György Spiró - Captivity

Silence.

“There must be someone,” said Hilarus despondently. The teacher was longing for a big adventure, and it pained him that nothing would come of it.

“You haven’t so much as asked Uri,” said Plotius.

The others stared at him, and Uri flushed. Nobody gave a cordial look; he had to say something.

“I don’t know a thing about boats,” Uri protested. “I don’t know anything about most things. I’m deeply sorry that someone worthier than me did not come with you instead of me.”

“The Lord created everyone worthy,” said Plotius. “He created the brute ignorant animals because He had a purpose with them. It is not for us to guess the Creator’s reasons but to accept His disposals. So what do you have to say?”

He would have to say something after all.

“Isn’t there anyone over there for whom a ship like that would come in handy?” he ventured. “The Jewish navy perhaps…”

“No doubt they would be happy to take one as a free gift,” Matthew nodded vigorously. “They might even purchase it, albeit at a rock-bottom price. It’s not just that — there’s no way I could account for a loss like that, I could not even fiddle my way around it.”

Silence.

“What about the Romans?” Uri ventured.

Matthew snorted, and the others joined in the laughter.

“The Romans would take the boat over well and good,” Plotius explained. “But they would clap us in irons on the grounds that we had stolen it, and they’d hand us over to the Sanhedrin to pass sentence. No one among the Jerusalem Elders would come to our defense; we would be rowing in chains till the end of our days.”

Uri flared up:

“But we’re the delegation! We have safe conduct! We’re Roman citizens!”

Plotius stepped up to him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Dear boy, the Sanhedrin nurtures extremely good relations with the Romans,” he said. “And so it should. That’s what peace is, the Lord be praised. Naturally, a few people would hotfoot it from Rome to Judaea on our behalf, and the beloved members of our families would never forsake us, and they would protest till they were blue in the face in every forum that the Sanhedrin had no power of jurisdiction over Roman citizens, and our loved ones would be able to prove that sooner or later, after which the Roman authorities would move Heaven and Earth to have us tracked down; that would take half a year, a year, or even more; and by the time they found us we would long since have croaked in a galley boat, maybe the very one that we offered for purchase to the Romans.”

Uri still did not give up:

“The Sanhedrin cannot pass judgment on Roman citizens! You yourself said so!”

Plotius groaned.

“Dear boy, the Sanhedrin is stuffed with the high priest’s placemen. The high priest is appointed by the Roman prefect, and he can replace him whenever he likes without even having to give a justification. In matters that are not religious the high priest dances whatever jig the prefect whistles, and his placemen dance in turn to his whistle. You don’t seriously believe that the high priest would not take seriously thousands of sesterces from the Romans to keep quiet about them filching a ship with Jewish owners? He’d get the full price of the boat — maybe even more.”

“But that’s corruption!” Hilarus explained.

“In plain Latin,” Matthew nodded his agreement.

They fell silent. Plotius next said, turning to Uri but with the others paying close attention:

“For all that, I am wholeheartedly in full support of whoever is the current high priest in Jerusalem and the Sanhedrin, whatever mischief they might get up to, because they are better by far than those madmen who impair their authority and threaten the peace, our faith, and the very existence of the Jewish people with their muddy ideas and sick notions.”

They examined the boat in question the next day, but they had to admit that it was too large for them, and postponed any decision for another day on the off chance that something would happen. They had to move out of the basement, but they found a deserted building that was in ruins beside the crumbling city wall, and cleared out the ground floor. It was none too secure a place, but it cost nothing and was close to the harbor. They decided that three of them would stay “at home” at all times, and the others would keep an eye on movements and staying up to date.

As he went around the city Uri marveled at how such a significant port could be in such a state of neglect. It was not just that the city wall had collapsed in many places; most of the shrines could have done with a major overhaul.

He came to a halt in front of a papyrus notice stuck to one of the walls.

Matthew also came to a halt.

It was an announcement that the famous Makedonios would be appearing tomorrow at the amphitheater and expounding his theses in person.

Uri became very excited.

“I’ve got two of his works back at home,” he said. “He’s witty. It would be good to listen to him.”

Matthew said nothing.

“It costs eight asses at the theater,” Uri said. “That’s what is written here.”

“I can see,” said Matthew. “Not exactly cheap.”

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to go and hear him?”

Matthew goggled at him. Uri could see that he was astounded even though there was no rule to forbid a Jew from listening to a non-Jewish philosopher expounding his theses; after all, he was not a priest of some strange rite.

“I’d like to listen to him,” Uri persisted stubbornly.

“Well, then, listen,” said Matthew, and resumed walking.

Uri hurried after him.

“I have no money,” he said. “Lend me eight asses. I’ll give it back in Rome.”

Matthew stopped, reached under his toga, pulled out the little pouch that he carried tied to his back, took out a sestertius, and offered it to Uri.

Uri hesitated.

“Take it!” said Matthew. “One day you’ll come to my place in Ostia and you’ll invite me out to drink a jar of wine in the best tavern.”

Uri thanked him and took the coin from him.

He prayed that a ship would not come just yet. The prayer was heard, and in the afternoon of the following day he handed the money over to the guards at the entrance to the amphitheater and waited for the change. The guards shoved him on, and he was also pushed from behind by others who were seeking to enter, so he was obliged to carry on. Given that one sestertius was worth sixteen asses, he had lost eight asses — and that would have come in handy. He would have fastened it to his loincloth and not spent it, happy in the knowledge that he could do so any time.

There were thirty rows running around the amphitheater. Uri had arrived early so as to be able to take a seat in one of the front rows because from farther back there was no chance of his being able to see the speaker. He hoped he would come close to the audience. The amphitheater was not quite full, but still there was a decent audience, and Uri was relieved to note that there were some other Jews among them. He would make a note of that to Matthew, who seemed to disapprove of his interest in pagan philosophy.

In the center of the space enclosed by the semicircles stood a platform assembled from planks, at the back of which were five steps leading up to it, so the speaker would step up there, perhaps on account of the acoustics. If Uri were to sit a few rows higher, he would be able to see over the landscape to the sea — at least its blueness, if not the horizon. But he wanted a seat near the podium.

It was a pleasant early spring afternoon. A small group appeared in the arena, four men carrying a lectica on which the philosopher was seated. His bald brow was adorned with a wreath of laurels. He was a burly, red-haired man, as Uri could see clearly from the second row, because the litter was carried around past the first row, and the philosopher waved happily to the spectators, who shouted words of encouragement toward him as if they were attending a chariot race. Servants hurried behind, including a scampering manikin.