“He wanted to steal from the Temple’s treasures,” snapped the teacher, Hilarus.
“So what?” Matthew retorted. “That’s where they hold the Judaean state wealth. It would have been built for our benefit, wouldn’t it? Why shouldn’t we give money for a new aqueduct? There is never water for the crowds for feast days! As delegates, we will get water, but what about them? They shove their way into creeks to wash, and then you can’t drink the water for weeks! It’s Hell on Earth in the Valley of Hinnom… Then it takes weeks more to clear the filth… The Temple builders are detailed for the job, and meanwhile work on the Temple comes to a stop… Then, before you know, it’s time for the next feast and it starts all over again… Not that it isn’t marvelous to see that throng,” he added dutifully, with an ambivalence that made Uri feel suddenly sick.
Plotius chimed in:
“There’s nothing wrong with people in Judaea and Galilee, aside from a few nutcases. Those madmen did not even speak the governor’s name. If you ask me, they’ve probably never seen or even heard of him! What’s a good governor when you don’t even know his name? They don’t know it because things are peaceful; there’s been peace for a good while, thanks be to the Lord. People have gotten used to it, and that is just fine with them. You’ll soon see for yourselves…”
“No one has a problem with the prefect,” Matthew added after a short pause, and then fell silent.
Uri thought he understood what Matthew had meant: the problem was actually with the high priests. And indeed there was a problem. The Hasmoneans had been producing high priests for generations, since Herod the Great had massacred their predecessors. It was not they who killed the families of the previous high priests, it is true, but they had been the beneficiaries of that awful crime, and the people did not forget it. And if they had not forgotten it in Rome, then they certainly hadn’t in Judaea.
They soon forgot the two mad Jews and trotted on their way, their backsides bruised, their legs numb.
For Uri, traveling no longer scared him. He could take it, and he stuck it out to the end. By the time he got home, toughened up, a real man, he would kiss his father on the hand for paying for this journey.
All of a sudden, they caught sight of a tall, smoldering mountain to the right; this was Etna. They saw the smoke for three days. Matthew said this was nothing compared to the tabernacle in Jerusalem, they would see. Plotius nodded; it was really that thick. Valerius was all for climbing to the peak, and Alexandros was also game, but the rest overruled them. Uri was also not in the mood to make any needless effort. The soles of his feet had hardened — he continued to carry his sandals slung around his neck — but his feet hurt. Still, they had to walk a few hours each day to give the donkeys some rest, otherwise they would get stubborn; as Matthew said, an ass has brains, and if it sees men going about with a load on their necks, then it wouldn’t mind so much doing the same for a few hours. Plotius told a story about an ass that went around reared up on two legs like a man; it could even bray out a few intelligible words, and his companions were flabbergasted, but then Plotius let the cat out of the bag by laughing too soon.
They avoided Catina, as they had no wish to pay duties.
In Syracusa, on the other hand, they paid the duty at the city gate. Matthew knew full well that there were places along the partly ruined city wall where it was possible to scramble over, but it was better not to tempt fate, in case the local guards happened to make their patrol right then.
The urban duties there were also one sestertius per head, but Matthew now had to pay five sesterces per sack; he argued in vain that the practice was illegal, because personal baggage was duty free.
“Of course it’s duty free,” grinned the chief excise officer as his armed minions rummaged assiduously though their sacks. “Another five sesterces per head, I make it.”
“Religious accessories are exempt,” Matthew insisted when the soldiers started tinkering with the phylacteries, making them unclean in the process; the thongs would have to be dipped into water later.
“Jugs, however, are subject to taxation,” the excise man said.
“They’re worth no more than two asses each, and two and a half percent of that is negligible, even if you calculate in quadrans,” Matthew asserted.
“Nevertheless,” said the excise man. “It still comes to five sesterces per head.”
“Then we’ll smash them,” Matthew said stubbornly. “They’re not worth anything anyway. Look, you can see, they’re just rough, clunky objects; we can buy replacements later.”
The customs officer was not concerned in the least.
“Then you can pay tax on the shards,” he said. “And there will be an additional fee of five sesterces per head for clean up.”
With a scowl, Matthew got out the leather pouch from under his cloak and counted the money out into the outstretched hand of the customs chief, who laughed and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Uri once again started ruminating on where they might be keeping the untold amount of cash they were supposedly carrying to Jerusalem for Passover. There was no money anywhere to be seen. Maybe others were carrying it and had arrived a long time ago. Or else there was a sack rolled up around Matthew’s body, under his tunic. He did not understand why Matthew had argued with the excise man, as the customs officials were in the habit of frisking people. It couldn’t be around his back anyway; when they had taken their dip in the sea at Messana he had been wearing nothing but a loincloth.
It occurred to Uri in retrospect that the customs officials in Syracusa had not examined the letter of safe-conduct either. Matthew had been proven right; it did not matter that only six delegates, not seven, were listed.
He was excited and disappointed all at the same time. From the crumbling city wall, this did not seem like the magnificent town that Archimedes had defended with his splendid inventions and where, while doodling in the dust, he had been knifed in the back by an idiot. Where was the spot? he wondered. Had anyone put up a memorial tablet?
The donkeys were returned. The local operator of the donkey-hire business, a Cretan scoundrel, wouldn’t accept the animals, claiming they were in poor condition, but he could be persuaded by a fairly stiff extra payment, which Matthew bargained down by half. Some debate arose among the companions as to why it was necessary to turn in the donkeys, and to make an additional payment when they had already paid once; after all, they could have just left them unclaimed at the harbor — that was the consensus. Matthew, for his part, began to yell at them for the first time on the journey: he had connections with the firm that went back decades, and however crooked they might be, he could not leave the donkeys to their fate, as that would not fetch the price of a nettle patch. If he did that, they would rent anything to him again, and they would give him a bad name in Italia and throughout the East.
The plan was to sail the next day, but two of the departures had been nixed on account of a couple of storms, and there were others who had made it there earlier. Matthew cursed, but there was nothing he could do about it; he had no luck bribing the harbor authority that booked the passengers, for they were quite happy to take his money but were unable to secure a ship. So after going to great lengths, he rented a warehouse for the night.
They slept on the bare ground with rats, mice, fleas, mosquitoes, and other living creatures for company, but at least they had a roof over their heads. They had to leave the store the next morning, because three shiploads were expected from Alexandria. No matter how much Matthew howled at the representatives of the port authority, they were not going to travel that day either, and were obliged to find somewhere to spend another night.