That John the Baptist, as he was called, in fact had done nothing, Uri reflected. He was at the place where the masses, longing to be pure, had gotten in the habit of immersing themselves in the Jordan. The throng had been in rapture, and they had outdone what was prescribed by the faith. Those people must have been very sick, just like the crowd now, and they greatly wished to be cleansed of the spiritual torments that were hobbling them so hopelessly. John discerned that and put himself at the head of that rapture — as if he had hit upon it. Absurd! If a river were standing in their path right now, the people would swarm into it to clean themselves and reach Jerusalem in that condition. I too could do with a nice cool bath, Uri thought, wiping the sweat once more with the palm of his hand from his brow and the back of his neck.
I ought to ask Simon the Magus about this; he is a Galilean, like the Baptist. Maybe he knew him personally since it was not long ago that he was executed — perhaps less than a year. It’s a pity Simon had gone on ahead to sort out his filthy financial affairs in time, before the festival begins.
At first it was just the smoke that they saw, only later did they glimpse the City.
It was impossible not to see the smoke; even Uri could see it. It was a cloud like any other, but one that narrowed to an increasingly thin streak as it neared the ground, as if the cloud were hanging over the City attached to an umbilical cord. The cloud could also be pictured inversely: God had created it above the City and He was lowering himself in an attenuating emanation of double paraboloid shape, honoring the City by choosing it as the spot at which to do so.
The smoke of burning flesh on the altar stone rises thinly, only then to disperse. The high, ashlar fireplace stands in the square before the Temple. It is possible to reach the top by stairs, it is said; it is up there that the pyre burns, to there that the parts of the carcasses dismembered by the Levites are carried and roasted. All day long, from dawn to dusk, the priests elected for service that day cremate the sacrificial animals, the flesh and skin of which are due, according to complex laws, either only to the priests themselves, or to members of the priestly families as well, with the Levites also receiving certain parts.
Uri was very much hoping that he would soon be standing near the altar stone, close enough to make a thorough inspection so as to be able to describe it to his father back home.
The smoke lay darkly and with firm contours directly above the horizon, and although no smell carried this far, the throng was intoxicated by the spectacle.
Jewry was doing God a favor by incinerating those countless cattle as His comestibles (the priests eat them, yes, but all the same it may as well be the Lord Himself who consumes them via the stomachs of His adherents), and a well-fed God will forgive His chosen people their sins, and leave them to live and multiply.
Jews were treading across the hills and meadows everywhere in the neighborhood of the City, many hundreds of thousands of people, to arrive in the City on time, although it was only Wednesday afternoon. Since they had started on Sunday at daybreak, in their great haste the delegates had been covering almost fifty stadia a day, two marathons daily. They would easily get there by sunset on Thursday and they, the privileged, would be admitted at one of the city gates.
The city wall itself could now be made out, and also visible was the roof of Herod’s palace, or, to be more precise, the tips of the extremely high towers that had been built next to it, as well as the roof of the Temple, and more than a few other tall edifices: the tower of Phasael, they said, the palace of the high priests. They incandesced in the searing light, a light that Uri too could see; to his eyes they blurred into one, which meant that these palaces on two hills must be close to one another. This was a small city; even a fraction of this throng would never fit in.
Matthew explained that, with Jewry being divided into twenty-four parts, people were allowed entry into the City by the rotation principle, and it was decided by a further complicated process of drawing lots which tribes were entitled to enter Temple Square, and which of its courts, in a given year. The results were known to the guards at the city gates, and they would let inside only the people who had been chosen. The leaders of the tribes carried tablets of marble or clay or scrolls of papyrus to identify themselves, and after thorough scrutiny of these documents, the guards would direct them this way or that. Priority was given to anyone who had not yet visited Jerusalem, or had only done so a long time ago. But anyone who saw the smoke, even though he was stranded outside the city wall, had satisfied the aim of the pilgrimage and would live in the knowledge that he too had seen the City and the Temple.
“You are sure we will get in?” Hilarus inquired anxiously.
“Quite sure,” said Matthew. “I’ve got our letter of safe-conduct.”
They came to a stop; people were clustering together. Matthew signaled that they were to stick closely to him. They slowly shuffled ahead for hours on end. Uri’s feet, back, and neck were aching; he had gotten used to walking, not dawdling.
The reason they had come to a standstill was that a chain of Jewish guardians of the law were stationed seven or eight cubits apart on the meadow, among the well-tended gardens and tiny houses. They were checking individuals and families at random, in some cases searching through their baggage or clothes.
“They’re looking for daggers,” Matthew explained.
“Is that normal?” Hilarus asked.
“No.”
Others could not pass while the check was in progress. True, the crowd could easily have brushed the guardians of the law aside, but the thought did not even arise. People stood and shuffled ahead like sheep. If the guards said they had to wait, then wait they would; that was one of the concomitants of a feast, of joy. For Passover was a joyful celebration, the feast of unleavened bread (the deliverance from slavery in Egypt) and of the first crop in spring. This vast crowd of people had gathered to rejoice and make merry, and that meant cheerfully enduring the burdens that accompany joy.
The strapping guardians of law and order doggedly picked and chose from the throng; Uri studied their work through narrowed eyes. Each inspection took a long time, and Uri was able to guess which people would be beckoned over. Among the poor it was the healthier-looking ones who would be subjected to a search, especially if they were raggedly dressed; among the better-off it was those who appeared more impatient than usual; among the women, the agitated ones; and among the children, the more disciplined. There was a method to this selection that testified to a knowledge of human psychology, though Uri still did not quite grasp why they should expect holidaymakers of conspiring to upset public order in Judaea. The ones who were frisked were suspected — obviously without any foundation — of murderous intent. He recalled something Plotius had said in Syracusa: there was no legal protection in Judaea, which was precisely why so many wanted to win Roman or Italian citizenship.
Eventually they too reached the line of guardians of the law. One of them, fair-haired and young, gave them a once-over before nodding his head to indicate that they could move ahead.
Matthew stepped up to him, took out the letter of safe-conduct, and said something.
The fair-haired Jew flicked his eyes down at the safe-conduct, then looked up at Matthew.
“Which one?”
Matthew pointed to Uri.
Strong hands seized Uri under the armpits, and whisked him off behind the police cordon. Uri found it amusing that he was able to beat the air with his legs, he even laughed out. He was hit on the head. Everything went black: that much he could still see, and he was amazed that such things could also exist.