György Spiró - Captivity

“There are,” replied the spearsman. “They live in the Jordan Valley. They need water, but they can range out to here. It’s not a good idea to wander around in this part of the world on your own and without a weapon.”

“Robbers are a bigger threat,” the swordsman declared. “A lion will not attack two or three people, because it knows they will be armed, but that won’t stop a robber.”

“But only,” said the spearsman, “if they aren’t informed in advance that the group should be left untouched.”

“Are there many robbers here?” Uri inquired in some consternation.

“You bet!” said the spearsman. “There are many caves out this way, so yes, there are. But there’s no need to be afraid, because they have been forewarned that we are coming.”

Uri shook his head; he did not find that funny. The guards were no doubt exaggerating. They could hardly be so important that any self-respecting, dutiful, law-abiding robber bands should be given notice of them. And anyway how was that done?

All the same, he asked if they had encountered robbers before.

The swordsman grunted. The spearsman, after a brief pause, said with a deadpan face, “Every day.”

Uri laughed.

They obtained permission to stay in a barn for the night and were given water, bread, and figs that had been dried the previous year. Without even bothering to see who was providing the hospitality, Uri fell asleep as if he had been clubbed on the head.

They rose at daybreak; Uri was barely able to stand on his legs; his feet, thighs, and backside all ached, having fallen out of practice with walking. It went through his head that it was Tuesday. They took water from a wooden bowl to wash their hands, before turning to the south to bow and recite the Sh’ma. Both the guards had a tefillah, the small wooden box being held on the left arm under their cloaks, but Uri was still without one; his own phylactery right now was in the sack that was being taken back by his fellow delegates. The two guards prayed for longer than Uri did, which indicated to him that they were probably adding some extra text. He listened carefully but did not understand what they were muttering. They drank water and ate barley bread, which was just like what he had eaten in prison, and then they were on their way.

At noon they rested under a palm tree. By then it was already baking hot, and over the last hour Uri had walked using his arms to protect his head. His guards draped over their heads woolen shawls, which until then they had tied around their waists.

“There’s going to be a drought this year,” said the swordsman, staring at the brilliant blue sky as he lay. “Everything is going to burn, and we’re going to go hungry.”

“The rains should have come by now,” said the spearsman, nodding. “We’re between Nisan and Iyyar, and there has been not a drop of rain.”

Uri tried to guess where he would be when famine broke out in Palestine. He was amazed to find that he now had no destination, no object in life was left for him; he was no longer rebelling against destiny, sweeping him toward his unknown future. He looked at the countryside, to the extent that he saw anything, and the countryside that happened to be around him right then was no more real than the Rome that he had left two and a half months previously. The guards were pleasant men, the rascals in prison had been pleasant men, Pilate had been a pleasant man, but had red spots appeared on his face while he was jogging around the altar then he might not be alive. The whole thing was improbable; it was impossible to sense the weight of anything.

The sun was still beating down strongly when the guards got up and set off.

“It’s not far now,” the spearsman said by way of encouragement.

The sun had begun to go down by the time they reached a cluster of buildings. It was made up of mud-brick dwellings, with no girding wall.

The guards came to a halt.

“This is it,” said the spearsman. “Look for a master carpenter called Jehuda ben Mordecai. He already knows about you.”

“Aren’t you going any farther?” asked Uri.

“No, we have to hurry back,” said the spearsman. “Our greetings to Jehuda and his household. Peace be with you.”

“Peace be with you,” repeated the swordsman.

“Wait a moment,” said Uri, and unslung the sandals from around his neck. “Take these.”

His escorts were startled. They exchanged glances. The spearsman, touched by the gesture, sniffled.

“Our thanks, but which one of us should wear them?”

“If you sell off your worn sandals,” said Uri, “you’ll be able to buy a new pair, then both of you will get new footwear.”

They gave that some hard thought. The spearsman took the sandals in his hands, examined them, and nodded. The swordsman also took them in his hands, inspected them, even sniffed at them.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of with them,” he said to Uri. “They’re not as wicked as they pretend to be. I was a peasant myself.”

Uri wished them peace too and set off toward the mud-brick houses. He looked back; they were standing and watching. Uri waved, and they waved back.

Uri came to a stop amid the mud-brick dwellings. There was not a soul around. He turned back around, but the two escorts were gone.

Craftsman Jehuda ben Mordecai was a burly, strong man, and his smell was strong too, penetrating, like his voice; he was unable to speak quietly, only in a bellow.

“You’re the one they sent me?” he shouted out from the gloom when Uri stepped over the threshold, ducking because the doorpost was low. “How puny you are! I’m not going to get much that’s of any use out of you! Call yourself a joiner? Why, you can’t so much as lift a beam.”

Uri let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. There was a tiny window cut into the wall on the side that overlooked the yard, too small for even a child to wriggle through, possibly to prevent thieves from entering.

“Tell me, kid: what do they call you?” Jehuda ben Mordecai yelled.

Uri introduced himself, giving his official Latin name.

“Gaius!” thundered Jehuda in vexation. “Gaius, with Theodorus to go with it! All bad cometh from Edom, don’t you know that?”

The Edomites refused to allow Moses and the children of Israel passage through their land on their way to Canaan; they had to go around Edom and struggle over the River Jordan. But how long ago had that been? Two thousand years. The later Edomites were traditional descendants of Esau, and they deliberately vexed the Jews, being a kindred people, until the Arabs overran them, then the Nabataeans, after which they reassimilated to Judaism. Herod the Great was half-Edomite. Was it him that Master Jehuda was insulting? Why would he be?

“So, what do you want from me?” demanded Jehuda.

Uri shifted from foot to foot.

“Well, you’d better come with me, dopey Theo, and I’ll show you where you’ll sleep!”

Jehuda scrambled to his feet from the bed on which he had been lying, snorted, and squeezed past Uri out of the house.

Uri trotted after him. Jehuda aimed a few kicks at the chickens pecking around in the yard and cursed them. He stopped in front of a henhouse.

“Sling the chickens out,” he bellowed. “They’ll get on well enough out here! But don’t get the idea they’ll thank you for it!”

Uri looked at the coop. Was that going to be his quarters from now on? It was so small that he could not even climb in. A very odd sense of humor this master had. He looked around. There was a big barn opposite the house at the end of the yard; it had a big door through which even a cart could pass, and there was a ladder leaning against the wall up which one could clamber to the loft.