A dark mood hung over the celebration of Passover in Alexandria. It was not that there was any change in the trappings; it was more as if the flesh and bones under peoples’ skin had become desiccated. Uri recalled how Antonia’s birthday had been celebrated on January 31, dutifully by the Greeks and with conspicuous restraint by the Jews, lest the Greeks report to the emperor that they were overly enthusiastic in honoring the memory of the emperor’s grandmother, who had denounced Germanicus, her own son, to Tiberius. Passover was not a festival for the empire but only for the Jews, so the Greeks had nothing to report on.
That Passover also had a shadow cast over it by the fact that Flaccus, in one of his sober moments, at last received the alabarch and once again refused to allow the Jews of Alexandria to send a delegation to Rome to present their grievances. That was when the Jews awoke to the fact that a year had gone by since the prefect had first denied them this right, and they began to doubt whether the emperor had ever received their good wishes. Delegations could only leave the provinces with the permission of the prefect; that was the rule in Alexandria as well. The alabarch irately commented that of course Greek delegations bearing gifts were allowed to travel to the emperor every day; at that Flaccus smiled cynically: those are private individuals, and he could not ban travel by private individuals. Then we’ll send private individuals as well, declared the alabarch. All he achieved was that every Jew who set off for Italia thereafter was minutely searched to check if they were carrying any letters, or any article which could be considered a gift; in either case the contraband was impounded. The alabarch’s couriers to Agrippa were now forced to take ships bound for Gaza or Tyre, which entailed a detour of several weeks; no more couriers were sent to Silanus, because he was dead.
In June a new tragedy struck: on the eighteenth, Drusilla, the emperor’s older sister, died in Rome at the age of twenty-one. Again all baths and all taverns were closed, the Great Library was closed, and once again the Gymnasium ended the academic year without holding a ceremony, thus Uri failed to receive a diploma for a second time. Shops were closed, in workshops no work was done, and only essential supplies could be obtained in the marketplaces. Sombre soldiers, stone-cold sober, patrolled the streets, pulling in any drunks. Shrines and synagogues were preoccupied with grieving for Drusilla: she had been Caligula’s favorite sister, so Greeks and Jews competed in their grief, taking care that no one could accuse them of being lax in their mourning. They were reported in any case.
Anyone able to do so left Alexandria, and in the end even the theaters were closed.
The Gymnasium park was not closed, though, and given that it wasn’t fenced off the mimics found that they were able to perform there. They started off cautiously, with short sketches, and they did not even ask for money, fearing that a patrol might come along and eject them; but no soldiers came, or rather they did come, but as spectators, and they laughed. The mimics took courage and began parodying the Jews, which put the soldiers in an even better frame of mind, and even made them willing to shell out money.
Why didn’t Flaccus eject the mimics? This was a time of mourning! He could have easily prohibited gatherings in the park!
Then it occurred to Uri: it was more comfortable this way. He was pretending that nothing was happening so he did not have to do anything.
The alabarch was quite excessively appalled, and Tija explained why: in recent months, via couriers and Agrippa, his father had built up good relations with Lepidus, Drusilla’s second husband, who had stood in as deputy for the childless Caligula at the head of the empire during the emperor’s spell of illness, and was now a widower. Should Lepidus be pushed down the hierarchy, Uri reflected sardonically, all those remittances would be lost. And he would be pushed down, one could be sure of that. Tija was still hoping that Agrippina — of the emperor’s two surviving older sisters the one whom Caligula listened to, being not at all fond of Julia, perhaps because Agrippina, her name aside, reminded him of his mother — was still as well disposed toward Lepidus as had been alleged.
The mourning went on; the walls were covered with crudely scrawled depictions of big-nosed, crooked-backed figures. That summer was stifling hotUri moped forlornly in his room. Philo did not retreat to his summer residence but stayed in the palace and, taking over a part of the alabarch’s load, received the aggrieved Jewish dignitaries and did what he could to reassure them. Tija likewise went nowhere and was entrusted with control of the palace security. Marcus traveled along the banks of the Nile with his father and a strong escort.
Something was brewing.
Nothing was heard of Isidoros for a long time, but now — it was the talk of the taverns — he had resurfaced in the Gymnasium park, delivering a speech against Flaccus. Exactly what he was accusing the prefect of was unclear, but it had to do with grand theft and fraud. And with the Jews.
The next morning Uri went out into the Gymnasium’s grounds.
An expectant crowd was waiting, along with a group of soldiers.
He would have liked to see and hear Isidoros, though he was surely not going to come: the soldiers could not tolerate accusations against Flaccus.
But Isidoros put in an appearance after all, around noon, with a crowd around him like a team of bodyguards. At the Square Stoa, he was offered a platform, thrown together with timber, and Isidoros stepped up onto it.
In shrill tones, he accused Flaccus of having delivered a substantial chunk of Alexandria’s trade into Jewish hands. He had stolen the donation that the emperor had sent from Rome for irrigation in Egypt. Flaccus was the reason, Isidoros cried, that interest rates had gone up in Alexandria, though Tiberius’s banking reforms had brought rates down throughout the empire. The prefect had a personal stake in all the Jewish banks, and it was with his assistance that Jews had bought out Greek bankrupts and it was they who now dictated terms.
The crowd whooped.
It’s your money on which the Jews get fat!
For shame!
You get poorer, they get richer!
Let ’em beat it!
At a signal from their commander, the soldiers of one of the squads tried to push closer to the rostrum, but at that the assembled Greeks produced cudgels. There were a lot of Greeks; the soldiers halted.
Isidoros stepped down from the platform — it wasn’t as if his safety were in jeopardy, but he looked anxious to avoid an altercation. He disappeared among his bodyguards.
The Greeks were left in lively discussions about what had been said.
Uri felt it was best if he just went home.
“Is what Isidoros was claiming true?” he asked Tija that evening.
Tija hemmed and hawed.
“So it’s true,” Uri concluded. “Then why doesn’t the prefect intervene?”
“Because he’s on the take.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been paid by the Greeks.”
“Is that what the five gold talents were?”
Tija looked at Uri in amazement.
“How do you know that?”
“It’s one of the things that are being said.”
“Well, yes…”
“But apparently Isidoros himself handed it over, despite the fact that he’s the one baring his teeth against the prefect!”
“Yes, because he asked for something in return, but Flaccus did not live up to his side of the deal.”
“What did he ask for?”
“What do you think? He asked for what he could. That the capital of the Jewish banks be consolidated into that of the Greek banks.”
“And how is that done?”
“By decree.”