My suggestion made an impression on Vespasian. He peered at me, passed his hand over his mouth and laughingly explained that he could not possibly take the responsibility for a Roman senator’s exposing himself to such danger, if I meant it seriously. If I were taken prisoner then the Jews would demand concessions of him. If I lost my life ignomini-ously, then this would bring shame on Rome and on him. Nero might take it into his head that he had deliberately rid himself of one of Nero’s personal friends.
He looked at me craftily, but I knew his cunning little ways. So I replied that for the good of the State, friendship must stand aside. He had no reason to insult me by calling me a friend of Nero’s. In this respect we need hide nothing from each other. Rome and the future of the fatherland were our guiding lights on the battlefield, where the corpses stank, the carrion birds gorged and legionaries hung like sun-dried sacks from the walls of Jerusalem.
I raised my voice rhetorically as I was in the habit of doing in the Senate. Vespasian patted me on the back in a friendly way with his broad peasant hand and assured me that he in no way doubted my motives and put his trust in my patriotism. Naturally he had not even imagined that I was going to slip into Jerusalem to betray his military secrets; I could not be that mad. But on the torture racks not even a strong man can keep his mouth shut, and the Jews had shown themselves to be skillful interrogators when it came to getting information. He regarded it as his first duty to protect my life and my safety, once I had voluntarily put myself under his protection.
He introduced me to his adviser Josephus, a Jewish rebel leader who had betrayed his friends when they had all decided to commit suicide rather than fall into Roman hands. Josephus had allowed his friends to die and had then surrendered, saving his life by prophesying that one day Vespasian would be Emperor. As a joke, Vespasian had had golden shackles put on him and promised to release him if his prophecy came true. Later, when he was freed, he insolently called himself Flavius Josephus.
From the very first I took an instant dislike to this despicable traitor, and the literary reputation he has since acquired has in no way altered my opinion, in fact to the contrary. In his foolish voluminous work on the Jewish rebellion he overestimates, in my view, the significance of many events, and is much too long-winded in his accounts of details.
My criticism is not in the slightest influenced by the fact that he found no reason to include my name in his book, although it was solely due to me that the siege was continued, once I had seen the circumstances within the walls with my own eyes. It would have been mad for Vespasian, in this political situation, to use his well-trained legions for useless attacks against the unexpectedly strong walls, when a siege and starvation brought about the same result. Unnecessary losses would have made him unpopular with the legionaries, which would have not suited my intentions at all.
But I have never longed for recognition in history, so this despicable Jew’s silence concerning my contribution is unimportant. I never bear grudges toward inferior people and do not usually avenge insults, as long as I am not tempted by an unusually favorable opportunity. I am only human.
Through one of my freedmen, I even offered to publish Flavius Josephus’ books, both The Jewish War and his accounts of the history and customs of the Jews, however many inaccuracies there are in them, but Josephus said that he preferred a Jewish publisher, despite the advantageous conditions I had offered. Later I had a shortened, unauthorized version of The Jewish War brought out, for the book seemed to go very well. My freedmen had his family and his old mother to support, so I did not oppose this suggestion of his, fox someone else would have done the same thing.
I really mention Josephus only because he servilely agreed with Vespasian and opposed my views. He laughed scornfully and said that I obviously did not know what a wasp’s nest I was thinking of sticking my head into. If I somehow got inside the walls of Jerusalem, then I would never get out again alive. After many objections and much prevarication, he nevertheless found me a map of the city. I learned it off by heart while my beard was growing.
A beard in itself is no safe disguise, for the legionaries had followed their fierce opponents’ example and let their beards grow and Vespasian had not punished them for it. He even allowed a legionary to exchange a flogging for a fine. This was one of the reasons why he was so popular, but it was also difficult for him to maintain Roman army regulations in the field, for his own son Titus had cultivated a silky beard to please the lovely Berenice.
Saying that I must find the safest place in which to make my way into the city, I went on a long excursion around Jerusalem and was careful to remain more or less within range of the enemy’s bows and war machines, though naturally I did not risk my life unnecessarily. I had my own reasons for this because of you. So I dressed in strong armor and a helmet, although this equipment made me pant for breath and sweat profusely. But during those days I lost pounds of weight from my plump body so that the straps soon loosened. It did me nothing but good.
On my wanderings I found the Jewish execution place where Jesus of Nazareth had been crucified. The diminutive hill was indeed shaped like a skull, as I had been told, and had received its name from that. I looked for the rocky tomb from which Jesus of Nazareth had risen from the dead on the third day, and it was not difficult to find because the besiegers had cleared the ground and torn up all the bushes so that spies could not sneak out of the city. I found many rocky tombs but could not be certain which of them was the right one, for my father’s account had been vague in these details.
As I dragged myself on, my lungs heaving and armor rattling, the legionaries laughed at me and assured me I should not find a blind angle which would have allowed me to approach right up to the wall in safety, since the Parthians had helped the Jews fortify Jerusalem very skillfully. The legionaries were not very keen to protect me with a shield-roof because these tortoises were usually showered with molten lead from the wall. They asked mockingly why I was not wearing a horsehair plume on my helmet, or my purple band. But I was not that mad, and since I respected the Parthian bowmen, I left my red boots in my tent to avoid boasting of my rank.
I shall always remember the sight of the temple of Jerusalem as it shone on its mountain, high up above the walls, dreamily blue in the morning light, red as blood when the sun had already set in the valley. Herodes’ temple was in truth one of the wonders of the world. After years and years of work it had finally been completed shortly before its destruction. No human eye will ever see it again. It was the Jews’ own fault that it vanished. I did not wish to be part of its destruction.
Certain religious speculations to which I had been devoting myself at that time were naturally due to the fact that I knew I was risking my life for your future and so became softhearted in a manner un-suited to a man of my age. When I thought of Jesus of Nazareth and the Christians, I decided that I should help them to the best of my ability to free themselves from the deadweight of the Jews, which they still, despite Paul and Cephas, dragged along like fetters.
Not that I really believed the Christians had a political future, even under the best possible Emperor, for they were too hostile and disunited among themselves. But because of my father I have a certain weakness for Jesus of Nazareth and his teaching. When my stomach complaint was at its worst, about a year ago, I was even prepared to acknowledge him as the Son of God and the Savior of mankind, if he had mercy on me.