“I have no vote in this,” Matthew announced. “I have no interest in the matter. You lot decide.”
There were two extreme factions, one represented by Hilarus, the other by Alexandros, who contended with each other. Hilarus was supported by Valerius, and Alexandros by Iustus, just like that morning.
Hilarus was of the opinion that the offer should be accepted, but the deposit should be whittled down and a legally watertight contract established. Alexandros, however, felt that this was all nonsense: what was meant by “a legally watertight contract” anyway? There was no such thing as entering an unassailable contract over the use of an inanimate object if the underwriting party was not the owner.
Hilarus said that one had to understand the ship repairer; he probably knew that the boat was insured for half its value. The master was only asking for what he would get if the boat was wrecked and he could claim that the boat had sunk, or it had not gotten back in time, or it had been stolen. Anyway it fell within the allowed expenditure, he asserted. He looked inquiringly at Matthew, who shook his head to signal not only that he was not voting but also that he was not prepared to offer any information about the delegation’s financial standing either.
Alexandros outlined what would happen if the officers and slaves recruited by the master builder understood nothing about sailing, which there was every chance of:
“The only ones who will do any rowing in rough seas are us, the seven of us, twenty-four hours a day, and long before we ran the ship aground and drowned as it went down, our hearts — by the grace of the Lord — would burst.”
Uri shuddered.
Hilarus for his part believed that was also nonsense. If the captain proved unsuitable, Matthew would take over command; after all, that was his expertise. He again looked at Matthew, who again shook his head. Hilarus added, “We’re just as capable of dishing out lashes as any officer!”
Uri shuddered. He had not the slightest wish to lash out at sculling slaves.
Valerius and Iustus offered affirmative or opposing grunts but no opinions.
All looked at Plotius.
It’s almost as if I were not even here, Uri thought sullenly to himself.
Plotius deliberated.
“What’s the boat like?” he queried.
“It looks up to the job,” said Matthew.
“And if we were to buy it, would we be able to sell it?”
Uri did not grasp what Plotius was driving at, but the others understood.
“That’s it!” Hilarus exclaimed. “We buy it here, take it across and sell it there for a decent profit.”
“Fair enough, but to whom?” Matthew asked.
There was silence.
“Let’s say we buy it,” Matthew said. “That’s a good idea. The master ship builder will sell it cheaper than the owner would; the master will make up some tale for the latter and recover some damages for him, and even so he will make a bundle on it without having to do a lick of work. That’s fine so far. Even the owner doesn’t make out badly, because it’s far from certain that he really did insure it for half its value. The world is full of fake shipping calamities: insurers have a hard time proving that fraud had a hand in them; the owner not only gets the full value from the insurer, but even makes a profit on it — the payoff he gets from the master. That too is fair enough. It is also possible that the proprietor and the master are in collusion against the insurer: let them make a bit, and let the insurers lose out, the jerks. We get it across somehow or other — that too is fair enough. But who exactly is going to purchase it from us in Caesarea?”
Silence.
“There must be someone,” said Hilarus despondently. The teacher was longing for a big adventure, and it pained him that nothing would come of it.
“You haven’t so much as asked Uri,” said Plotius.
The others stared at him, and Uri flushed. Nobody gave a cordial look; he had to say something.
“I don’t know a thing about boats,” Uri protested. “I don’t know anything about most things. I’m deeply sorry that someone worthier than me did not come with you instead of me.”
“The Lord created everyone worthy,” said Plotius. “He created the brute ignorant animals because He had a purpose with them. It is not for us to guess the Creator’s reasons but to accept His disposals. So what do you have to say?”
He would have to say something after all.
“Isn’t there anyone over there for whom a ship like that would come in handy?” he ventured. “The Jewish navy perhaps…”
“No doubt they would be happy to take one as a free gift,” Matthew nodded vigorously. “They might even purchase it, albeit at a rock-bottom price. It’s not just that — there’s no way I could account for a loss like that, I could not even fiddle my way around it.”
Silence.
“What about the Romans?” Uri ventured.
Matthew snorted, and the others joined in the laughter.
“The Romans would take the boat over well and good,” Plotius explained. “But they would clap us in irons on the grounds that we had stolen it, and they’d hand us over to the Sanhedrin to pass sentence. No one among the Jerusalem Elders would come to our defense; we would be rowing in chains till the end of our days.”
Uri flared up:
“But we’re the delegation! We have safe conduct! We’re Roman citizens!”
Plotius stepped up to him and patted him on the shoulder.
“Dear boy, the Sanhedrin nurtures extremely good relations with the Romans,” he said. “And so it should. That’s what peace is, the Lord be praised. Naturally, a few people would hotfoot it from Rome to Judaea on our behalf, and the beloved members of our families would never forsake us, and they would protest till they were blue in the face in every forum that the Sanhedrin had no power of jurisdiction over Roman citizens, and our loved ones would be able to prove that sooner or later, after which the Roman authorities would move Heaven and Earth to have us tracked down; that would take half a year, a year, or even more; and by the time they found us we would long since have croaked in a galley boat, maybe the very one that we offered for purchase to the Romans.”
Uri still did not give up:
“The Sanhedrin cannot pass judgment on Roman citizens! You yourself said so!”
Plotius groaned.
“Dear boy, the Sanhedrin is stuffed with the high priest’s placemen. The high priest is appointed by the Roman prefect, and he can replace him whenever he likes without even having to give a justification. In matters that are not religious the high priest dances whatever jig the prefect whistles, and his placemen dance in turn to his whistle. You don’t seriously believe that the high priest would not take seriously thousands of sesterces from the Romans to keep quiet about them filching a ship with Jewish owners? He’d get the full price of the boat — maybe even more.”
“But that’s corruption!” Hilarus explained.
“In plain Latin,” Matthew nodded his agreement.
They fell silent. Plotius next said, turning to Uri but with the others paying close attention:
“For all that, I am wholeheartedly in full support of whoever is the current high priest in Jerusalem and the Sanhedrin, whatever mischief they might get up to, because they are better by far than those madmen who impair their authority and threaten the peace, our faith, and the very existence of the Jewish people with their muddy ideas and sick notions.”
They examined the boat in question the next day, but they had to admit that it was too large for them, and postponed any decision for another day on the off chance that something would happen. They had to move out of the basement, but they found a deserted building that was in ruins beside the crumbling city wall, and cleared out the ground floor. It was none too secure a place, but it cost nothing and was close to the harbor. They decided that three of them would stay “at home” at all times, and the others would keep an eye on movements and staying up to date.