It is said of Jesus of Nazareth that he could not bear anyone secretly touching even the tassels on his cloak, for he could feel his strength ebbing away. He did cure the sick and raise the dead, I know, but only when begged to, or from compassion for their kin. In general he seems to have set little store by his miracles. He used to criticize those who saw but did not believe and praise the blessed who believed although they had never seen. Or so I have heard told. Not that my own belief weighs more than a grain of sand. I am very much afraid that it will not be sufficient for him, but I shall at least try to be honest to him.
Speaking of Egyptian miracles makes me think of a Greek there who had used his inheritance and his wife’s dowry for insane inventions. This madman insisted so stubbornly on an audience with Vespasian that we finally had to receive him. With shining eyes, he told us about his inventions and especially praised the power of steam from water, which he believed would drive the heaviest grindstones.
“What would we do with the slaves who live by turning the grindstones?” asked Vespasian. “Try to calculate how many unemployed the St ate would then have to support.”
The man calculated rapidly in his head and admitted honesdy that he had not thought of the damage to the national economy his invention might cause. Hopefully he went on to explain that the power in boiling water could be used to drive oars, if only he had enough money to make some necessary experiments. Then ships would no longer be dependent on the winds, as merchant ships and warships are.
I intervened at this and explained how appallingly inflammable the expensive grain ships would be, not to mention passenger ships, if one were forced to have fires constantly burning on board to heat the water. Already the cooking of food on board had shown itself to be so dangerous that at the slightest sign of a storm the cooking-fire had to be extinguished at once on its bed of sand. Every seaman preferred dry food to exposure to fire at sea.
Vespasian remarked that the Greek trireme has been, is, and always will be the most brilliant weapon in sea warfare, although on the other hand, he admitted, the Carthaginian merchant ships were the best in the world and there was no reason for altering them.
The inventor looked downcast, but Vespasian had a considerable sum paid to him if he would refrain from further insane inventions. He said that for safety’s sake the money was to be paid to the inventor’s wife, so that the husband would not be able to spend it on his unnecessary inventions.
On my part, I have often looked at the wonderful war machines and thought how easy it would be for a clever engineer to build machines for agriculture, for instance, to save the slaves the heavy work and a great deal of sweat. Such machines would be extremely useful for the art of ditching and drainage, which we learned from the Etruscans. One could even use baked brick pipes instead of faggots and stones on the bottom of the drainage ditches, much as we make our sewers, even if they are much larger. But I can see what appalling economic effects such inventions would have. Where would the slaves get their oil and bread then? The State has enough expenses with their distribution of free grain to its citizens. Work must be found for the slaves and preferably heavy work, for otherwise they would soon begin to think foolish thoughts. Generations of bitter experience have taught us that.
The Egyptian priests have already made all the technical inventions that are needed. For example, they have an automatic holy-water sprinkler which squirts holy water on one if one puts the right kind of coin into it. The machine even sorts out full-weight coins from filed ones, however unbelievable that may sound. The loathsome habit of filing dust from gold and silver pieces began in Alexandria. When it is a question of hundreds and thousands of coins, it is quite profitable. Who first thought it up, I have no idea. The Greeks blame the Jews and the Jews the Greeks.
I tell you this to convince you that Vespasian’s faith-healing was no sleight of hand. Thanks to their own technical inventions, the Egyptian priests are extremely distrustful.
When, after a sleepless night, Vespasian had been convinced that the gods had indeed decreed that he should be Emperor, I heaved a sigh of relief. It would have been disastrous if, inflamed by already antiquated democratic ideas, he had begun to alter the structure of the State. When I was certain of this, I at last dared to tell him my secret in a confidential moment. I told him about Claudia and your descent as the last male descendant of the Julian lineage. From that moment I gave you the name Julius in my heart, although officially you received it first when you were given your’man-toga and Vespasian fastened the Augustan brooch on your shoulder with his own hands.
Vespasian believed me at once and was not at all surprised, as one might have thought he would be. He knew your mother from the time when Emperor Caligula used to call her his cousin in order to annoy his uncle, Claudius. Vespasian began to count on his fingers to clarify the relationship.
“Then your son,” he said, “is Claudius’ grandson. Claudius was also a nephew of Tiberius. And Tiberius’ brother’s wife was Antonia, the younger daughter of Octavia, the god Augustus’ sister, born of Marcus Antonius. Octavia and the god Augustus were children of the niece of Julius Caesar. In fact the Imperial throne has constantly been passed down the female line. Nero’s father was the son of Marcus Antonius’ elder daughter. His hereditary right was as valid as Claudius’ own, although for the sake of form, Claudius adopted Nero when he married his own niece. Undoubtedly your son’s hereditary right is legally as binding as these others. What is it that you want then?”
“I want my son to grow up into the best and noblest Emperor Rome has ever seen,” I said. “I do not doubt for a moment, Vespasian, that you in your righteousness will acknowledge him as the legal heir to the Imperial throne when the moment arrives.”
Vespasian thought for a long time, frowning heavily with his eyes half-closed.
“How old is your son?” he said finally.
“He will be five next autumn,” I said proudly.
“In that case there is no hurry,” said Vespasian with relief. “Let us hope that the gods will allow me ten years or so to bear the burden of rule and put the State’s affairs into some kind of order. Then your son will have received his man-toga. Titus has his weaknesses and because of his connection with Berenice I am worried, but usually a man grows with responsibility. In ten years’ time Titus will be over forty and a mature man. In my view he has every right to the Imperial throne if he does not marry Berenice. That would be disastrous. We could not have a Jewess as the Imperial consort, even if she were of the Herodes family. If Titus behaves sensibly, presumably you will permit him to rule his time out, so that your son in the same way will have time to mature and acquire experience in office. My other son Domitian would never do as Emperor and the very thought of such a thing appalls me. In fact I have always regretted that I conceived him by mistake in a drunken moment on a visit to Rome. Ten years had passed since Titus’ birth and I did not think my marriage bed would again prove fertile. The thought of Domitian makes me feel ill. I cannot even consider celebrating a triumph, for I should be forced to take him with me.”
“Naturally you must celebrate a triumph for capturing Jerusalem,” I said uneasily. “You would offend the legions bitterly if you didn’t, and they have suffered great losses in the war against the Jews.”
Vespasian sighed heavily.