The transition from wave-tossed sea to the glassy calm of the great harbor was astounding. In the protected quiet of the breakwaters, the water was as smooth as a pond. Joseph could see white sand on the bottom and rocks here and there garnished with seaweed of various hues. Anemones floated in the gentle currents of the depths, swaying as gracefully as the sleek dolphins cavorting in schools on the surface. Brilliantly colored fish, their hues rivaling the rainbow, moved about in the depths, ignoring the great ship floating above them.
From the high prow of the ship, the whole waterfront of Alexandria was spread out before their eyes. Not even in Jerusalem, for all its glory, had Joseph seen anything approaching this sight in magnificence and sheer man-made grandeur. To the left, eastward as he faced across the harbor, lay the curving breakwater called the Diabathra, a continuation of the promontory of Lochias forming one boundary of the harbor. There the royal palace stood, and close beside it, shining in the morning sunlight, was the Temple of Isis. In the smaller and protected Royal Harbor, great barges lay at anchor, thin gilded railings and colorful canopies gleaming in the morning sunlight.
The sails were lowered, and now the ship moved slowly across the broad expanse called the Great Harbor, to distinguish it from the Harbor of the Happy Return, which lay west of a great causeway called the Heptastadium connecting the island of Pharos upon whose eastern end the lighthouse stood with the city itself. From the Harbor of the Happy Return, the Agathadaemon Canal led southward through the teeming Greek section of the city to Lake Mareotis and the Nile. Ships from the Nile and the seas to the east could proceed through it directly into the Mediterranean, making this narrow passage the water link between the storied lands of the East, the Great Sea of the Romans, and the unexplored mysteries of the Western Sea beyond the Pillars of Hercules. Bridged channels at either end of the hundred-foot-wide Heptastadium connected the two harbors of Alexandria.
The shore of the Great Harbor was lined with great stone quays to which were tied ships from all parts of the world. They were a district in themselves, called the Exhairesis, into which merchandise could be brought free of duty for transshipment to other lands. Thus Alexandria formed a most important focus in the distribution of goods and materials throughout the Roman Empire.
Joseph had never seen so many ships. Biremes, triremes, and quadriremes (named for the number of their decks), merchant ships and battleships, coastal galleys and feluccas, lighters, barges, rowboats from which men seemed to be hawking everything under the sun—the masts were a forest, the brightly-colored sails and pennants a riot of color.
Nowhere else in the world was there anything quite like this most colorful and interesting city, and Joseph’s pulse quickened just at the thought that at last he was here. The quays were thronged with people. Sailors, merchants, street sellers carrying baskets of fruits and vegetables, wine sellers with the strange bulbous skins upon their backs, beggars of every nationality, priests in long robes with strange hieroglyphs on their foreheads, soldiers of every Roman cohort, faces, voices, and garments from every country of the world—all crowded the docks, milling about, it seemed, without purpose.
Most startling to Joseph, however, were the women. Accustomed to the habits of Jerusalem where women remain for the most part at home, he was surprised to see them everywhere here, darting between groups of men or hanging onto sailors in frank invitation, chattering like magpies, their dresses every color of the rainbow, faces often shamelessly painted and hair uncovered. Whatever of calm and dignity was to be found in this scene came not from the humans but in the flocks of ibises—white, black, pink, and all shades between—who stalked the shore, oblivious to the people, apparently reflecting philosophically upon the foibles of mankind.
“We are docking in the Brucheion or Regia,” Bana Jivaka explained. “It is sometimes called the Royal Area and is one of the busiest parts of the city.”
“I never saw such warehouses,” Joseph admitted. “Or so many people. Not even during the Passover is Jerusalem crowded like this.”
“They are even larger on the other side, on the shore of Lake Mareotis. Shipping from the Nile and from Persia and the coast of Malabar is handled over there. Wait until you see the grain barges,” he continued. “The lifeline of Rome runs across this narrow tongue of land between Lake Mareotis and the sea upon which Alexandria lies.”
Docking a vessel the size of the great round merchant ships from Rome was a tedious process, and the morning was half gone before Joseph and Bana Jivaka came down the gangplank. Their baggage was already piled upon the quay and a host of porters surrounded them, all jabbering at once, but Jivaka quickly selected two and gave them instructions where to take the baggage. A dozen sedan chairs waited to carry travelers into the city, but at the Indian’s suggestion they chose to walk the short distance to his room in the Greek quarter, or Rhakotis, where Joseph would live for the time being.
Leaving the waterfront, they traversed the cool arcades of the Forum and found themselves upon the great central thoroughfare called the Meson Pedion or, familiarly, the Street of Canopus. Flanked by rows of colonnades, this main east-to-west artery of Alexandria cut through the city in a straight line for over three miles and was more than thirty paces in width. Beginning at the Gate of the Necropolis, giving access at the western extremity of the city’s walls to an area of tombs, mausoleums, and a network of underground catacombs, the stone-paved ribbon led to the Gate of Canopus on the eastern side, where a canal led to the city of that name on still another of the many mouths of the Nile delta. Adjoining the Gate of Canopus, the Jewish Quarter occupied almost a third of the city, constituting the largest population group of this great metropolis, with their own officials and courts of law as well as freedom of worship in the synagogues.
The Rhakotis was not simply for the Greeks but actually housed a melange of people from every nationality. On the narrow streets, tall Macedonians jostled blond descendants of the Gabinian army of occupation, made up mainly of soldiers from Gaul, who had married Alexandrian women and proceeded to add to the hodgepodge population of this most cosmopolitan of cities. Egyptians, Italians, Cretans, Phoenicians, Cilicians, Cypriots, Persians, Syrians, Armenians, Arabs, Jews, Indians, and occasionally people from the Far East walked the stone-paved streets and added to the jabberwocky of sound. In the babble of voices, only one language was common, the everyday Greek of the common people that nearly everybody spoke with one accent or another.
Finding Mary in this great metropolis was going to be far from easy, Joseph realized as they traversed the teeming streets of Alexandria, for nearly half a million people lived within its boundaries. His first disappointment came the day after his arrival, when he went to the famous theater in the Brucheion, just off the waterfront, and sought word of her. He was brusquely refused admission to the director’s presence, and his inquiries brought only the information that no such person as Mary of Magdala was or ever had been employed in the Alexandrian Theater. And it was obvious, even without his being told, that she had not realized her ambition to become the leading dancer of the Alexandrian Theater. Huge posters displayed everywhere about the city announced that the darling of the Alexandrians, a dancer called Flamen, would perform in the theater every afternoon beginning the following week, with a new group of dances never before seen on any stage.
Hoping to learn something of Mary in the Jewish Quarter, Joseph presented his letter of introduction to Philo Judaeus, the famed lawyer and leader of the Alexandrian Jews. He was received courteously and treated to spiced cakes and wine by the white-bearded patriarch who was counted the most influential Jew outside Jerusalem itself, if not in the world. But even Philo could tell him nothing except that no one named Mary of Magdala lived in the teeming Jewish Quarter of the city.
The talk turned then to Jerusalem. “What do they think in Judea of John the Baptist, who preaches the coming of the Christ?” Philo asked.
Jos
eph shrugged. “There have been many such. Some even claim to be the Messiah Himself.”
“But none with the force of this man John. I talked recently with travelers from the lower Jordan who have heard him. They say he has a large following and makes much ado about baptism, claiming that men should repent of their sins and be washed in the water to make them clean.”
“The Essenes have preached a similar doctrine for many years,” Joseph pointed out.
“John is more than just another Essene,” Philo said. “Some of his disciples have recently come to Alexandria and are living among the Therapeutae.”
Joseph had heard of this sect, a branch of the Essenes of Judea and Galilee, who lived on the shores of Lake Mareotis. Like all Essenes, these pious men observed the oral and written law in every detail, living together in commonly owned homes and obeying in every respect the motto of the Chasidim, “Mine and Thine belongs to thee.”
“As a physician you should study with profit the methods of the Essenes and Therapeutae,” Philo advised him. “I have seen marvelous cures affected by them through prayer.” He put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Come and visit with me again, my boy. While you are on this side of the city you might look for the girl in the Eleusis, although I should hate to think that a Jewess would have anything to do with the winebibbers and prostitutes who live in that village of sin.”
It was still early when Joseph left Philo’s house, so he decided to adopt the jurist’s suggestion and visit the village of Eleusis. It stood on the shore of the sea just outside the city, with the cool green of the Grove of Nemesis between it and the walls themselves. To reach the village, Joseph had to leave the city by way of the Canopic Gate along the road leading to the great Hippodrome where horse races were held throughout the spring and summer months. Here the pleasure-loving Alexandrians flocked by the thousands during the racing season, but the great amphitheater was empty now.
Beyond the Hippodrome, by the shores of Lake Mareotis where papyrus and rushes grew, was a village of low white huts. When Joseph came nearer, he recognized the colony of the Therapeutae, of which Philo had spoken. He had seen such colonies among the Essenes outside Jerusalem, and this one, for all its high-sounding name, seemed no different. The huts in which the holy men lived were of wattle, woven from the rushes and papyrus stalks that grew at the edge of the water and daubed with a mortar made of ground-up shells from the nearby shore. Garbed in spotless white, the Therapeutae moved about their work, speaking only when spoken to. A few were washing themselves endlessly in the lake, for all Essenes made much of cleanliness.
It was obviously futile to look for Mary among the Therapeutae, so he went on to the Eleusis. Devoted to pleasure and named after the Greek city where the great festivals of Dionysos and the other gods of the drama had come into being, this small village was composed largely of drinking and gaming establishments, plus a few houses serving as harbors for women of small virtue. Joseph had no real expectation of finding Mary there and so was not really surprised or disappointed when no one knew of her.
A small crowd had gathered at the edge of the town, listening to an itinerant preacher, a wild-looking man wrapped in a sheet such as the Therapeutae wore. Since they blocked the road, Joseph was forced to stop.
“Repent!” the preacher was shouting. “For the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” It was a familiar exhortation, which he had heard shouted many times by the fanatics who thronged to Jerusalem on Feast Days.
A plump man standing in the crowd touched him on the arm. “Are you not the physician, Joseph of Galilee?” he asked politely.
“Yes, I am,” Joseph admitted. “How did you know me?”
“You were pointed out to me in Jerusalem when I visited there last year,” the man explained, “but I hardly expected to see you in Alexandria.”
“I came here only recently to study medicine,” Joseph explained.
“From what I heard in Jerusalem, the Alexandrians could teach you little about your profession,” the other man observed. “My name is Matthat.”
“Shalom, Matthat,” Joseph said courteously. “May you have long life.”
“And you,” Matthat returned, bowing.
“Who is the preacher?” Joseph asked.
“He is called Eliakim, but he is a disciple of one John called the Baptist because he preaches baptism with water.”
Joseph’s eyes brightened. “I was talking to Philo Judaeus about John the Baptist not more than an hour ago.”
“Men such as these are not fit to wash the feet of Jews like Philo,” Matthat said contemptuously. “He is everything a Jew should be. These preachers are only fanatics.”
“I come from John the Baptist,” the preacher shouted, waving his arms. “His message to you is found in the words of the prophet Isaiah:
A voice cries: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.
And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”
“How shall we flee the wrath of the Most High that is to come?” someone in the crowd asked.
The prophet shook a bony forefinger at them. “Bear fruits that befit repentance. Even now the ax is laid to the root of the trees; every tree, therefore, that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. He that has two coats, let him share with him who has none. And he who has food, let him do likewise.”
“These wandering preachers are always willing to share the rewards of those who work, while they go about shouting of hell and damnation.” Matthat spat upon the ground eloquently. “They disgust me.”
“Is John the Christ?” a voice inquired from the audience.
The preacher held up his hand for silence. “I will give you these words of John himself: ‘I baptize you with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’”
The preacher had finished and now the crowd began to disperse. “At least John has the good sense not to claim to be the Christ,” Matthat said. “Else he would have to be destroyed, like the other imposters who arose in Israel.”
“But suppose he really is the Forerunner spoken of by Isaiah,” Joseph suggested. “That would mean the coming of the Messiah is close at hand.”
“Jews who live outside Judea and Galilee talk less and less of a Messiah. We may rule the world someday, as our prophets promised, but it will be through controlling commerce and money. With them, politicians can be bought and sold and power acquired to rule nations.”
“You may be right,” Joseph admitted. “Many have set themselves up as prophets and some even claimed to be the Christ.”
“But none could prove they were sent from God,” Matthat finished triumphantly. “Come, walk with me back to my place of business in the city. We will refresh ourselves with a glass of wine and talk of Jerusalem.”
Matthat’s shop was located on the Street of the Sun Gate, just off the Meson Pedion in the very center of the city. In the luxuriously furnished apartment adjacent to the shop, a deft slave waited upon them and served them wine. “You are probably wondering what a man who operates an establishment such as this was doing in the Eleusis,” Matthat said with a smile. “I can assure you I was not looking for a girl.”
Joseph smiled. “If you asked me the same question, I would have to admit that I was looking for a girl.”
The merchant’s eyebrows rose. “Women are the cheapest of all commod
ities in Alexandria, and also the most expensive. If you want a woman, you need only to shout from a window in the Rhakotis to find yourself overrun with them.”
“You misunderstand me,” Joseph said. “I am looking for a friend who lives here, or did at one time. She is a singer and a dancer, a very beautiful young woman named Mary.”
“A Jewess?”
“Part Jewish and part Greek. She comes from Magdala.”
“There is no Jewess named Mary of Magdala in the theater here, nor in the Jewish Quarter. I know the area well. But if you want to see dancing—” his eyes lit up— “you must let me take you to see Flamen when she begins her performances next week. Even a devout Jew should not visit Alexandria without seeing the most famous dancer in the Roman Empire.”
“My purpose in coming to Alexandria was to study things I could not study in Jerusalem,” Joseph admitted.
Matthat grinned. “Then we will call a visit to the theater the study of beautiful women. Believe me, there will be little to interfere with your vision.” He put down his glass. “I went to the Eleusis this afternoon to meet a man who must be careful how he shows his face in the city.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those of us who deal in gold and precious stones,” Matthat explained, “buy from all who have such things to sell. Sometimes it is better not to be too sure of the identity of our clients.”
“Thieves!”
Matthat shrugged. “If you would be so uncharitable as to call them such. I prefer to remember that the rich prey upon the poor by working them at low wages, and so it is natural for the poor to rob the rich. If I stand between them and make a profit by selling things stolen from one rich man to another, who is to say that I am either thief or profiteer?”
The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene Page 12
