With stabbing pain at every move of his left leg, Vespasian swung his body over the wall and felt his good leg hit a rung; he took one last glance at the interior of the town, hoping for a clue as to how to succeed in taking it, when a familiar figure bounded up onto the walkway, helmeted and shielded with captured equipment. ‘Today you run, Vespasian,’ Yosef shouted, ‘and so it will be tomorrow and the next. We shall hold out until the relief that has been promised arrives from Jerusalem. Mark my words well; we shall hold.’ He threw himself at the optio as other defenders took on the two legionaries, battering them down in a flurry of blows too numerous to parry all.
‘That will be enough to give heart to every one of my people to rise against Rome,’ Vespasian heard Yosef shout as he hopped down the ladder. ‘Mark me well, Vespasian!’
Vespasian looked back up at the wall as he was carried away, his arms slung about two men’s shoulders, to see the optio leap down and Yosef run forward to place his hands upon the wall and bellow: ‘We’ll break your women’s hearts.’
Vespasian, vowing to promote the optio to centurion if he survived, turned away to see the cohorts retreating in good order and swore to himself to do everything within his power to prove Yosef wrong. He could not afford for the leader of the Jewish rebels to be right, for with every day that passed without the fall of Jotapata the rebellion would find strength. He did not have enough time to allow Yosef’s prediction to come true.
CHAPTER IV
‘WHAT ARE THEY doing?’ Magnus asked as he and Vespasian surveyed the walls of Jotapata at sunrise on the twenty-second day of the siege, having endured a night of intense curiosity caused by the sound of construction that had come from the town.
Vespasian was as nonplussed as his old friend. ‘I can only assume that they think that erecting ox-skins all along the wall will act as a screen stopping the towers from disgorging their cargo.’ He looked at the four massive siege engines taking shape behind the earthworks that had grown every day to protect the legionaries from the numerous sallies that the Jews had made to try to halt their construction. ‘Well, it won’t; we’ll just crush them down when we lower the ramps. Titus assures me that they’ll be ready in five days, once the wood arrives, that is.’
And that had been the problem throughout the construction of the siege towers: wood. The entire countryside for a ten-mile radius had been scoured for trees and every one had been cut down, but that had proved insufficient so the search had been widened and for a further ten miles the landscape had been ravaged. Titus had now been forced to send wooding parties out thirty miles, more than a day’s travel, and therefore the supplying of the works had slowed considerably. The longer supply line inevitably meant that the foraging parties were liable to ambush from the numerous bands of rebels roaming the countryside, so larger and larger units had to be sent out to ensure the precious timber arrived safely and without too much loss of life. Vespasian’s patience was being sorely tried.
The day after his leg had rendered him incapacitated he had ordered another assault on the walls, this time following a fire attack in the hope that the extinguishing of the flames within the town would keep sufficient numbers away from the walls to force an entry. It was not to be: Yosef had let the buildings burn once they caught light, dousing only the infant fires so as not to use too much of his precious water. The attack had stalled in much the same way as the previous day. The two following days produced the same result and so Vespasian had been forced to admit that an escalade was not the way to bring Jotapata down. A full siege and all the work it entailed would be the only way, and he had cursed, for he knew that the time that it would take to bring it to a successful conclusion would be time for the radicals in the province to whip up more of their countrymen into revolt and the result would be more Roman deaths. And all the time he kept patrols roaming the south in search of the relief force that Yosef had promised was on its way; so far there had been no sight of it. Indeed, Titus’ informants in Jerusalem had claimed that there was much faction fighting in the city between the radicals and more moderate factions who wished to negotiate with Rome and saw Yosef and his men as an impediment to that. So far, it seemed, the moderates had the upper hand but who knew how long it would be until violence erupted and the radicals seized control and a regime put in place that was more favourable to Yosef.
Yosef, for his part, had done all within his power to disrupt Vespasian’s preparations, setting fire to the towers on a few occasions – one time destroying them entirely – and it had not been until the earthworks had been completely dug across the promontory, sealing off the town, that the raids had stopped and building could go on uninterrupted. Yet, despite the completion of the earthworks and the patrols around the base of the precipitous hill upon which Jotapata perched, Vespasian still knew that there was a deal of coming and going into the town as Yosef had read aloud, from the battlements, letters of support from the radical factions in Jerusalem and other Jewish cities. That was bad enough because it meant that Yosef was getting letters out as well, telling his side of the story and providing valuable propaganda for the revolt. But it was Vespasian’s fear that Yosef would escape that kept him searching for the secret way in and out of the town, so far without success.
Vespasian leant on the stick he had been forced to use to protect his weakened leg as he turned and started walking back to the camp that he would have wished to have vacated half a month ago. ‘If Traianus hadn’t captured Japhra I would be in an even worse position and looking very silly; my despatches back to Rome can’t help but fail to conceal my lack of progress.’
‘Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry too much; you ain’t going to be replaced,’ Magnus said with a certainty that surprised Vespasian.
‘What makes you so sure about that?’
‘Well, it stands to reason, don’t it, sir?’
‘Does it?’
‘Course it does: you were sent here because Corbulo had been too successful for Nero’s liking so he forced him into suicide. As far as Nero’s concerned at the moment, just because you ain’t done so well is no reason to replace you. I know you decided to try and finish this thing as quickly as possible because I watched you make that decision, but I would say that this delay has made you more secure in your appointment than if you’d made a roaring success of the whole thing.’
Vespasian shrugged as he limped back up the hill. ‘Perhaps you’re right, Magnus. Still, at least Traianus had the good sense to invite Titus to lead the final assault on Japhra; our family has had a bit of glory thrown at it, as I could legitimately claim in the despatch that it had been all Titus’ work. I owe Traianus.’
‘He knows; that’s why he did it.’
Vespasian smiled, nodding. ‘I know he does; he wants the plunder from one of the bigger cities. I’ll probably have to give him Tiberias.’
‘No harm in doing that, sir, seeing as the religious fanatics destroyed all the statuary and artwork in the city because it offended their religious sensibilities. You’ll make enough out of Jerusalem; that’s where the gold is.’
‘If we ever get there.’
‘We will; it’s just going to take longer than we thought.’
*
‘A ram?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Titus said, looking very pleased with himself as he stood before Vespasian’s desk in his private quarters.
Vespasian put down his stylus, giving his son his full attention. ‘But I thought there weren’t any trees big enough in this gods-forsaken country.’
‘I sent a couple of auxiliary centuries north to the cedar woods near Tyre. They’ve hauled a monster tree all the way back; a messenger just arrived saying that they’re a day away; they should arrive tomorrow evening.’
Vespasian’s eyes lit up with hope and, leaning on the desk, he pushed himself up from his campaign chair. ‘How long will it take you to mount it on a swing and make a protective roof?’
‘Once it’s here, two days, if I can take the timber from one o
f the siege towers.’
‘Do it; use two of the towers if necessary. Those walls are old; they won’t stand a long battering. With a breach and two towers on the walls we’ll finally get in. Get on with it, Son.’
‘We’ll be ready in the morning four days from now.’
‘Oh, and Titus,’ Vespasian said as his son turned to go.
‘Yes, Father?’
‘Well done.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘You’re very lucky to have him,’ Caenis said, looking up from the letter she had been reading at her desk.
‘We’re very lucky to have him,’ Vespasian said, sitting back down.
‘Rome’s very lucky to have him,’ Caenis corrected. ‘He has to be the most promising man of his generation; which is hardly surprising, seeing as he is your son. He’ll make a fine heir; at least you have one.’
‘One? I’ve got two, as you know.’
Caenis pointed at the letter. ‘It’s from Nerva.’
‘Nerva! What’s he doing writing to you?’
‘He’s not; he’s writing to both of us, he just sent it to me. I think he believes that I’ll be able to make what he has to say more palatable.’
‘Domitian?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Vespasian sighed and wondered how he could be cursed with such an antithesis to Titus. ‘Go on, then.’
Caenis took a deep breath and looked at Vespasian apologetically. ‘Well, I’m afraid that Domitian has refused to take up the military tribune post that Nerva has managed to procure for him with the First Adiutrix; he says that it’s beneath him as he is the son of the general commanding the Roman forces in Judaea and he should, therefore, be serving there with his father like his older brother is doing.’
‘Titus is the legate of the Fifteenth Apollinaris, not some snotty-nosed little thin-stripe tribune.’
‘And that’s another complaint that Domitian has: he says that being a thin-stripe is an insult to his rank and he should be a thick-stripe tribune and—’
‘Be technically the second in command of whatever legion he’s attached to! Minerva’s tits! Can you imagine it? Someone who has never considered anyone else in the world other than himself, potentially looking after the welfare of five thousand men if the legate should manage to get himself killed. Who does he think he is?’
‘He thinks he’s your son.’
‘And I am just a New Man with a Sabine burr; a first generation senator. What expectations can he conjure from that?’
Caenis put the letter down and looked at Vespasian with exaggerated patience. ‘You are the commander of the East; the most powerful man out here. If we Romans didn’t hate the idea of kings, you would be compared to one because you are in effect the King of Rome’s East. Domitian is not stupid; whatever else you might think he is. No, he’s far from that and he can smell the possibilities for his family and wants to be a part of that. He’s jealous, Vespasian, face it. He’s jealous of Titus and he can’t understand why you haven’t asked him to come out here and serve with his brother and you.’
‘Because I know what he’ll do: he’ll act as if he was in charge of everyone, refuse to take orders from anyone but me; and then he’ll only do that grudgingly. He’ll be a danger to the command structure and morale of the whole army because he’d have an even more overinflated view of his own importance, which is exactly why I asked Nerva to get him a posting with a legion where he knows nobody.’
‘I know that, my love, you know that and Nerva knows that, but does Domitian? Perhaps you should have been honest with him and told him your reasons for excluding him.’
‘Domitian wouldn’t understand it even if I did. No, I’ll just have to write to him and command him as his father to take the post that Nerva is offering.’
‘I don’t think that will work.’
Vespasian looked downcast, his expression more tense than usual. ‘I know; he very rarely does what he’s told.’
‘It’s not so much that, my love.’ Caenis looked at the letter again.
‘Well?’
‘Well, Nerva says here that, the day before he wrote, he tried ordering Domitian, in your name, to take up the post, as did your brother. But it was no good as it is too late, the situation’s changed and Domitian says that whatever happens he refuses to leave Rome at all. Ever.’
Vespasian struggled to understand the concept. ‘Ever? Why? What could possibly make him think such an absurd thing?’
‘It seems that he’s fallen in love.’
‘Love! The only person he loves is himself.’
‘And Corbulo’s youngest daughter.’
‘Domitia Longina? I admit that I once entertained the possibility of their getting married but put off all thought of the match once Corbulo had committed suicide. He hasn’t even met her so how can he be in love with her?’
‘She got married to Lucius Aelius Plautius Alienus.’
‘Even more reason for him not to be in love with her.’
‘Domitian was at the wedding and fell in love with her at first sight.’
This was too much for Vespasian; he slammed his fist onto the desk. ‘Well, he’ll just have to fall out of love with her, won’t he! I’ll not have him ruining the chance of a career by sulking about in Rome drooling after another man’s wife. He’s sixteen! How can he be in love at that age? It’s ridiculous!’
‘You were sixteen when we met.’
‘Pah!’ Vespasian spluttered, shaking his head. ‘That was different.’
‘In what way?’
‘Firstly, you weren’t another man’s wife.’
‘I wasn’t any man’s wife; I was a slave.’
‘Well, at least you were available.’
‘I’ve never been available to you, either as a slave or after Antonia manumitted me, as it’s forbidden for a senator to marry a freedwoman. If that law didn’t exist and I had really been available then we’d be married now and I would have had your children and not Flavia. So you can’t argue that, as Alienus might die or divorce her and then she would be available to Domitian. No, the only way it was different is that you didn’t refuse to go and serve as a military tribune in Thracia for four years after we met. If anything, it would seem to me that Domitian is far more in love with Domitia Longina than you were with me as he’s refusing to go.’
‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say.’
‘Is it? Well, my love, all I mean to point out is that you shouldn’t dismiss Domitian’s professed feelings out of hand just because you don’t think him capable of them.’
‘All right, imagine he really is in love: is that any reason to disobey his father and refuse to do his duty to his family and to Rome?’
‘Of course it isn’t.’ Caenis paused in thought and then looked back at Vespasian. ‘But consider this: Domitian is cunning and devious, by your own admission, so if things develop and Galba does go into revolt at Vindex’s instigation and a civil war is triggered, where would it be best to have Domitian? In a legion fighting for one contender or another without much say in the matter; no more than an insignificant tribune, prey to the political inclination of the legate or the populist sentiments of the rank and file. Of absolutely no use to you whatsoever and quite likely dead in his first battle—’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’d find a way of avoiding going into battle.’
‘Stop putting him down at every opportunity.’ Caenis raised her hand as Vespasian went to argue. ‘And quite likely dead in his first battle, or would you prefer him to be in Rome where he may at least be of some use to us should things develop in our favour? Think about it, Vespasian. Perhaps it’s not worth arguing the point with him on this occasion as he will, no doubt, defy you anyway.’
‘Whereas if I was ordering him to stay in Rome?’
Caenis smiled. ‘There you have it: he’d be running off to the legions whether he was in love with Domitia Longina or not. No, much better to save the argument and have him somewhere where he may ju
st be of use one day.’
‘And let him think that it was all his own idea.’
Caenis walked over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘How well you know your own son.’
‘How true, my love; the trouble is that I don’t much like what I know.’
‘Father, come quickly,’ Titus said, running back into Vespasian’s quarters. ‘We can hear the sound of construction.’
‘Construction?’
‘Yes, from behind the ox-hide screens.’
Vespasian followed Titus out into the camp, a sea of leather tents swathed in the smoke of thousands of cooking fires as each eight-man contubernium not on duty prepared the evening meal. The smell of crisping pork – an outrage to the Jews – filled the air and woodsmoke stung the eyes as they walked, at speed, along the Via Praetoria to the main gate facing Jotapata. The centurion of the watch saluted and his sentries snapped to attention as they passed through the Porta Praetoria.
Titus returned the salute. ‘Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Primus Pilus Barea.’
Barea stood at ease. ‘It was a patrol that first heard it, sir. They were on the other side of the siege works, but you can hear them well enough from here if I get a bit of hush. They’re still at it, sir; I can definitely hear hammering and chipping as if they’re shaping blocks.’ He strode forward, bearing down on the earthworks just a few score yards away filled with men on duty in case of a sortie from the town. ‘Shut the fuck up for the general, maggots! Next man who so much as farts will spend a month in the latrines as my personal arse-sponge!’
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