György Spiró - Captivity

The non-Jewish servants brought in an enormous bronze dish, filled it with water, brought out several more large dishes and a good dozen amphorae, then set out ornamental murrhine glasses before them on the table.

Valerius instructed the servants to mix the wine and water in a fifty-fifty ratio. The big vessels — punchbowls, as they were called — were filled with equal quantities of wine and water, and from these the drinks were measured out with a large ladle through a funnel into each person’s drinking glass.

At that point Aaron announced that it was time to say prayers.

They started with the first of the two classes of blessings, because the second type could only be uttered by a priest, then they said the Sh’ma and the seven obligatory blessings for the Sabbath, and finally the kiddush, which is recited over a cup of wine in private houses to consecrate the Sabbath.

Valerius then ordered everyone to down the glass in one and then he would get the next.

They did his bidding.

From then on it was Valerius who stipulated the proportions in which the wine and water were to be mixed, and how often they should drink. His orders had to be complied with, given that he was the wine king. There was no Law, written or unwritten, that said anything about the office of wine king, and therefore it was allowed to comply with the wine king on the Sabbath.

It was likewise allowed to converse and sit around in the garden while drinking. Uri kept casting stealthy glances at the large building looming in the dark behind the high stone wall, where the sailors were celebrating their Sabbath. He noticed that the others also looked over there from time to time. Oil lamps glowed behind the curtains in the tiny windows, much as they did on the table that had been set out in the garden on their side, and at times a sound like the meowing of cats was audible. Maybe they had a menorah in the rooms over there, because in their garden there was a massive, cast-bronze menorah on a marble plinth, with all seven of its candles burning.

“They’re screwing,” Aaron said.

The rest laughed.

It then began to glimmer in Uri’s mind what the dark, two-story building next door might be.

All the same, he asked, and indeed it was: Syracusa’s Jewish brothel.

That was what the sailors had been hurrying to.

The proprietor of the brothel was Jewish, Aaron related, and the women who lived there were Jewish as well, around three dozen of them — or at least so people say, because he personally had never seen them. He chortled, and his sons gave him looks as disgusted as those Gaius Lucius’s sons gave him in Rome. Except that there was no wife present, and nobody asked if she was still alive, had died, or been driven away by Aaron.

The harlots came from Judaea and Galilee, recounted Aaron, and constantly at that; if any fled or died, the gap was immediately filled, because the demand was very high. There were short girls, tall ones, slim ones, and fat ones, girls with large bosoms and others with small bosoms, skinny thighs or fat thighs, broad-hipped or narrow-hipped, red-haired or black-haired, short-haired or long-haired girls; some could dance, others might play the harp, some could read out loud very nicely, and others were completely dumb, but each and every one was well versed in the arts of lovemaking. Divorced wives, unmarried girls who had been knocked up by mercenaries, girls who had been abandoned or anathematized, women, raped virgins, expectant grandmothers, pickpockets, madwomen, women cursed by magic spells — one and all of them unfortunate females who would long ago have given up the ghost had they not found their way here, where they had a roof over their head and food to eat, and none too bad at that, and plenty enough of it too. They not only received Jewish clients, but Jewish sailors were always preferred and were given discounts, because the proprietor strictly observed religious commandments in all things at all times.

A hush fell; they sipped their wine and strove not to take a peek in the direction of the dark, two-story house lowering at the end of the garden, past the pools, past the high wall, but the place where, Uri sensed, they all, himself included, longed to be.

“On the Sabbath, even fallen women are not supposed to work, if they’re Jewish,” Uri piped up.

Iustus and Hilarus endorsed that vigorously: they thought it was outrageous, an unpardonable sin to force women to work on the Sabbath and, worse still, by a Jew, even if they were whores.

Uri looked at Plotius, but the latter said nothing. Valerius shook his head and ordered a new round in a mix of one-third to two-thirds, the larger part being wine.

“It’s not as if they are working,” Matthew said, and he snorted with laughter. “On the Sabbath married couples have a duty to live a married life.”

“That’s right, but those women are not married! They’re lousy whores!” declared teacher Hilarus.

“But they are married,” Matthew rejoined with a mischievous chuckle. “That’s the custom here in Syracusa.” At which he turned to Aaron: “Correct me if I’ve got that wrong…”

“No, you’ve got it right,” Aaron said with a grin on his face.

“Well, anyway, I’ve been told that sailors can drop into the brothel at any time, and they will be served forthwith. If it so happens that they arrive on the Sabbath, because the wind was against them, or the oarsmen mutinied, or pirates wanted to grapple with the ship and had to be beaten off, then they will be heartily welcome on production of a standard marriage certificate, and on these the only blank that is left is for the client’s name; the girls’ names are entered sure enough, only those of the men are missing. The form is quickly completed as soon as the man chooses a woman; the owner of the brothel personally blesses all the newly married couples, and they are free to couple lawfully the whole night long. They spend the Sabbath like any God-fearing Jew, and because they are married it is even obligatory for them to couple. Then on the Sabbath evening, when the sun goes down and the Sabbath comes to a close, they enter the appropriate names into the standard religious document, both sign it, and thereafter they may consider themselves as divorced under the Law — and all perfectly legally.”

“How hypocritical!” expostulated Uri.

“Why’s that?” Matthew asked. “They do genuinely get married, but nowhere does it say how many times a Jew may contract marriage. And they do genuinely get divorced. It’s all done in accordance with the Law. I’ve seen a bill of marriage — not just one either, because some people collect them. Usually they are burned — the real married ones burn them anyway, so the paper will not be found on them by chance. No proof is left in the brothel. The Lord God sees anyway what he must see, and up till now He has not interfered once; not brought down a pestilence on the house, or an earthquake, and no tidal wave has carried it off, though it’s been operating for quite a while.”

“When I first came here,” said Aaron, “it was already here, and that was nearly twenty years ago.”

That bore thinking about. The Lord bestowed on the Jews laws that were full of holes. Equally, that might, of course, be a matter for rejoicing.

“This Syracusan brothel is the most humane I’ve ever heard of,” said Plotius unexpectedly. “The owner has brought in the rule that the men do not pay up front but upon leaving, and pay precisely what the wench says, her status for the evening of the Sabbath indeed being that of a freshly divorced wife. The women are not beaten up here, because any woman who is beaten will declare, purely out of vengeance, a staggeringly large sum, and if the blighter does not have that much, the proprietor recovers it from the rest: nobody is allowed to leave until everyone has paid. There are brutes of servants who can get anybody to cough up, but that is not needed, because anyone going in is clear about the rules. Apparently there have been cases when the woman asked for nothing, but those are just legends, of course; any owner would instantly dismiss a woman like that.”