Aurora shook her head. “It was raining, and we had so much else to deal with. I know there were people standing around, but I couldn’t tell you how many or what they looked like. It was all so confusing. Simon obviously saw and heard everything that was going on. He could be ten feet away from us right now, and I don’t think we would know, just as we didn’t see him until he stabbed you.”
“And we’ve left ourselves very vulnerable right now without a clientela. That was reckless on my part.” I glanced around as I took Aurora’s arm. “Let’s get home quickly.”
“Are you afraid, Gaius?”
“In all honesty, yes, thoroughly afraid.”
I hated myself for being afraid. That was what Simon wanted to inspire in me—fear not only of what he did but of what he might do. We picked up our pace, like children being chased by imaginary monsters on a dark night. But there was nothing imaginary about Simon, only monstrous.
I felt great relief to see the front of my house and even greater relief to see Tacitus emerging from it. He turned to his left, away from us and summoned his men to start down the hill, but I called out to him. “Cornelius Tacitus, wait!”
He paused and turned back to us. “Well, this is fortunate,” he said. “Your man Demetrius told me he didn’t know when you would return.”
“Do you have time to go with us? We’re going to see Berenice.”
“You’re quite the peripatetic today. Yes, I’d be glad to go with you.”
“Let me gather a few men to add to yours.”
Feeling much more comfortable surrounded by my servants and Tacitus’, but still glancing around me for any sign of Simon as we walked, I told him what we had learned from Merione.
“That explains the thirty denarii we found in Berenicianus’ mouth,” he said. “Simon was blackmailing his own master, Lucullus. That gave him his own funds.”
“A lot of us are fortunate that our slaves don’t take advantage of what they know about us,” I said.
Tacitus drew himself up and looked down at me, which is easy enough for him to do, given the difference in our heights. “I know what you’re insinuating, Gaius Pliny. Coupling with young men might not suit your tastes, but it’s by no means the most disgraceful activity a Roman man might engage in. If one of my servants tried to blackmail me over it, I would laugh in his face.”
“And then sell him?”
“Precisely. And to someone who would take him far from Rome.”
Berenice greeted us with some reserve. “I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon. Do you have news about my son’s murderer?”
“Yes, we do,” I said as we settled on the cushions in the main room of her apartment. Several of her servants stood behind her. “And we have news about your other son.”
“My other son? You mean…Hyrcanus?”
“I suppose so. He calls himself Simon ben-Hur now. I think the ‘Hur’ is a shortened form of Hyrcanus.”
“I’m surprised he kept any part of his original name. He hated everything Greek or Roman.”
One of her servants, an older man, bent over and whispered something in her ear. “This is Benjamin, my scribe,” Berenice said when she turned her attention back to me. “Please, tell Gaius Pliny what you just told me.”
Benjamin bowed his head. “My lord, in Hebrew the word ‘hur’ can have several meanings. Perhaps the most common is ‘to burn’ or ‘to set ablaze.’ ”
“Appropriate for someone who wants to spread terror in a city,” Tacitus said.
“Yes, my lord, all too appropriate,” Benjamin said.
I turned back to Berenice. “So you do have two sons.”
“Yes, I have two sons, Gaius Pliny, although I’ve never been much of a mother to either of them.”
“They’re your children by your uncle Herod, king of Calchis.”
“Who was my husband at the time, remember that.” She said that as if the marriage justified the incest.
“And Hyrcanus was the one who tried to kill you outside the synagogue, wasn’t he?”
Berenice nodded. She held her head high, when I was expecting to see her bow it in shame.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I heard his voice. No matter how long it’s been, a mother—even as poor a mother as I am—knows her child’s voice.”
“What did he say?”
“He called me a whore. That was the last word he said to me, the last time I saw him.”
“And when was that?”
“Just after the fall of Jerusalem, fifteen years ago. Most of the Sicarii left in the city escaped to Masada, but a handful were captured and sold into slavery, along with other survivors.”
Berenice shifted on her cushion and adjusted her gown. “I did not know where Hyrcanus ended up. Berenicianus tracked him down. He was sold to a man named Lucullus and taken to Antioch. Lucullus brought his household to Rome late this past summer to be ready to take up a consulship in January.”
“But Hyrcanus killed him and escaped.”
“That seems to be the case. Berenicianus came to Rome when Hyrcanus did to warn me because he knew, if Hyrcanus was in Rome, he would come after me.”
“Why?”
“Because of my relationship with Titus. And he wanted to take vengeance on Berenicianus as well, because he had cooperated with the Romans. I can’t emphasize too strongly how much Hyrcanus hated everything Roman. I should say ‘hates,’ since he’s still alive. I’m sure he hasn’t changed.”
“Did you come to the synagogue that evening in hopes of drawing Hyrcanus out?” I asked.
Berenice nodded. “I thought a synagogue was the one place in Rome that might attract him.”
“What did you hope to accomplish, other than getting yourself killed?”
She sighed and seemed to feel as old as she looked. Her shoulders slumped. “That would not have been the worst outcome I could imagine. I thought I knew how he would try to kill me. I hoped, with my cuirass and my guards, that I might be safe enough.”
“Did you think you could talk to him, change his mind?”
“No, I had no hope of that. I thought it might be my one chance of having him arrested, if there were guards around and he tried to kill me. I knew the vigiles patrol that area when people gather in the synagogue. There have been arguments between Jews and Christians. Sometimes they go beyond words and spill over into the streets.”
“The vigiles actually had Simon in a group of suspects until I told them to release everyone. I regret that, of course, but at the time it seemed reasonable, since you hadn’t been hurt.”
“Do you have any idea where Simon might be?” Tacitus asked.
“None whatsoever. He’s a stranger to this city, with little knowledge of where things are. Your visits here, however, have led him to me, I’m sure. You said you found a baby in your warehouse.”
“Yes. We now know that it’s Simon’s baby.”
“Then you can be sure he was watching you when you left the warehouse. He knows where you live. He must have been watching your house, if that’s where his child was, and he must have followed you here. You would never see him. The Sicarii prided themselves on being able to move around without being detected. They were like the shadows that move all around you, but shadows that carry knives.”
We stood to go. “At least we now know who killed Berenicianus and Lucullus,” Tacitus said.
“But you haven’t caught him yet,” Berenice said, “and I doubt you will.”
“Even if we did,” I put in, “we have no proof against him. The only witness we have won’t testify. She’ll probably deny everything she told us earlier. She’s too much in love with him.”
“You’ll have one more chance,” Berenice said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He won’t leave Rome until he’s killed me. If you can witness that, you’ll be able to make your case against him.”
“My lady,” I said, “we’re not going to just sit around and wait
for him to do that. We’ll do everything we can to prevent him from hurting you.”
I sent word to Josephus that I wanted to see him but did not tell him why. When he arrived at my house we met him in the atrium and I asked if he would accompany Tacitus and me to the Arch of Titus.
The lines in his brow deepened. “May I ask why? Have you not seen it?”
“Yes, we have, but I’m not sure I’ve really seen all I need to see. I would appreciate having someone with me who could interpret it for me.”
“As would I,” Tacitus put in.
Josephus bowed his head. “I will tell you what I can, but I hope you understand that my view of it is not entirely objective.”
“It might be helpful if your view isn’t entirely Roman,” I said.
We were almost out the door when my mother hailed me from the other end of the atrium. We stopped and waited while she, Naomi, and Phineas caught up with us.
“Is it true?” Mother asked. “Are you going to see the Arch of Titus?” I couldn’t believe how fast the news had traveled through the house.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to go with you. I mean, Naomi and Phineas would like to, and I’d like to accompany them.”
I motioned for Naomi and Phineas to step out from behind my mother. I wanted to talk with them directly, not through my mother as an intermediary. “Have you not seen the arch?” I asked.
“No, my lord,” Naomi said. Phineas shook his head.
“It’s been there for three years and you haven’t seen it? I would think Jews would have a particular interest in it.”
“We haven’t seen it, my lord, because it symbolizes so much pain for us,” Naomi said. Her voice broke.
My mother stepped in front of her. “They were forced to march in Titus’ parade, Gaius. Did you know that? Forced to march in chains!”
I looked at Naomi and Phineas as though seeing them for the first time. “No, I didn’t know that, Mother. I was only nine years old at the time.”
I had been just a child, but my uncle had brought some of his family up from Laurentum to witness the triumph. Everyone knew it was going to be a splendid show. Well in advance rumors were spreading about the wooden displays that were being constructed to be carried in the parade—huge replicas of buildings and entire villages that had been destroyed in the war. And they had lived up to the predictions. Aurora and I had stood together and I had explained to her, as best I could, what we were seeing. Some years later, when I read Ovid’s advice about meeting women, I had to laugh. I had done exactly what he recommended, making things up if I didn’t know what we were seeing.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Naomi and Phineas, “for all you’ve suffered. This must be painful. Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here.”
“You needn’t apologize, my lord,” Naomi said. “You did nothing to us, and you’ve been as kind and humane as anyone could be.”
I nodded to acknowledge what she said, although I knew Phineas bore much resentment against Rome and Romans, resentment which he sometimes had trouble suppressing.
“Now, my lord,” Naomi continued, “we think it’s time that we do see the arch, when we can be with others who can give us comfort. Your mother has seen it. Malachi says he saw it, but only once.”
“Was he in Jerusalem?”
“No, my lord. He lived in one of the villages north of there. He left before the war began, but he had seen the temple numerous times. Those of us who did not live in Jerusalem went there once a year for a feast.”
I turned to Josephus. “I gather that Naomi and Phineas do not think highly of you. Do you mind if they accompany us?”
Instead of answering me directly, Josephus took a step toward Naomi and Phineas and said something in Hebrew or, I corrected myself, in Aramaic. Phineas answered him in the same language. Their conversation went back and forth for several moments, with Naomi adding a comment here and there. At times they sounded friendly, at other times more hostile. Josephus finally turned back to me.
“I think your servants and I understand one another. I have no objection if they accompany us.”
“What did you say to them?”
“I prefer not to discuss that. If they wish to tell you, or if you, as their master, compel them to, that is not my concern.”
Given the disgust in his voice when he said “master” and “compel,” I knew I wasn’t ever going to know the gist of that conversation. “Very well, let’s go.”
As we walked down the Esquiline I studied Naomi and Phineas, trying to imagine them in chains, but I couldn’t do it. I’ve seen slaves in chains, of course. Everyone has, but not in our household. I know slaves in many houses are treated brutally, but I’ve never seen Gaius or his uncle do that. When a woman who helped raise Gaius was too old to work anymore, he gave her a small farm near his house on Lake Comum.
Gaius is convinced there are no gods. What if he’s wrong? People all over the empire worship gods, and they always have. Can all those people be wrong? The Jews’ god seems most peculiar. There was only one place in the entire world where they were allowed to sacrifice to him. But sacrifices are a way of feeding a god. How is their god fed if they don’t sacrifice to him? Or is Jerusalem the only place where he exists or has any power? Gods are supposed to protect the people who worship them. But the Jews have been conquered several times and carried off into slavery. Will they get back to their holy land after this defeat? Domitian hates them, so he’s not likely to be sympathetic to them returning. Naomi and Phineas say there was nothing left of Jerusalem after Titus and his soldiers finished with it, anyway. Phineas says some of their prophets predicted this would happen if the people didn’t change their way of doing things. Why didn’t people listen to them?
Other people have worshiped gods or goddesses and yet have been conquered. Just look at Athens. Once it was one of the most powerful cities in the world. Now it’s part of a Roman province. Egypt, with its ancient gods and incredible temples in their honor, is just another Roman province. My own ancestors, the Carthaginians, once rivaled Rome. Over two hundred years ago their city was reduced to rubble. Does that mean the gods who are defeated aren’t as strong as the ones who vanquish them? Or does it mean they’re displeased with their people and turn their backs on them?
Naomi and Phineas talk about their god loving them. He has a strange way of showing it. Do gods love people? Athena was fond of Odysseus, she says in the Odyssey, because he was so much like her—tricky, devious. But is that love? The only other examples I can recall of gods loving people were actually just lust, and the outcome for the people was always disastrous.
Since we were going into the heart of the city at a busy time of day, I gathered a dozen servants to accompany us and we set off down the Esquiline. At the bottom of the hill we turned onto the Via Sacra, which runs slightly northwest, and passed the Ludus Magnus, the gladiatorial school Domitian had just finished building, and the Amphitheatre. Even though it has been in use for five years now, it still seems new and strange to me, perhaps because I’ve not yet been in it.
Titus’ arch stands on the Via Sacra, next to the temple of Jupiter Stator, at the far southeastern end of the Forum. It was one of the first—and last—things Domitian did to honor his brother, after probably killing him. It’s not nearly as large as the Arch of Augustus, which stands farther into the Forum, next to the temple of the Deified Julius. Augustus’ arch has three openings, while Titus’ has just the one. I suspect Domitian did not want his brother to rival Augustus in any way but felt he had to honor him in some fashion because he was so popular with the people of Rome. They called him “the darling of the gods.”
The arch is about ten times the height of a man and two-thirds that wide. It has a dedicatory inscription at the top, with a gilded chariot sitting above that. Fluted columns flank the opening. The keystones are decorated, with a male figure on one side and a female figure on the other. The overhead relief shows the apotheosis of Titus. The north panel sh
ows him marching in a triumphal procession, along with his father, Vespasian. The south panel shows some of the items taken from the temple in Jerusalem.
“These are only the most important items,” Josephus said, “the Menorah—the candlestick—the Table of Shewbread and the horns used to signal the Sabbath.”
“My mother gave Naomi a small menorah as a Saturnalia gift several years ago,” I said. That festival occurs at the same time as some Jewish celebration.
“That was thoughtful of her,” Josephus replied.
The south panel was the one that interested me today. The panels are in color, with the Menorah and the Table painted yellow to symbolize gold. The horns used to signal the Sabbath are silver. The background of the panel is blue. Soldiers carry placards describing what is being displayed. To see it at best advantage one would need a ladder. All I could do was stand against the north side and tilt my head back.
“Why didn’t Domitian use real gold and silver leaf?” Naomi asked.
“I suspect he didn’t want to glorify his brother that much,” Josephus said. “And, even though the objects are high off the ground, gold and silver leaf would attract thieves.”
We all fell silent until Tacitus said, “I thought there was much more. At least from reading your description in your book about the war, that’s the impression I got.”
“I remember seeing the Menorah,” I said, “but there was so much loot, the parade seemed to go on for hours.” Aurora nodded.
“There was so much more,” Josephus said. “These are only the most important items. In addition there were representations of buildings, some of them three or four stories high. I wondered how the men carrying them did not collapse under the weight. The men carrying objects in the procession wore purple, decorated with gold and gems. It was like watching a river of purple flow through the streets of Rome. People had been giving gifts of gold and silver and other precious items to the temple for generations. The building of that temple, our second, began when Cyrus the Persian allowed us to return from exile.”
Tacitus let out a low whistle. “Cyrus was king just before the Roman Republic was established. That’s almost six hundred years ago.”
The Gods Help Those Page 20