‘Thank you, optio,’ Vespasian said, getting down from the chair and taking Ataphanes’ box from Ziri. ‘You and Ziri wait here too, Magnus; I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘I still have some correspondence with that family, senator,’ Alexander the Alabarch of the Alexandrian Jews assured Vespasian, ‘and I can promise you that it’ll be no problem getting this thing to them. There is a caravan leaving for Parthia at the next full moon in three days’ time, its owner is a cousin of mine; you can trust him. May I see what’s inside?’
Vespasian lifted the lid of Ataphanes’ box, which stood on the desk between them. They were sitting in the cool of the Alabarch’s study on the northern side of his house away from the threat of direct sunlight. The room was filled with many scrolls, labelled in Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic and Latin, giving it a musty smell reminiscent of a library storeroom. The only light came from two slatted windows in the wall opening out onto the central courtyard from whence came the sound of two young men reading aloud, at great speed, in unison.
‘Your freedman was wealthy,’ Alexander commented, fingering the gold coins and trinkets inside. ‘How much is here?’
‘I’m afraid that I don’t know exactly.’
‘Then I shall weigh it.’ Alexander got up and retrieved a large set of scales from a wooden chest in the corner of the room. ‘My fee, which will cover all expenses including those of my cousin’s, will be eighteen per cent of the weight of the gold. I won’t take into account the value of the workmanship; would that be agreeable to you?’
‘Ten.’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Twelve.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Eleven.’
Alexander smiled beneath his full, sand-coloured beard. ‘You bargain strongly considering that it is not your money. Very well, twelve it is.’
‘Done,’ Vespasian said. Alexander started to weigh out the gold.
The Alabarch’s appearance had surprised Vespasian; he had expected a wise-looking, old grey-beard with rheumy eyes, a dripping nose and, perhaps, a slight stoop. The reality had been far different: Alexander was a fit and powerful man in his late forties with alert, piercing blue eyes and long, almost blond hair with a beard to match. The only things about him that fitted in with Vespasian’s stereotypical ideas of Jewishness were his clothes – very typical – and his pronounced nose – averagely so. He had the calmness about him of a man at ease with himself and his position in life and Vespasian could tell immediately that he was a man he could trust.
‘Six minae, twenty-four drachmae and three obols,’ Alexander said eventually.
‘Which makes your percentage one obol short of seventy-five drachmae,’ Vespasian said after a moment’s thought, ‘or, almost exactly, one Roman pound in gold.’
Alexander did some quick calculations on a wax tablet and raised his eyebrows. ‘I can see that you would be a hard man to cheat.’
‘Not that I believe you would try, Alexander.’
Alexander began to weigh out his share. ‘I was brought up to be honest and truthful in all things, something that I hope I’ve passed on to my sons.’ He indicated to the voices in the courtyard. ‘That’s them at their Torah studies, which, I’m afraid, they resent as much as I did at their age, but I insist upon them doing it because otherwise, when they come of age, how can they make an informed decision as to whether they believe in the religion or, like me, do not?’
‘You’re not a Jew?’
‘Of course I’m a Jew racially, I’m just not a practising Jew. Why else do you think that I’m the Alabarch? With me Rome gets the best of both worlds: it has a Jew running the Jewish community here in Alexandria and collecting its taxes, which makes it acceptable to the Jews.’
‘Even though you don’t share their religion?’
Alexander chuckled. ‘Oh, I do enough to be seen as a righteous man in their eyes. I recently paid for the nine gates of the Temple in Jerusalem to be gilded, so they have to accept me; but at the same time Rome has an Alabarch who isn’t swayed by religious dogma. Rome can see me as being even-handed.’
‘That’s not the impression that Flaccus gave me,’ Vespasian said, realising that he was talking out of turn. ‘He said that you had been making too many demands recently.’
‘There is an ongoing issue of Alexandrian citizenship and whether Jewish citizens are allowed to live outside the Jewish Quarter, not to mention the statues of the Emperor in the temples. But I’ve also been trying to mediate between the elders and the prefect on another matter: they want him to crack down on this new sect that they see as preaching heresy and consider it to be a Roman attack on their religion.’
‘But that’s ridiculous, there’s nothing Roman about it at all.’
‘The main preacher is a Roman citizen.’
Vespasian frowned. ‘Paulus? Surely not; he’s trying to eradicate it.’
‘He was trying to eradicate what was known as The Way; four years ago he was here doing some very unpleasant things to anyone suspected of being a member of the sect.’ Alexander indicated to the perfectly balanced scales.
Vespasian nodded his approval of the twelve per cent. ‘Yes, I came across him in Cyrenaica; he was ruthless. I had him arrested and put on a ship back east.’
‘A pity that you didn’t have him killed.’ Alexander tipped his gold into a bag and placed it in a drawer. ‘Well, he claims to have had some sort of spiritual enlightenment since then while on his way to Damascus. He appeared out of the desert a couple of months ago, having lived there by himself for three years, and started preaching without permission. He claims that he has God’s authority and it’s not a Jewish matter at all; and in a way he’s right. He’s not preaching a reformed version of Judaism along the lines that the followers of The Way claimed that Yeshua bar Yosef preached to the Jews alone; he’s preaching a completely new religion to Gentiles as well as Jews centred on our God but not the Torah. He claims that Yeshua bar Yosef is God’s son who came to die for the sins of the world and redeem all mankind. Only through him, Paulus professes, can those who truly repent of their sins hope to live with God in the Kingdom of Heaven, which is not of this world, rather than wait for resurrection in an earthly paradise at the End of Days as most Jews believe. He also adds fear and urgency into his message by claiming that the End of Days, or the Day of Judgement, as he calls it, is close at hand. Paradoxically he blames the Jews for having this Yeshua crucified even though it is a Roman form of execution, and if he hadn’t been executed Paulus wouldn’t have anything to base his incoherent religion on. You can understand why the elders and my people are angry.’
‘Yes, I felt it as I came through the Jewish Quarter. Why doesn’t Flaccus do something about Paulus?’
‘Ask him yourself,’ Alexander replied, replacing Ataphanes’ gold back in the box. ‘I don’t know, but I think that it’s because he doesn’t care; after all, what’s another new religion to a Roman? You embrace them all.’
‘And rightly so, if it doesn’t involve having your foreskin cut off. But this one sounds different.’
Alexander closed the box. ‘It is different and it’s dangerous because it doesn’t acknowledge any earthly authority; its appeal lies in the promise of salvation and reward in a world to come, not in the here and now. If it is allowed to take root, then the whole emphasis of our civilisation could change from a philosophical debate on how to live in the present, to a spiritual debate on how to prepare for a theoretical afterlife. I’ve been thinking about it and I wonder what would happen to science and learning if all that people worried about was the idea of an immortal soul.’
‘I’m afraid that you’ve lost me there,’ Vespasian replied as Alexander began to write out a receipt. ‘However, I can see the danger of a religion that doesn’t acknowledge the ultimate authority of the Emperor – whatever he may be like. But surely this is just a small sect created by one man?’
‘But it will grow because Paulus aims his preaching at the poor and slaves who
have nothing in this world to lose and everything to gain from his idea of salvation and spiritual riches in the next; it’s very potent. Paulus is an extremely ambitious man who believes that his abilities have never been truly recognised and that all his life he’s been denied his rightful place in society. He asked, demanded even, to marry the High Priest’s daughter, just before he went to Damascus, and was refused; I think that he saw that as the final indignity and decided to find a way to power in his own right because it was shortly after that he disappeared. Now he’s back and I believe that he has found a way to turn this world upside down with him finally at the top.’
‘I’ll speak to Flaccus and try to get him to arrest Paulus,’ Vespasian said, before realising that Alexander had done exactly what Flaccus had predicted: got him involved.
Alexander smiled and handed him the receipt for Ataphanes’ gold. ‘Thank you, Vespasian, I would appreciate that; but he needs to do more than arrest him, he must execute him.’
Vespasian looked into the piercing blue eyes of the Alabarch and saw that he was in earnest. He was genuinely afraid of this new sect. ‘Very well, I’ll suggest that, Alexander,’ Vespasian agreed, getting up and proffering his arm. ‘I should go now; I’ve a busy day ahead. Would you be able to tell me where I can find the late Lady Antonia’s steward, Felix?’
Alexander grasped his forearm across the desk. ‘He’s in the city at the moment; you’ll find him at Antonia’s house right next to the south side of the Gymnasium.’
Vespasian followed the Alabarch out into the courtyard; the reading stopped immediately and Alexander’s two sons stood in the presence of their elders; they were both in their teens.
‘Senator Vespasian, this is my eldest son, Tiberius,’ Alexander said, gesturing to the taller of the boys who looked to Vespasian to be about seventeen, ‘and his brother, Marcus.’
The boys bowed their heads.
‘Your father keeps you hard at your studies,’ Vespasian observed.
‘He seems to find pleasure in our suffering,’ Tiberius replied with a grin.
‘Either that or he’s trying to numb our minds with pointless repetition,’ Marcus suggested; he was a couple of years younger than his brother.
Alexander smiled with pride at his sons. ‘For that cheek you can learn an extra fifty lines. I shall test you at sundown.’
‘You’ll have to find us first,’ Tiberius said, quickly ducking a playful clip around the ear from his father.
‘Enough of this,’ Alexander said laughing, ‘back to your studies. I shall see you out, senator.’
Despite being carried, Vespasian was sweating profusely as they progressed west back along the Canopic Way; even though it was not yet midday the dry heat and the still air combined to make the conditions almost intolerable, especially when wearing a woollen toga. Unlike Cyrene, which was built upon a plateau overlooking the sea, Alexandria did not seem to benefit from a cooling breeze.
‘How do you cope with this, Hortensius?’ Magnus asked, sweltering even though he only had on a tunic. ‘Your helmets and armour must be cooking you alive.’
‘You get used to it, mate,’ the optio replied in a friendly way, ‘once you’ve been here for ten years or so.’
‘You mean you just stop caring.’
‘You’re right, mate,’ Hortensius concurred with a laugh, ‘ain’t he, lads?’
His men agreed good-naturedly. Vespasian could tell that Magnus had used the time waiting outside the Alabarch’s house to fine effect and had got on good terms with their guards.
‘Looks like Paulus has been moved on,’ Vespasian commented to Magnus, seeing the arena where he had been preaching was now empty.
‘Did you find out from the Alabarch what he’s doing here?’
‘I did, and you won’t believe it—’
A series of shouts and the hard stamp of many running feet cut him off. A couple of Jews came pelting across the street, from south to north, followed by a howling mob of Greeks waving improvised clubs and hurling stones at their quarry.
With a sharp, curtailed cry the hindmost Jew was brought down with a direct hit to the back of his head; crashing forward on to the paved road he skidded along for a couple of paces tearing the skin off his face. His colleague ran on into the Jewish Quarter as the chasing mob surrounded the stricken man, hitting and kicking him as he lay motionless on the ground.
‘With me, lads,’ Hortensius shouted, drawing his gladius, ‘line abreast, two deep, shields up and use the flats of your swords.’ He broke into a run with eight of his men on either side. Women in the street screamed and the men drew back, hurling abuse or encouragement depending on their race. Vespasian stepped out of his chair and, with Magnus and Ziri, followed slowly as the legionaries charged into the mob, who were so intent on beating their victim that they did not notice the threat until nine interlocked shields punched into them, cracking bones and hurling men to the ground. Burnished iron flashed in the sun as the legionaries brought the flats of their blades cracking down on the heads of the closest men still standing, felling them.
Those who could turned and ran, leaving the legionaries kicking and stamping on their fallen mates.
‘That’s enough, Hortensius,’ Vespasian shouted, ‘call your men off.’
It took a few moments for the legionaries to respond to their optio’s orders but eventually, after a couple more arms were snapped and another skull cracked, they pulled back, leaving a half-dozen blood-stained bodies on the ground. A couple of them were shrieking in agony but the rest lay either unconscious or rolling around clutching shattered limbs and groaning with pain.
‘Have a look at him,’ Vespasian ordered Magnus, pointing to the blood-spattered Jew who lay motionless.
Magnus stepped over a couple of bodies and knelt down, turning the man over; one look at his glazed eyes told him all he needed to know. ‘Dead,’ he announced as men and women came rushing from the Jewish Quarter.
Hortensius formed his men up in a protective wall around the dead and the injured. ‘Stay back!’ he warned as the first of the Jews drew close.
‘That’s my brother,’ a middle-aged man shouted, stepping forward from the crowd.
Vespasian recognised him as the Jew who had been running with the murdered man. ‘Let him through, Hortensius,’ he ordered, ‘and get these injured men locked up; they should be tried by the prefect for murder.’
The legionaries parted, letting the man through to his stricken sibling; he knelt and, taking the lifeless head in his hands, wept.
‘Why were they chasing you?’ Vespasian asked.
‘There’s been a preacher of heresy in the city; he was here again this morning. My brother and I went to argue against him but he doesn’t listen; he just insists that God loves all people whether they follow the Torah or not, and the way to God is through eating the body and drinking the blood of the man he claims was God’s son, Yeshua. It’s blasphemy.’
‘Eating his body and drinking his blood? That’s ridiculous; Yeshua’s been dead for five years or so.’
‘He says he turns bread and wine into his body and blood.’
Vespasian struggled to understand the concept. ‘Do you mean literally?’
‘I don’t know; I can only assume so, why else would he say it? After the meeting was broken up the preacher told his followers that he would perform this ceremony; my brother and I followed them to find out what happens. They went to a house by the Lake Harbour, a few hundred paces away; we managed to climb onto the roof and look down through a crack in the tiles but before we saw anything we were spotted and had to run for our lives.’
‘From the preacher’s followers?’
‘No, from ordinary Greeks; we Jews are not welcome anywhere in the city outside of our quarter at the moment. They chased us away but they’ve never done anything like this before.’ He indicated to his battered brother’s corpse and started to sob.
‘Take his body for burial,’ Vespasian said, sympathy colouring his words
. ‘Tell me, what is your name?’
‘Nathanial,’ the distraught man answered through his tears.
‘I will ensure that his killers are brought to justice for this, you have the word of a Roman senator who owes your Alabarch a favour for a service he’s just rendered me.’
‘Thank you, senator,’ he replied, lifting his brother with difficulty. He looked at Vespasian with bloodshot eyes. ‘I don’t think that my brother is going to be the last person killed in this city just for being Jewish.’
Vespasian turned to Hortensius who now had an escort of only eight legionaries, the others being busy dealing with the Jew’s murderers. ‘Let’s get going, optio,’ he ordered wearily, ‘I’ve got much to do.’
‘It ain’t good when people start getting murdered just for being Jewish,’ Magnus observed to Vespasian as they set off again.
‘People get murdered just for having a weighty purse on them.’
‘That ain’t what I mean, sir. The way I see it is that if more of them get murdered for being Jewish then it won’t be too long before they retaliate and people find themselves getting murdered just for being Greek or Egyptian or, the gods forbid, Roman.’ He looked pointedly at the senatorial stripe on Vespasian’s toga. ‘If you take my meaning?’
Vespasian did indeed.
It was the fifth hour of the day by the time Vespasian and his depleted party reached the Forum, which was, like everything else he had seen in Alexandria, truly impressive. With a panoramic view over the Great Harbour it was set between the theatre, seating over thirty thousand, to its east and, to its west, the Caesareum, the palace, guarded by two needle-like obelisks, built by Cleopatra for her lover and named after him. Two hundred paces long and a hundred across and surrounded by a colonnade of immense proportions constructed of different coloured marbles, the Forum teemed with people of many races going about their business; it was the beating heart of a great city.
False God of Rome Page 31