The elders tiredly muttered something; they had no wish for an argument to break out.
“How could you have the nerve to barge your way in here, you scum?” screamed Demetrius.
Uri stood and looked at the handsome, horse-faced boy, who was now skinny like everyone else in Delta.
“If I’m stuck here with you, and not in any position to leave either,” said Uri coolly and collectedly, “then I am hardly likely to be the alabarch’s spy, am I?”
Demetrius narrowed his eyes to slits in hatred.
“You’re Philo’s ass-plug, you scum!” he hissed.
Uri was amazed: the boy was jealous.
“That is neither here nor there right now,” he noted in a conciliatory tone.
“He’s been co-operating nicely with us,” said Nikolaeus wearily. “Leave off, both of you.”
“He’s one of them,” hissed Demetrius, flouncing hysterically out of the room.
On the morning of August 29, the Egyptian New Year, a great clamor broke out beyond the northern gate. Squealing piglets were being tossed at the walls, making a big popping noise as they struck, their bellies torn apart, the intestines slithering out, their legs twitching. The northern gate was suddenly thrown open. On the other side of the street facing the gate, a dozen of so crosses were lying on the ground; behind those several ox-drawn carts were standing. The soldiers brought out some well-fed Jewish prisoners, some were tethered to the recumbent crosses, others lashed to the wheels of the carts, which were lifted up by the soldiers. To the sound of cheering from the Greek onlookers, the crosses were slotted into holes that had been excavated where some of the paving stones had been torn up, then they were pulled upright and secured. The carts were then rolled backward, over the prisoners fastened to their wheels, then they slowly set off, the oxen driven around in a circle, over and over, smashing bones, flaying flesh from bodies.
One of the men was tied behind a cart by his legs and dragged until not one shred of flesh was left of the man.
Uri, his eyes screwed up, watched the proceedings from one of the windows and, enthralled, returned again and again to look until the evening. That was how long the biggest Dionysias that Alexandria had ever seen went on. Musicians played their music, drummers drummed, horns were blown, strings plucked, improvised kitchens were set up for the celebrants and a northerly breeze blew the smell of roast meat over to south Delta, along with whiffs of rotting human flesh. Plastered Greeks drank and vomited, vomited and drank. Many more who died on the crosses early that afternoon; they were not taken down by the soldiers. Their relatives gathered at the north gate and called out to the dying, invoked God, and pleaded, sobbing, with the soldiers to be allowed to take down the dead bodies themselves. The soldiers just laughed and ignored them. Or they invited the despairing relatives to come and get them, and anyone who did venture through the gate was bound and then broken on the wheel.
The cries of the dying were heard all day outside the Sector; psalms were sobbed through all day inside the Sector.
A few of those who had been crucified were still alive the next day, some even managed to groan out reassurances to their family, blessing a wife, a little son, a little daughter; the Eternal One would in all certainty have vengeance. We shall rise again and be reunited, they called out, though up till then, being Sadducees, the Jews of Alexandria had not believed in the resurrection of the dead and an afterlife. They spoke Greek, not being able to speak any other language, and the soldiers found it very amusing.
After three days of this it was the turn of another feast: Emperor Gaius’s birthday.
The north gate, which had been closed overnight, was opened and three cohorts marched in. They lined up, and a centurion demanded that the elders be brought out.
The elders were rounded up.
The centurion then read out the prefect’s decree that the Jews were hiding weapons in their houses — those must be surrendered.
“But we have no weapons,” muttered Nikolaeus.
“We are going to carry out a search of the houses,” the centurion announced.
They entered the houses, with at least ten soldiers, armed to the teeth, going in together and the remainder standing guard outside, quite unnecessarily as the weakened Jews would not have been able to attack them anyway. Fathers tried to conceal their daughters from the eyes of the soldiers, for which they were dragged out and beaten. A few kitchen knives were recovered and quite a few cudgels, but no other weapons were found. Married women were gathered together, the soldiers taking digs at any husbands who protested, then, along with the girls, they were hustled off through the gate.
The centurion rasped out an order:
“Prefect Flaccus wishes to hear any complaints that you may have. Euodos, Tryphon, and Andron should present themselves and be led to the palace!”
Those who were named presented themselves; they were surrounded by a detachment and led off.
Flaccus had banqueted together with them in the alabarch’s palace more than a few times.
That evening a few of the women and girls were allowed to return home.
They were allowed back because that afternoon, in the amphitheater, they had been shepherded onto the stage, where they ate pork in front of a packed auditorium. The pork was roasted in front of them, the half pigs skewered on a big iron rod and diligently rotated over the fire. Some of them retched, because they had been born Jewish, but they ate it anyway; some of them were able to eat it without retching because they had been born pagans and had converted to Judaism for their husbands’ sake.
Those who refused to eat were simply torn apart by brute force, also on the stage.
Following this, dancers danced, musicians made music, and mimics mimed in their customary fashion.
Four husbands immediately declared that they would be serving bills of divorce.
On hearing that, one of the wives tore open the vein at her right wrist and bled to death on the street. No one tried to stem the flow of blood.
It is amazing what will be eaten when there is nothing to eat — weeds, cats, rats, mice, hay, refuse. God looks aside, just as he had been looking aside powerlessly for weeks lest he see the enormities wrought on his people.
They were now in the month of Germanicus, time to get out of the Sector: an epidemic had broken out, with debilitated people dying by the dozens in the streets. It was impossible to bury them all promptly in the plot by the canal bank that had been assigned as a temporary cemetery.
There was no longer any point in drumming one’s fingers among the elders, so Uri hung around near the south walls, reclining all day long in the shade and weighing up how and where he could make a break for it. He spent the nights out on the streets; the dead bodies in the houses now stank. But he spent most of his time lying down to conserve energy. He was racked by thirst, above all, so he would periodically drag himself off to the canal bank and strain some of the filthy water through his fingers for a drink.
It was strange that his travels should end in this manner, with him dying young.
Joseph would be very sad, but perhaps he would never find out and would live in hope until his last breath that his son was alive somewhere.
Uri was tormented by hallucinations, but all the same it was good to dream, because at least a sort of life awaited him in his dreams.
One night, at the foot of the wall, he dreamed that he was being spoken to.
“I’m Theocritus,” the voice said, “From the XXIInds…”
Uri was incapable of making out any faces: he was stretched out among strange animals in a big cave, and they did not speak.
“Theocritus from the XXIInds…”
The cave vanished, the animals vanished, it was dark and a voice was coming from the far side of the walclass="underline"