Something still did not add up.
“As far as I know,” he said, “Herod the Great had his son Alexander killed, and his sons, Tigranes and Alexander, and their descendants in turn became the kings of Armenia… So Armenia down to the present day is ruled over by a Jewish king…”
Joseph nodded.
“That’s true, but then Armenia is a long way away, and it’s far from certain that the emperor insists that Herod the Great’s descendants should become Jewish kings…”
That applies to Agrippa as well, Uri thought to himself.
It can’t be pure chance Joseph is sending me to work on that building site, Uri thought. When I’m brought before Agrippa, I’m supposed to report to him that a big palace is being put up in the City of David for the mother of a future Jewish king.
“Agrippa is well aware of all this,” Joseph spoke.
Uri blushed in the dark.
“I’m not a spy,” he declared.
“I never thought that you were,” said Joseph. “I didn’t say it because of that. But the workers know also, so don’t be left knowing less than them. The queen and her son will move into the palace on Yom Kippur, since there will be a huge celebration anyway, and then the whole world will know about it. In any case, you won’t meet Agrippa before then, because the high priests informed him long ago that he was not welcome in Judaea.”
“Does that mean I have to remain in Jerusalem until Yom Kippur?”
“Until then for sure.”
They sipped their wine.
“Don’t let yourself stand out among the workers,” Joseph advised. “Don’t be any more diligent than them. Someone will come in the morning, and he will accompany you to see the foreman. It would not do if you were treated like a peasant; you’re a Roman citizen, a pilgrim, and a cabinetmaker. They have a hut on the Mount of Olives. Some of the workers live there, the rest sleep in the street in the city. You would do best to sleep in the hut; you have to pay, but it’s worth it. Watch your money, though it won’t help. The wages are handed out a week in advance; that’s the custom. None too clever, I have to say, but one can’t do anything to change it; the arrangement evolved when people did not steal. Pay for your supper a week in advance. The owner of the hut runs a good canteen. Use the rest of the money to buy yourself a pair of sandals.”
The foreman had a stick in his hands but it seemed too long to be used for beating people. Uri took it to be a plain old standard-bearing pole. He did not seem pleased that he was being made to take on a cabinetmaker.
“Well, all right, then,” he said when Uri’s companion, a burly, middle-aged man had repeated that it was the Sanhedrin’s wish. “We’ll find something for him to do.”
The middle-aged man went away, leaving Uri standing in the half-finished building, on the ground floor of which men were seated and sprawled.
“We’re waiting for the tiles,” said the foreman. “Right now there is no cabinetmaking work. I’ll drop a word later on to have you taken onto the payroll. What’s your name?”
“Gaius Theodorus,” said Uri.
“What kind of name is that?”
“It’s Latin. I’ve come from Rome.”
The foreman raised his eyebrows in wonder, then shrugged his shoulders and went off.
Uri looked around at the palace under construction.
The ashlars were marble-lined both inside and out, the basin in the center of the atrium on the ground floor was marble, the staircase marble, the columns marble. On the upper story the larger blocks of stone and the smaller stones that were fit in between them were plastered over. There was a man working in one of the rooms, painting colored birds next to one another on the wall opposite the window. Uri entered to take a closer look. Pots of paint were lined up on the floor, which had not been paved yet. The painter stepped aside so that Uri might admire his work. Extraordinary, man-sized birds bedecked in vibrant colors lined the wall, one next to the other, and they all had something cloddish, oafish, hilariously human in their features. Uri stepped up close to the wall, his nose almost brushing the half-finished, still wet paint.
“Do birds like this exist anywhere?” he inquired.
“Not on your life!” replied the painter self-assuredly. “I make them up!”
The whole wall had a blue and green base with capriciously intertwined plant tendrils, runners, and branches. The enormous birds were fit in at the front of those.
“It’s marvelous,” said Uri sincerely.
The painter nodded.
“This is the queen’s bedroom,” he gestured around him.
“Isn’t she going to be frightened by these creatures?” Uri asked.
“Not on your life!” said the painter. “I also paint monsters, but these birds are friendly.”
Uri asked how many rooms the master would be painting and what sort of figures they would have. Well, there was the queen’s bedroom and then there would be three guest rooms. He had been given a free reign in the designs; all they had requested was that he shouldn’t paint any improper scenes.
“Mind you, I’m an expert at those, too,” he declared. “In Antioch I painted three bordellos from top to bottom. They were very pleased with the result and even gave me a letter of recommendation!”
Uri sniffed the paintings, which had a strange odor. The painter explained what each pigment was made of and where it came from. The purple dye came from Tyre, where the most highly prized mollusks were bred. They also produced many good dyes in other colors, but for some reason the painters from Sidon were the best. Generally speaking, Phoenician painters, stargazers, and land surveyors were highly talented, the master said enthusiastically. He had trained as a surveyor himself and had even visited Tyre, but he had grown tired of computations; they gave him headaches.
When the painter asked what he did, Uri explained that he was a cabinetmaker and had started work that morning.
“There isn’t much need for cabinetmaking work,” said the painter. “The furniture will be coming from Alexandria.”
“One piece or another is bound to get damaged in transit,” Uri offered hopefully.
“That may well be possible.”
Uri asked if Queen Helena would have to remove all the fine birds from the wall when she became Jewish, or would it be enough to hide them under a curtain, but the painter did not get what he was driving at.
“It’s the portrayal of living creatures,” said Uri. “That’s not allowed for us Jews…”
“That’s long dead and buried!” the painter exclaimed, breaking into a laugh. “Rich Jews the world over have been filling their houses with pictures of animals and people since I don’t know when! Jewish sarcophaguses are decorated with naked Greek gods. I carved two myself when I was in Antioch, one of Apollo, the other of Dionysus, for good, upstanding Jews who kept to the letter of the law. I wouldn’t be a painter if there were no customers for the work, would I?”
This pleasant man was the only one working; the other workers were lolling about or sauntering in the shade of the cool, half-ready palace.
Uri took a seat among them and introduced himself. They grunted by way of a greeting and resumed their small talk.
At midday water and griddle bread were brought out, with a helping for Uri as well.
Nothing happened after lunch either. A couple of workers dozed off, while others went out into the yard and sat down in the shade, where they scribbled figures in the dust. Uri asked them what they were up to.
“As you can see, we’re laying down some floors,” said a portly, elderly man, and guffawed.
“We’re waiting for the mosaic tiles. They’re said to be in Caesarea.”
Uri said he hoped it would not be long before he got to grips with learning that craft, because he had spent a day learning how to rest. The portly man laughed.