György Spiró - Captivity

“I don’t want to offend you,” Matthew said finally, “but no one can figure out why your family picked you for this journey.”

“I don’t know either,” said Uri.

“Never mind,” said Matthew. “You’ll get stronger along the way.”

“No doubt,” said Uri.

They walked on.

Uri noticed that three or four of his companions were treading closer than they had been before. He thought it was a good opportunity to introduce himself. Speaking as if he were only seeking to inform, he reported that he was the son of the merchant Joseph, his mother was named Sarah, and he had two younger sisters; he did not know what else he could say about himself.

“So, your father,” the black-beard started, “he’s the one who delivers silk to Agrippa, too, is that right?”

That disconcerted Uri even more.

“I don’t know; I have no knowledge of my father’s business affairs.”

That assertion was met with a reproachful growl. That was not the answer he was supposed to give; he should have been working for his father long before now.

“I know that is not how it ought to be,” he pleaded, “but my eyesight’s not good…”

“Trading doesn’t require good eyes, only a brain,” the thickset one declared.

That was true but no comfort to Uri.

“So you know nothing about your father’s affairs,” Matthew summed up.

He may simply have been trying to end an unproductive and embarrassing conversation, but Uri sensed in his words a note of scorn, and he was anxious to make a good impression on such a strong and determined man.

“What I do know is that my father raised a lot of money for Agrippa.”

That announcement was received in silence. Uri gathered that everybody knew about the loan, probably more than he did.

“And so,” said black-beard, “that is why Agrippa persuaded the Elders to let you come with us?”

Uri said nothing. He could not be blamed for this unsolicited, awkward privilege. They probably think we are currying favor with Agrippa, he thought, and that we pay off everybody, even though we are penniless — but then no one would believe that.

“I have never seen Agrippa,” he said bitterly, “but perhaps he heard from someone that I know a lot of languages.”

As soon as he said it he realized that he had made an even bigger mistake than before. Right at the start of the journey, he had already committed the one error that his father had warned him against: flaunting his knowledge when he should have been keeping quiet about it.

The thickset one seized the opportunity. “Let’s see now. Which languages do you speak?”

There was no going back, so Uri reeled them off. There was a stony silence as they trudged after the ass trap.

“There’s no point in learning Egyptian and Hebrew; a complete waste of time,” said Matthew. “And Latin is not a necessity either. Greek is spoken everywhere. Aramaic could come in handy if you plan to roam around in the country, but there won’t be time for that now: as soon as the feast comes to an end we shall be heading back.”

As an ex-seaman, Matthew obviously spoke a number of languages, but for him that was a matter of course and so of no value. I failed to win his sympathy, Uri concluded, and that rankled; he would have liked to have that strong and resolute man on his side. Instead, I have given the others a reason to hate me.

He walked with gritted teeth, his head bowed down to make clear there was no point asking more questions. The others drew away, then Matthew pushed ahead also and took the reins back from Iustus, who had proven expert in road construction. Because it really was him, the stonemason and house-builder, Uri had meanwhile assured himself that this — the one to whom Matthew had temporarily handed the reins — was the same as the Iustus whose grandfather had reported to Gaius Lucius’s father that Uri’s grandfather had been stealing when his grandfather had never stolen anything. That was something his father had told him once.

He was half-asleep by the time Matthew called a halt, unharnessed the donkey and tethered it to a tree. They took from their sacks the tefillin, bound it to their forehead or arm, said a prayer while facing southeast, then lay down, each placing his sack beneath his head. There was no water with which to rinse hands and feet, so they rubbed them with soil instead, as that was considered clean. No one asked Matthew if he had aimed for this coppice deliberately or had failed to reach the intended hostelry. It was on my account that progress was so slow, Uri reflected; that is not going to make them like me any better.

He had almost fallen asleep when he noticed that the others were whispering with Matthew. They’re talking about me; they want to get rid of me. I’m the problem.

So what?

The first inn they stayed in was small and ramshackle but reasonably clean; there were six men idling in togas, sitting next to one another on a bench. The group took seats next to them. Uri wearily wiggled his toes; he had slogged on manfully, eating little and drinking little, as his stomach could not take much. His companions must have seen that he was suffering without a word of complaint, trying to keep up.

His companions eyed the men suspiciously; Uri blinked in their direction but could see nothing remarkable. Even if they were robbers, they were quiet. Then, to his surprise, the men began speaking with women’s voices. He narrowed his eyes: the togaed individuals were women, but they wore their togas the same way men did in Rome. Uri was amazed, since in Rome the women went around in tunics with long sleeves, so this was evidently the fashion in the provinces.

Uri would have kept on looking, but his companions were there too and it would not do to stare openly. By now Uri had the feeling that they had warmed toward him a bit; in fact, they were even striking up conversations with him.

By now he had gotten to know their names.

One of them, a muscular, proud man by the name of Alexandros, was a merchant; he was acquainted with Joseph, he said, and had a high opinion of him, which pleased Uri greatly.

Another answered to the name of Valerius and was a hyperetes, or assistant to the archisynagogos, not as a grammateus but as maintenance man, which essentially meant he was a cleaner. Although a nobody and a nothing, he was still the only person in the delegation with a religious occupation. Uri had never come across him before; Valerius’s services were done for the Hebrew temple, which was located a long way from the temple to which Uri went, because it stood on the Via Aurelia, outside the city wall, to the west of the center of Far Side. People who used the Hebrew temple spoke Greek. A couple of generations ago the language of the divine service was perhaps Hebrew or Aramaic, from which the name for the house of prayer might have derived, designating it as a position beyond the river, because the Greek “Hebraios” comes from Aramaic “ibrhay” or Hebrew “ibrhi ¯, ” meaning “from beyond the river.”

The strong, black-bearded one was called Plotius and said he was a joiner. He mostly kept silent, but Uri would have been glad to hear more from him.

The thickset little busybody was a teacher by the name of Hilarus. No surprise that he was teacher; it’s their job to find fault with everything and everybody. Uri was just thankful his own teacher had been nothing like that.

Anyway, Uri did not dare scrutinize the women, but he did notice what while waiting for their supper his companions, strong adult males that they were, were gaping at them and, all except Matthew and Plotius, fidgeting restlessly on the bench. It struck Uri that marriage does not efface all traces of sexual desire. The Lord knows, he intoned noiselessly, what specters and hideous urges still await me in life!