Galerius himself showed Pilate and Procula several of the city’s prime sights, including the mausoleum of Alexander the Great, in which the waxlike body of the world conqueror could still be seen, embalmed in honey. Then there was the memorial to Pompey, the least the city could do to honor the man it had treacherously stabbed and decapitated in order to present his head, pickled in brine, to his rival, Julius Caesar.
But the monument which electrified Procula was the Mausoleum of Cleopatra. With all the suavity of a veteran guide, Galerius told them the story of how Augustus’s friend Gaius Proculeius had climbed up the back of the mausoleum and dropped in through a window to seize Cleopatra after she had barricaded herself inside.
“Prefect,” said Pilate grandly, “let me introduce to you the Lady Proculeia, granddaughter of this selfsame Gaius Proculeius.”
While Galerius was recovering from astonishment, Procula said, “Sorry to have made you go through the story. I was just checking on Grandfather’s version of it, and it seems he didn’t exaggerate.”
Toward the close of their stay in Alexandria, Pilate casually hinted that they had seen all of the monuments but few of the people. Galerius responded by hauling them through the various ghettos of the city, and Pilate soon discovered that there was not one Alexandria, but at least eight.
“This city is an Egyptian-Greek-Roman-Jewish-Cyrenian-Anatolian-Syrian-Phoenician conglomeration,” Galerius commented. “And trying to keep peace in this ethnic maelstrom is next to impossible. Small riots we have every year, but why no general insurrection has broken out only the great Father of the Gods knows.”
“Is it true that there are more Jews in Alexandria than in Jerusalem?” Pilate asked.
“Easily. You see that section of the city over there?” He pointed southeastward to an area not far from the palace veranda. “That’s the Jewish quarter of Alexandria, a city within a city.”
“Any trouble from them?”
“Not really. Oh…some Alexandrians hate them, and it may come to bloodshed one of these years, but generally they’ve been a commercial and cultural success here. They have citizenship, and their own ethnarch to take care of internal affairs…But why don’t we drop over to visit the Jewish quarter? It’s the only district we’ve missed. Besides, you can get a preview of your future subjects.”
This was not Pilate’s first contact with a Jewish community. Back in Rome, he had visited the Jewish colony across the Tiber in Ward XIV and been repelled by the bad living conditions and low economic level of the district, a ghetto of petty shopkeepers, peddlers, and prostitutes. But the Jewish quarter of Alexandria was a surprise. The section had attractive dwellings with pleasant gardens and even pools. After Pilate and Galerius had visited several synagogues, a rabbinical school, and the marketplace, the picture of a proud, well-organized, and thriving community was unmistakable.
“Alexandria would seem to prove, then, that Jews can live happily under Roman administration,” Pilate concluded.
“Of course. Rome’s policy until Tiberius was even pro-Jewish,” Galerius said. “Jew and Roman certainly started out as friends. It all began when a Syrian king, who modestly called himself Antiochus God-Manifest, tried to absorb Egypt and was ordered out by Popilius, our agent in Alexandria. The king said he’d have to think it over first. Popilius took his swagger stick, drew a circle in the sand around Antiochus’s feet, and said, ‘Decide before you step outside that circle.’—The God-Manifest was last seen running back north!—But he took his humiliation out on the Jews and tried to set up a pagan cult in the Jerusalem temple itself. That ignited a patriotic revolt led by a priestly family, the Maccabees, who beat off the Syrians. And who warned the Syrians to stay out of Palestine in the future? The Roman Senate.”
He went on to explain that as early as 161 B.C., Rome even drew up an alliance with Judea, which actually held the Syrians at bay. Though it was part of Rome’s usual policy in championing an underdog—Judea—to hold a potential rival—Syria—in check, the Judeans used the alliance to good advantage in winning diplomatic recognition and special privileges for Jews all over the Mediterranean, such as exemption from military service and freedom of worship on the Sabbath. Only when later Maccabean princes failed to renew the alliance did Judeo-Roman relations change from friendship to suspicion, to the kind of animosity which brought Pompey’s invasion in 63 BC.
“And even after Pompey conquered Judea,” Galerius argued, “friendship between Rome and Jerusalem was still possible. Pompey took not one shekel from the temple treasury, but ordered the sanctuary cleansed and sacrifices resumed the next day.”
“For that matter,” said Pilate, “Julius Caesar himself proved Roman-Jewish friendship—”
“Oh, Caesar was very Judeophile! He had every reason to be, you know. Jews saved his life when he was here in Alexandria chasing down Pompey. The Egyptian army surrounded Caesar’s pathetically small force of Romans, just near the harbor over there,” Galerius pointed. “It was a nasty siege, the closest Caesar ever came to defeat. Only one man saved him, Antipater of Judea. Antipater helped relieving legions get through to Caesar, and he also had Jewish communities in Egypt provision Caesar’s forces during the siege, and this turned the tide in the decisive battle.”
“This is the Antipater who was father of Herod the Great?” Pilate inquired.
“Right.”
“Small wonder that the Jews and the house of Antipater would stand high in Caesar’s favor.”
“Yes, Caesar conferred extraordinary privileges on the Jews. Judea was freed from Roman tribute, immunized from taxation, and no soldiers were to be raised or quartered in Judea, the highest favors accorded any state under Rome’s control.”
“Which explains the long lines of grieving Jews who visited Caesar’s grave months after the Ides of March.” Pilate reflected for several moments. Then he said, “Your lessons in Jewish history, Gaius, have been far better than what I’d learned from supposed experts in Rome.”
“You never learn anything until you get on the scene, Pilate. Oh, I became a real Egyptologist in preparing for this post, but most of what I’d mastered in Rome was just a caricature of the truth, so bad are the geographies and histories. You’ll have plenty of surprises yourself when you get to Judea.”
“I know. For one thing, I still have to find out why the Jews there aren’t happy with Rome—unlike here. But it’s comforting to know that you and two Roman legions will be next door in case Judea breaks into revolt. I understand I’m allowed all of four or five cohorts.” The satire was obvious.
“Pilate, it all hinges on the grain supply. Let an insurrection flare up in Palestine, and Romans continue eating. But if Alexandria revolts, a quarter of the populace back home has no bread…Now, if something big develops and you get stoned out of Jerusalem, send word and I’ll back you up. Probably with my Third or Twenty-second Legion.”
“I’ll write if I face any large problems”—Pilate smiled—“so you should be hearing from me soon.”
The next day, with copious thanks to Gaius Galerius and his wife, Pilate, his household and staff embarked on the final leg of their journey.
Chapter 5
A craft only half the size of the Trident carried them on the short run to Caesarea, but its triangular lateen sail cut well against the exuberant gusts of the south wind, providing a rough but quick voyage across the Mediterranean corner. On the second day out, the sandy shores of Palestine showed clearly on the eastern horizon.