György Spiró - Captivity

Plotius gestured dismissively.

“Protests are always going on, especially around feast days, when any number of crazies flood into the city, but then the Jewish watchmen easily deal with them. I don’t know if mercenaries really did take military standards into the Temple, but even if they did, the stink was raised in Caesarea, not in Jerusalem, and that’s a Greek town, not ours, never will be, for all that Jews make up the majority who reside there these days.”

“All the same, the boats are not sailing for some reason,” Uri offered.

“There are other times they don’t sail either,” said Plotius. “Twice already I have spent weeks in Syracusa waiting for a boat and almost died of boredom. There are not many items of Jewish produce that are worth shipping to Italia. Dates you can get elsewhere, and balsam is not something that sells in big amounts; wood is about all that’s worth trading. Whole forests are being felled in Palestine for Rome; they tend to ship the timber to Judaea, and they don’t like ships coming over here empty. So they wait there until a cargo of some sort is finally collected. Or enough people collected.”

Uri did not understand, and Plotius was somewhat surprised that he had to explain this too:

“Spies. They’re important people, and they have money. They come from Syria, Babylon, Armenia — wherever. They carry military and commercial information. We’re important as well, because we shall be carrying a big sum of money on the return journey. It will be easy finding a boat to Caesarea for the return journey: we’ll have enough money to make it worth the captain’s while even with an empty hold. Here in Syracusa there are lots of goods to pack in, and he will be happy making the trip back because they’re things that people will buy in Judaea. But if there happens to be no Jewish ship in the harbor here, we shan’t be able to persuade anyone to take us. What are they going to bring back? Nothing. Any timber that has accumulated there will be picked up eventually by our boat: it will take time for the next forest to be felled.”

Uri mused.

“Could it be that we won’t make it to Judaea in time?”

“Never fear!” assured Plotius. “From Caesarea we’ll be able to make it to Jerusalem in four days, even crawling on our bellies, it’s only two hundred stadia or so. Something is bound to come along sooner or later.”

Uri cogitated; this fellow impressed him. He went on to ask, “What made you become a member of the delegation?”

Plotius did not reply immediately.

“I’ve got things to do in Judaea,” he said finally. “And you’ll be paying for my trip — you Roman Jews, I mean.”

“And how did that work out? Did you apply to the archisynagogos, and he put your name forward?”

Plotius laughed.

“No, it doesn’t go like that… I started by knocking on the doors of the rich people in my congregation… I made it in their interest… There’s the rotation thing, isn’t there, and even though I had not yet been a delegate, some individuals from my family had been, and not so long ago either… I made it onto the list at the last moment, maybe even later than you… I promised them something by way of business.”

So there was someone else who had been squeezed in as an afterthought, not just him; maybe most of them had. So they have no reason to be hostile toward me, Uri realized with relief.

They got back to the pier that evening; their companions were all there, Matthew included. They were right in the middle of an excited discussion. Matthew had located a boat repairer who had a bireme standing ready and waiting in his shipyard, and its owner would only be coming two weeks later to pick it up, until which time the boat was free to come and go between Syracusa and Caesarea. The boat master was secretly inclined to make the boat available and would even ask to be paid for the return trip, because even so he would be better off than if the boat — it was not his anyway — sat in the docks; he was even ready to rustle up free of charge the oarsmen and officers needed, though of course they would need to be paid both ways by the delegation. He was, however, asking for a deposit: half the value of the boat, which of course he would hand back when they got to Syracusa on the return journey.

“I have no vote in this,” Matthew announced. “I have no interest in the matter. You lot decide.”

There were two extreme factions, one represented by Hilarus, the other by Alexandros, who contended with each other. Hilarus was supported by Valerius, and Alexandros by Iustus, just like that morning.

Hilarus was of the opinion that the offer should be accepted, but the deposit should be whittled down and a legally watertight contract established. Alexandros, however, felt that this was all nonsense: what was meant by “a legally watertight contract” anyway? There was no such thing as entering an unassailable contract over the use of an inanimate object if the underwriting party was not the owner.

Hilarus said that one had to understand the ship repairer; he probably knew that the boat was insured for half its value. The master was only asking for what he would get if the boat was wrecked and he could claim that the boat had sunk, or it had not gotten back in time, or it had been stolen. Anyway it fell within the allowed expenditure, he asserted. He looked inquiringly at Matthew, who shook his head to signal not only that he was not voting but also that he was not prepared to offer any information about the delegation’s financial standing either.

Alexandros outlined what would happen if the officers and slaves recruited by the master builder understood nothing about sailing, which there was every chance of:

“The only ones who will do any rowing in rough seas are us, the seven of us, twenty-four hours a day, and long before we ran the ship aground and drowned as it went down, our hearts — by the grace of the Lord — would burst.”

Uri shuddered.

Hilarus for his part believed that was also nonsense. If the captain proved unsuitable, Matthew would take over command; after all, that was his expertise. He again looked at Matthew, who again shook his head. Hilarus added, “We’re just as capable of dishing out lashes as any officer!”

Uri shuddered. He had not the slightest wish to lash out at sculling slaves.

Valerius and Iustus offered affirmative or opposing grunts but no opinions.

All looked at Plotius.

It’s almost as if I were not even here, Uri thought sullenly to himself.

Plotius deliberated.

“What’s the boat like?” he queried.

“It looks up to the job,” said Matthew.

“And if we were to buy it, would we be able to sell it?”

Uri did not grasp what Plotius was driving at, but the others understood.

“That’s it!” Hilarus exclaimed. “We buy it here, take it across and sell it there for a decent profit.”

“Fair enough, but to whom?” Matthew asked.

There was silence.

“Let’s say we buy it,” Matthew said. “That’s a good idea. The master ship builder will sell it cheaper than the owner would; the master will make up some tale for the latter and recover some damages for him, and even so he will make a bundle on it without having to do a lick of work. That’s fine so far. Even the owner doesn’t make out badly, because it’s far from certain that he really did insure it for half its value. The world is full of fake shipping calamities: insurers have a hard time proving that fraud had a hand in them; the owner not only gets the full value from the insurer, but even makes a profit on it — the payoff he gets from the master. That too is fair enough. It is also possible that the proprietor and the master are in collusion against the insurer: let them make a bit, and let the insurers lose out, the jerks. We get it across somehow or other — that too is fair enough. But who exactly is going to purchase it from us in Caesarea?”