Aulus greeted him with pleasure and embraced him and kissed his cheek. “Shalom. This house is honored to receive you, my cousin,” said Aulus. Hillel’s hands lingered on Aulus’ shoulders, and the Roman, who desperately at all times tried to conceal a certain sensitivity of temperament—it was unbefitting a soldier—felt that lingering and the unconscious pressure of Hillel’s fingers. Ah, he thought, with commiseration, the family of Shebua ben Abraham have been too much for my poor friend. He slapped Hillel heartily on the arm and inquired of Saul and why he had not come also.
“Saul,” said Hillel, “is restless and disturbed, and is cooling his fever with explorations of the city. Youth is not an agreeable state.”
Aulus’ eyes were kind as they studied Hillel’s face. “Truly,” he said. He led Hillel through the atrium into a pleasant room full of sunlight though spare of furniture, and with a stone floor on which lay a few woolen rugs of no particular value. There were no murals here, no statues, no fine vases, no lemonwood tables, no crystal or Alexandrine lamps. But it had a certain immaculate comfort and Hillel sat down. Aulus clapped his hands and a servant appeared and Aulus ordered refreshments. “How is our beloved Hannah?” asked Hillel.
Aulus, as a soldier, had few illusions, but he had one which could provoke Hillel’s secret amusement. In spite of Hannah’s absolute rule over her household Aulus was convinced that she was the most docile of women and he invariably forgot the occasions when none dared defy her will when she had collected her mind. Had he remembered he would have persuaded himself that he had capitulated out of deference to her female weakness and because he loved her and wished to humor her. He said with heartiness, leaning back expansively in his chair, “My dear Hannah is, as always, the noblest and sweetest of women.” He beamed. His thick beard bristled with pride and affection. He wore a tunic of blue wool, for the day was cool, but he retained his iron-shod sandals and now he made a proud clattering with them on the floor. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him.
It was Hannah, herself, who led the servant with the refreshments, carrying white linen in her hands, her robe of gray and red, her head covered as always. She was small and plump, like a dove, with a dove’s full breast. Hillel rose and went to her at once and embraced her and she kissed his cheek and then held him off to examine him acutely. She had not seen him for seventeen years or more, and her eyes were the eyes of an anxious mother. “Hillel,” she said, in her gentle voice, and there was an inquiry in it.
“I am well, dear Hannah,” he answered, and was horrified that he might burst into tears.
Hannah continued to smile, but she sighed. “And Sephorah, and Saul, whom I have never seen, my cousins also?”
“My children, thanks be to God, are in good health,” said Hillel. “You will see them at Sephorah’s wedding, which will be eight days from today.”
The maternal eyes were smiling though still searching. “I have heard rumors from Aulus that Sephorah is very beautiful. My own daughters are not beautiful but have married to our satisfaction. We have grandchildren who delight us. I wish that blessing for you, Hillel, my beloved cousin.”
She covered a table with the white linen and gestured to the servant who set out bowls of cheese and bread and fruit and olives and fish, and artichokes in oil and garlic and a fine bottle of wine. Hannah watched with benign attention, and arranged the pottery plates and the simple silver cutlery. She said, not looking at Hillel, “The years pass, and we see those whom we do not love and who are strangers to us, and our hearts grow sore with longing because our kinsmen are far from us.”
“There was not a year when I did not hope to return, Hannah,” said Hillel.
“Ah! I am not reproaching you, my cousin. I merely observe. The years pass in duties and they are not to be despised. But still, the presence of those we love can be most dear to us.”
“I will return in another year,” said Hillel, accepting a goblet of wine from the servant. “And one day I will return and I will leave no more.” He did not hear the sad loneliness in his voice but Hannah thought, He has two children yet he is disconsolate, my poor kinsman.
Aulus suddenly stood up and went into the atrium. His gesture was so abrupt that Hillel was surprised. But Hannah had begun to smile. “This is a joyful day for us, Hillel. I must not spoil my husband’s pleasure in enlightening you.” She glanced through the door. “We had hoped that the—pleasure—would be here when you arrived. There has been some delay. Aulus is becoming impatient.”
There was such an air of peace and tranquillity in the house that the pain in Hillel’s heart began to be assuaged. He watched Hannah’s deft little hands. Hannah was some several years older than himself but calm certitude and love and happiness had preserved her as no cosmetics could preserve the youth of a Roman woman. She might have been the bride at whose wedding he had danced as a boy, except for the wisdom in her eyes.
They could hear the traffic and the noise of the street beyond the high yellow walls, and Hillel saw that Hannah was listening as if to distinguish a different sound. The air was fresh, though redolent of cheese. Hillel sipped his wine and thought that his kinsman’s taste had improved. Then Hannah’s face glowed with joy and a deep dimple appeared in her dusky cheek. She hurried into the atrium, and Hillel heard the hearty sound of men’s voices. A moment later Aulus appeared, swaggering, holding the arm of a tall young officer in the resplendent uniform of a captain of the Praetorian Guard. Hannah trailed behind and though she smiled there were tears on her face.
“Behold whom we have with us, Hillel ben Borush!” cried Aulus, his chest swollen with fresh pride and happiness. “Our son, Titus Milo, returned from Rome to visit us! He arrived at Caesarea but today, and we had his message only a month ago!”
Hillel had never seen Hannah’s son, his cousin also, until now and he rejoiced with the rejoicing parents. “Shalom aleichem!” said the Roman officer, embracing Hillel and respectfully kissing his cheek. “Greetings, my dear cousin, Hillel ben Borush, of whom I have heard much.” He spoke in Aramaic.
“Shalom, Milo,” said Hillel. “It is a joyful day for us all, and I mean it from my soul.” He observed that Aulus stood with his hand on his son’s back, his soldier’s face brilliant with happiness, and again he was lonely. And then he suddenly remembered that only two nights ago Saul had embraced him, weeping, in the atrium of Shebua’s house, and his sadness lifted and he thought, I, too, have a son who is heart of my heart.
Titus Milo Platonius was much taller than his father, who was of no small stature, and of a lean compact figure with a certain masculine and military grace, with broad shoulders and narrow waist and hips and fine muscular legs beneath his soldier’s tunic. He wore tall boots of supple brown leather embroidered in gold, and a scarlet cloak fringed in gold and a belt of gold links, and gold epaulets, and he also wore leather armor and his arms were strong and brown with the I sun. His helmet of iron, overlaid with silver, was intricately engraved land set here and there with sparkling jewels, and its crest was high land noble. And he wore the famous and terrible Roman short-sword and a dagger and there were rich rings on his fingers and his leather wristlets were inlaid with gold. He was magnificent.
But Hillel looked earnestly at his face, and saw there the shape of Hannah’s, round and firm, with her dimpled chin cast in the mold of a man. He had his fathers Latin nose, fierce and powerful, his father’s direct eyes. But where Aulus’ eyes were frequently kind, Milo’s were stern and his brow had an unbending look and his cheekbones were were like sun-darkened stone. Yet, his appearance and countenance were noble and proud and compelling, and Hillel thought of Roman statues of heroes he had seen, and he knew why Aulus’ chest swelled at the sight of his son. This descendant of two warrior peoples betrayed no sign of baseness or hesitancy, and his voice rang deeply in the room, tender when speaking to his mother, genial when addressing his father. He put his helmet on a table and Hillel saw his round cropped head, with bristling brown hair and large ears. Hann
ah hovered near him, touching him softly, studying him with her maternal gaze and smiling through her tears.
“You were delayed,” said Aulus, himself pouring a silver goblet of wine for his son, and Hillel knew this was an honorable and honoring gesture from a father, for “old” Roman fathers did not serve their sons except as a ritualistic gesture.
Milo, who had been smiling down at his mother, ceased to smile. “Yes,” he said. He glanced quickly at Hillel, and his dark face became a little darker and it was perturbed deeply. Then he looked at his father. “You have not been on duty today, my father?”
“No. I was awaiting our kinsman.”
Milo said, “There has been some trouble, near the Damascus Gate today. We will speak of it later.”
“I have heard nothing,” said Aulus, but his soldier’s face quickened.
“I have ten of my men with me, Mother,” said Milo to Hannah. “They are my lieutenants. Is there fare for them before they go to their assigned quarters in the city?”
Hannah, after one fearful glance at her son’s face, hastened from the room to order food for Milo’s men, and she took with her the cheese on the table for now she would serve meat for a hearty meal.
“Tell me,” said Aulus, “now that you have dispatched your mother. What evil news is it, on this day I hoped to be joyful?”
“It was none of my affair, except that I am a Roman officer. But I am of the Praetorian Guard and it was a matter for the regular military, not mine. Nevertheless, I wished to intercede, or perhaps mitigate.” Milo’s glance again flashed to Hillel, and the strong lips became somber. “You must believe I did what I could, but the provocation was enormous.”
“Tell us,” said Aulus, and he sat down as if suddenly weary and Hillel’s heart became sick.
“The Essenes, and the Zealots,” said Milo, and he muttered a Roman oath. “Why will they not accept the immutable? They created a riot inside the Damascus Gate, and they were armed and were wild as barbarians, for they came from the desert but today, and they murdered one of your brother centurions, my father, and twenty of his men. They were then overpowered.” He stared into the depths of his goblet. “There are one hundred. They have been thrown into prison. A number of others were slain on the spot, in battle.”
“By Castor and by Pollux!” cried Aulus, and groaned, and seized his ears in his hands.
Milo’s lips tightened. “At least two hundred Jews of this city joined the rebels,” he said. “They are also in prison, those who were not slain.” He stood up, put his hands on his hips and walked slowly up and down the room and would not look again at Hillel’s agonized face.
“For Jews to kill Jews is reprehensible enough, according to the law,” said Milo. “But for Jews to kill Roman men and their officer is intolerable.”
He paused and stared down at the stone floor between his feet. “There has not been such a riot in the city for several years. In the struggle a large number of innocent women and children were injured, for the riot embraced many streets. Several shops were set afire. A Sadducee priest in his litter was dragged forth and beaten and thrown to the wall. The guard was attacked. Animals were slain. The stones ran with blood, and the gutters. I did what I could,” he repeated. “I attempted to restrain—I was reviled as a Roman swine and a murderer. I spoke to the barbarians then in Aramaic and begged them to flee. If some had not listened the prisons would hold many more than they do at this hour.”
He looked at his father straightly and his shoulders appeared to become broader.
“I am a Roman officer, of the Praetorian Guard, and I must pay my respects to Pontius Pilate for whom I have a message from my general. My allegiance is to Rome. You must believe me that I felt as if my flesh were being torn from my bones and my vitals exposed, my father.”
“Yes,” said Aulus, and averted his head.
“I carry with me not only a letter from Caesar Tiberius, whom I serve, but his ring of authority in my pouch,” said Milo. “It concerns Herod Antipas, who has been plotting with Agrippa.”
Father and son exchanged a long dark look. Hillel whispered, “My people. My unfortunate people.” His whole face trembled.
Then Milo said, “My people—also.” He sat down suddenly as if overwhelmed. “An order has gone out for the arrest of known malcontents,” he went on. “Though they are not concerned with this, discipline must be enforced at any cost, and potential rebels punished, as an example.” He hesitated. “It is very bad. The centurion is the son of the Senator Antonius Gallio, dear friend of Caesar’s.”
“Octavius Gallio!” exclaimed Aulus in desperate horror. “We were subalterns together! In the name of the gods! The old Senator will exact blood and death for this!”
“He is a veritable Caligula,” said Milo. “And mad as he. Did he not wish to murder all the Jews in the Trans Tiber only two years ago? Yes.”
“My God, my God,” said Hillel, in anguish. “What have they done, my reckless people, those wild youths burning with patriotism and love of God and country? They have destroyed themselves, and others. They have set themselves as frail battering rams of flesh against a wall of stone, but they will not desist, though they die of it. What have they accomplished, but torment and death for themselves and their brothers? Yet, I cannot find it in my soul to upbraid them, to denounce them, for if a man has no country of his own, no land which is free and his own, what has he? He is less than a beast who does not know that he has nothing.”
Aulus and Milo looked at him in compassionate silence. He said to them, “If Rome were seized by an alien force and subjugated and enslaved and robbed and oppressed, would you not rise to deliver her, though you knew it was hopeless?”
“Yes,” said Aulus. “I would give my life for my country though it were futile.”
“And I,” said Milo, “would give my life both for Rome and for Israel. Is not my state a wretched one?”
It was then that Hannah came back into the room, pushing aside a curtain to do so and they saw by her pale countenance and her shaking lips that she had heard. She carried a silver platter of cold meats in her hands. She laid it on the table, and then her gaze wandered from Hillel to her husband and then to her son.
“Is there naught we can do?” she asked.
“I did what I could,” said Milo. “In a pretense of cutting the rebels down I dispersed them and urged them to disband and flee. A number looked into my face, and then obeyed and fled.”
“But now?” said Aulus.
Milo lifted his hands then let them fall on his bare knees, and the gesture was both Jewish and eloquent.
Aulus turned suddenly to Hillel. “Shebua ben Abraham is the father of your dead wife, Deborah, and his grandson is to marry your daughter. He has a powerful influence with Pontius Pilate.”
“Shebua ben Abraham,” said Hillel in a voice heavy with loathing, and like a curse in its intonation. “When has he ever interceded for his people? Would he jeopardize his security and his luxurious life and the favor of Romans? Forgive me, Aulus, but my heart feels as if it is draining away my blood. Shebua ben Abraham!”
“Nevertheless,” said Aulus Platonius, “you must appeal to him. Desperate causes demand desperate men. Ah! I have remembered! There is an influential Jew here whom Shebua honors and courts, Joseph of Arimathaea, who, it is said, is very mysterious but more I important: very rich. He is honored by Pontius Pilate, the Procurator. I Pilate is superstitious; it is said that Joseph has told him he will participate in an event which will shake the world forever, and so Pilate believes that one day he will be named emperor of Rome. He, too, courts Joseph. Joseph is of a great family, and a pious Jew, and a Pharisee, and a member of the Sanhedrin.”
Hillel, in his agony of confusion and grief, pondered. He had heard the name before, but could not immediately remember. But he had learned enough from his wife’s kinsmen to doubt that such a powerful Jew—who had not been beggared nor persecuted by the Romans—would assist his miserable fellow Jews whom he would st
igmatize “the market rabble,” or insurrectionists or troublemakers or rioters tor the mere sake of rioting. Too, the Essenes and the Zealots had no reputation but that of violence and excessive zeal among the more powerful Jews and especially the priesthood. He began to shake his head dolorously, then paused. It would do no harm.
He said, “Aulus Platonius, and Milo, I understand why you, yourselves, as Romans, cannot appeal to any puissant man, and particularly not to Romans, in this matter. But I shall appeal both to Shebua ben Abraham and Joseph of Arimathaea. I fear that it will bring no succor to my unfortunate people. Nevertheless, I will try.”
He rose. It was then that Hannah said, “You have not dined, Hillel, and men need sustenance. Therefore, compose yourself. Is not my dear son here, who is of your blood? To leave now would be a discourtesy to him and a harm to yourself. Food can give a man courage.” This spoke Hannah bas Judah, the mother of children, and Hillel remained.
Chapter 11
AULUS PLATONIUS sent a messenger to Joseph of Arimathaea to ask for an audience for Hillel ben Borush, and in that message he conveyed the information given him by his son, Titus Milo. In the meantime Hillel set forth for his father-in-law’s house to seek help which he more than feared would not be forthcoming.