to get to meet the emperor, who was shuttling among the villas on the seashore close to Dikaiarchia, spending a few nights in one, then another, possibly out of fear of assassins. Still, if the king was obliged to stay in Italia until the end of September anyway, at least he was going to enjoy spending the time. Perhaps that was why he was in no hurry to secure the alabarch’s release, or at least that was how Uri saw it.

The alabarch had assisted Agrippa too much and too often; people did not care to be reminded of their obligations.

In the end they took up quarters in one of the emperor’s summer houses on a hill near Puteoli, as Agrippa wished to settle down there for the duration. It was an attractive villa with lots of outhouses where the bodyguards and retinue could also find room; it had some splendid horses, smart hunting hounds, and well-trained servants. Philo, like Agrippa, settled into one of the annexes, setting out his papyruses and scrolls and resuming his work.

Agrippa was fond of hunting and he considered his stay in Italia as a well-deserved break from the burdens of reigning and coexisting with his family.

It was the middle of July by now, and Agrippa managed to persuade even Philo to go hunting with him and the alabarch’s sons; Iustus also tagged along. Uri was invited but he declined; as he would not be able to see any game animal that might pop up anyway, he would rather stay behind and clean up Philo’s night-time draft.

So everybody rode off, leaving just Uri at home with the servants who had been assigned to Agrippa, aside from the dog handlers, who were out with the dogs on the hunt.

Uri was copying out Philo’s scrawl, which he was used to reading (he could read it better than the author himself), when he heard a knock on the door. Uri got up and went to the door; he peered out. A servant was standing there, and behind him Isidoros.

Isidoros entered the room; the servant remained outside. Uri just stood there before eventually speaking:

“Sir!”

The ex-head of the Gymnasium in Alexandria looked around.

“So, this is how we have to meet again, son,” said Isidoros with mock emotion. “Parties on opposed sides!”

He quickly cast his eyes over the scroll.

“Would I be right in thinking that the old codger Philo reviles and vilifies us?”

“There’s no denying it.”

“You write out the first drafts, I suppose?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Well, keep at it, the two of you… I thought I would find him here.”

“He went hunting with the king.”

“ Your king! Fine figure of a man… Aren’t you his scribe as yet?”

“No, I’m not.”

Uri was moved as he stood there.

Isidoros had not changed much, he had only become skinnier, his face more wrinkled.

“When will he get back?” he asked.

“Maybe in the evening… It depends on Agrippa.”

“I can’t wait for him, I’m in a hurry,” said Isidoros. “I’ve got some important news for him, though.”

“Give me the letter; I’ll see he gets it.”

“It’s not a written message.”

Isidoros hesitated before adding:

“In that case I’ll tell you. You may add that the message is from me.”

“Philo is none too fond of you.”

“Nor I him — there’s smarminess in everything he writes. Despite that we work extremely well together.”

Uri nodded. Isidoros looked at him quizzically: what did Uri know, he wondered, before getting back to the reason for his visit.

It wasn’t the emperor who had sent him but people in his entourage who kept their eyes on the empire’s interest.

In June the emperor had dispatched a letter to Petronius, the Syrian legate in Antioch, asking him to assemble half of the Roman legions stationed on the Euphrates and march with them to Jerusalem, carrying a colossal statue of Zeus, the head of which portrayed the emperor, and to place this in the Temple, in the Holy of Holies.

Uri was dizzy and had to sit down.

“We had managed to get him to believe that it was the Jews alone who did not wish to deify him,” Isidoros noted wryly. “Well, that was the result. Even we had not been looking for that… We loathe, absolutely loathe your kind, but not to the extent that we too will perish.”

“That’s not possible!” Uri whispered.

“Oh, it’s quite possible,” said Isidoros.

Uri gasped for breath.

“That would mean a stupendously big war! Throughout the Greek-speaking world…”

“Indeed. With that in mind, your king should intercede with Caligula and get him to revoke that order.”

Uri was still dizzy.

This was perhaps bigger than any trouble the Jews had ever faced.

“Petronius is a rational chap,” said Isidoros. “Ever since he received the letter he has desperately been playing for time because he is well aware what the consequences will be if he attempts to carry out the order. He wrote back that he was worried about withdrawing half of the legions along the border because the Parthians might invade, and he was even more worried that a Jewish revolt would be unavoidable… He made reference to the fact that the Jews were right then in the middle of their harvesting, so if they started to revolt, then a famine would break out, which would make them rebel even more strenuously, and that revolt would spill out over the entire Greek world, wherever Jews are living. Furthermore, he regretted to say that not a single existing statue of Jupiter-Caligula was worthy, so he had urgently ordered one to be made in Sidon. Still, he won’t be able to procrastinate for very long if he values his own life, and we can’t step in to defend the Jews because news of that will leak out, and when our Jew-hating supporters get to know about that we can look out for ourselves! Your king should work something out as a matter of urgency. Caligula likes him, as he is fond of saying. He is the one decent Jew in the whole world.”

Uri snorted with laughter.

“What’s wrong?” said Isidoros uneasily.

“An enormous statue of Sejanus was hidden away somewhere in Caesarea.” Uri laughed. “All you would have to do is change the head on that…”