Uri broke off a piece of matzo and started to chew it, because the middle of his chest had started to hurt, and a bit of matzo was always good for that. Now even Matthew held his peace, maybe even dozed off, but Uri was ruminating on whether he too should introduce himself, and he could not make out why, after Matthew had introduced himself, his other companions, with one exception, had not introduced themselves in turn, as would have been proper. Or had the Elders already told Matthew about the people who were traveling with him? If so, what could they have said about Uri? He feared that his companions knew one another, even though they had given no sign of it, but they had plenty of time to get acquainted even if they belonged to different congregations, they were grown-up working men after all, but they did not know him, by sight at most; they probably did not even know that he was Joseph’s son. Well, Iustus would tell them, and no doubt ply them with baseless lies.
He regretted that his father had not gone with him to the meeting-place and helped him get acquainted with his companions. Could it have been his father’s way of showing that he trusted him and was treating him as an adult, or on the contrary, conveying that his fate was of no interest? But then, if the latter were the case, he would not have given him all that advice, and he would not have wakened him at dawn, even before it had started to get light. It occurred to Uri that this had been the second night running his father had been sleepless, and he felt a twinge of remorse; his own nocturnal torments did not cross his mind.
His head drooping, he jolted on until he suddenly awoke to the fact that they had stopped. Matthew jumped down freshly and happily.
“I do love traveling in February,” he declared. “It’s still possible to get around by daylight, unlike the journeys to the other feasts. In the summer months, you are guaranteed to fry.”
They had turned in to a hostelry, where they greeted Matthew as a familiar figure. They rinsed hands and feet in a brass bowl, prayed again, then sat down at a long table, and before long were served with food: freshly baked fish, with bread and wine. The innkeeper was Latinian, but he knew precisely what he could serve to Jews: Uri ate the fish and the bread, but he offered the wine to the others because he only drank water. That statement was received with silence, though nothing insulting had been intended. Matthew, picking up on the sudden tension, took the wine from him with thanks and downed it.
Uri had figured they would be spending the night at the hostelry, but that was not what happened: their sacks on the ox-drawn wagon were shifted onto an ass-drawn trap, and after relieving themselves and praying anew, they set off on foot, still headed south. Matthew drove the ass while walking beside the trap; the others dawdled along in its wake.
Before long, Uri’s legs began to hurt, and he carried on with clenched teeth. The basalt rocks of the highway felt atrociously hard and unyielding. He had no desire to lose touch with the others, who, it seemed, were used to physical burdens and marched along effortlessly, but all the same he fell a few paces behind. He was wrapped up in his own cares and it was only after a fair amount of time had elapsed that he noticed his companions, in knots of two or three, had stepped up to Matthew at the front and were engaging in quiet conversations with him. When this happened a third time, he noticed that they were casting sly looks his way after falling back slightly from Matthew. He quickened his pace, even though both his feet were now hurting and his back was aching too. They are whispering about me, he thought.
He made an effort to reduce the pain and throbbing to a dull tingling, looking up to the sky where instead of shining stars he saw only dim, overlapping, gleaming circles and the moon, a larger and broader patch than in his boyhood days, with an indefinite, blurred outline, and he made a silent supplication to his Creator, asking him what his plan had been in leading him on this journey. Why did you not send someone else on this dark, deserted road, my Lord?
Matthew suddenly stopped, handed the traces over to Iustus and waited for Uri.
“Are you still up to it?” he asked.
“I can take it,” Uri said.
“We’ll go on a bit more before we call it a day and get some sleep.”
“I can take it,” Uri said.
They carried on without a word, Matthew treading by his side.
“I don’t want to offend you,” Matthew said finally, “but no one can figure out why your family picked you for this journey.”
“I don’t know either,” said Uri.
“Never mind,” said Matthew. “You’ll get stronger along the way.”
“No doubt,” said Uri.
They walked on.
Uri noticed that three or four of his companions were treading closer than they had been before. He thought it was a good opportunity to introduce himself. Speaking as if he were only seeking to inform, he reported that he was the son of the merchant Joseph, his mother was named Sarah, and he had two younger sisters; he did not know what else he could say about himself.
“So, your father,” the black-beard started, “he’s the one who delivers silk to Agrippa, too, is that right?”
That disconcerted Uri even more.
“I don’t know; I have no knowledge of my father’s business affairs.”
That assertion was met with a reproachful growl. That was not the answer he was supposed to give; he should have been working for his father long before now.
“I know that is not how it ought to be,” he pleaded, “but my eyesight’s not good…”
“Trading doesn’t require good eyes, only a brain,” the thickset one declared.
That was true but no comfort to Uri.
“So you know nothing about your father’s affairs,” Matthew summed up.
He may simply have been trying to end an unproductive and embarrassing conversation, but Uri sensed in his words a note of scorn, and he was anxious to make a good impression on such a strong and determined man.
“What I do know is that my father raised a lot of money for Agrippa.”
That announcement was received in silence. Uri gathered that everybody knew about the loan, probably more than he did.
“And so,” said black-beard, “that is why Agrippa persuaded the Elders to let you come with us?”
Uri said nothing. He could not be blamed for this unsolicited, awkward privilege. They probably think we are currying favor with Agrippa, he thought, and that we pay off everybody, even though we are penniless — but then no one would believe that.
“I have never seen Agrippa,” he said bitterly, “but perhaps he heard from someone that I know a lot of languages.”
As soon as he said it he realized that he had made an even bigger mistake than before. Right at the start of the journey, he had already committed the one error that his father had warned him against: flaunting his knowledge when he should have been keeping quiet about it.
The thickset one seized the opportunity. “Let’s see now. Which languages do you speak?”
There was no going back, so Uri reeled them off. There was a stony silence as they trudged after the ass trap.
“There’s no point in learning Egyptian and Hebrew; a complete waste of time,” said Matthew. “And Latin is not a necessity either. Greek is spoken everywhere. Aramaic could come in handy if you plan to roam around in the country, but there won’t be time for that now: as soon as the feast comes to an end we shall be heading back.”
As an ex-seaman, Matthew obviously spoke a number of languages, but for him that was a matter of course and so of no value. I failed to win his sympathy, Uri concluded, and that rankled; he would have liked to have that strong and resolute man on his side. Instead, I have given the others a reason to hate me.