Athene's Prophecy (Gaius Claudius Scaevola Trilogy)

by Ian Miller

  "I doubt I could guess," Gaius shrugged.

  "They say he died because he had to, so he could fulfil the prophecy."

  "He could have left it until later," Gaius frowned. "It's not as if it wasn't going to happen."

  "You can't apply that Roman style of thinking to these people," Vitellius said, as he wagged a finger at his young Tribune. "The key is that he had to die, so he could rise from the dead."

  "What??" Gaius gasped.

  "You heard," Vitellius said impassively.

  "Well," Gaius said in disbelief. "That's really taking prophecy seriously." He paused, then added, "Did he?"

  "And what do you think?"

  "Nobody survives a good crucifixion," Gaius replied in a flat tone. Here, at last, was something he could state without fear of contradiction.

  "Not even the son of God?" Vitellius immediately contradicted him.

  "You're not saying . . ?"

  "His followers are," Vitellius said in a tired fashion. "They say he was seen walking around weeks later."

  "And where is he now?" Gaius suddenly realized that this issue might well be resolved with clear evidence.

  "He rose to heaven," Vitellius replied evenly, then added, "Oh, and his tomb, following the crucifixion, is empty."

  "What tomb?" Gaius frowned. Crucifixion was for extreme criminals, and the bodies were left for the scavengers.

  "Pilate seemed to know he was crucifying an innocent person . . ."

  "How do we know Pilate thought he was innocent?" Gaius interrupted.

  "Because if you believed that there was a planned revolt, wouldn't you round up his accomplices?"

  "Of course."

  "Pilate didn't. Not only did he leave this man's disciples strictly alone, he even let them continue their preaching. He specifically permitted the body of this Cristus to be given to his mother for burial."

  "That's convenient," Gaius remarked.

  "Extremely," Vitellius snorted. "The Gods alone know what was rattling around in Pilate's head."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This Cristus apparently died on the cross after a matter of hours, and was cut down on the same afternoon and the body was given to his family."

  "You mean . . ?" This was unbelievable.

  "What I mean, young Claudius, is that whatever Pilate thought he was doing, he was ambiguous. This Cristus did not receive the mallet to the legs, yet he apparently died on the cross in a matter of hours, and in a time in which crucifixion could well be survivable. His body was then given away, and it apparently disappeared into a tomb. Accordingly, the Jewish prophecy was fulfilled, no matter what. So, we have another religious movement gathering steam like nothing you've ever seen."

  "Perhaps Pilate was punishing the Jews?" Gaius offered. "By fulfilling one of their prophecies, they can no longer be waiting for it. They have to change religion, and to rub in further insult, the Messiah they have to worship is the one they detest the most."

  "Well, that didn't work," a puzzled Vitellius replied. It had never occurred to him that Pilate might have even planned this. "They're still going strong, and another religion's sprouting up."

  "Does another one matter?" Gaius asked.

  "Maybe, maybe not," Vitellius shrugged, "but it might to you. I've made a decision. This is a direct order which over-rides anything your Legate might give you, in the event he can ever sober up enough to be bothered. You'll take two cohorts, yours and the third, and march down to Judea. Once there, your job is to impress on the locals that Rome and Roman rule still exists, ensure Roman law is imposed, and try not to start a revolt. Your job is to be diplomatic but firm. Can you do it?"

  "Yes, Governor."

  "You're rather sure of yourself?" Vitellius stared at him.

  "There're only two answers," Gaius responded. "Yes, or no. I assume you didn't wish to hear the other option."

  "Correct!" Vitellius nodded, as a slight smile crossed his face. "Any questions?"

  "Supplies? What am I authorized to . . ."

  "There'll be another Tribune with you. He's had years of experience in the area. Delegate."

  "Suppose something happens," Gaius said. "What are the limits to my options?"

  "You have full operational freedom," Vitellius nodded, as if appreciating the good questions. "However, consider the responsibility that goes with that. Use your force, and you'd better be right, and you'd better win. On the other hand, run away from your responsibility, and you'll be back to Rome in no time. Understand?"

  "Yes sir!"

  "So, young Claudius, you've got to avoid starting revolts through pushing the population around, and avoid encouraging them by showing weakness. Enforce Rome's will, but try not to be a tyrant. And don't forget, you're wet around the ears, and these men are hardened, and they'll all know more than you do. You've got to take advice, get help, yet not lose authority."

  "Yes, Governor."

  The older man looked at him, then his expression softened a little, as he said, "Young Claudius, we all start somewhere. Everybody who makes it to Governor starts where you are now. Only remember, not everyone who starts where you are makes Governor. Rome will forgive certain mistakes, and if you get into trouble, there's nobody better than the Roman soldier for getting you out of it. All the same, try not to get into trouble, and try to at least look the part you've been given. Now, off with you, and good luck."

  He watched the young Tribune leave the room, then he gave a deep sigh. Another young man was starting the road to high office, or disgrace. The young man seemed so confident, as if nothing could go wrong. Well, he would soon find out! Fortunately for him, there was one important fact in his favour. Behind him would be almost fourteen hundred of the hardest men in one of the prime legions of Rome. Almost irrespective of what he did, the Jews would almost invariably back away, or suffer.

  Chapter 28

  His fellow Tribune, Lucius Vibius nodded impassively as Gaius outlined the route and the orders. Vibius was of equestrian in rank, which was why he was under Claudius' orders, but he had been a tribune for almost seven years, and he was obviously annoyed to have a novice Claudian as an immediate superior. If Vibius wished to progress, the next step would usually be election to a quaestorship, and it would not please him that as yet he had been overlooked. That he was overlooked had little to do with him; Tiberius had effectively given up administration in the last few years of his imperium, and Gaius Caesar had relied on the people immediately under him. His legate was always drunk, and Governor Vitellius seemed to be hoping the wretched Scipio would show some sort of life. All of which left Vibius exactly stationary, but he believed he was gradually earning the reputation from those who mattered that he lacked the ability to move upwards, and he made little effort to conceal is bitterness. Vibius would do his duty and would obey orders, but he was unlikely to go out of his way to save Gaius from himself. Respect would have to be earned. Vibius would know far more than he did about the region, so effectively the decisions should be Vibius', or the decisions could be worse than uninformed.

  The best outcome would be for nothing to go wrong and the best way to achieve that outcome, Gaius thought wryly, would be to become well informed. So on every day, twenty scouts would go ahead to provide a situation report on each stopover before he arrived. Today's scouts had already set off. He had also persuaded Timothy to go two days ahead in case something could be learned only by a non-Roman. Accordingly, on the morning of departure he felt everything he could have done had been done.

  When the moment came, he saw Vibius looking in his direction, as if waiting for something to go wrong. The soldiers were standing around, waiting for something to happen, making silly comments here and there. Not quite the auspicious start he had hoped for. He remembered Libo's advice: delegate. He looked towards Vibius, who was talking to the first centurion, and gave the order, "Tribune! Get the men to smarten up and commence the march!"

  Vibius' face went a little red and he scowled. The Centurion gave a sli
ght grin, and without waiting for Vibius, turned to the cohort. An order roared through the air, and suddenly the cohort snapped to attention. The men might snigger at a new Tribune while he was not watching, but the First Centurion of the first cohort was a completely different matter. You obeyed, or else. And in the Roman army, else was designed to be very unattractive.

  "Our new Tribune has noticed slackness!" the Centurion roared. "Eyes forward you!" He stormed towards one of the few new recruits embedded in the first century and roared again, "What I am doing, or what the Tribune is doing, is none of your business." He paused again, then continued, "You are the first cohort! You are supposed to be the best this legion has. You will show that you are the best!"

  He paused again, then roared, "First, leeeeffft . . turn!"

  The entire nine hundred men turned as one, followed by a near thunderclap as nine hundred hobnailed caligae smashed into the stone simultaneously.

  There was a quieter roar from the distance, and the third turned, with another crash of boots.

  "By the right, by centuries . . . quiiiick march!"

  Thump! Thump! Thump! Nine hundred boots smashed into the stone as one. The first century, as one, marched forward, the remaining men marching on the spot until it was their century's turn to march. Together with the thumps of the boots, was the noise of the armour, each piece on each soldier moving simultaneously. Whatever else happened, Gaius realized, he was not going to manage a surprise attack. On the other hand, this thumping could be heard for miles. The shear act of the cohort marching might even be heard an hour before it arrived. Plenty of time to demoralize the opposition, who would have to stand and wait.

  Gaius stared in admiration at the precision of the marching. The men would not permit him to criticize their discipline, or perhaps, more to the point, the Centurions would not. Then he realized he had to do more than stare in admiration. He sat upright, as impassively as he could as the centuries moved out, and when the last of the first and the first of the third began to move, he nudged his horse's flanks and began to ride slowly alongside them.

  He was so proud as he rode along on what was quite a splendid horse, with a new uniform, the insignia proclaiming his rank and the thunderbolt emblem of the Fulminata. That he would take with him forever. And he had independent command. Everything he had ever wanted! Perhaps he would get the chance to deploy troops in battle! Anything could happen. It was just when he was feeling so proud of himself that he glanced down to the men marching slightly behind him. One was laughing, then, seeing Claudius' glance, he suddenly looked embarrassed. They were laughing at him, Gaius realized.

  His pride was pricked. For an instant he was furious, then he realized that that response was the quickest way to end his military career. He had to earn the men's respect. He glanced back, impassively watching the embarrassment and almost signs of fear, then he gave a forced chuckle and winked at the man, before waving a finger and riding on. He had to find something useful to do and to stop looking like such a prat!

  Easier said than done, he found as the days passed. The fact was, the legion, or at least this part of it, marched quite well without him. He had absolutely nothing to do, except ride up and down, and listen to reports which told him little more than where they were, which he knew already. Vibius had arranged the places where they would camp, and these were largely those traditionally used on such a march. There was no reason to change these, and after decades of occupation, the legions would know where the good sites were.

  One thing he did do was to look after his own horse. If the road looked awkward for the horse's feet, he would dismount and march. He made sure his own horse was fed well, and by so doing made sure there was adequate food for all the horses. While camps were being set, he would supervise proceedings, more so that he could become familiar with the procedure than to offer anything, then he would brush down his horse, and ensure it was fed, watered, and secure.

  This was his first step towards earning respect. He could easily order anyone to look after his horse, and it would be done. By personally looking after his own horse, he gave the message that he truly valued his horse, and of that, the men approved.

  He would then wander through the camp to make himself known, and around mealtimes, he would check the quality of the food. At first this annoyed Vibius, but later he rather grudgingly realized that by making sure he could not take the shortcuts with food purchases, Gaius was ensuring the men got properly fed. Worse, the men had realized this, and Gaius was becoming more popular with them.

  The march into Judea was at first uneventful. They were not welcome, but then that was to be expected. Although the lands had been conquered since Pompey's time, an underlying problem remained. Rome believed in religious tolerance; any religion could be worshipped, provided the worshippers gave everybody else the same rights. Here, the basic premise seemed to be, thou shalt believe what I believe, for I am right and everything else is wrong. The cohorts marched on to surly stares. They were not welcome, but nothing was done to force the unwelcome to stay.

  Then, a little after the middle of one day, there in the distance were the roofs of Jerusalem. He called for Vibius and ordered him to have the men camp in the usual spot outside the city, not on religious ground, then he ordered the decurio and six men from the first turma of cavalry to accompany him as he rode into the city.

  The first call, not unnaturally, was to the Tribune of the cohort stationed there, where he requested directions to the religious head. That would be the Temple, he was told, but he should not enter.

  Gaius rode towards the entrance to the Temple, dismounted well in advance of reaching it, instructed the decurio to look after his horse, then he marched towards the Temple gate. The sight he saw amazed him. Everywhere there was commerce. To the right were animals, awaiting the butchers further in. Blood and dust somehow did not seem deeply religious.

  A young, clearly nervous young priest approached him. Gaius smiled inwardly as he recognized what the priest must be thinking: blasphemers must not defile the Temple, but the Roman army was not the easiest organization to halt. "Can I help you?"

  "I wish to speak with Jonathon," Gaius explained. Jonathon was Caiaphas' replacement. "If you wish, I shall wait here, or anywhere else you feel suitable."

  "There's a seat over by the tree," the young priest said, pointing to a tree in what could best be described as a forecourt away from the Temple.

  "I shall wait," Gaius nodded. He walked to the seat, sat down, and watched activities. Processions of Jews came and went, and Gaius smiled as some almost seemed to wish to conceal what they were carrying from him.

  He had to wait and wait. Presumably this Jonathon was trying to make a point. It was a point that might be remembered one day. Then he saw his young priest, with a stubby man with enormous robes embroidered with gold, and a grey voluminous beard. The young priest pointed. Gaius sat where he was, and took a little perverse satisfaction from the ill look on Jonathon's face as he finally decided he had to walk over.

  "I am Jonathon," the older priest nodded, as he dismissed the younger man.

  "I am Gaius Claudius Scaevola, Tribune of the first cohort of the Fulminata." Gaius said softly. "I have come here to inform you that I have two cohorts that are marching through Judea. They are not here for any particular reason, other than as an exercise, and I intend to keep them away from any place that you nominate as unsuitable."

  "The vicinity of this Temple is very unsuitable," Jonathon started.

  "And the men are camped outside Jerusalem," Gaius countered.

  "I see," came the tired response. "What do you want?"

  "I want to avoid a confrontation with undesirable consequences."

  "I shall see that the word is passed on, and if you give me the route you intend to take."

  Gaius quietly outlined the route, and how long he would be in any place, subject to supplies being available for purchase.

  "I shall ensure that people who might wish to sell you suppli
es know of your route," Jonathon said, then added, "but what do you want?"

  "I have told you," Gaius said quietly as he stood up. "There are no hidden agendas. I want you to let the Jewish people know that as long as we are left undisturbed, so shall they be." He then nodded, and turned to walk away, leaving an expression of almost disbelief on Jonathon's face. Yes, he thought to himself, Jonathon had expected to have to pay for peace and quiet, an observation that should be stored away for future reference.

  * * *

  To general consternation amongst the troops, they broke camp as soon as further supplies could be arranged. While the men wanted to drink Jerusalem dry, the last thing Gaius needed was some religious riot induced by drunken legionnaires, nor did he wish to see a drunken brawl between his men and the auxiliaries of the local cohorts. The heavy infantry thought of themselves as Romans, although only a few were, and they spoke Latin. Most of the auxiliaries were Greek, and it would be too much to expect that there would be no boasting, no challenges, and sooner or later, no punch-ups.

  Gaius had spoken to his troops. There was no doubt they were better than the auxiliaries, (the men's eyes lit up) so there would be no need to prove it (understanding struck). There would be no drunken brawls. That was a direct order. There had been, he understood, some discussion amongst the troops as to whether he was a soft touch on discipline. Break this order and find out! Claudians had a reputation for being a little on the rigorous side when it was time for punishment, and he was not about to let the reputation of the gens down. That had had some effect. The men knew about the fear Tiberius had spread around, and word of Little Boots was also spreading. While the Tribune was clearly on a far lower level, there was only one side who would suffer if he went a little overboard when punishing a soldier who had clearly disobeyed orders.

  The men ceased making the occasional grumble an hour after Jerusalem had passed from view. They passed through dusty village after dusty village. Gaius read reports about the local conditions, but there was nothing that required attention. The Jews were unhappy, but they went on with their lives. From Gaius' point of view, unless someone did something that was clearly unacceptable, he would do nothing. As it happened, this was Vibius' general policy when he had been sent here previously. Gaius rather felt that Vibius was hoping he would make a fool of himself by being over-active, but he said nothing.