The Zealot

by Simon Scarrow

‘We’ll leave you here,’ Macro announced. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘Only thanks to you, Centurion.’ The merchant bowed his head, and then looked up awkwardly. ‘The other merchants and I wish to offer you a gift, in thanks for saving our property and, perhaps, our lives.’

  ‘No,’ Macro replied firmly. He was not going down that route. He’d not end up like Postumus and most of the officers of the Second Illyrian. ‘We were just doing our duty. No gift is necessary. There’ll be no more bribes paid to the Roman soldiers protecting travellers along this route. That’s finished with. I give you my word on that.’

  The merchant looked pained. ‘You do not understand, Centurion. It is our custom to offer a gift. If you do not accept, we are shamed.’

  Macro looked at them and scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Shamed, eh?’

  The merchant nodded his head vigorously.

  Macro felt irritated by the situation. He was not one to tolerate the customs of other cultures easily and did not know how to get out of this predicament. Then an idea that he had been brooding over for the past few days came back to him and provided a very neat and useful solution.

  ‘I will not accept a gift,’ he repeated. ‘But I will require a favour of you in the near future. When the time comes, where may I find you gentlemen?’

  ‘When we have concluded our business here we will be returning to Petra, Centurion. We have to make arrangements for the next caravan. We should be there for a month, maybe two.’

  ‘I’ll send word to you in Petra, then.’

  Macro watched as the merchants returned to the long stream of camels swaying up the slope towards the gate of Gerasa. He smiled. If his plan was workable at all, then the merchants were going to prove vital to its success.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The day after Centurion Parmenion’s force left Bushir they marched through the hilly landscape around Herodion, keeping close watch on the terraced olive groves that climbed the slopes on either side. This was the kind of country that favoured the light forces that Bannus had at his disposal, and Cato could well imagine the damage that a small force armed with slings and javelins might inflict on the Roman column. Fortunately there was no sign of the brigands and at midday they reached the large village of Beth Mashon, surrounded by dusty clumps of palm trees. Their approach was spotted by a handful of children tending their goats, and as they drove their bleating charges out of the path of the soldiers one of them raced ahead to warn the villagers.

  Cato glanced at Parmenion. ‘Do you think we should deploy the men?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘In case they’re preparing a surprise.’

  ‘Who do you think we’re up against, Cato?’ Parmenion asked wearily. ‘Some crack Parthian troops, or something?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  Parmenion laughed bitterly. ‘There’s nothing in there apart from the usual peasants. Believe me. And right now they’ll be scared as hell and hoping that we don’t add to their difficulties. Fat chance of that, of course. About the only time outsiders ever visit places like this is when they’ve come to collect the taxes or make some other trouble.’

  Cato looked closely at the veteran. ‘Sounds to me like you’re on their side.’

  ‘Their side?’ Parmenion raised his eyebrows. ‘They don’t have a side. They’re too bloody poor to have a side. They have nothing. Look around you, Cato. This is about as close to desolation as you can get. These people are scraping a living off the dust. For what? So that they can pay their taxes, their tithes, their debts. And in the end when the tax-farmers, temple priests and bankers have had their cut, and there’s nothing left, they have to sell their children. They’re desperate, and desperate people having nothing left to lose but their hope. When that’s gone, who do they go for?’ He smacked himself on the chest. ‘Us. Then we have to go round butchering the poor bastards until they’re sufficiently cowed again to let the same old parasites resume squeezing the survivors for every last shekel they can get.’

  He took a deep breath and made to continue, but shook his head in frustration and clamped his mouth shut.

  ‘Got that off your chest, then?’ Cato said quietly.

  Parmenion glared back at him and then smiled. ‘Sorry. It’s just that I’ve served here too long. And it’s always been the same.’ He gestured towards the village. ‘It’s a wonder they stick it. Anywhere else the people would be in open rebellion by now.’

  ‘They are,’ Cato replied. ‘I thought that was why we’re out here. To deal with Bannus.’

  Parmenion pursed his lips. ‘Bannus? He’s just the latest in a long line of bandits. Soon as they get a large enough following they claim to be the mashiah, here to deliver the people of Judaea from our clutches.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve yet to see one who wasn’t the mashiah. And still they come … I tell you, I’m sick of it all. I hate this place. I hate these people and their poverty and I hate what it does to them. I’m counting the days to my discharge. Then I can leave this hole for good.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘As far from here as I can. Somewhere with good soil, and water, where a man can grow crops without breaking his back. I hear Britain’s the place to take up a land grant these days.’

  Cato laughed. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘Yes. Two years in the Second Legion, with Macro.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  Cato thought for a moment. ‘In most ways it’s as different from Judaea as you can get. A good spot for that farm of yours, Parmenion, but the people are just as unwelcoming. They’ll not bend to our ways very soon, I imagine. It’s funny, here I am at the other end of the empire and it seems we’re making the same old mistakes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘These Judaeans. They have a religion that will not bend, will not compromise. And one Roman procurator after another is doomed to resort to force to make sure the Judaeans accept Roman rule on our terms. It’s the same story in Britain, with the druids. As long as they hold to the old ways and we insist on the new, then there’s little chance of long-term peace in either province. Not a rosy outlook on either front, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You may be right.’ Parmenion shrugged his shoulders wearily. ‘Seems that the people who run the Empire are never going to learn. Anyway,’ he glanced up at the nearest houses, ‘here we are. Better get on with it.’

  The column entered the edge of the village and Cato felt the familiar chill of tension tighten round his spine as he glanced down each side of the narrow street that wound through the blocks of sun-bleached houses. It followed the same pattern as all the other villages he had seen since arriving in Judaea. It was comprised of several households clustered around courtyards, where the inhabitants shared a cistern, an oven, a grain mill, an olive press and the other facilities which made them self-sufficient. Most of the houses were single-storey, but some had internal stairs that led up to the roofs where sun shelters were erected. Where the plaster was cracked and chunks had fallen away Cato could see the basalt blocks beneath, with mud and pebble mortar to make them weatherproof. From its size Cato guessed that as many as a thousand people lived in the village, but when he mentioned this to Parmenion the veteran scoffed.

  ‘More than that. Much more. The families at the bottom of the pile live pretty much cheek by jowl. Land is in short supply. When a father passes it on, it is divided equally amongst his sons, so each generation had less and less land to work, and cannot afford to build their own homes.’

  The column emerged from the winding street into a broad paved square in front of a large building with a domed roof. Parmenion summoned one of his men and handed over the reins.

  ‘That’s the synagogue,’ Parmenion muttered as he dismounted. ‘That’s where I’ll find the priest. He’ll be the headman, or at least someone who knows him. Optio!’ he bellowed back towards his men and a junior officer came trotting over and saluted.

 
; ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You can pass the word for the men to stand down. But have detachments posted on each street leading out of the square. A section on each should do. Got that?’

  The optio nodded and turned away to carry out his orders. Cato slid off the back of his horse and handed his reins to Parmenion’s groom.

  ‘Mind if I come with you?’

  Parmenion stared at him. ‘If you really want.’ Then he took a deep breath and strolled over to the door of the synagogue, with Cato following at his shoulder. The door opened inwards as he approached and a tall man in a long black tunic cautiously emerged. He wore a red skullcap and long, dark locks hung down over his shoulders.

  ‘Who are you?’ Parmenion asked.

  ‘Sir, I am the priest.’ The man stiffened and tried not to show any fear of the soldier. ‘What do you want of us, Roman?’

  ‘Water for my men and horses. Then I need to speak to the village elders. Have them summoned immediately.’

  The priest’s expression darkened as he endured the centurion’s peremptory tone. ‘The water is there in our public cistern.’ He pointed across the square to a low stone trough that rose knee high from the ground. ‘You men and beasts can help themselves. As for the village elders – that will not be easy, Roman. Some of them are still at the festival in Jerusalem. Some are out tending to their land.’

  Parmenion raised his hand to cut the priest off. ‘Just get as many as you can. We’ll wait in the square. But be quick about it.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can.’ The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘But tell me, for what purpose do you want them?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Parmenion replied curtly. ‘Now fetch them.’

  The priest stared at him for a moment before he nodded, closed the door of the synagogue behind him, and made his way into one of the alleys leading off the square. Once he was out of sight Parmenion relaxed. He sat down on the edge of a stone trough and took a drink from his canteen. After a moment Cato followed suit and they sat and watched as the soldiers slumped down in whatever shade they could find and talked quietly. A few of the more curious were having a look round the square but when one of them reached for the synagogue door Parmenion snapped at him, ‘Not in there, Canthus! Keep away from the building.’

  The man saluted and backed off at once.

  ‘What’s so special about their place of worship?’ Cato asked.

  ‘Nothing, to our eyes. Just a square meeting room. A few old scrolls in a box and that’s it. But to them?’ Parmenion shook his head. ‘You have no idea quite how touchy they can be. I’ve seen more than one riot kick off when one of our lads has overstepped the mark.’ He suddenly looked hard at Cato. ‘No offence meant, Cato, but you’ve not been here long enough to know the ropes. So watch what you say and do around the locals.’

  ‘I will.’

  A short while later the priest returned with a small crowd of villagers, mostly older men, almost all of them wearing long shirts and skullcaps. They glanced round nervously at the soldiers filling the square in front of the synagogue as they followed their priest towards the two Roman officers. Parmenion eyed them coldly, and muttered to Cato, ‘I’ll talk. You watch, listen and learn.’

  The village elders and Parmenion exchanged a brief bow of the head and then Parmenion addressed the priest. ‘I need to talk to them somewhere cooler. Where can we go?’

  ‘Not in our synagogue.’

  ‘I assumed that,’ Parmenion said shortly. ‘So?’

  The priest gestured towards one of the alleys. ‘Our threshing room will do. Come with me.’

  ‘All right.’ Parmenion turned to Cato and spoke softly. ‘Get two sections and follow me.’

  The younger officer nodded, and as Parmenion went off, surrounded by the local people, Cato felt a twinge of anxiety for the man. Even though he had implied that the villagers were quite submissive, it still seemed risky to go with them alone. He shrugged the feeling off. Parmenion knew these people well enough to know how far he could trust them. Calling on the nearest men, Cato formed them up, and marched quickly to catch up with Parmenion and the village elders who were just disappearing into one of the alleys. Cato found the threshing room a short distance down the alley, where a long sheltered space lined the thoroughfare. Inside, the village elders were sitting on the ground facing Centurion Parmenion, who glanced round as Cato and the soldiers arrived on the scene.

  ‘Form them up along the side there.’

  Once the men were in place Parmenion began to address the locals in Greek. Without any kind of preamble he gave notice of Prefect Scrofa’s threat to punish any person who offered any aid or shelter to Bannus and his brigands. The locals listened with sullen expressions as some whispered a translation in Aramaic to those that had little or no Greek. They listened calmly, having often heard such threats from Roman officials, and before them the representatives of Herod Agrippa. As ever, they were caught between the rapacious forces of authority on the one hand, and on the other their instinctive loyalty to the outlaws who tended to be from the same peasant stock as themselves.

  Parmenion concluded by reminding them that Rome expected them not only to withhold aid from the brigands, but also to actively help her soldiers in locating and destroying Bannus and his men. Anything less would be considered proof of abetting the criminals and the punishment would be swift and severe. Parmenion paused, and drew a breath before he continued with the most contentious aspect of his orders.

  ‘In order to ensure your co-operation in these matters Centurion Scrofa has instructed me to take five hostages from your village.’ He quickly indicated some men sitting nearest to Cato and the soldiers. ‘They’ll do. We’ll take them. Put your men round them.’

  As soon as Parmenion’s words had been spoken a chorus of angry voices filled the threshing room and several of the locals jumped to their feet and approached him, shouting into his face. Cato’s hand slipped down to the handle of his sword, but the veteran officer stood his ground, and suddenly swept his arms open, causing the nearest villagers to cringe back.

  ‘That will do!’ he bellowed. ‘I will have quiet in here!’

  The villagers subsided, grudgingly, and the priest spoke up for them. He indicated the five hostages. ‘You cannot take these men.’

  ‘I can, and I will. I have my orders. They will be well treated, and returned safely the moment Bannus is destroyed.’

  ‘But that could take many days, months!’

  ‘Perhaps. But if you co-operate we can finish Bannus off sooner rather than later.’

  ‘But we know nothing of Bannus!’ the priest protested, struggling to contain his rage. ‘You cannot hold our people in this manner. We’ll protest to the procurator.’

  ‘You can do what you like, but those men are coming with me.’

  ‘Who will run their businesses and tend their crops while they are gone?’

  ‘That’s your problem, priest, not mine.’ Parmenion turned to Cato. ‘Get ’em on their feet. We’re heading back to the column.’

  The five men were pinioned between two lines of soldiers as they headed back to the square. The priest and the other village elders bustled after the Roman troops, shouting and gesticulating angrily. Parmenion ignored them, and Cato tried to follow his lead, facing straight ahead as the other soldiers tramped along at his back. When they emerged into the square the soldiers were already looking their way, to see what the shouting was about. Parmenion directed his men to take the prisoners over to where the groom was holding his horse and Cato’s. The priest hurried alongside, still protesting that the men’s families would be ruined in their absence. His words had no effect and Parmenion ignored him as he bellowed out orders for his officers to get the column ready to move.

  The priest suddenly stopped shouting and stared past Parmenion, towards the synagogue, and let out a shrill cry of outrage as he started to run across the square. Cato, startled, turned to look and saw that the door to the synagogue was open, and that men w
ere moving in the gloomy interior.

  ‘Shit.’ Parmenion slammed his fist against his thigh. ‘The fools!’

  He ran after the priest, and Cato followed. Inside was a square space with sloped stone seating and a large pillar in each corner to support the dome above. At the far end was a wooden cupboard, round which several soldiers had clustered. The doors of the cupboard were open and the men were rifling through the scrolls stacked inside, pulling them out and letting them roll across the flagstones as they searched for anything of value.

  ‘Get away from there!’ Parmenion shouted. But it was too late. The priest flew across the floor, and snatched a scroll from the hand of the man closest to the cupboard. Then he screamed in rage and slapped the soldier, who Cato realised was the same man who had approached the synagogue earlier. Before Parmenion or Cato could react, Canthus slammed his fist into the priest’s face, knocking him down, and then scooped up the scroll, and let it spool out over the floor. Looking down at the priest, he spat and tore the scroll in half.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Parmenion ran over to the group and thrust the soldier aside. ‘You bloody fool! You don’t know what you’ve done!’

  The soldier stared back at his superior and then indicated the priest. ‘Sir, you saw him! The bastard slapped me.’

  ‘Nothing compared to what I’ll do to you. Get out of here and form up. All of you!’

  The men scrambled away. On the ground the priest sat up, rubbing his jaw, then froze as his eyes beheld the torn scroll. He uttered a terrible shriek and clawed his way across to the scroll and picked it up with a look of horror. Then he raced for the door and cried out to the rest of the village.

  ‘We’ve got problems,’ Parmenion said quietly. ‘We have to get away from here, as soon as possible. Come on!’

  The two officers hurried to the door. Outside the auxiliaries had paused to look round at the priest who was shrieking hysterically. Parmenion glowered at them. ‘What the hell are you waiting for? I gave orders to form up!’

  The men started guiltily and moved back towards their standards, hurriedly picking up their packs and equipment, while the priest continued to cry out. The village elders looked inside the synagogue and then turned back, aghast, and joined in the wailing. Cato turned to Parmenion. ‘Should I shut them up?’