Slowly Uri came to see that the real problem was not the empty sportula so much as the fact that by losing favor with Gaius Lucius he had also let the silk market slip away.
What crass stupidity! And there was he, believing he was an experienced and grown-up man.
He stood for a long time on the Jewish Bridge over the island. It was raining; Rome was misty and miserable. Conquer Rome? Some chance! Squeak by somehow, maybe.
The only ones who could help him were the bankers: it was not in their interest that debtors skip town — or starve to death — since in either case they’d never get their money. He would have to pay Julius a visit; he had been the friendliest.
Julius did not receive him, only his secretary. The two of them goggled at each other: Hilarus and Uri, two of the delegates who had carried the ritual dues. Then Hilarus, the former teacher, leapt up and held his arms open to embrace him. Uri patted Hilarus on the back; he had certainly not gotten any slimmer. Matthew had said that he had been an informant for the Roman elders, which might well have been true. Hilarus had wanted to be the deputy leader in Syracusa, and now here he was: secretary to a rich Roman banker. He had gotten what he wanted, and who was to say what else he might still want?
Hilarus grew ever more long-faced as he listened to Uri’s concise tale of woe. When he heard how Uri’s patron had sent him packing, he sucked a tooth in sympathy.
“Dear, oh, dear,” he said. “We really will have to figure something out!”
He then asked about Alexandria, whether Uri knew when the alabarch would be arriving, because Severus had already spread the news that he was coming.
That meant the alabarch really was coming.
As soon as Bassus allowed the Jewish delegations to leave for Rome, Uri guessed. Hilarus informed him that Bassus was no longer in Alexandria; he had returned to Rome to join the Praetorian guard, because the new prefect of Egypt, Vitrasius Pollio, had arrived to take up his post. He was said to be a decent man, and he had ordered a thorough investigation, which would take a while, and it was hardly likely the alabarch would be allowed to leave before it ended.
Uri started to take his leave, but Hilarus detained him further, inquiring about Matthew and Plotius, and he was astonished to hear that Uri had not dropped by when he was in Ostia, where Matthew had charged Plotius with planning a synagogue, which was now under construction and apparently was going to be bigger than the one at Delos. Uri laughed out loud and asked Hilarus to be sure, if he happened to write to Philo, to mention that to him, because he would be glad to know.
“Why don’t you write him yourself?” Hilarus wondered.
“I don’t like writing,” replied Uri.
“Don’t give me that,” said Hilarus. “You went to the Gymnasium there, and you must have produced orations till they were coming out of your ears!”
“I suppose so,” said Uri.
They fell silent.
“Right,” said Hilarus. “We’ll work something out for you; whatever else we do, we’ll figure it out.”
That plural was not to Uri’s liking, so he set off out before turning around.
“Which of us was carrying the ritual dues?”
Hilarus laughed.
“Didn’t you know? We all did, the didrachma tax along with the voluntary contributions — nice and neatly divided. Brazen into the bases of our water flasks.”
“Oh, like that!” said Uri, and laughed.
Then he shuddered.
“Remember, that time in Syracusa?” he asked, “when Matthew threatened the customs men that he would dash them all to smithereens.”
“Yes,” mused Hilarus.“He had his heart in the right place.”
Uri trudged home in the mud, reflecting on how he was unable to rid himself of Alexandria, and that was the least of his worries.
Two days later, Hilarus passed word that he would set up a meeting with a few merchants who had too much on their plates and could not cope on their own. Some of them lived in Far Side, others in Rome proper. Uri paid them visits and chatted. They all received him with great respect, and they couldn’t praise Joseph’s memory highly enough, but Uri had the feeling that it was his Alexandrian past doing the talking. If they only knew! They knew nothing. But then they did have a feel for commerce, and they had money.
By the time the wedding was due to take place, Uri had reached agreement with one of the merchants, a man by the name of Pulcher. This Pulcher was a nephew of the Honoratus whose son had died; his post as grammateus had been left vacant for a son who was due to be born, except there had only been a girl, so one of Pulcher’s sons had been given the position, where he had been ever since. Pulcher wanted Uri to take over three ongoing matters, and for a sum that was far from unfavorable; that was how he had gotten his own start, as it had happened alongside Joseph.
“You were still a small boy at the time,” said Pulcher. “Did your father never say anything about me?”
“No.”
Pulcher chewed a corner of his mouth in regret.
“A pity that Joseph didn’t live a bit longer. He took it badly that he heard nothing of you. You really could have sent a message to him.”
Uri nodded; as soon as he got the opportunity he had sent word. Matthew had promised that he would let his father know. Well, he didn’t. And Joseph had no longer been alive to receive the letters he had sent later on. Who might they have ended up with? Someone had almost certainly read them, and if they had read them, they were likely to use them against him.
He tried to recall what he had written in the two letters. Maybe nothing of any importance. Pray God that was the case.
Between organizing Pulcher’s affairs and the impending wedding, Uri rushed into his new life in Rome, glad that he had a lot to do and would not have time for deliberating.
Visiting one of his customers, who had come from Rhodes, he noticed an amphora of exactly the sort he had seen in Alexandria, so he asked where he had obtained it. Well, it was relatives who had sent it. Did he think they might be able to send more? Almost certainly, but wine from Rhodes was not in high repute in Rome.
“I’m very fond of it,” said Uri, very excited. “I’m prepared to make an order.”
“How much?”
“Fifty amphorae? Or should I make that sixty?”
The merchant, a young man, was astounded.
“Wouldn’t it be cheaper by the wine-skin?”
“Why, is that expensive, the amphora?” Uri queried in all ignorance.
“No, it’s not expensive, but all the same it costs more. It might break in transit… A wineskin can only puncture, and that can be patched up.”
“Never mind,” said Uri. “I’ll order sixty.”
The merchant did a calculation, then handed Uri the total. Uri had a lot of money on him and paid instantly. They drew up a contract, which included the statement that it had been paid for.
“You’ll have to pay any customs duty,” said the merchant.
“I’ll undertake to do that.”
That too was put retroactively into the contract.
All the relatives were present at the wedding: from the groom’s side, Sarah and Hermia, from the bride’s side around twenty people, including all sorts of artisans and suspicious types from the harbor. Uri assumed his sunniest manner and joked with everyone, except his future wife; her family found Uri extremely attractive. During the wedding feast he whispered to his mother to ask his bride’s name, at which Sarah frowned disapprovingly. It turned out she still did not know.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Uri asked his wife once he had taken her back home afterward. Her family was not with them, having themselves gone home straight after the wedding ceremony, glad to have fobbed this daughter off on someone at last so they’d no longer have any need to be concerned about her.