György Spiró - Captivity

Uri figured this must have been seven years before he was born.

Matthew recounted that Pilatus had embarked upon a major construction project as soon as he was appointed. In Caesarea, it was he who built the sanctuary dedicated to the emperor Tiberius, the Tiberium as it was called, and laying the foundation stone was his first official act. The group could soon see for themselves, he said. It was a massive building, and splendid indeed by Hellenistic standards. He also related that the prefect had wanted a stadium built in Jerusalem also, under the Temple Mount, but the Sanhedrin dissuaded him.

“Whereupon the Sanhedrin,” he added with a laugh, “went ahead and built one, and no one protested against that… Not that it would have been possible, because it was converted from a hippodrome by Herod, and they adjusted to that… It is not used very much for anything; there are Greeks living there. It’s used to house people during festivals, so it serves that purpose.”

He was asked if he had met this Pilatus personally.

He had met him, and more than once; he was a meticulously cautious, straight-talking, easy-mannered man, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“It is completely out of the question,” asserted Matthew, “to think he would try to sneak Roman military standards into Jerusalem.”

“Maybe he is unaware that it’s forbidden for Jews,” Hilarus guessed.

“How could he not know!” Matthew spluttered. “He’s been kicking his heels in Judaea for nine years; he knows exactly what is allowed and what’s not.”

Silence fell. Maybe it would be better, Uri thought, if he does not know our laws, if what those flaming-eyed men said was true.

“I saw him once in Rome,” said Alexandros. “Before he was appointed prefect. He was there when I was meeting several of my clients. They told me he was interested in Palestine; he wanted to trade with that part of the world, because he was a knight of the equestrian order.”

“An equestrian,” Matthew confirmed.

“A knight of the equestrian becoming a prefect?” Uri queried.

“Judaea is a province of the third rank,” said Matthew. “Being a knight is sufficient to be sent there.”

“As far as I recall,” Alexandros continued, “he was not ignorant about our affairs, but that’s as it should be, if Tiberius named him prefect. It’s a fair bet there were other candidates.”

Matthew snorted. Uri saw that he was glancing toward him as he laughed — as if the laughter were directed against him. He did not understand; he shook off his doubts, he had been needlessly oversensitive before.

There was a lull as they rode the donkeys silently, heavy with worry.

“They’re lunatics, that’s what they are,” Matthew broke the silence. “Nothing happened in Caesarea, and nothing forbidden was taken into Jerusalem. They are looking for something to get excited about. Sailors on my ships tell yarns after an uneventful voyage; each one has seen a dozen sirens, and Pluto himself visits them in the company of Proserpina. Judaeans arriving in Ostia have praised the moderation of the present governor. He never meddles and he doesn’t try to steal any more than is feasible. Obviously he has business dealings with the high priests; otherwise why would he be prefect in the first place? He must have lined his pockets a fair bit over nine years. Business is booming, so why spoil it? He was only looking to do good with the aqueduct; he was in the right, and not the rabble.”

“He wanted to steal from the Temple’s treasures,” snapped the teacher, Hilarus.

“So what?” Matthew retorted. “That’s where they hold the Judaean state wealth. It would have been built for our benefit, wouldn’t it? Why shouldn’t we give money for a new aqueduct? There is never water for the crowds for feast days! As delegates, we will get water, but what about them? They shove their way into creeks to wash, and then you can’t drink the water for weeks! It’s Hell on Earth in the Valley of Hinnom… Then it takes weeks more to clear the filth… The Temple builders are detailed for the job, and meanwhile work on the Temple comes to a stop… Then, before you know, it’s time for the next feast and it starts all over again… Not that it isn’t marvelous to see that throng,” he added dutifully, with an ambivalence that made Uri feel suddenly sick.

Plotius chimed in:

“There’s nothing wrong with people in Judaea and Galilee, aside from a few nutcases. Those madmen did not even speak the governor’s name. If you ask me, they’ve probably never seen or even heard of him! What’s a good governor when you don’t even know his name? They don’t know it because things are peaceful; there’s been peace for a good while, thanks be to the Lord. People have gotten used to it, and that is just fine with them. You’ll soon see for yourselves…”

“No one has a problem with the prefect,” Matthew added after a short pause, and then fell silent.

Uri thought he understood what Matthew had meant: the problem was actually with the high priests. And indeed there was a problem. The Hasmoneans had been producing high priests for generations, since Herod the Great had massacred their predecessors. It was not they who killed the families of the previous high priests, it is true, but they had been the beneficiaries of that awful crime, and the people did not forget it. And if they had not forgotten it in Rome, then they certainly hadn’t in Judaea.

They soon forgot the two mad Jews and trotted on their way, their backsides bruised, their legs numb.

For Uri, traveling no longer scared him. He could take it, and he stuck it out to the end. By the time he got home, toughened up, a real man, he would kiss his father on the hand for paying for this journey.

All of a sudden, they caught sight of a tall, smoldering mountain to the right; this was Etna. They saw the smoke for three days. Matthew said this was nothing compared to the tabernacle in Jerusalem, they would see. Plotius nodded; it was really that thick. Valerius was all for climbing to the peak, and Alexandros was also game, but the rest overruled them. Uri was also not in the mood to make any needless effort. The soles of his feet had hardened — he continued to carry his sandals slung around his neck — but his feet hurt. Still, they had to walk a few hours each day to give the donkeys some rest, otherwise they would get stubborn; as Matthew said, an ass has brains, and if it sees men going about with a load on their necks, then it wouldn’t mind so much doing the same for a few hours. Plotius told a story about an ass that went around reared up on two legs like a man; it could even bray out a few intelligible words, and his companions were flabbergasted, but then Plotius let the cat out of the bag by laughing too soon.

They avoided Catina, as they had no wish to pay duties.

In Syracusa, on the other hand, they paid the duty at the city gate. Matthew knew full well that there were places along the partly ruined city wall where it was possible to scramble over, but it was better not to tempt fate, in case the local guards happened to make their patrol right then.

The urban duties there were also one sestertius per head, but Matthew now had to pay five sesterces per sack; he argued in vain that the practice was illegal, because personal baggage was duty free.

“Of course it’s duty free,” grinned the chief excise officer as his armed minions rummaged assiduously though their sacks. “Another five sesterces per head, I make it.”

“Religious accessories are exempt,” Matthew insisted when the soldiers started tinkering with the phylacteries, making them unclean in the process; the thongs would have to be dipped into water later.

“Jugs, however, are subject to taxation,” the excise man said.