by Paulo Barata
Year 65
The day finally arrived when I forced myself to watch the dark bluish vastness of the sea engulf the scintillating light of the last temple on the highest hill of my city. I was leaving those shores not as a traveller, as I had done before, but as a pariah, banished by the reprobation of my own ageless shadow. A fugitive from envy and not from the deification that Adad had once prophesied.
In high seas, I soon drowned in the lethargy of those apathetic and undulating days, dreaming of restless sleep, accosted by imaginary threats and dangers. In those three weeks, following after the invisible north, I sailed towards a fate of an uncertain future of loneliness and longing.
I almost missed Crete on the starboard and Massena on the port side. I glimpsed Capri in the intervals of the bloated square sails, and the fumes of Vesuvius intertwined with the bow’s cordage. Antium quickly glided by the prow, and finally, still immune to all the scenery that insistently kept on following me, I came to Ostia once again. I had arrived at my future.
A stranger in a stranger land, I now had to emulate the common and the ordinary, and so I shaved off my beard, dressed in light linen tunics and wore toga-like cloaks and capes, boarding at an inn close to the baths of Mithra in the town center. I soon met and confabulated with Greeks and Syrians, I spoke with Judaeans and Antiochenes, totally immersed in that plurality of cultures and ideas, searching for options and alternatives for my insertion into that new world.
I eventually took the decision to stay in Ostia, rather than to go on to Rome. The city was large enough for the anonymity I wanted, and being close to the port, it would guarantee a steady flow of news and information from every corner of the Empire. Also, Rome was only a few hours away by horse or litter.
I ended buying a small villa outside the city, in the Via Ostiense, right on the margin of the meandering Tiber. It was not a large property. I certainly had no need for large spaces or to attract others’ attention, and I employed a couple of servants of dubious origin. I took to rebuild the stables and the dyke that held off the flooding waters of the winter months. I bought two horses and a litter that I hardly used, and I began to attend services in the Judaean synagogue of Ostia. I deposited my talents in some of the temples, and contributed a good sum to complete the construction of a synagogue close to Portus. At the end of three months of frenetic activity, I felt integrated in the community.
I was now living a most bucolic life, of the unoccupied and the lordly. I looked for things to do at home, replanting flowerbeds, cropping leaves and branches from shrubs and willows, and even changed some of the rose bushes. I found plumbers and masons to renew the kitchens and replace the heating lead ducts in the baths, as well as some of the mosaics in the atrium and the vestibule. I had new frescoes painted over faded landscapes and fauns in the triclinium, and replaced part of the wooden ceilings in the bedrooms. I had days of horse riding over emerald green pastures, and sat hours on end by the river, watching large barges of grain float towards Rome and beyond. At the end of three more months I was bored.
I had to take some course with my life, to find some purpose. I could not see myself spending years on end in that languor of the exiled. I even thought of going on journeys to far away places, but inertia ruled me, and also, I did not want to get far from the source of news of my people and my country. I planned visits to Rome, but the oppressive heat of summer dissuaded me. Not even the frenzy of those days of the great fire in Rome could awake me from that lethargy. And I would counsel myself to remain calm and patient, time was bountiful.
Inevitably the Nazarenes appeared, or better still, the Christians, as the Greek owner of one of the tabernae by the harbor told me.
“Salve, Master Ahasverus.”
“Khaire, Akakios.”
“We speak in Greek, yes?”
“It would be better, Akakios; otherwise I will lose my fluency” and how terrible his latin was.
“I don’t believe that. You are a young sopho !”
“Just a Judaean, Akakios.”
“But we all know how wise the Judaeans are, Master Ahasverus. Wise and prudent, very good in commerce, yes?”
“Not all of us, Akakios.”
“You are waiting for a ship?”
“Always hoping for news. I suppose that nothing has arrived for me?”
“No, Master. There haven’t been many boats from Caesarea, no. But the day before yesterday we had one from Jaffa. It is near Caesarea, no?”
“Yes, it is not far. Was it a merchant ship? A load of balsam or cedar?”
“No, I don’t think so. It was a small boat, single masted. It moored right over there, by that granary. But all I saw were some men disembarking, Judaeans it seemed to me.”
“Judaean merchants?” I asked hopefully.
“No, Master Ahasverus. They were not merchants, no. They came here, and I asked what they were trading — I always try to be helpful, as you know — but they wanted to know about their brothers. But, frankly, how could I know who their brothers were?”
“Brothers?”
“Yes, they asked me if I knew where the brothers of the Christ lived.”
“They were Christians then…”
“Is that what they meant? That sect that our beloved Emperor accused of arson last year? You think I should tell the guards, Master Ahasverus? I do know where they are staying, over at the stabulum of Iuliana.”
“Whatever for, Akakios? It’s best not to get involved in such affairs. You know how the Romans are.”
“You are right, of course, absolutely right, yes.”
Akakios was right too.
I had almost forgotten the great fire in Rome that had devastated most of the city, south of the Palatine hill. The fire had lasted for almost a week, and had entirely destroyed various boroughs and most of the living quarters of the humbler quarters. But it also burned a large part of one of the imperial residences.
There was also the rumor going around that Nero himself had a hand on this, but only the more gullible and perfidious enemies of the Emperor could believe such tripe. I still had not understood why the Emperor had blamed the Nazarenes for that catastrophe, but I suppose he had his own purpose. The truth is that many were savagely persecuted and condemned to horrible public punishments. And not just the Nazarenes. A lot of Judaeans were also killed, as, for most Romans, there was no discernible difference between the two religious groups. Now, according to Akakios, reinforcements had arrived.
I was longing for news of Judaea, and since I had nothing better to do that afternoon, I decided to look for them at the inn where they were staying. It was a risk, but minimal. If they were from Jaffa they had most probably never heard of me, much less recognize me in this Roman attire. Was I going mad, irrationally preoccupied with being identified? But then again, they were the persecuted ones in this land, not I.
But they were not at the inn, and after I had made up some reason why I was looking for them, one of the servants confided that they usually stayed in the area around the forum. I guessed she was a Nazarene too.
I did find them there. It was almost impossible not to recognize them in their usual habits. The same dark cloaks, the same tunics of rough colorless hemp, their disheveled hair, totally absorbed in their confabulations. Once I confirmed my intuition, I got closer and started to listen to their prattle, delivered in a most guttural Greek to some Judaeans and Gentiles.
They were speaking of their messiah, of course, and of his sayings, but my biggest surprise was the constant mentioning of Saul. They talked extensively of his travels, apparently many more than I had imagined, and of the numerous conversions he had made throughout the Empire. They spoke of their apostles, enumerated the miracles witnessed by thousands in Judaea, in Syria, in Greece, and farther still in remote Britain and in distant Abyssinia. They extolled all their persecuted brothers and those who suffered martyrdom for their faith, willingly relinquishing their lives in the knowledge of certain and eternal salvation in the afterlife.
Still they went on. It was also there that I heard of the death of Cephas in Rome, also crucified as was their messiah, and of Saul and his arrest again. But they should all rejoice, for all was in accordance and by the will of the true savior.
I do not know if they made any converts that day. I grew tired of listening to them, and I did not believe they would give me any useful account of my land. But I was impressed, I must admit, with those speeches and the conviction with which they were delivered.
Suddenly taken by a deep sense of nostalgia, I left them there, and went on my way home. I grew morose, unconsciously thinking of the destinies of Cephas and Saul. I did not feel any emotional entanglement with them, but still, in another time and place, they both crossed my path. The very same paths that, as the Romans claimed, always lead to Rome.
Year 66
Alert and hopeful for news from home and from the family, I devoted myself to regularly survey the harbors of Ostia and Portus, usually spending my mornings at one, and the afternoon hours at the other. I befriended stevedores and quay masters, met with Publicans and cargo supervisors, merchants of lentils and moneychangers of sestertii and denarii, forging friendships at the tables of the various tabernae and thermopolia of those two cities.
From all I asked for the origin of the ships that moored in those piers, and of the others that awaited their turn by the moles and breakwaters of the harbors, bribing them with resin-flavored wines and salty delicacies in exchange for news of exotic Syria and remote Judaea.
From them, I heard of the continued activities of the nefarious Sicarii, of mutinies that continued to assail my land. I learned of the notorious and all too visible covetousness of the new Procurator, Gessius Florus, who had replaced the slightly less greedy Lucceius Albinus. I listened to tales of the intrigues of his wife and Poppaea Sabina, the Empress. They spoke of Cestius Gallus, Governor of Syria, and of his march to annihilate the rebel forces in northern Judaea, of his defeat and disastrous retreat to Caesarea, and of his final cowardly run to Antioch.
From Caesarea I continued to receive, too sporadic for my needs, the usual correspondence that Alexander was able to ship to me through sailors and travelers. There were letters from Isaac, scribbles from Ruth and long epistles from Alexander. And also reports, summaries of accounts, and even credit notes that I would change for aurei and denarii in the stalls of moneylenders and bankers in Rome.
Through these, I knew of them. I knew they were well, despite the long lasting crisis and the savage and gratuitous violence throughout the land.
Through these, I was retold of how much they all missed me, evident in the tremulous handwriting and poor spelling of Ruth.
In these, Isaac informed me that he had left Jerusalem for good and was now living in Caesarea and of his admiration for Alexander, a pillar of honesty, firmness and rectitude.
But it was from Alexander himself that I received the more perceptive news. Not only would he give himself the trouble of compiling long lists of all sorts of information that he knew would be of interest to me, but also commented on them with wit and fine humor. And in the end, another list invariably followed, full of questions that would take me some pleasant days to respond.
These thin threads of contact were my most cherished comfort in those days of bitter solitude.
Years 67 - 69
The next three years were a time of loss, death and hunger, deadly famine.
It started with Ruth succumbing to a fever. Finally, she could now ascend to that heavenly paradise of the Nazarenes, where, she assured me in her last and already feeble message, she would join the Yeshuas, her messiah and my son.
How not to admire her surety in such a faith, the same, as Alexander remarked, that dragged smiling men to their doom. I regretted tears that failed to manifest themselves as copiously as I wanted them to, certainly cauterized by distance and our premature rupture because of that same faith. But I prayed for her in the temple, asking the Lord to hasten her passage through the sheol and to eventually forgive and grant her a true and eternal rest.
Less than a year later, the Emperor Nero also died. By his own hand, some claimed, others mentioned a Greek freedman, while the Nazarenes alluded to divine punishment for the atrocities he had committed against their brethren. But the truth in such affairs is always malleable in the chronicles of the mighty. His fate brought us a year of intrigue, and the assassination of generals and ambitious patricians of the empire. And famine made itself known to our world.
Unquenchable hunger, where stale bread baked with moldy grain was sold for aurei and doves and woodcocks were traded for litters and sleek chariots. The same hunger that revealed skeletal bodies floating lifeless on the low tides, and starving mobs chasing after squalid beasts. When I heard of roving mercenaries who burned and pillaged houses, temples and shops, I took refuge at an inn close to the castrum of Ostia. And in the months that I lived in that room, beige with dust and the dubious aromas that percolated from the lower levels, I watched through the slits of those windows to three oath-taking ceremonies for three different Emperors.
Only after a fourth Emperor was sworn in, did the famine abate, as we all waited anxiously for the arrival of the ships from the orient, loaded with wheat, barley, oats, corn and the relief for us all. It was also at this time that I returned to the villa, finding in its place nothing more than mounds of rubble, ashes and scorched timbers, poor reminders of less convulsed days. But not even all that I had seen in those cold autumnal days, prepared me for the news that Alexander wrote in one of his infrequent letters.
Judaea was now at war against the Empire.
Commerce had ceased throughout the province, and the only emporia still in operation were in Jaffa and Caesarea. Of the remainder, little or nothing was known. In Jerusalem we had lost everything, and Alexander knew for certain that the house and the businesses had been completely destroyed. The city was totally shut to the outside world and no one could go in and out of its walls anymore. He also described violent incidents that had occurred in Caesarea, but fortunately nothing had happened to the house, the family or the granaries and warehouses. He ended in a jovial tone that only a Gentile could have added at such a time. There was talk once again of a messiah in town, and he was Roman, and his name was Vespasian.
Within the same pack of letters, was also a message from Isaac. With a mathematician’s precision, he wrote of the incidents in both Caesarea and Jerusalem, and described the fire that had destroyed most of the area around the Mount Zion, burning down both our houses, but also the home of the Annas family and one of the wings of Herod’s palace. He enumerated the dead in the city, not just Judaeans, but also Greeks, Syrians, Egyptians and of course, Romans. He described the various attacks that were inflicted in surrounding towns and the repeated assaults to the Temple’s treasure. A veritable chronicle of a historian, devoid of emotion and enriched with numbers and facts.
In those days, I dreamed of my city burning, consumed in the pyrrhic dances of my imagination, and I would awake from these with the remorse of one who is safely far from the horror and the violence. Every day I would feverishly search for more information, still unsatisfied with the terror of the real, anxious and afraid for more calamitous news and deathly announcements.
And, once again, the barges and the ships that had brought the grains from afar ceased to arrive. Famine was back once more.
How could life be so recurrent ?
Year 70
Only in the following year did we see the return of bounteousness, and with it the arrival of Vespasian, Alexander’s messiah, but for the rest of us, the new Roman Emperor.
To receive him, more relieved than joyful, the city was colored with the garlands and the ensigns of the Empire, as we watched the daily processions of carriages filled with decorations, and the caravans that brought the patricians from the capital. Numerous tents were raised in the fields and courtyards of the temples and baths, while the animals grazed on the marshy fields
under wintry rains.
No one yet knew the exact date of his arrival, but no one wanted to miss such a momentous event, and I barely managed to hold on to my room at the boarding house of old Iuliana, while I awaited for the roof of the villa to be finished.
Having once missed the opportunity to see an Emperor in the flesh, I dressed up as any Patrician in that morning of his arrival, and in the company of so many and more distinguished others, I placed myself on one of the side stairs of the Imperial palace to watch the maneuvering triremes that brought from Alexandria the new master of the world.
The piers, now all in white, red and purple with the togas, pendants and banners, echoed the acclamations of the cohorts and the calls of the aves and the salvetes, redoubled when the Augustan figure disembarked from his golden trireme into the arms and embraces of senators and equestrians of the republic. How insensate were those fanatical countrymen of mine to challenge the power and the might that was there parading under my gaze.
Vespasian, now wearing the purple cloak of his imperial mandate, was taken indoors into the palace, followed by the many dignitaries who had just received him and the Pretorian guard of Rome. Power was still too fragile to be paraded in the open.
Having seen the main attraction of the day, the crowds started to disperse, but I stayed on. I wanted to see if I could find some recently arrived sailor who could give me some news of the Levant. Holding on to my cloak, I started to brave my way down towards the pier, when someone grabbed my shoulder, almost making me trip down the stairway. Turning to see who was holding onto me, I was suddenly confronted with a familiar face.
“I know you!” exclaimed the stranger enthusiastically.
“Yes?” I stuttered trying to regain my equilibrium.
“Weren’t you in Alexandria, a few years ago? In the Serapeum? The library?”
“Yes, of course,” and then I recognized him, “you are Nikolaus, the custodian of the library.”
“You do remember too.”
“How could I forget? You were extremely kind to a Judaean in disguise!” I replied with a full smile.
“Forgive me, but your name is Ahster?”
“No, but close. It’s Ahasver. Ahasver ben Simon.”
“Of course. And what is a prosperous merchant from Jerusalem doing in Ostia? Are you a refugee from the war?”
“No, no. I have been living in Ostia for some years now.”
“A wise and timely decision, I would say. There is no end in sight for that war in Judaea. And according to my information, still too many battles and too many towns to burn down there.”
“So it seems. Unfortunately, I do still have some family over there. And what about yourself? Living in Rome nowadays?”
“Not yet, but I will be staying there, yes. At least for the foreseeable future. Who knows about the future, right?”
“Indeed, Master Nikolaus.”
“You know, I somehow knew we would meet again. Do you recall our last conversation?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well then. I must admit though, that I never went to consult the oracle of Uadjit,” laughing, “but I have also been told that not even the Sibyls at Delphi could have predicted that we would ever have four Emperors in a single year. The oracles are growing silent these days. Just between us two, I think there are too many gods nowadays.”
“Are you an unbeliever now, Nikolaus?”
“No, but my faith has weakened, I must admit. It comes from living for too long among wise men who claim to have answers to the designs of the gods. Even more, when I see temples being brought down and the sons of gods being crucified.”
“Are you talking of the messiah, Jesus?”
“That’s the one. I had forgotten his name. My memory cannot retain the names of so many of the divine. But see here, that manuscript you sent to Aristarchus was much appreciated, and amply read by the theologians. And some copies were made.”
“Really? Did you read it too?”
“Yes, of course I did. I can tell you that my copy is now archived with the Septuagint. After all, it’s all about the same god, and maybe one day they will all be part of a single book.”
“Believe me, that will never happen. Not even a miracle could join those books. And how is Master Aristarchus these days?”
“Unfortunately for us, he died recently.”
“I am sorry to hear that. He was a most devoted scholar and a very civil man.”
“Yes, he was indeed. And, Ahasver, now that we mentioned this Christ and his god, I suddenly remembered a comment from Aristarchus after he finished reading that book.”
“Yes?”
“He thought it very strange, all those sayings of the messiah.”
“I can imagine it.”
“You know it too?”
“That those ideas are strange and feeble? Of course I do, and let us not even mention all the miracles described in the book.”
“No, no. Miracles are very common in religions. They are nothing more than a method by which the gods manifest themselves to us mortals. No, what Aristarchus found odd is that the god of that messiah was a different one from the god of the Septuagint.”
“Another god?”
“Exactly!”
“But this preacher Jesus was a Judaean. He always claimed that, and was condemned for calling himself the son of the Lord.”
“Ahasver, the god that this messiah speaks of, is totally different from your Judaean god.”
“It can’t be Nikolaus, we are talking of the same Lord.”
“Aristarchus didn’t think so. For him, the god of the Septuagint showed himself as a tyrant, revengeful, cruel, the creator of hundreds of laws that enslaved your customs and culture, enforcing wars, exterminating the unbelievers, the idolaters and even killing his followers when they disobeyed or challenged him. What we read in this book about the Christ, is of another god, a god of peace, of fraternity, of forgiveness, of such magnanimity that he doesn’t hesitate to sacrifice his own son for the sake of all mankind. And it is written clearly that it is for everyone’s sake, not just for those who believe or follow him.”
“Nikolaus, it is a possible interpretation for a scholar or a theologian, and a Gentile. For me, there is only the Lord, the same that dictated the Torah, or the Septuagint as you call it.”
“Yes, well, I’m just repeating Aristarchus comments. It did make some sense to me, but as you say, it is an interpretation. Anyway, your book is still there, in the Serapeum.”
“And over there? Still busily adding on more rolls and books?”
“Always. There’s always new material arriving. Especially now, under the patronage of our Emperor, a devotee of Serapis, too.”
“Vespasian is a scholar?”
“Kind of, at least he is an avid reader. I had this idea that the Romans, especially the military, were not very inclined towards science and philosophy. But the general… apologies, the Emperor, surprised me.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Yes. We spent some time looking for some Homeric texts in the library. He knows the Iliad well. He claims that he learned quite a bit from the epic, basically being a poem of honor and warfare.”
“Well, and thus his interest, being a military man.”
“Could be…”
“Have you recently arrived from Alexandria? With the Imperial staff?”
“Yes, the Emperor has appointed me his secretary. He wants me to reorganize the Apollo library in Rome.”
“Secretarius Imperialis ! My congratulations.”
“Still a bit of a jester, Ahasver?”
“Not at all, my dear friend. I do mean it.”
“Thank you then. And now that we are nearer, I do hope you come and visit me in Rome. It will be good to have friends close by. From what I have heard, I do believe that I have some unfriendly faces already awaiting for me at the palace. You know how it is in these kingly courts.”
“I don’t, Nikolaus, but I do have a most prolifi
c imagination.”
We still talked a bit more, but eventually Nikolaus had to leave with the Imperial retinue. We both promised to keep in contact, and I begged him to let me know of any significant news about the war that was still raging over in Judaea.
It was not long, until I received his first letter, the most painful piece of writing I had ever read in my life, painfully engraved in my memory forever.
“I am so terribly sorry, my dear friend, knowing just how grievous and painful will be, to inform you that has just arrived here at the palace, delivered by imperial courier, the most dreadful news.
By the command of the mighty Titus Flavius, son of our Augustus, the V, X, XII and XV legions have taken the city of Jerusalem.
As a result of this conquest, many thousands of Judaeans were killed and the greater part of the city was burned down, including the great temple dedicated to your god.”
And he added.
“The most just and honorable general Titus, horrified with the carnage and the destruction, refused his well deserved wreath of triumph, announcing to his legions that there is no glory in a victory over a people so clearly abandoned by their own god. I do believe, dear Ahasver, that Aristarchus would attribute this calamity to the inclemency of the god of the Septuagint.”
It is too hard and painful to express through mere words the emotions awakened by this piece of news. All I could think was of how horrendous it must have been the butchery to quench the thirst for glory of a conqueror.
Later I came to understand the true essence of what we had lost.
As tragic as the hundreds of thousands of dead, and the tens of thousands of captives and slaves, we had lost in that inferno a major portion of our faith, and if not a complete break, at least a suspension of our millennial covenant with the Lord.
But this was my perception.
In the synagogue, there were those who spoke of divine retribution for the errors and excesses of the Kohanim. Others suggested that this was the means through which the Lord had destroyed that temple built by that most impious Herod, defiled by the constant presence of pagans, heretics and Romans. Still other voices, even less moderate, claimed that all had been a trial perpetrated by the Lord to test the truly faithful, and that the fighting would go on, not just against the heathen, but also against the blasphemers who were seduced by sects that allegedly had foreseen the destruction of the Temple. A clear reference to the Nazarenes. And in that Roman city, few dared to suggest that the guilty lived a few hundred stadia from where we were.
With the end of Jerusalem and as a sequel to that tragedy, we began to see the arrival of new ships and barges, loaded, not just with grain, but also with slaves and prisoners.
I had to wait for a few months until I received additional letters from Judaea.
All was as well as could be, under the circumstances, in Caesarea and with the family, and according to Alexander, trading had recovered slightly. Isaac, always the more stoic, shared his belief that all that had happened was the inevitable and long awaited retribution of the Lord for the corruption and slovenliness of the people. Amidst the disaster, he seemed now to have recovered some of his earlier zealousness.
Arid letters without the usual quips from Alexander.
Year 71
Around the time of the ides of Februus, I received an invitation to call on Nikolaus in Rome. Some months had already passed after his arrival, and during this time we had only exchanged a few letters.
I found him is his office, in one of the many rooms of the Domus Tiberiana, surrounded by rolls and assorted books, in the company of a young Roman.
“Salve, Ahasver!” he saluted effusively as I was announced.
“Salvete, gentlemen” I answered, saluting both of them, unaware of who the Roman was.
“Princeps, allow me to introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Ahasver ben Simon, from Caesarea. Ahasver, this is Lord Domitian, most illustrious son of our Augustus.”
“Master Ahasver” acknowledged the young patrician.
“Dominus, at your service” I replied, hoping that the wording was adequate for the occasion.
“Are you a Judaean, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, dominus.”
“How interesting. The very first one I have met personally, unlike my brother and father” he commented morosely.
Nikolaus decided, at that point, to interrupt.
“Princeps, Master Ahasver has been living in Rome for some years now. Long before the start of the war,” and looking at me with a resigned air, continued, “Ahasver, Lord Domitian, just like his most noble father, is an enthusiast of Homeric literature and a devoted student of Hellenic philosophy. He has been my most valuable ally in rebuilding the library here at the Palatine.”
“Master Nikolaus,” replied the youngster to this, “I believe I will be going now. Later we will discuss further about my plans for the Iseum.”
“Very well, Princeps.”
“Vale, Master Ahasver” as he took his leave.
“Dominus.”
More at ease now, Nikolaus pointed me to a chair and we both sat down.
“A most diligent youth, Ahasver” as he switched to koine, a language more amenable to both of us, “But, just between us, too much of a critic.”
“With you, Nikolaus?”
“No, I’m speaking in general terms. But he has really been most helpful with my chores. Sometimes I don’t think I could manage without him. Some of these Roman functionaries are so inept. You couldn’t image how much I have struggled to collect all the manuscripts, books and rolls that are scattered all over these buildings.”
“Wasn’t there a library already?”
“Yes, there was a large library built by Asinius Pollio, during the Principate of Augustus, but it was partially destroyed in a recent fire. I have managed to recover most of the works that were there, but the problem is that the books were withdrawn without much control, and they ended up everywhere.”
“And the son of Vespasian has helped you in that?”
“Oh yes, very much. Only he has managed to retrieve some of the rarer books. Let’s say that he has managed to persuade some of the more intractable borrowers to return them” he said it smiling, “Nothing like the judicious use of power to emasculate greed and cupidity. And besides that, he is also an avid collector and one of his favorite hobbies is to explore the stalls in the markets for rare books and parchments.”
“And otherwise, Nikolaus, are you happy here in Rome?”
“I can’t complain much. In the beginning, I did suffer some ostracism and envy as I am a personal secretary to the Emperor, but once they saw that I was a mere librarian, I was left alone. But Ahasver, I did call you here for a reason.”
“Yes?”
“It’s a bit of a speculative matter, I must confess, but I wanted to share it with you.”
“Well…”
“Let me explain. Some weeks ago, young Domitian brought me a bagful of parchments, some rolls and even a codex. You know that these codices are relatively rare, and only some Greeks use this new format. This particular one was written in a rudimentary koine, which is also strange by itself, but when I started to read it, I suddenly realized that this codex was very similar to the one you had once copied for Master Aristarchus in Alexandria.”
“The one of the Christians?”
“Yes, the same one. I can’t tell you if it is an exact copy or someone plagiarized it. You can imagine my surprise.”
“The surprise is how did it find its way to Rome. I always knew that my version was not unique, it was obviously a copy that a friend of mine in Antioch had it made for me at the time.”
“Yes, then it is no coincidence that they are both written in such poor orthography.”
“You plan to add this codex to the library here?”
“As I said, those books were bought by Domitian, and he was curious about the codex. As I said, it is a rare format.”
“Did he read any of it?”<
br />
“No. He speaks reasonable koine, but has some difficulty with the written word. Most of his tutors were Roman, and most of these only teach in latin. Sometimes we both speak in it, he likes to practice with me. But his reading skills are limited. What do you think? Shall I tell him what the book is all about?”
“Has he asked?”
“Yes, sometimes. When he remembers.”
“Honestly, Nikolaus, I see no harm in telling him what it really is. The fable of a Judaean preacher, full of delusions and dreams. A demagogue who in the end was killed for political reasons. And for anyone who doesn’t know the principles of my religion, the heretical part is not that self-evident.”
“Yes, that could do it. Some dogmatic manifest of an obscure religious sect. That’s what I’ll tell him.”
“Plus, it’s the truth” I concluded.
“The truth for some. But how many hues has the truth, Ahasver?”
“I wonder if he has heard of the Christians…”
“Of course he has. He is a Senator, after all. He does go to the Senate regularly, despite his age and the hostility of that body towards the Imperial family.”
“Well then, even easier for him to understand the book for what it really is.”
“And Ahasver, together with the codex, as I said, there were several other items, some old parchments, molded letters, and one of these is a curious epistle that had not been read yet, as it was still sealed.”
“Yes?”
“It is written in latin by someone called Paul, and addressed to a brother named Linus, a Christian which I presume is Roman or at least lives here in Rome.”
“Paul or Saul?”
“Paul, as he calls himself a servant of the Christ, and he begins by saluting this Linus, also a brother in Christ as he calls him. In this letter, this Paul mentions the codex, which makes me think that it was sent together with the book.”
“What is in the letter?”
“It makes reference to another epistle, but that one is not with these documents. Either it was lost or sent at some other time. Anyway, this one seems to be an erratum or an addendum to the codex itself.”
“It changes the contents of the book?”
“It adds to it. More specifically it mentions some more miracles.”
“It adds miracles to the book?”
“Yes. I assume that since the time when the book was written, some more miracles must have occurred, which this Paul thought sufficiently relevant to add.”
“Unbelievable! As if the number of miracles already cited in the book were not enough.”
“You are right, of course. And this is the point I wanted to make. I think that one of these miracles is about you.”
“Are you serious, Nikolaus?”
“Yes. Let me read the text to you,” and he stood up and picked an old parchment that was stacked on his desk, “let me see… yes, this Paul starts the letter in this way — Paulus, apostolus Christi Iesu secundu” he announces himself and names the addressee, “Linus germano filio in fide and farther down begins the part I want you to hear.”
“And in the year of His resurrection, in the day of the martyrdom of our Savior, one other miracle was done by His will and command, in the city of His torment of Jerusalem.
And it happened when our Lord Jesus, on His way to the cross in the Calvary, in accordance with the will of the Lord, His Father, met a Judaean from whom he requested water in that hour of His suffering and sacrifice.
And this man, addressing our Lord with the unwarranted rudeness and the arrogance of the more affluent, denied vehemently such mercy.
And it was at this time, of profound anguish, that our Lord Jesus marked this reprobate sinner to wait in earthy suffering for His return, as He was there condemned by the sins of Man to His torment.
And this same Judaean I met later in the city of Caesarea, living in the darkness of his denial in the Christ, with the same physical gait and posture that he had in the year of the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus.
And not even his pious wife, a sister in our true faith, was able to exorcize his malevolent nature and for him to seek salvation in the bosom of our brotherhood.
And thus I announce to you, as we all are sinners on the path of salvation, that this Judaean justly deserves to be an everlasting wanderer, yearning forever for the second coming of Jesus, the true and only son of the Lord.”
“The letter continues with other descriptions of miracles and some admonitions, warnings and so on… and it finally ends with what seems to be an invocation — Gratia Domini Iesu Christi cum spiritu vestro.”
I was astonished, frightened and dismayed, and furious! How could Saul — and I had no doubt that all this flowery language was his own doing — could have written such a tawdry text? I was also sure that he was talking of me. Unfortunately, my very visible awe and silence confirmed Nikolaus suspicions.
“Ahasver?”
“Yes, Nikolaus.”
“Is this tale, not about you?”
“May I ask how you came to that conclusion?”
“Ahasver, there are too many coincidences. You once told me that you saw this Christ in Jerusalem, that your wife turned to this Messianic creed, and you are from Caesarea. Also, all the dealings that you had with them in the past, as you told me and Aristarchus in Alexandria.”
“Yes. These are bizarre coincidences, I must admit.”
“And the way you look, Ahasver! I am a bit absent-minded and not particularly good with faces and features of my fellow men, but you are really looking very youngish for your age. At first, I thought it was the beard, since when we first met, you had a full beard, but I can see that is not all…”
“Nikolaus…”
“No, no, wait. Now I am thinking of something else. You never disclosed the reason that brought you to live here. Why you are living in Ostia. Of course, I can see it now. The logic is undeniable” and now he stood up in an agitated mood.
“Nikolaus…”
“Poor Ahasver, now I’m beginning to understand! How cruel of them. All this because you denied some water to a condemned man? Is that why you were being persecuted by them?”
“Nikolaus, let us be reasonable,” I sighed, “ admit being in Rome for the reasons you said, to get away from ostracism and envy. But let us look at this rationally. I do not believe in this Christ, so why would I deserve such a blessing or punishment?”
“But this Paul seems very sure of himself.”
“And where is the truth in fanaticism? This Paul converted to the Messianic creed because he had visions of angels and of this Christ. And he is or was, a sick man. He suffered from the Sacred Disease. He had convulsions. Of course, he had visions, all those who are damned by that condition have them.”
“Ahasver, let us assume that you are right, but then let me ask you, what is really happening to you?”
“I can only think of one possible logical and rational answer.”
“Yes?”
“My family descends from the old Sumerians and Babylonians. It is known that, in ancient times, some of these had extreme longevities. I am talking of people who lived hundreds of years. Some even longer. You have read in the Septuagint of some of our prophets who lived many years.”
“Yes, that’s true. But, Ahasver, most of that is myth and happened hundreds, if not, thousands of years ago. I did find in Alexandria some papyri with similar accounts, but nothing like that has been seen since those times.”
“Just like all these miracles that the Christians claim. Since when had we heard of so many such improbable events? And now look, there are people, like this Paul, drawing up lists of miracles.”
“You have thought this through, I can see that, and your approach makes more sense. But even if it’s true, very few will understand or accept it. I can see your dilemma.”
“I have known Paul for many years, and right in the beginning I told him about this incident with the prophet Yeshua, and it’s true that I denied wat
er when he requested, but what else could I do? He was been taken to his doom, escorted by soldiers, and followed by an agitated mob. Does anyone really think that they would all stop and wait for me to give some water to this condemned man who would be dead in a few hours?”
“Yes, I do understand. And I think I can also understand why they are using you like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, my friend. Your argument makes sense to me. Maybe you are predestined to become a prophet yourself, filled with the knowledge and wisdom that comes from a long and studious life, a worthy successor to your Abraham. Who can understand the designs and the plans of the gods? They will always be a mystery for us mere mortals. Maybe for you it will turn out differently.”
“In truth, Nikolaus, I also don’t know what to do.”
“Do nothing, Ahasver, live the life, as life unfolds before you. If it is as you say, then obviously you are meant for grander purposes. As much as I find it repulsive, I will destroy this letter from this Messianic preacher. We never know if, in the future, someone might come across it and interpret it erroneously. You remain as anonymous and inconspicuous as possible. But I don’t suppose you know a lot of people in this city?”
“Few know me.”
“Anyone in public office?”
“I did know, some years ago, a Quaestor and Senator by the name of Priscus.”
“Helvidius Priscus?”
“Yes, you know him?”
“Only by name, but don’t concern yourself with him.”
“Is he dead?”
“Not yet. But the Emperor has banished him from the city.”
“Priscus? Why?”
“Disrespect. He will not acknowledge Vespasian as the rightful Emperor. Senate politics. Anyone else ?”
“I met with some other Senators at the time. Marcus Nerva and Publius Thrasea. And briefly, I also got to know a poet and satirist, Aulus Persius.”
“Thrasea and Persius are now dead, but Nerva could be a risk. Has he seen you again, since that time when you met him?”
“No, I don’t come often to Rome, and down in Ostia we don’t see many Senators.”
“Senator Nerva was Domitian’s tutor for some time, and he is close to the Imperial family. It’s too risky for you to come back here. Our next encounters will have to be away from the Palatine.”
“Why you don’t you come down to Ostia. It is not far, and the villa is finally ready.”
“It’s a good idea. I will come, yes. And Ahasver?”
“Yes?”
“You better take this. I know myself too well. I will not have the courage to burn it, but I also don’t want it lying around here.”
But Nikolaus, still puzzled with Paul’s letter, made further enquiries, as he later told me.
“I wanted to know, Ahasver, if either that Paul or Linus were still in Rome, and whether there was any rumor circulating about the contents of that epistle.”
“Did you find anything significant?”
“It was not hard to locate Linus. Apparently he is now the head of that sect here in Rome, after the previous one, named Peter, was crucified. About this Paul, I couldn’t find much. Even the Christians do not seem to know what has happened to him. Some say that he was killed during the time of Nero, and others claim that he went on a missionary trip to Gaul and Spain, but no one is sure.”
“What about the letter and its contents?”
“Nothing. Some do say that there was a Judaean who was pardoned by their messiah on the day he was crucified. But he was a criminal, one of the condemned that died also in the cross with this Christ.”
“Did you speak with this Linus?”
“Me? No, Ahasver, I spoke to no one. It is still too dangerous to be seen associating with these Christians. They are not popular since Nero accused them of arson. I asked the Speculatores to investigate all this for me, naturally for the security of the state” he grinned.
”I see. Are there any recent news about Judaea, my friend?”
“Not much. I do know that the Emperor has appointed a new legate, Lucilius Bassus, and that the military campaign is still ongoing.”
“Is there still a lot of resistance from the rebels?”
“I know that they are holding out in a few fortresses outside Jerusalem.”
“And the city itself?”
“They are rebuilding it, as far as it is known. But not the Temple, though. The Romans will not allow that for now. I’m sorry, Ahasver, but the news that arrive here are mostly of a military nature.”
I also received few details from Caesarea, although there was no shortage of ships arriving, loaded with Judaean prisoners, taken to the markets of Rome in long serpentine processions, to be sold as slaves.
Encouraged by Nikolaus, for I was at first reluctant, I bought a Judaean family from Jaffa. With so many slaves now available for sale, the prices dropped drastically, and it was now cheaper to buy a slave than to employ freedmen as servants. And at least, I could now eat some proper food, rightly prepared in our own way.
Year 73
At last the end has come.
After a general war that lasted for almost seven years, the last resistance of the rebel forces was decimated in the old Herodian fortress-palace of Masada. Also, in this same year, Rebecca, the wife of Isaac passed on, followed within a few months by Isaac himself, both victims of an Egyptian fever.
Of my immediate family, all that remained was my nephew Simon, married and with four children, who, according to Alexander, had now moved to Jerusalem to look after the new store that had just been built there.
It was also the year of my seventieth birthday. And still no one would have guessed it.
I do not feel old, nor do I know what it’s like to feel it, ever more immune to the passing of Chronos. But I do feel tired and lonesome. Mainly tired of myself, of my own company. I wonder if that is a sign of age.
“No, Ahasver” Nikolaus would assure me.
“Nikolaus, I am tired and bored with all. I’m serious. It must be my age.”
“I don’t think so. If you are feeling lonely, perhaps it would be good for you to marry again.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“For company, for progeny…”
“I feel too old for that. Who would want to marry a seventy year-old man? Have children, you say? Ridiculous…”
“Fine, then let’s not talk of that anymore, it depresses me.”
"My age?”
“No, my age, Ahasver.”
“You are not that old. You still have plenty of time to enjoy life and many more books to read yet.”
“Yes, yes. I am an optimist, but still, I have begun to feel some pains, strange pains in the stomach and some headaches.”
“It’s probably all that food in the palace. Too rich.”
“Too dangerous, you mean!”
“Why?”
“Poisons.”
“Poison?”
“Yes. Just the other day they found poison in one of Titus’s dishes.”
“Who found it?”
“The official taster.”
“And what happened?”
“He died. How else would they find it?”
“That’s terrible. Did they find out who did it?”
“No, but Domitian was for some time scared off his wits.”
“Why him?”
“Some say that he did it, because of envy for his brother. Vespasian has already acknowledged Titus as his successor.”
“What a family!”
“Speaking of families, how is yours?”
“Smaller, Nikolaus, growing smaller.”
I wanted to have shed some tears for Isaac and Rebecca.
Year 79
The aged Emperor, Vespasian, has died, mumbling in his last breath that he was turning into a god.
Long life to Titus, his son and now Emperor, acclaimed by the gods with the thunderous eruption of mount Vesuvius, and the burial
of the cities of Pompey and Herculaneum. In those days, turned into nights, the dense fumes and the heavy ashes in the air hid from us all the glorious Sol, almost an end of days, and for many it was so, including a certain Judaean princess, Drusilla, the second wife of Felix.
Nikolaus, feeling old and too tired to continue with his work of shepherding books at the Palatine, quit his job and came to live with me. But I was too aware that my years at Ostia had run their course, and freeing my slaves we both moved to Antium.
I bought a small villa close to the Temple of Fortuna, much to the pleasure and delight of Nikolaus, and we now spent our days in languid tranquility, watching the sea and the ships that glided by in the distance, occupying ourselves with reading the assorted rolls and manuscripts that he had brought with him from Rome, including an old Septuagint, a gift of the museum of Alexandria to the Emperor Claudius.
“No one will miss them there, Ahasver. A total waste.”
“Not even your former aide and patron?”
“Domitian?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been some time since he was interested in books.”
“What is he up to these days?”
“Well, this year he was again elected Consul.”
“A powerful man.”
“Not at all, Ahasver. He is still the same ignored son of a glorious father and an illustrious brother. He has one or two friends, if that.”
Just like me.
Alexander announced in his latest post that he has just celebrated his fiftieth birthday with pomp and magnificence, and despite his age, he was still a most ardent writer, and once more his letters reflected a merrier side of him.
I took some comfort in knowing that not everything had been burned to dust in my land.
Year 81
The Emperor Titus has died. Long live Domitian, brother and the new Emperor, and according to some slanderous rumors, partly guilty for this sudden death. A rumor emphatically denied by Nikolaus.
Incredible as it seemed, a few Nazarenes arrived in Antium, but were promptly expelled by the guards in attendance at the Imperial villa. I thought it just. I did not even have a temple nearby, and they were already in the neighborhood.
“Do you know why they were expelled, Ahasver?”
“Apparently they were preaching near the Mithraeum.”
“Preaching to the legionnaires?”
“I don’t really know, Nikolaus. I was told about it in town.”
“How tenacious they are, Ahasver.”
“Fanatics as ever, I would say.”
“And clever.”
“How did you come to that?”
“As far as I know, there is a lot in their ideology that is identifiable with the cult of Mithra.”
“Strange. You really think so?”
It was odd. What connection could there be between the Nazarenes and a pagan cult ?
“According to Aristarchus, Mithra was the son of the god Ahura Mazda, and he was also crucified. Do you know what else the Christians are now claiming?”
“More miracles?”
“Most probably,” he laughed, “they are saying that the mother of their messiah was a virgin when she gave birth to him.”
“Does anyone really believe in that?”
“Well, once again the reason could be Mithra. The same was said about his mother.”
“Are you telling me that this Christian movement is molding itself to the beliefs of Mithraism?”
“So it seems. There's more. Mithra also resurrected according to their dogma.”
“Is this Mithraism an exclusive cult of the Romans?”
“It started in Persia. It was brought by the legionnaires.”
“Before the Christians?”
“Yes, long before. And I do have some suspicions…”
“Regarding what?”
“That famous preacher, the one who wrote that letter about your miracle…”
“Saul?”
“Yes. Wasn’t he Roman?”
“A Roman citizen, yes, he told me that he was born in Tarsus.”
“Then it fits. Tarsus, as the capital of Cilicia, is known as one of the most Persian cities of the empire. It’s natural that Mithraism was a popular cult in that city.”
“But even so, Joseph once told me that Saul was a devout Judaean, a real Zealot.”
“He couldn’t have been such a firm believer if he later took on the Christian faith. But what I am saying is that he could have selected some of the mysteries and beliefs of Mithraism and used them to make this Christian ideology more popular and acceptable.”
“You mean, to attract the followers of Mithra and eventually convert them into Christians?”
“Why not? It’s one of the most popular religions among the Romans, especially their military. Even Emperors have proclaimed Mithra to be the Protector of the empire.”
“Really? What about Jupiter and the other gods?”
“The Olympus is a huge place, there’s always room for some more gods.”
“And you still speak ill of my religion, Nikolaus!”
“Let me tell you, Ahasver, your religion is at a crossroad nowadays, after the destruction of your temple and of the city of Jerusalem. Have no doubts, the Christians will take advantage of that. See how they are spreading.”
“That is true.”
I was the only Judaean in town, and my rituals these days were the simple and lonely reading of the scriptures in that Septuagint.
Also in those days, Nikolaus started to give in to Chronos.
He could barely read anymore, and his eyes, always vivacious and alert, started to lose the gleam of his sagacity and turned opaque and nebulous.
Even without the need to consult a Sibyl, he now prophesied that soon he would go blind. It was I who now read to him the Aeneid of Virgil and the sophisms of Protagoras. Fortunately, he had brought a lot of books with him from the palace.
“I feel that I have been touched by the gods, Ahasver.”
“Why is that?”
“I suffer from a Homeric disease.”
“Was Homer blind?”
“Yes, he was blind. He died in darkness.”
“As with everything that exists, Nikolaus. But he became an immortal through his writing.”
“Immortality is over rated. Only the memories of man carry it, and we are all mortals in the end.”
“But the spirit is eternal. And don’t deny it. I know that you Greeks also believe in this.”
“Only the Platonists, and I am a staunch Stoic. It doesn’t soothe me to know that the wise Socrates believed otherwise.”
“Are you so afraid of death, my friend?”
“Yes. Who doesn’t fear death? That’s why I am so envious of you.”
“My day will come too.”
“I do hope so, I want to believe so, otherwise I would envy you even more.”
“I don’t blame you for such thoughts. We all have our weaknesses.”
“I am weak, Ahasver. I do know that. And as with all craven, I find comfort in the more perverse sentiments.”
“What do you mean now?”
“You might be immortal…”
“That’s becoming quite an obsession with you, Nikolaus.”
“… but you won’t survive unscathed to the passage of time. More present than Chronos, will be solitude and loneliness for you.”
“You are being cruel now.”
“I told you, I am a wimp and I take delight from the vulnerabilities of others. I am too human.”
Year 93
“Ahasver?”
“Yes, Nikolaus, I am here.”
“Am I still alive?”
“Of course, can’t you hear me talking?”
“Is it night?”
“No, it’s still daytime.”
“Not for me.”
“Do you want me to take you out to the terrace?”
“Whatever for? I will still be far from the light of the divine Helios.”
“But you will feel the sunlight, the warmth.”
“Better not, I am in some pain. I think I am ready.”
“For what?”
“To travel, Ahasver, what else could it be?”
“Where do you want to go now?" I asked with a restrained smile.
“To a place where you will not be going.”
“Have you grown into an egoist in your old age, Nikolaus?”
“No. For me, it will just be a short trip down the Acheron to Hades.”
“Don’t even think of it. Besides, Charon has little free time these days. Apparently, your old friend Domitian is keeping him too busy with the number of Chatti he has been killing.”
“Domitian? A warrior now? He must be pleased. It’s everything he ever wanted to be. But do not change the subject, Ahasver.”
“No. You were saying…”
“There is so much to read still, and I have run out of time. How I envy you. By Zeus, how I envy you…”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do, Ahasver. I envy your longevity… I envy you for all that you will learn… the events you will witness… the many and wondrous moments you will experience… how is it possible that I am dying, and all I have are these base thoughts… terrible… weak… so craven… of envy, Ahasver.”
“Nikolaus, you have been dying for ages now. A pain here, a twinge there…”
“Ahasver…”
“Yes.”
“I don’t… I don’t feel any pain…”
“No?”
“I don’t feel… anything…”
Once again envied and lonely, I didn’t bother to celebrate my ninetieth birthday that year.
THE END OF ENVY
Books of the Heptalogy
The Seculary of a Wandering Jew
Book 2
LUST
IV - VI Centuries
Spalatum / Byzantium / Constantinople
The End of Paganism and the victory of Christianity
Book 3
PRIDE
XIth Century
Levant / Jerusalem
The Crusaders and the Kingdom of Jerusalem / Islamism
Book 4
WRATH
XIVth Century
Holy Roman Empire
Black Death and the birth of Europe
Book 5
GLUTTONY
XVIth Century
Vatican / Saxony
Leo X / Luther / Indulgences and Protestant Reformation
Book 6
GREED
XVIIth / XVIIIth Centuries
America / England
Colonialism
Book 7
SLOTH
XXth Century
France / United States
Science / Materialism / Atheism - Closure
LIST OF CHARACTERS
THE FAMILY
Ahasver* - Narrator
Isaac* - Brother of Ahasver
Rebecca* - Wife of Isaac
Ruth* - Wife of Ahasver, proselyte
Simon* - Son of Isaac
Simon (father)* - Father of Ahasver and Isaac
Yeshua* - Son of Ahasver