The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No I don’t.’ She paused a beat and then leant forward. ‘Talk to me, Vivius,’ she said quietly. ‘I can tell you’re disturbed about something. What is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘What’s the name of your physician?’ he asked avoiding eye contact.

  She tried not to show her frustration as she rose to her feet. Silently drifting over to table where she kept her writing materials she picked up a stylus, wrote the address on the tablet but found herself having to resist the urge of throwing it at him.

  He took the tablet without looking at her, and she could see he was lost in his own private world again; a world that she had never been allowed to enter. His mind clearly not on her, or her disappointment, or their forthcoming wedding; whenever that was—he hadn’t even said.

  * * *

  Vivius sneezed. Dammit! Did they never clean this place? He rubbed his nose in an attempt to clear away the smell of dust while he examined the floor-to-ceiling shelves of old scrolls and wax tablets in the Hall of Records.

  ‘Reports from Palestine in the last four years you said, Senator?’ A weasel-looking bald-headed clerk with the complexion of a candle squinted along a row of ledgers. The only light was coming from a high window.

  ‘Let me see…ah! Here we are.’ Pulling a thick volume from one of the shelves, he staggered over to the table with it. More dust rose into the air as he dropped it on the top. ‘Is there anything else you need, Senator?’

  Vivius opened the volume and grimaced at the hours of reading ahead of him. ‘I’ll call you if there is.’

  He sat down. Deciding that an overall picture of what was going on in Palestine was all he needed at this stage, he turned the parchments over slowly. There was mention of Pilate’s introduction of copper coins causing the Sanhedrin, the ruling body and supreme council in Palestine, to send an angry letter of complaint to Rome. It didn’t look as though anything had been done about it as there was no reply. There were numerous reports of Jewish demonstrations over the heathen images Pilate had brought into the holy city. It appeared the Sanhedrin had been forced to send in their own police guards for fear of reprisals from the Romans, but there had been reports of skirmishes anyway. Then there were the Zealots, the religious fanatics who opposed with the sword any attempt to bring Jewish land and culture under the dominion of idolatrous Rome. Vivius read these reports with more interest as the Zealots were the party responsible for Dorio’s injuries. Finally, Vivius came across a brief report from Pontius Pilate.

  …the demonstration got so out of hand that the only way to restore order was to send in my legions; we killed over two hundred Jews.

  Vivius rubbed his chin. Well he had certainly got his overall picture. Two hundred Jews killed in one demonstration and Pilate thought so little of it, he found it barely worth covering two lines? That at least was worth probing into although probably not serious enough to warrant spending too much time on, and possibly not what Tiberius wanted him to investigate anyway, but it was a start. No mention of Sejanus whatsoever.

  Despondent, Vivius closed the volume with a thud sending a cloud of dust into the air. Now all he had to do was convince the Senate that he needed to go to Palestine to gather valuable information on their thriving olive industry with a view to expanding his own estate, and while he was there assess the wounds of his future brother-in-law who had been fighting for the glory of Rome.

  * * *

  (The Port of Ostia—approximately 15 miles from Rome)

  Vivius blew on his frozen knuckles, stamped his feet and viewed the pale blue skyline breaking over the Port of Ostia with some misgivings. No one ventured out on the seas during the winter months, but as this was early spring he had hoped it would be kind to him. It didn’t look as if it would. Despite the promise of a fine day, he knew from bitter experience that the brisk wind blowing from the north could make the seas rough.

  ‘Senator Marcianus!’ The shout from the top of the gangplank had a ring of impatience to it. ‘Will you be long, sir? The boat’s loaded and I need to catch the tide.’

  Irritated at being dictated to by a mere captain, Vivius flared his nostrils, inhaled lungful’s of cold, salty sea air and concentrated on the early morning barge drifting down the River Tiber from Rome. When it docked only a handful of passengers alighted, mainly dockworkers, merchants and a few travellers, no one from the Roman Army that looked remotely like a physician. Vivius hissed impatiently through his lower teeth.

  ‘Senator Marcianus!’

  A fresh-faced, skinny young man, Vivius guessed him to be of Greek origin, had alighted. He was racing towards him with a colourful but shabby patchwork travelling bag bouncing off one leg and a smart leather medical case bouncing off the other. In fact, everything about the young man seemed to bounce—the curls in his hair, his running feet—his whole body seemed to be like a bouncing ball.

  ‘Senator Marcianus?’ Vivius’s name came out in short sharp pants. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Senator. It was all last minute as you can guess.’

  Vivius raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m all out of guessing, young man. Who are you?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Sorry.’ The young man dropped his bags. He spoke quickly, barely leaving space for a breath. ‘The army physician you asked for was called to the hospital last night. Six high-ranking officers have been seriously wounded. He wasn’t too pleased about having to stay I can tell you, but the army said the wounded officers took priority.’ He gasped his next breath. ‘Anyway, he tried arguing but they wouldn’t listen; so he sent me in his place.’ The young man smiled; a wide, good-natured smile that had the effect of lighting up his face.

  ‘And who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Lucanus. I’m a physician.’ He struggled to keep the note of pride from his voice. ‘The army physician you asked for is my mentor. He took me on to help with his private patients when I qualified last year.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Vivius inspected the young man from head to toe. His brown tunic was of poor quality, his untidy brown curls gave him a permanently unkempt look, he needed new sandals and Vivius surmised that his shabby patchwork travelling bag would be an offense to even the poorest of travellers. The only redeeming features about him were that he was clean, he spoke intelligently—if not a little too exuberantly—and at least the leather medical case gave the impression he was serious about his profession.

  ‘Well I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted trip, er…’

  ‘Lucanus.’ The young man paused a beat. ‘I know I don’t look like much, Senator, but I had the best grades at Tarsus Medical School,’ he added persuasively.

  ‘Senator!’ The call from the vessel was sharper this time. ‘If that’s our passenger, then, sir, we really must leave or we’ll miss the tide.’

  Vivius raised his arm as indication that he’d heard. ‘I specifically wanted an army physician. I’m used to travelling with them. If I can’t have one then I’d rather travel alone.’

  ‘I would have thought any good physician would do to look after the wounded Decurion?’ Lucanus’s pleading honeybee eyes reminded Vivius of a puppy waiting to be thrown a bone.

  He sighed. The last thing he wanted was a total stranger accompanying him on the long journey to Palestine, but Lucanus did have a point. If he was lumbered with the wounded Dorio for the return journey he’d never get back to Rome. But a naïve young physician?

  The captain of the vessel now shouted with a firmness bordering on rudeness. ‘Senator, please sir. We’re taking up the gangplank this minute. Are you boarding with us or not?’

  Vivius cursed the captain and then he cursed the wounded officers that had changed his plans and left him with this puppy of a physician. ‘I suppose you better get aboard,’ he snapped.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  (Caesarea)

  ‘Good morning, Senator. What a lovely morning, isn’t it? How are you feeling?’

  Vivius cringed at the exuberant greeting so early in the day but made no attempt to remove
his elbows from the table, his head from his hands or to open his eyes. But he did summon up enough energy to drop the corners of his mouth as a response.

  ‘Ah! You’re probably more of a soldier than a seaman,’ Lucanus consoled and there was a genuine sympathetic tone in his voice. The chair opposite scraped on the wooden floor as he sat down. ‘I guess it’s still too early in the spring to expect calm seas, but I had hoped you would have recovered when we reached the inn and you’d had a comfortable night’s sleep.’ He paused and when there was no response added, ‘Obviously not. Do you want something to settle your stomach?’

  Vivius grimaced and pushed the plate of bread, the jug of milk and a strong smelling yellow cheese to the far side of the table.

  ‘As your physician I would advise you to eat something.’ Lucanus pushed it back in front of him again.

  Vivius forced an eyelid open with the intention of glaring at the ‘my physician’ remark, but Lucanus had already lost interest in the conversation and was gazing out the window.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful being in Caesarea, Senator? Look at that lovely stone building opposite. Don’t you think it equals anything we’ve got in Rome? I’ve heard the city has sports arenas and gladiator games. Personally I prefer the theatre. Do you think there’ll be time for a visit to the theatre? Of course, I don’t know how long your business in Caesarea will take, or indeed how long you intend staying in Jerusalem. In fact, I don’t know anything about this trip at all; I simply walked into the army hospital to help out and my mentor…’

  Vivius pinched between his eyes.

  ‘…not that I’m complaining. After all that studying I could do with a bit of excitement in my life. I’ve always wanted to see more of the world so this trip is a wonderful…’

  And then he ran his hand down his face.

  ‘But there is one question I would like to ask you senator, if you’re up to answering it?’

  Vivius forced both eyelids open. ‘Not really.’

  ‘My mentor, the army physician, said if he’d been around he could have watched your back. What did he mean?’

  Vivius ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. It was thick, tasted foul and he could still smell his own vomit. He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps he thought that as a senator visiting the colonies I could be in danger.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Not if no one knows I’m here.’

  ‘And do they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmm. Can I ask another question?’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘Well, er…my mentor said that while I’m in Caesarea, and if I get the chance, I should visit a Greek physician who’s come across a file of ancient parchments on cures for foreign diseases. He’s interested to discover whether the Greek’s findings would help cure the diseases picked up by Roman legionaries when they’re sent to foreign parts. He thinks the information would be of interest to the army hospital. I’d like to visit this chap if there’s time. Who knows, if I succeed in bringing back useful information the hospital might even take me on full time.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘My problem is, that an important physician like this Greek wouldn’t want to discuss matters of importance with a nobody like me.’

  Vivius had been allowing Lucanus’s voice to drift over him but that comment resonated through his foggy brain. He cleared his throat. ‘Didn’t your mentor give you a letter of introduction?’

  ‘No.’

  Leaning forward with a grunt, Vivius picked up a small tablet and a stylus. Writing a few words on the tablet he pushed it across the table. ‘This will make sure he sees you. He wouldn’t want to ignore a request from a Roman senator.’ He paused a beat. ‘Why don’t you have the letter delivered this morning, and while you’re waiting for a reply you could explore the city?’

  Lucanus’s face lit up but then fell again. ‘You…you don’t need me to, er…watch your back?’

  Vivius raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you know how to use a sword?’

  The young man flushed. ‘Not exactly,’

  ‘What do you mean, “not exactly”? You either do or you don’t.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘I thought so.’ Vivius rubbed his chin and eyed him sideways. ‘Why don’t you stay on in Caesarea for a day or so, make sure you get everything you need from this Greek physician. Helping our legionaries in this manner is vital to their success on the battlefield. Having been an officer of the legion in foreign climates myself, I know.’

  ‘Really? Won’t the Decurion need me?’

  ‘Not immediately. I’ve arranged for his transfer to the infirmary in Jerusalem. They’re far better equipped than anything they’ve got in Galilee, including physicians.’ He glared at Lucanus when he added, ‘But only for a day or so, understand? If I chose to leave Jerusalem early, I’ll need you around.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Senator, but if you’re going to Jerusalem why are staying in Caesarea…?’

  Vivius pointed to the door.

  Once Lucanus was out of the way, Vivius rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. Knowing he was unlikely to make much headway until he felt more alert, he forced down the bread roll and milk; the cheese he couldn’t face. Then throwing his cloak over his shoulder, he left the inn to spend a quiet hour or so at the baths.

  Two hours later, refreshed by the steam, the warm water and an excellent masseur, he found himself striding through the prosperous new Roman city of Caesarea in the sunshine. Posted here as a young legionary he found himself fascinated over the changes that had taken place. Where he remembered fields of corn, crumbling wooden houses and plots of overgrown land, there now stood streets of well-designed stone buildings with wide steps and high Doric columns. And where he remembered marshland and vegetation there were houses, squares and fountains surrounded by statues of gods. He found a wall near one of these fountains and sat down, forcing himself to set an action plan with his assignment; the first chance he’d had since leaving Rome without bouts of seasickness disrupting his thought patterns.

  So, whatever route he took with this assignment, it was bound to end in trouble, he brooded. What Tiberius’s reaction would be if he didn’t come up with solid evidence against Pontius Pilate didn’t bear thinking about. One the other hand, Sejanus would probably have him thrown in Mamertine Prison if he returned to Rome with irregularities against the man he personally had chosen to be governor of Judea. As for Sejanus himself? Did the emperor suspect him of…something? And the gods alone knew what Pilate’s reaction would be if he discovered he was under investigation.

  Vivius ran his hand over his clean-shaven chin as if in some vague way it would wipe away his non-too-secure future. What did Tiberius expect him to look for anyway, he brooded? The whole assignment was…vague. Vivius pursed his lips; he didn’t like ‘vague’.

  Pulling the tablet out of his cloak pocket, he stared down at it miserably. One name, that was all the emperor had given him: Centurion Fabius Salonianus. How in the name of Jupiter was he supposed to find one man in a city the size of…Vivius furrowed his brow as a thought occurred to him. The obvious way forward was to discredit the letter and perhaps even the man himself. Then inform the emperor he’d discovered Fabius to be a disgruntled employee, who bore a grudge or…What had the emperor said before he succumbed to that strange episode on the terrace? Ah, Yes! Fabius was a retired centurion. Perhaps if Fabius was elderly it would be a simple enough matter to make out he was senile, and had been living in a world of fantasy when he wrote that letter. Vivius realised he was smiling. Tiberius would understand a man who was living in a delusional world. At least it would throw doubt over the authenticity of the letter, draw his assignment to a close and give him an excuse to return home.

  Encouraged by the development of this thinking process, Vivius rose to his feet. First, he had to find Fabius. He paused. As a retired centurion, he would be required to live within a few miles of a fort in case his services were called upon in an emergency. Therefore, Vivius decided, hi
s first move should be a visit to the fort in Caesarea. They should have a record of him.

  Vivius found a lightness in his step as he headed to the fort.

  ‘Yes, we know Fabius well,’ he was informed by a Roman officer with a large-featured face. ‘He’s a quiet, friendly man; teaches the auxiliaries here three mornings a week. He’s not in today, but I’ll give you directions to his home if you like?’

  Slightly uneasy that this description bore no resemblance to the Fabius he had conjured up in his imagination, Vivius marched briskly out of the fort and didn’t slacken his pace until he reached the outskirts of the city. The main niggle in his mind was that if Fabius taught auxiliaries at the fort, he was unlikely to be senile. Still, there were other avenues he could take to discredit the man and the letter such as revenge, a grudge, unreliable, he wrote it for financial reward…Vivius made a mental list in his mind as he walked.

  Eventually, he reached the crossroads marked on the crudely drawn map given to him by the fort. Here, he found small market gardens, hamlets and fields for farming and cattle. Taking the road on the left by the stables, he turned on to a narrow track overgrown with weeds. It led him to a modest house with pots of half-open flowers under the windows. Making his way up the path, he rapped on the wooden door; it swung open. Two potted palms decorated the square sunlit hall, a little girl’s doll lay in a corner, a child’s upturned wooden toy cart stood by the door, and colourful glass marbles were strewn across the floor. Vivius screwed up his face as an overpowering smell of oil drifted towards him, but he stepped inside anyway.

  It wasn’t the smell of oil, or even the open door, but an uneasy instinct born out of years of living in a dangerous political world that warned him something wasn’t right; he could sense it. He stood in the doorway, listening. There were toys in the hall but no sound of children. The house was silent, eerily silent. His hand drifted through the folds of his cloak to the jeweled dagger in the belt of his tunic; his thumb running over the smooth ruby in the handle as he tuned his ears to the silence. The palm leaves rustled faintly as a breeze whispered through the open front door; in the distance sheep bleated, birds chirped in the sunshine. Vivius waited, trying to catch the sound of a human whisper, a breath. There were no sounds. The silence was almost as loud as a shout.