‘We are not at war with Rome. They are not our enemy.’
‘Yet they will be. Rome is not simply another kingdom. It is a contagion. They will never cease to covet the lands of others. If they would have my land, poor as it is, as a province of their empire, then how do you imagine they would look upon the wealth of Nabataea?’
The chamberlain did not reply. He spared Cato and Macro a quick glance before returning his attention to Bannus. ‘What evidence do you have that Rome has any designs on Nabataea?’
‘Evidence?’ Bannus smiled. ‘Why, all the evidence of history. There is not a land that they have conquered wherein they did not look across its frontier with a view to the next conquest. Their appetite for expansion is insatiable. Only when those peoples who are not yet under the Roman yoke realise their common danger will we be free of their tyranny. If you hand me over to them, then you betray all those who would defy Rome, and all those, in the fullness of time, who should defy Rome.’
‘You refer, of course, to the kingdom of Nabataea.’
‘I do.’
The chamberlain’s staff looked at each other uneasily. But their master simply stared at the Judaean as he reflected on their exchange. At length, he turned to Macro and Cato. He frowned. ‘Who speaks for you?’
Macro turned to Cato and spoke in an undertone. ‘I can’t keep up with this in Greek. You’ll have to speak for us. But be careful, mind. Play it straight and don’t try anything too clever. All we want is Bannus, the boy and that woman’s casket.’ He turned back to face the chamberlain. ‘My companion Centurion Cato will speak for us.’
Cato hissed, ‘Are you sure about this, Macro?’
‘Quite sure. Now get on with it.’
The chamberlain fixed his stare on Cato. ‘Is it true? Does Rome intend to annex our kingdom?’
Cato felt his heart beating wildly inside his chest. For a moment he was too terrified to respond. How could he? He was a junior officer, albeit one with a mission assigned to him by the Emperor’s chief of staff, Narcissus. But he could not deny Bannus’ accusation, because he simply did not know the extent of imperial policy.
‘Sir,’ he began hesistantly, ‘I am a simple soldier. I have no idea what my masters in Rome intend for this region. All that I do know is that Judaea is a Roman province, under the rule of Roman law, and that this man, Bannus, is a brigand and an outlaw who tried to provoke a rebellion against us. Therefore he is a common criminal, and all that my prefect and I seek is the chance to bring him to justice.’
‘Justice!’ Bannus laughed bitterly. ‘What justice will I receive at the hands of Rome? You’ll nail me up on a cross at the first opportunity, just as you did to Jehoshua, and all the others who led the resistance against Rome.’
Cato did not reply to this charge, since it was true. Instead he tried a different tack. ‘As I said, I have no knowledge of the Emperor’s plans for his empire, but this I do know. If a kingdom offers shelter or any other form of succour to an enemy of Rome, such as Bannus, then I am certain that the Emperor would not be well disposed towards that kingdom. Particularly since someone like Bannus would pose an ongoing threat to the stability of the Roman province of Judaea, as long as he is permitted to live … on the very border of the province.’
The chamberlain understood the thrust of Cato’s last words and nodded, folding his hand together as he contemplated the situation. Bannus looked to him, trying hard to conceal his desperation.
‘Before you decide to hand me over to these Roman scum, I have to tell you that I am no simple brigand. No outlaw. I made a treaty with Parthia. That is why their prince is serving under my command.’
‘Bollocks!’ Macro snapped, the word echoing round the hall. Cato winced as his friend jabbed his finger out towards Bannus and continued angrily, ‘How can you make a treaty with Parthia? You’re nothing but a criminal.’
‘I am no criminal,’ Bannus replied, his voice suddenly dropping into a more calm, almost serene, tone. ‘I am the rightfully anointed king of my people. I am the mashiah.’
‘Blasphemer!’ Symeon spat. ‘How dare you?’
He took several steps towards Bannus before the chamberlain quickly gestured to his guards and they drew their swords, hurriedly interposing themselves between the two men. Symeon was forced to stop in his tracks, breathing hard and glaring at Bannus. He forced himself to calm down and raised his hands to indicate that his rage was under control. ‘Forgive me, sir. But this man, who crawls lower than the belly of a snake, outrages the religion of my people with such a claim.’
‘Really?’ Bannus smiled. ‘Didn’t our friend Jehoshua once claim to be the mashiah? Or did someone claim that on his behalf?’
Symeon coloured and Cato saw him clench his fists so tight that they blenched, hard and cold as rock.
‘Now I lay claim to that title,’ Bannus continued. ‘And as the leader of my people I am perfectly entitled to enter into treaties with Parthia. For their part, they recognise me as an allied ruler. That being the case, I do not think that Parthia would look too kindly on my being surrendered to these petty officials from a small outpost on the frontier of their empire.’
‘Petty official?’ Macro started. ‘Me? Why, the little bastard! I’ll have him!’
‘Enough!’ shouted the chamberlain. ‘Silence!’
His voice echoed round the hall, and only the songbird continued with its unending and unchanging sequence of notes. The chamberlain glanced towards the bird cage and muttered to one of his advisers, and the man slipped discreetly across to the corner of the hall, picked up the cage and hurriedly carried it from the room. Macro gave vent to a small sigh of relief.
The chamberlain drew himself up in his chair. ‘I cannot make a ruling on this matter today. It is beyond the range of my responsibilities. I hereby defer the question to his majesty who will hear the details on his return to Petra. Both parties are bound by their oaths, and I hereby authorise the release of the two Roman officers into the charge of Symeon. The Parthian prisoners will also be released, once they have sworn their oaths. The royal court will reconvene to rule on this matter when his majesty returns. That concludes this hearing. Gentlemen, you may leave.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Symeon took them to his home on the side of the hill opposite the palace. It was a modest house by the standard of many Nabataeans who lived off the caravan trade. The plain door gave on to an atrium with a small courtyard beyond. Rooms led off from the courtyard and a narrow staircase led upstairs to the sleeping quarters. Symeon had one slave, an elderly man by the name of Bazim who maintained the house and cooked for his master when Symeon returned to Petra from his travels.
‘It’s not very grand,’ Symeon said as he showed them inside, ‘but it’s all I need and it’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home. Come, Bazim’s prepared a room for you. I imagine you’re both still tired from the journey here, and a night in the cells hasn’t helped much.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cato. ‘I’d like that.’
‘Then rest. We’ll talk again tonight, over a meal. Meanwhile, if there’s anything you need just ask Bazim. I have to go out now.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, there’s some business that needs attending to. I have to meet Murad and some of the caravan cartels. It’ll take most of the day.’
‘We’ll see you later then,’ said Macro.
Symeon smiled, and turned to leave the house. When the door had closed behind him Macro let out a jaw-cracking yawn and arched his back. ‘I’m all in. Bazim!’
The slave shuffled out of his small room at the end of the hall. ‘Master?’
‘You speak Greek?’
‘Of course, master.’
‘Good for you. Now show me to this room you’ve made ready.’
‘Yes, master. Over here.’ He led them to the rear of the courtyard and through a small passage, and they emerged in a walled garden. Bright plants climbed a trellis that stretched over the nearest half of the garden gi
ving a cool shaded area. In one corner was a large room with a plain bed on either side. The sound of running water caught Macro’s ear and he looked round in surprise.
‘There’s a fountain over there.’ Macro crossed the garden and stood in front of the small basin into which a thin jet of water tumbled from the mouth of a brass lion on the wall. He reached his hands into the water and relished the cooling flow over his skin. In the time since he and Cato had first landed in Caesarea water had been such a precious commodity that to see a fountain here in Symeon’s house seemed like something of a miracle.
Bazim approached from behind. ‘My master thought you might like to rest where you could hear the sound of running water.’
Macro smiled. ‘He was right. Bless him.’
He leaned forward and doused his head in the spray, shaking it off as he stood back up, sending glittering droplets across the paving slabs of the sunlit courtyard. For a moment, he was transported back to his childhood, to the long summer days when he swam with his friends in a small stream that fed into the Tiber. Then the moment was gone, and he was aware once again of how tired he felt. He trod wearily across to the room that Bazim had prepared.
‘Hey, Cato! Where have you got to?’
Inside the room, his friend was already asleep, still in his borrowed robes, head resting on a bolster and mouth agape as he breathed heavily. Macro smiled. Cato had beat him to it, keen to fall asleep before Macro’s snoring could keep him awake. As Macro kicked off his sandals he noticed that Cato still wore his. He hesitated a moment, then padded over to his friend and pulled the sandals off gently and placed them on the floor. Then he lay down on his own bed, smiling at the comfort afforded by the thick bedroll. In the background the water gurgled pleasantly and dappled sunlight filtered through the foliage on the trellis. Macro closed his eyes. He could do with a few days of this, and he found himself hoping that the King of Nabataea did not return to his capital too soon.
As his thoughts returned to the reason for their presence in Petra, Macro’s mood soured. Somewhere out there in the streets and houses of the city lurked Bannus and his Parthian friends. Whatever the King decided to do on his return, there would be a reckoning, Macro vowed. Bannus must not be allowed to survive and breed yet more rebellion in the troubled, long-suffering province of Judaea.
* * *
The days passed slowly and Cato and Macro quickly grew frustrated by the restrictions placed on their movements in the city. Especially Cato, who was fascinated by the sheer peculiarity of the vast tombs and temples that had been carved from the rock with such skill. By day they explored the market, and marvelled at the range of luxury items that rivalled all but the most prestigious establishments in Rome. There was a library where Cato discovered a collection of maps, many of which detailed lands that no Roman had heard of, let alone seen. For his part, Macro was content to sample the food and the wine and catch up on his sleep in the cool garden of Symeon’s house. Soon after their arrival Symeon informed them that he had discovered where Bannus and the Parthians were staying. A rich merchant on the other side of the city had offered them his home. He had no love of Rome, like many Nabataeans who viewed any expansion of the Empire with anxiety.
Then, one afternoon, when Cato was walking through the precinct of the great temple in front of Petra’s wide forum, Bannus emerged from a colonnade right in front of him. Both men automatically stopped and started to apologise before their eyes met and the words died on their lips. There was a tense silence and then Bannus made to move away.
‘Wait!’ said Cato. ‘I want to talk. We have to talk.’
Bannus continued for a few paces before he stopped and turned. ‘Aren’t you forgetting the terms of the oath we took for the chamberlain?’
‘No. But that was to stop us fighting. I just want to talk.’
‘Talk?’ Bannus smiled. ‘What about? The weather? The price of corn? The withdrawal of Rome from Judaea?’
Cato ignored the sarcasm and pointed to a small wine shop on the far side of the forum. ‘In there, in case we are seen together by any of the chamberlain’s men.’
They made their way over to the wine shop in silence and sat on stools on opposite sides of a small table.
‘Allow me,’ said Bannus and ordered a jar of wine, before he turned back to Cato. ‘So, talk.’
‘Your revolt is over. Your army has been crushed and the survivors have returned to their villages.’
‘I failed this time,’ Bannus admitted. ‘But there will be another rebellion. As long as the presence of Rome corrupts our land there will always be rebellion.’
Cato’s heart sank. ‘But you cannot prevail against Rome. Your men are no match for the legions, you must know that.’
‘That is why I made a treaty with Parthia.’ Bannus smiled. ‘I think even a Roman must have heard what happened to the army of Crassus at Carrhae. Or don’t they mention that in your histories?’
‘They mention it.’
‘Then you must know that Parthia is more than a match for Rome on the battlefields of the east.’
‘Perhaps. But if Parthia prevails, do you imagine for a moment that they would let Judaea exist as an independent state, despite what they may have promised you?’
Bannus shrugged. ‘If they try to impose their rule on us we will rebel against them as we have against Rome.’
‘And be defeated again.’ Cato shook his head. ‘Can’t you see? Judaea is fated to be a vassal of one empire or another. Like many other states. Most of them have found their place in our world and are prosperous and peaceful enough. Why should that not be true of Judaea?’
‘You’ve spent too long in the company of that traitor, Symeon.’ Bannus sneered. ‘Just because it is true of other provinces does not justify imposing your rule on us. We are different, and we want our sovereignty back. Until that happens, there can be no peace.’
Cato stared back at him silence for a while. Inside he felt the ache of despair. Bannus was a fanatic. There was no reasoning with such men. He decided to change the subject. ‘Very well. I understand your position. But it will take time to build another army. So what is the point of keeping the boy, Yusef? He has served his purpose. You no longer need a hostage.’
‘Yusef stays with me.’
‘Why?’
‘He is the son of the founder of our movement. He needs to be made aware of his heritage. In time he can serve as my lieutenant. With him at my side, and with the relics of his father in my hands, we will be able to win back those who have forgotten the true way.’
‘You mean Miriam and her people?’
‘Them, and communities like them, in every city across the eastern world. At the moment they are confused. Miriam, and traitors like Symeon, have been corrupting the message of Jehoshua, telling his supporters that armed resistance is futile and that we must use peaceful means to win over our enemies. That we must have faith in the long term.’ He stared at Cato. ‘Tell me, Roman, what can faith achieve that force can’t? Liberty grows from the point of a sword. That is my creed. That was the creed of Jehoshua, before he weakened at the moment of crisis. That is the creed which Miriam and Symeon and their followers have betrayed. It is the creed I will teach Yusef, and one day he will ride at my side at the head of our army when we liberate Jerusalem. Only then will we have fulfilled the dream of Jehoshua.’
‘With you as the mashiah, naturally.’
‘Of course. I have inherited the role from Jehoshua.’
Cato was aware of something that had been said a moment earlier, and frowned. ‘What did you mean, “before he weakened”?’
‘Ah.’ Bannus leaned forward and smiled. ‘Why don’t you ask your friend Symeon about that? About how it all ended? Now, please excuse me, but I really don’t think that there is much purpose in continuing this discussion. If we ever meet again, Roman, then I will kill you.’
He stood up and strode out of the wine shop and across the forum. Cato watched him until he disappeared up a side str
eet. A feeling of tired despair filled his heart like a lead weight. He had hoped to reason with the man and try, at least, to persuade him to release Yusef. All now depended on the will of the King of Nabataea.
That night, as they dined in Symeon’s garden, Cato was nervous. For the rest of the day, he had dwelt on Bannus’ remarks about Symeon and was determined to find out what lay behind the intense hatred between the two men. As Bazim cleared away the platters of mensaf, and brought them a jug of spiced, heated wine, the three men sat quietly for a moment staring at the stars that shone so brilliantly in the clear sky. A full moon hung over the dark outline of the cliff that towered over the royal palace.
Then there was a dull rap at the door and they heard Bazim’s slow footsteps as he went to answer it. After a moment he emerged from the house and handed his master a small, hinged wax slate. Symeon flipped it open and scanned the message inside.
‘It’s from the chamberlain. The King returned to Petra at dusk. He is in session with the chamberlain and his advisers. Their decision will be communicated to us in the morning.’
‘Good!’ Macro thumped the cushion of his seat. ‘We’ll have that bastard Bannus in our hands and we can settle the matter once and for all.’
Symeon looked at him. ‘You seem very confident that the King will decide in your favour.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be confident? He’s got more to fear from Rome than Parthia.’
‘That may be true, Prefect, but for pity’s sake don’t say such things in front of anyone else here in Petra. The last thing we need now is anyone stirring up anti-Roman hysteria.’
Macro was chastened and took a sip of wine. ‘Just telling it the way it is.’
Symeon chuckled. ‘Which is why you’re an accomplished soldier, and not a diplomat.’
‘And thank fuck for that.’ Macro raised his glass. ‘Sooner an honest fighter than a man who fights honesty any day.’
Symeon clapped his hands. ‘An aphorism is born!’
‘I spoke to Bannus today,’ Cato blurted out.
The others stopped smiling and turned to stare at him. Macro recovered first. ‘What the hell did you do that for? You want to get us thrown back in that bloody cell?’
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