The Horse Changer

by Craig Smith

  Judaea: Spring, 40 BC

  The Parthians that had invaded Syria were led by a proscribed Roman commander named Quintus Labienus. This Labienus was the son of Titus Labienus, second-in-command to Gnaeus Pompey in Spain, proving – if proof is required – that it is a small world for the Roman aristocracy.

  Labienus, with a clear understanding of the crisis in Italy, took advantage of Antony’s predicament and, having seized Syria, turned next to Galilee. Herod sacrificed no lives in a losing struggle at the border. Instead, he retreated into Judaea where he took command of the armies of his fellow tetrarchs. As Antony had expected, Herod received friendly correspondence from Labienus. Herod might share in the riches of Asia and Egypt, if he would only join him.

  Herod spurned the offer but not without informing me of it first. When he told me about it he added that his brother had been contacted too. I knew of both offers before Herod informed me, for I had men under my command bribing servants to keep watch. Whether Herod understood this or not, I cannot say, but I do know that he did not appear to be tempted by the offer.

  Of course Labienus, once rebuffed by Herod and Phasael, had only to make his offer to the outcast royalty of Judaea. This faction was led by the nephew of Hyrcanus, a charismatic young prince named Antigonus. Antigonus embraced the alliance at once, and soon incited rioting in a number of Judaean cities. Herod’s forces answered these challenges admirably, but once the Parthians broke into Judaea, Herod had no choice but to find shelter with Phasael behind the high walls of Jerusalem.

  Jerusalem: Summer, 40 BC

  Jerusalem was not then as well-fortified as it would be some thirty years later. The chief deficiency was the citadel, which had no access to large reservoirs of water. The city gates were quite strong, but they were not well defended against attack from inside the city. In later years Herod would erect the magnificent Antonia Fortress to the north of the Temple Mount. This massive citadel defended much of the northern perimeter of the city on both sides of the wall.

  Herod did what he could with the resources he had. He ranged most of his army along the northern walls and sent the remainder of his troops out before the gates to keep the land clear of siege machines. For a time the fight might have gone either way. When rioting broke out inside the city, however, the city’s defence grew more problematic. Late one afternoon, partisans of Prince Antigonus inside the city attacked the gates. After a brief skirmish, they were able to open them up to Antigonus’s army. Those of Herod’s men holding the ramparts along the northern perimeter of the city were cut off from retreat. Most threw down their weapons at once. Those who fought on were slaughtered where they stood.

  I was tasked with keeping supply lines open to the south of the city and found myself routinely skirmishing with Parthian archers, who devoted themselves to harassing caravans bringing grain and other essential supplies along the road from Bethlehem. When I learned the Parthians had broken into the city in the north I brought my men through the southernmost gate as quickly as possible. While the fighting still raged in the northern quadrant, we readied a defence of the citadel.

  Jerusalem’s citadel is now situated along the western wall of the city and fortified by great towers designed by Herod’s most trusted architect. In those days the citadel was set upon a ridge of hills at the eastern edge of the city, just south of the Temple Mount. High walls and towers guarded the palace from attack from forces inside the city. The outer walls were built over the Kidron Valley, making siege engines impractical. The citadel provided sufficient space to house a thousand or so combatants, and of course the palace was home to Antipater’s four sons as well as his daughter and her husband. On this occasion, however, there were also more distant relatives taking refuge. With my cavalry of a thousand Spartan auxiliaries, our numbers pushed the total to some two thousand fighting men in all, with another three or four hundred non-combatants, including servants and slaves. We were safe for a week or so, but at that point, assuming we could still defend the walls, we would be facing diminishing supplies and a chronic lack of water.

  Before matters became desperate, Herod and Phasael called the nobility together to discuss our options. I joined the meeting too. Everyone sitting in that room knew he would not survive capture; we were all men marked for death, and yet the overwhelming concern was how best to protect the families. Some believed if Prince Antigonus swore an oath before the people to spare the women and children we might hope for mercy for them, at least. Herod was not convinced. He said he had no faith in Prince Antigonus, recalling for our consideration the time before the Romans came, when Antigonus’s grandfather crucified fellow Judaeans and then brought their wives and children before them as they hung on their crosses. That he might inflict even more cruelty upon those men already dying, he ordered the throats of their wives and children cut; thus, each family utterly perished as its patriarch watched helplessly from his cross. Such were the forbears of Prince Antigonus.

  Phasael agreed with his brother. Antigonus could not be trusted to keep his oath. In fact, as an aspiring king, Antigonus would be sure to inflict terrible cruelties on the families of his enemies, signalling to his future subjects the danger of resisting his authority. The only hope, Phasael said, was flight. The fortress of Masada was thirty miles due south through the Judaean desert. With luck most of the civilians might make it there. That was assuming we escaped at night without the enemy realising it. It was possible, Phasael explained, to leave the citadel quietly using the sewers. Those who could not make the journey ought first to be killed, he said, that they might die quickly and not endure torture at the hands of Antigonus. Phasael included in this number his own mother and all of the smallest children.

  Herod would have none of it. He thought it possible to use carts and wagons and carriages so that the weakest might be transported to Masada along with the rest. Another answered that if we took carts and wagons we must leave by the city gate. In that case we could not escape unnoticed. Others agreed with this opinion. ‘Trying to save the lives of the weakest will get us all killed.’

  ‘The only way for all of us to make it out is to send the cavalry away some days before the rest of us escape,’ Herod answered. ‘That will give them time to gather wagons and carts and bring them to us on the night the rest of us leave the city.’

  ‘If we depart after sunset next Sabbath,’ Phasael added, ‘we will have a new moon.’

  ‘Surely they will be looking for escape on just such a dark night,’ one of Herod’s generals answered.

  ‘I will go to Antigonus at sundown,’ Herod answered. ‘I will tell him that we intend to surrender at sunset next day, once the Sabbath has concluded. My only condition will be that he swears to pardon our fighting men and spare the lives of our women and children. While I am negotiating with him, Phasael can lead the civilians to Masada. As for the soldiers, they can escape south to Nabataea.’

  ‘You are needed to lead the retreat,’ Phasael answered. ‘I will negotiate the surrender.’

  The brothers argued, for it was obvious to both of them that the man who remained behind would perish miserably at the hands of Prince Antigonus. Neither wanted to live so much that he would sacrifice his brother. In the end, Phasael announced it would not do for the tetrarch of Galilee to negotiate the surrender of Jerusalem. Phasael insisted the city was his to command and his to surrender. He would leave the citadel. He would negotiate with Antigonus.

  At this point old Hyrcanus, to his glory, spoke up. He would accompany the tetrarch in his role as High Priest of the Temple. He would insist that Antigonus spare the women and children for the sake of their family’s reputation. Antigonus was, after all, his brother’s son and such a plea for the family name would be credible if he was there to make it. He added that if two dignitaries went out of the citadel Antigonus would also be less likely to suspect intrigue.

  ‘And when he discovers you only meant to delay him?’ Herod asked the old man.

  Hyrcanus smiled bravely. ‘By
then I hope you will have taken our families safely away. My nephew is not a man who accepts disappointment lightly.’

  There were a great many other matters to settle. Chief among these was to decide where and exactly when to meet a small force of cavalry from Masada. These were contacted by a carrier pigeon, with a confirmation returning a few hours later. Herod arranged for the meeting at the third hour of the Sabbath morning at a mountain twenty miles south of Jerusalem. Today there is a city there, which Herod built in memorial of his flight from Jerusalem. Then it was a desolate piece of ground that looked something like an enormous haystack.

  He arranged for the infantry to pack what they would need for the journey: tools, weapons, medical supplies, food and water. There was of course some chance of discovery during the escape, in which case he appointed certain of the units to arrange for the wholesale execution of the families, that their deaths might at least come quickly.

  An hour before sundown, two nights before the Sabbath commenced, I led our cavalry out of the citadel. We fought a short way through the city before coming to the southern gate. There, we took a barrage of light missiles; these were arrows and javelins and stones slung down from the ramparts. I sent a century of men on foot against those on the ramparts; another century dismounted to take the gates. We were gone before reinforcements arrived.

  But of course that was only the start of it. We had not cleared the plain when a cohort of mounted archers came after us. Rather than letting them pursue us at their leisure, I turned back at once to face them. I had been fighting these fellows since my escape from Tyre. Experience had taught me their habits by heart. They are like pestering gnats, not especially dangerous but decidedly irritating. At first they have no effect on a large force of cavalry; only the occasional arrow connects with a rider or horse. Even then the wound is rarely life-threatening. That is their job: they hover around a numerically superior force striking from a distance of twenty or thirty paces, then race off at the first sign of a threat against them. Of course as they depart they always send one last arrow at those who give chase, the so-called ‘Parthian Shot’. The moment the threat against them ceases, they return and commence launching arrows again.

  Attack them in earnest and they will scatter. The answer to this tactic is to break apart with them, using ever-smaller phalanxes of lancers to chase them down. The Parthian archers wear no armour beyond some thick padding at their chests and backs; these are quite effective at dampening the force of an arrow but worth nothing against a heavy lance. Once within range of our lances they came down as easily as fleeing legionaries in a rout.

  In the first attack against them we left nearly twenty of them on the field, killed or wounded. The moment I called our men back, the Parthians stopped fleeing and rallied for a second assault. We, in the meantime, crossed the plain and formed a line behind the first hills. This was perhaps a mile from the city walls. Those of our men who had lost their horses in the city or on the field now snatched up whatever free horses they could find after our first fight. Some of my Spartans had been wounded, but most were still able to ride.

  We waited like a line of infantry, and soon enough the archers returned. We held our positions for as long as we could then broke from cover in several tight phalanxes, chasing them down as before. This fight lasted less than a quarter of an hour. By then the sun had set and the Parthians, fearing envelopment, rode back to the city. Once free of our pursuers we took up those men unable to ride. We gathered our dead as well and departed for the Judaean desert.

  Herod had provided scouts who knew the way to the Engedi. This is a lush green valley cutting through the hard, dry desert hills. Here we might find enough cover to hide away some nine hundred and seventy men and horses. Not that it mattered. In the two days we waited we saw no scouting parties looking for us. As far as the enemy was concerned, we had fled Jerusalem with no intention of returning.

  At the close of the second day we brought our horses out of that great canyon and headed back in the direction of Jerusalem. As we travelled I sent scouting parties out to appropriate whatever carts and wagons they could find. In addition, we commandeered several carriages and even some litters.

  XIX

  FLIGHT

  Southern Judaea: 11th June, 40 BC

  An hour before sunset and the commencement of the Jewish Sabbath, Phasael and Hyrcanus walked out of the citadel. They were immediately arrested and taken before Prince Antigonus. Phasael offered to open the gates of the citadel at sunset next day, which marked the Sabbath’s end. In exchange he asked immunity for his mercenary soldiers and for the lives of the women and children in his party. He made no bargain for the lives of the others. Believing my cavalry had abandoned the citadel, Prince Antigonus had no reason to doubt Phasael’s sincerity. Nor could he see any advantage in refusing the offer. So the sun set, and the Sabbath began with the promise of a twenty-four-hour truce.

  Since the departure of my cavalry Herod had rearranged his sentries. They stood along the citadel ramparts close to towers and pillars. They did not move either at night or during the day. Once darkness fell over the city on the Sabbath eve, these sentries were replaced by uniforms stuffed with straw. They were held in place by ropes and timbers, exactly as the living sentries had stood. Herod then ordered everyone to gather in the sewers. He hoped the ruse of the sentries might last through the night.

  At the third hour of the night, Herod began sending his infantry through the tunnels. These were followed by the families, the servants – including my secretary – and all the nobility. Herod and his Guard came last. The way was narrow and required the party to proceed in single file. The first ones out of the tunnel waited nearly an hour for the last. They could not be seen from the city walls, the night was pitch black, but neither could they see where they stepped.

  I met Herod’s party in the fourth hour of the night, just as the last of his party escaped the sewers. I brought with me the wagons, carts, litters, and carriages my scouting parties had been able to collect. The vehicles had seemed quite satisfactory on the roads, but on uneven ground they creaked and groaned incessantly. Nor were there enough for those who needed to ride. The ground was stony and uneven and great numbers went down as they tried to walk. After that they were unable to continue without assistance. Herod ordered the men in his Guard to help those who could no longer walk. But the cost was time. It took more than an hour to cross the plain.

  Young mothers held the mouths of the youngest children. They whispered and prayed: ‘Be good, child. Be still; on your life, be still!’ Sensing the fear in everyone around them, some of the very youngest cried out in terror. These shrieks were soon muffled, but no one knew if they had been heard in the city. If riders came to investigate, all would be lost.

  With only his infantry to command, Herod might have counted his escape complete once safely beyond the city walls. Fighting men could have run thirty miles before dawn. With so many elderly and children in his train, his work was only beginning.

  A child shrieked and then fought the hand that muffled the cry. A wagon wheel hit a stone with an awful crack. Horse hooves clapped against the hardpan. And every time some awful sound erupted we all turned into cowards. I cannot count the times I looked at the city wall. I could see nothing beyond the dark silhouettes of its towers cutting into the night sky, but for all that I could not stop myself looking back.

  Having no road, the carts and wagons actually slowed our progress. And the longer we went the more people needed them. At some point an axle broke on the biggest wagon, for it was terribly overloaded. In the face of such disaster any sensible commander would have abandoned his plan. Almost three hours after the escape we had yet to travel three miles. Herod’s resolve, however, never wavered. In this party he had his wife and son and mother and sister. With assorted nephews and nieces, old friends of his father, their wives and children and even their grandchildren, he could not bear to abandon the civilians, even if it cost him his own life.


  Phasael was the wiser of the two brothers. He ought surely to have made the better king, for he was a creature of court life and knew to kill the weakest when necessary; but only Herod could have forced his will on us that night and by doing so saved everyone, from the most ancient to the very youngest.

  When we could no longer carry the injured or fit them all on the wagons, I ordered our cavalry to let those who needed to ride take their horses. This meant most of my men walked at the side of their animals for the sake of one whose strength had given out. I meant to stay mounted so that I might supervise the column with Herod, but I soon discovered a young woman limping and in obvious pain. As it happened this was Salome, Herod’s sister, though I did not realise it until she was atop Hannibal and we had begun talking.

  Salome was my age, a decade younger than Herod, and naturally already married, though yet without children. I expect Salome thought we had only a few hours more to live; I know I did. This escape was moving too slowly for us to have any hope of getting clear of Jerusalem. Knowing our lives had likely come to an end, we spoke of anything but that. I would have thought I had nothing in common with this girl from the orient, but Salome was quite well travelled and thoroughly acquainted with a number of the great cities I had seen. So we talked about architecture, of all things. Throughout our exchange Salome betrayed no fear of what might come next, though as a young woman of high station she had to know what happens to women before they are killed. ‘I do not care for the gigantic proportions of it,’ she said, ‘but there is no temple in all the world as perfectly made as the one dedicated to Serapis in Alexandria.’

  ‘Not even in Ephesus?’ I asked. I did not like the simple lines and massive stones of the temple dedicated to Serapis, but I had been overawed by the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus.