by David Blixt
“You can't imagine how happy I was inside those walls. Two years spent wandering through plays and poems, histories and legal speeches. Homer and Hesiod, Plato and Zeno, Cicero and Caesar. I think I frightened the librarians. With my size and the scars on my hands, I think they were terrified I'd ruin the scrolls. They never knew what to think of me.
“But I didn't care. I was comfortable in there, and in the city at large. Alexandria owns a massive Hebrew population. The old joke that there are more Jews in Alexandria than Jerusalem has more than a grain of truth. When Alexander arrived, the Jews were the only ones to welcome him, and he rewarded them with rights that have lasted to modern times. He gave them the Delta, a full quarter of the city, and they've flourished there. It was Alexandrian Jews that first translated the Scriptures into Greek, giving the word of the Lord to the gentiles.
“Cosmopolitan, refined, welcoming, in love with learning and the arts, the most beautiful city in the world. Alexandria felt like home to me.
“Like I said, our people had been prosperous – too prosperous, as far as the Greeks and Aegyptians were concerned. That's what the meeting in the theatre was about. The Aegyptians and Greeks who saw themselves as the true Alexandrians wanted to ask Nero to purge the Delta of Jews. For some reason, they didn't expect their Jewish neighbours to attend the meeting. There was shouting and name-calling, then shoving and fighting. One of my neighbours was captured – a goldsmith called Bilhan. Edith's father. He and a few others were going to be executed, but more Jews rushed in to save them. That's when the governor, Tiberius Julius, told the Jews to go home. When they refused, he unleashed the Fifteenth on them.
“I knew none of this. I was sitting under my favourite tree, looking down on the Museaeum and the Delta, thinking about father's letter. I couldn't believe that the war was actually upon us. People have talked about war so long, and it never came. Why now?
“I sat in the palm tree's shade feeling sorry for myself all the way until sunset, when suddenly I felt tears in my eyes. At the same moment I realized that the light wasn't coming off the water anymore. The sun had set, but there was a growing, flickering light below. A fire. My tears weren't from grief, but from smoke on the wind.
“It was like waking from a dream – or falling into a nightmare. The moment I saw the flames, it was as if all my senses came alive. I smelled the smoke and heard the shouts. Men's voices at first, then women and children's too. I don't know how I hadn't heard them before.
“I'm ashamed to say my first thought wasn't for the Delta or the Jews, but the Museaeum. It was safe, untouched. I was relieved. Relieved! Do you believe it? I'm such…
“Sorry. I'm sorry. I just… Right. So, after making sure the Museaeum was safe, I finally looked to see where the fire was. At first it looked as though the smoke was coming from the Sema. But then the wind shifted, and I could clearly tell it was the Delta that was burning.
“Being on Pan's Finger saved my life, no question. But I could see others were running towards the fire. Other Jews, I mean. From where I was I watched them being cut down. Not just by Romans, but by other Alexandrians. It was like some horrible, bloody festival, with the crowds cheering as the Romans slaughtered our people.
“I remember thinking, Father gets his wish. I'm leaving Alexandria. I hunched my shoulders and ran down to the bottom of the Panieum. I had a wild idea of going to help, but at that moment I couldn't see the point. I should have anyway. I know that now. I should have gone in and fought and died with everyone else. Father accused me of cowardice in the letter, and he was right. Better to die once as a fool than die a thousand times as a coward.
“But I didn't fight. I ran. I turned south down Royal Avenue, which was almost deserted. No one gave me a glance. Two blocks down I was safe from the mob and just beginning to relax when I heard a cry behind me. I looked back and saw four men dragging a girl. Edith. She was a sweet little thing, maybe eleven or twelve. I'd talked with her and her brother on the street, had dinner in her father's house a dozen times. A little shy, but she always had a happy smile for me.
“Now her face was like some grotesque Tragedy mask. The men dragged her down Royal Avenue until they were out of the light. My mind kept screaming Run, but it was like my feet had grown roots. I watched them throw Edith against a wall. Two Alexandrians pinned her arms above her head and another tore her shift open. For a second her body was lit by a passing torch up the street. There was nothing sensual about her. She wasn't even a woman yet.
“Before I knew what I was doing I was retracing my steps. All four men had their backs to me. Two were definitely Greek. The tallest was certainly Aegyptian. The fourth was of middle height and could have been anything. He and one of the Greeks held Edith's arms while the other Greek lifted his tunic and started thrusting at her. The Aegyptian watched, like an overseer.
“Her screams covered the sound of my steps. All those years of you defending me must've taught me something. I used my left forearm to hit one Greek in the nose, and my right elbow jammed the rapist face-first into the stone wall above the Edith's head. It felt good – I felt like I was you. I know. Pathetic, right? It was like I could hear you in my head shouting, 'Keep moving!' I kneed the third man in the gut, turned fast to face the Aegyptian – and I stopped. I recognized him! His name was Panhsj, a jeweler who did a lot of business with Edith's father. I couldn't believe it! A man who had dined in Bilhan's home, violating his daughter!
“Stopping almost cost me my life. Panhsj lifted his arms and I saw a quick flash of light off his golden rings – and his dagger. I jumped to the side and collided with Edith, who was straining to get free. I hadn't kneed the one man hard enough, he was still holding on to her, and now his other hand tried to grab my hair. I ducked, thinking Panhsj's knife was after me. But then I heard Edith cry out and saw that Panhsj had her about the waist, his knife at her throat.
“I reached out a hand and said something stupid like, 'Don't.'
“He smiled at me. I can hear his voice now. 'You want her, Jew? Then have her and welcome.' He pulled the knife away and shoved her into my arms.
“I heard Edith gasp in relief as I caught her. There was this flicker of gratitude on her face. But it turned to confusion as she tried to draw breath and couldn't. Something was hot against me and I smelled copper in the air. Her hands went up to touch her throat and she held her fingertips up between us. There was blood on them.
“She fell against me, and I watched the life pour out of her. Her eyes held so much – terror, regret, a protest of unfairness. She hardly had a chance to live.
“I should have done it better. You'd've done it better, I know. They'd all be dead and she'd be alive. I'm not a warrior. Father was right – what use is poetry in the real world? O, but I had to play at bravery! If I hadn't gotten involved they would have had their way with her and let her live, I think. Maybe. All I know is that she died looking at me.
“I remember what happened next like it wasn't real. I know hands were grabbing me. One man was still unconscious, but the other three were in a murdering mood. Then I heard a young voice say, 'You idiot! They would have let us live!' He wasn't speaking Koine, but Aramaic. I knew the voice even before I saw his face. It was Edith's brother. Her own brother! To spare their lives, he had offered up his sister!
“That's when I started fighting back. I kicked and struggled, but they threw me sideways into the wall. Edith's brother – I've forgotten his name. Isn't that strange? He was weeping, punching and kicking me. I guess that he thought if he helped kill me they might still let him live.
“Then they had me up against the wall. Someone's hands started pulling at my tunic and suddenly their intent was clear. I'd ruined their fun, and now they were going to take it however they could. I fought harder, which only invited more punishment. I remember shouting something like, 'Kill me and be done!'
“Suddenly, over my shoulder, I heard a loud bark of Latin. 'Hey! Stop that right now! Either kill him or let him be. No funny
stuff!'
“Everything stopped and I was able to turn my head enough to see several Roman legionaries with torches. The man in front was clearly a centurion – his sword was on his left hip and the horsehair crest on his helmet was sideways.
“I heard Panhsj say, 'Who are you to command us?'
“The Roman's answer was impressive. 'Gaius Sacidius Barbarus, Centurion, First Century of the Second Cohort of the Fifteenth Apollonares! Hostilities are over. Leave off.'
“Panhsj wasn't about to let me go. 'You have no authority over us, Roman! We are not in the legions!'
“I saw the centurion grin. 'Absolutely true, legal-wise. But ain't in court, are we?' He patted the hilt of his sword. 'This gives me all the authority I need here. Now, the girl was one thing. But we was watching from up the road, and that man fought well enough to deserve a man's death. So be done with him and get back to your business.' The other Roman soldiers muttered their agreement – all but one, who looked rather eager for me to die.
“Panhsj snarled, 'Very well!' He turned and raised his dagger high to finish me off.
“After the beating they had just given me, they must have thought I was finished. But I've had worse. I shook off the Greek and Edith's brother and grabbed Panhsj's right forearm with both my hands. Instead of stopping the blow, I twisted sideways and guided the down-thrust of the blade right into Panhsj's own belly. I said something, but I don't remember what. I do remember working the blade, really twisting it in there.
“The Romans were all laughing as Panhsj fell screaming to the ground. Then Barbarus yelled, 'Behind you, boy!' Without that warning, I'd be dead. Just as I turned, Edith's brother drove his little knife into my side. I hit him and pulled out the knife. The Romans shouted at me to finish him off, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He was pathetic, lying there. Kept blubbering about Edith. He was just a kid, and he'd tried to save her in the only way he thought he could. Now she was dead, and he blamed me. Maybe he was right. I don't know.
“The centurion came close to me, so close that I thought he was going to kill me. Instead he said, 'You'd best run now, lad.'
“Covered in Edith's blood and losing my own, I sprinted for the south gate. I heard one of the Romans say, 'Let me put a spear in his back!' But Barbarus said no. 'Belay that, Curtus. He's earned his life. I told you the fellow had fight in him. Now pay up, you lot!' They'd obviously been wagering on me.
“I have no idea what happened to Edith's brother. I just ran. Ignoring the pain in my side, I skirted the swampy port along the Nilus. I hoped the Nile water would wash my wound clean. I worked my way around to the northeast road heading for Judea, trying not to look back. But it seemed like the screams and smells traveled with me.
“I've heard that fifty thousand Jews died that night, some on Roman swords, some at the hands of their fellow Alexandrians. I remember wondering at the time if I was the only Jew to get away. And my escape seemed short-lived. At dawn the next day I heard a Roman legion marching up the road behind me. I was too exhausted to run or hide, so I simply stood by the side of the road and waited. But the Romans didn't spare me a glance. Must've thought I wasn't worth bothering over. And they were right.”
♦ ◊ ♦
“IT WASN'T TOO FAR to Judea,” explained Asher, “but with my wound I barely made a half-dozen miles in a day. Worse, the Aegyptians on the Judean border had begun skirmishing with their neighbours. Another shame of mine – whenever I was challenged, I pretended to be Greek. I used my best Attic dialect to convince everyone I was Athens-born. Everything after that becomes a haze. I was badly sunburned, unable to feel my arms. Parched, delirious – I had visions. I remember one fevered dream where I was standing in a bowl filled with screaming people. Edith was with me, covered in her own blood. She handed me a scroll, but when I tried to read it the words were nonsense. 'It is not time,' she said. It was so clear…” Asher's voice trailed off.
Though he'd made hushed grunts from time to time, Judah had refrained from actually speaking until Asher was finished. Now he said, “That's hard. You owe your life to a Roman who helped kill every other Jew in Alexandria.”
Asher nodded.
“Worse, he was saving you from another Jew.”
Again, Asher nodded.
“You feel pity for the boy, and I guess you should. But reserve a little of that pity for yourself. You did what you could. You were right to run.”
Asher ground his teeth together. “I shouldn't have lived, when so many..!”
Judah slapped his hands together. “How can someone so smart be so stupid! Asher, you had it right! There's no sense in fighting a battle that can't be won. I don't care what your beloved poets say, dying a glorious death is over-rated. It's still dying!”
“You were willing to die at Beth-Horon,” protested Asher.
“But we won. As unlikely as it was, we won! I didn't wade in knowing it was hopeless! Just like I didn't come out to Galilee to throw myself on a pyre. I don't plan to go down in a blaze of glory. I came to fight Rome. If my death means a poke in the eye to Nero Caesar, then I'm satisfied. Just like you. When you saw you could do some good, you didn't think – you fought! I'm sorry it didn't work out, but the odds were against you. That's life, right? Life is messy, war is messier. You said I would've done it better, but I don't see how. You did exactly right, and I'm proud of you. Proud!” Judah slapped his brother on the side of his head. “I'm biased, of course. I could care less about Alexandrian Jews, as long as I've got my idiot brother back.”
Asher was silent for a time. Then he said, “I'm still terrified, Judah.”
“Of what? That you won't be able to fight the Fifteenth because one Roman saved your life on a bet?”
“No. Facing him might be a problem, but the Fifteenth slaughtered everyone I knew for two years. I don't owe them a thing.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“What if the time comes to face the Romans and I run again? Or what if I do the wrong thing and get someone else killed – like you?”
“Won't happen. If I die, it'll be my own fault. As for running, you won't.” Judah grinned. “Not that I'd let you. But I know you, Asher. As much as we're different, we're chiseled from the same stone. You'll see. Given the chance, you'll stand and fight. Damn, you're a better soldier than I am. Everyone says so.”
Asher waved that off. “I can follow orders in training. You'll make sure I won't run?”
“When we've completely lost, when there's no chance of doing any good, then I'll let you run. In fact, you can follow me, because I'll be the first to kick my heels.” He thought of Deborah. “Like I said, I don't plan to die here.”
“And if the Romans are going to take us prisoner?”
“Then we can do each other one last brotherly service. I'll have my sword tip for you, if you'll have yours for me.”
“Done,” agreed Asher. They shook hands to seal the pact.
A suicide pact.
XXIII
“GENERAL, I SWEAR by Mars, Bellona, and Jupiter himself, these Judeans have me tearing out what little hair I have left!”
The praefectus fabrum was the army's chief engineer and supplier. Given the task of moving the army to their next target, a city called Nazareth, he was making his report to Vespasian and the senior legates from each legion.
“Five whole days! Five! To make a proper road of, what, five miles? Six? No wonder these Judeans lock themselves in their cities! Their roads are so savage that no one can leave without first growing wings!”
“Let's hope they do not grow wings,” said Vespasian. “But I'll feel better knowing that if they do, we'll be able to chase them down a properly-made road. Tomorrow?”
“By tomorrow, general, you can parade elephants without fear.”
“Horses will do.” Having amassed such an excellent cavalry, Vespasian was loath to lose it. “Dismissed.”
Saluting, the praefectus fabrum stalked from the tent muttering curses upon every Hebrew back to t
he first, whoever he had been. Titus, Trajan, and the two Cerialii waited until the man was out of earshot, then laughed uproariously.
Placidus was scowling. “I don't see what's so bloody amusing about delays.” He was still smarting – less from his defeat than the monumental tongue-lashing he had received upon his return.
“Nor do I, Gnaeus Tertullus,” agreed Vespasian. “Gentlemen, if you wish to enjoy theatre, I suggest you return to Rome and allow real soldiers to take your place.”
The legates quickly overcame their amusement. Five days since the news about Corbulo, Vespasian had still not mended his temper.
Returning to business, they were discussing forage and water supplies when they heard a stamp of feet outside. One of Vespasian's guards poked his head into the tent. “General, Decurion Ebutius wants to see you. Says it's urgent.”
Vespasian rose from his chair – no couches for marching-camps. “Send him in.”
Ebutius entered and saluted smartly. Like all decurions, he smelled of horses. “General! My decury has caught a deserter from Jotapata who claims he has information for your ears alone.”
