The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  ‘When did they do that?’

  ‘Can’t remember. They’ve stuffed me with so much poppy juice I’ve lost track of time…yesterday, the day before?’

  Vivius lifted the blanket further. Dorio’s chest was swathed in bandages. He had cuts and bruises on his face and legs but there didn’t appear to be any other serious injuries.

  ‘I’ve…broken a few ribs.’

  Vivius suspected that broken ribs were the least of Dorio’s worries but he refrained from saying so. Picking up a towel from the bottom of the bed, he dabbed the fevered brow.

  ‘Not so good, eh?’ Dorio whispered. ‘You know what this reminds me of?’

  ‘No. What?’

  ‘When we were kids, remember? You always made me play the wounded legionary. I was the youngest, you said. I had to do as I was told, you said. And you always had to be the hero coming to the rescue. So, how will you get me out of this one then, hero?’ A hint of a grin struggled to emerge but lost the battle to a spasm of coughing. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘These drugs…they make me…ramble.’

  Vivius pulled the blanket back up to Dorio’s chin. ‘Well, first of all, I’m going to have a word with the medicus to see if we can make you more comfortable.’ He examined the room in disgust. ‘This is an awful place. I don’t know how you can stand it.’

  ‘I don’t have a lot of choice…’ The cough that started up this time brought with it a rattle of phlegm. Jerking his body across the bed, Dorio spat into a bowl which Vivius was relieved to see was on the other side of the bed. Exhausted by the exertion, Dorio rolled back on his pillow. There was streak of saliva down his chin.

  ‘My horse, Vivius; they had to destroy my horse. Remember her? The one with the blaze of white on her nose, I reared from being a foal.’ His face crumpled at the memory. ‘I’m tired…’

  Vivius tried not to feel too concerned when leaving the infirmary, but he had seen enough infected wounds in his time to know that unless Dorio’s fever dropped he might not make it out of there. And as his boots clattered back down the corridor another thought occurred to him. A dead Dorio would leave him with no excuse to remain in Jerusalem.

  * * *

  Vivius vigorously rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, leaving floating white dots in front of him. Then with a sigh, he lounged back on his seat and drummed the journal on the table with the end of his stylus. As he had suspected, Fabius’s notes were undecipherable, and if he didn’t make some headway with this assignment soon it looked like his future… Well, there wouldn’t be one would there? Flicking over one of the parchments he studied it for the umpteenth time. There were odd words in Latin, but the majority of it was in Fabius’s own indecipherable form of shorthand.

  ‘Come on Fabius; help me out here. What are you trying to say?’ He ran the stylus over the squiggles on the page.

  ‘…discovered that…are deeply…people…easily…by our…images and effigies on…as…’

  Vivius ran the stylus over the words ‘images and effigies.’ Images and effigies of what, he pondered. Rome was full of images and effigies. They were on everything: buildings, walls, standards, the Roman legion’s shields. He paused. Was that it? Could ‘Roman shields’ be two of the missing words? Deciding he had nothing to lose by assuming they were, he replaced each of the shorthand markings with the letters ‘Roman shields.’ To his surprise, the missing letters appeared to make words elsewhere. He continued working on the rest of the page.

  Two hours later he sat back, satisfied with the results. There were still words missing but the gist of the Fabius’s entry on this page, at least, was clear.

  ‘I have discovered that the Jews are a deeply religious people and are easily offended by our idolatrous… They see the images and effigies on our Roman shields as…offensive. Pilate’s predecessor had respect for the Jewish culture. He removed all Roman images and effigies before allowing our legion to enter (Jerusalem?). The emperor’s policies were right. His methods have kept peace between Roman and Jew.

  Since his arrival, Pontius Pilate has shown no such concern for Jewish customs. Six days ago he permitted his legion to carry their standards into the city at night. When the (citizens of Jerusalem?) awoke the following morning and discovered ensigns of Caesar in their holy city they appealed to Pilate to remove them. Pilate refused.

  For five days now, the Jews have been demonstrating. At times they have come perilously close to rioting. At one point, Pilate had his soldiers surround the protesters and threaten (them with crucifixion?) The Jews refused to move—but they didn’t riot either. Strange people; they were willing to accept death rather than allow the (desecration) of their Mosaic law.

  Day 6: Pontius Pilate has finally been forced to remove the images. He…’

  There was a knock on the door. With a tut of annoyance, Vivius pushed back his chair, strode across his cramped quarters and flung it open.

  ‘Senator Marcianus?’

  The slave making the enquiry had a deep guttural accent, and a mass of black freckles on his thickset nose. His turban, colourful mode of dress and black slanting eyes gave Vivius the impression he came from lands to the east of Rome, but his skin was dark like the inhabitants south of Egypt.

  He gave a solemn bow. ‘Procurator Pilate wondered if you would care to join him and his wife for dinner this evening, Senator.’

  Vivius gave a nod of approval. As a visiting senator from Rome, he’d been waiting for such an invitation. ‘Thank the Procurator. Tell him I would be delighted.’

  ‘Yes, senator.’

  The slave’s gaze drifted over to the box and the journal on the table.

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘No, Senator.’

  Vivius closed the door. Wandering back to the table, he tapped his fingers rhythmically on the lid of the box. He wasn’t unduly concerned over the slave seeing the box or the journal. He was only a slave and probably illiterate, but someone had been so anxious to get hold of this material that they had ransacked Fabius’s house, threatened his family and killed Fabius.

  Vivius glanced around his cramped quarters, but one glance was enough to dismiss any thoughts of hiding it here. A table, four chairs and a long couch on the back wall; that was it. As a visiting senator he had expected better accommodation, but then needing space for extra troops for this Jewish Passover appeared to have taken care of those expectations. He wandered into his sleeping quarters: a bed, a chair, shelves for his clothes and a smaller shelf for idols.

  Returning to the table he flattened the rolled parchments, stuck them inside the tablet and pushed it into the pocket of his tunic. It was bulkier than he would have liked but he was confident his toga would hide them, at least until he could find a more secure hiding place. Then pushing the journal into the pocket of his tunic, he draped his toga over the top and left his quarters to assess for himself the man he had come to investigate.

  * * *

  ‘Senator Marcianus, welcome.’

  Vivius found Pilate’s greeting silky smooth and given in the manner of a bureaucrat well used to entertaining.

  ‘We rarely receive senators in Jerusalem, so I look forward to hearing what we have that would drag you all the way from Rome.’

  A glitter of expensive rings adorning the Procurator’s stubby fingers elegantly motioned him towards one of the three couches placed squarely around a low dining table. Vivius settled himself on the central couch and as Pilate gave instructions to his servants, Vivius glanced around him.

  The Procurator’s quarters were typically Roman with tapestries depicting the colonies of Rome, a bust of Tiberius, a chequered gaming board and marble statues of lions. Shimmering oil lamps lit the room, and the magnificent view outside was of lanterns lighting the wide steps leading up to the temple. There was nothing of a personal nature in the room, but then Vivius guessed that was because Pilate spent most of his time in the affluent city of Caesarea.

  ‘Wine, Senator?’ Pilate spoke with a whine, as thoug
h he had nasal problems.

  Vivius’s sweep of the room landed back on his thin-lipped, spotlessly neat host who had one arm slung casually over the back of his couch, and had turned to summon his slave with an impatient twitch of the fingers.

  First impression, Vivius decided, was that Pilate was one of those bureaucrats who was overly fond of the sound of his own voice, had got where he was by mixing with the right people, and probably wasn’t averse to compromising his integrity by bribing and scheming to get what he wanted either. Vivius pursed his lips. He had never liked the type, but obviously Pilate had impressed Sejanus.

  ‘Ah! And there you are, my dear. Senator Marcianus, may I introduce my wife?’

  Vivius turned, and found his pulses quickening as a vision in shimmering deep sea green drifted into the room. The bracelets on her arm jingled a greeting, gold hoop earrings dangled against her cheeks, and her red lips parted in an easy smile showing a row of even white teeth. Placing his goblet on the table, Vivius rose to his feet.

  ‘It’s a privilege to welcome you to Jerusalem, Senator.’ Her voice was soft and low, she had a pleasing fragrance of roses about her, and he liked the way her green eyes flickered approvingly over him as he took her hand. ‘I hope we can make your stay a pleasant one.’

  Vivius was sure she could; he wasn’t so sure about Pilate. Vivius found his gaze lingering on her low-cut dress as she reclined elegantly on the couch, but as he lounged down beside her he was disturbed by the rustle of the journal in his tunic. If she’d heard, she gave no indication of it.

  The slave with the black freckles and colourful turban laid an oblong tray of shellfish, eggs, sauce, raw vegetables and bread on the table.

  Claudia reached over, picked up a sliver of fish and dropped it into the neatly rounded O of her lips. ‘So tell me, Senator,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘What are you doing so far from Rome?’

  Vivius sucked a white fish from a shell, breathing in sharply as the bitter tang of salt caught his palate. Reaching out for his goblet of wine, he said, ‘I have personal interests here.’

  ‘Personal interests? In Jerusalem?’

  ‘Yes. I own an olive grove in Rome which I plan to extend.’ Vivius swished the wine around his mouth before placing the goblet back on the table. ‘I’ve thought for some time now that it would be to my advantage to visit one of Palestine’s famous olive groves. The methods of growing, fertilizing and harvesting are basically the same as our own, but there are a few subtle differences which could account for the larger olives or more abundant clusters. So, I decided, while I’m in the area, it would be a good opportunity to extend my knowledge.’

  ‘Ha! We have Roman friends with a sizeable olive grove the other side of Bethany,’ Pilate raised his goblet to him. ‘I insist my wife show it to you.’

  Claudia reached over to help herself to more fish, wafting a pleasing aroma of roses in his direction. ‘Yes, Senator. Allow me to take you there.’

  Vivius wiped the corners of his mouth as he contemplated the pleasures of an outing with Claudia; the pleasures he didn’t contemplate for long, the valuable source of information she could be to him, if handled correctly, he pondered a little longer.

  ‘You had no problems leaving the Senate?’ Pilate asked.

  Vivius tried not to think of the jars of olive oil he had promised to bribe his way to Palestine. ‘The Senate are as anxious as I am to increase our output and trade of oil,’ he said, pleased that at least that part was true. ‘They agreed there was a valid reason for a business trip to Palestine.’ He paused. ‘Especially when I told them that my future brother-in-law, Decurion Dorio Suranus, was here and had been badly wounded by Zealots in Galilee. I’m hoping I can take him back to Rome with me.’

  ‘Zealots!’ Pilate snorted through his nose. ‘Those religious fanatics are a constant irritant to me, Senator. They’re dangerous, unorganized, unpredictable, and not beyond stabbing anyone they suspect of anti-Jewish propaganda. They’ll even incite their own people into action if it suits their cause. Galilee is where they have their headquarters but despite having placed a heavy Roman presence in the area, we still haven’t caught their leaders. No doubt I’ll find them in Jerusalem for Passover; recruiting, would you believe. I’d have the whole lot of them crucified on the spot—if I knew who they were.’ He paused, as if realizing his tirade was a little too venomous for a quiet dinner party. ‘So the Decurion was wounded by them in Galilee, was he?’

  ‘Yes. He was transferred to Fort Antonia to have his arm amputated.’

  The breath going through Pilate’s nostrils whistled faintly. ‘You could have let the army send him back to Rome when he was fit enough.’

  Vivius kept his eyes lowered as he dipped his bread into the sauce. ‘I could have done, but my bride wanted him at our wedding ceremony this summer.’

  Vivius didn’t like the way Pilate sniffed through one nostril leaving him with something resembling a sneer.

  The slave with the turban brought in a tray of cold game surrounded by steaming vegetables, and tried to remove what remained of the shellfish.

  ‘No, no, Rico, leave it. More wine,’ Pilate slammed the empty jug into him with a force that made him grunt. ‘Meanwhile it will be our pleasure to entertain you, Senator.’ He pulled back his lips in a yellow smile. ‘I’m sure the Jewish king would be delighted to welcome you to one of his parties.’

  Vivius wiped his hands on a towel to give himself time to think. Herod Antipas’s parties were notorious for being wild and politically dangerous events and he was never at his best at these social affairs anyway. In his experience, they were always overrun with foreign dignitaries who ate, drank and made ridiculous deals that were totally forgotten the next day.

  ‘That’s extremely kind of you, Procurator, but my stay will be a short one. Just till the Decurion is well enough to travel.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have an escort around Jerusalem, Senator. You know you’ve arrived at the start of the Jewish Passover, don’t you? It’s a ritual feast of storytelling of the liberation of Israel from Egypt I don’t know how many hundreds of years ago.’ He gave a forced laugh. ‘As long as it doesn’t give these damned Jews any ideas of being liberated from Rome. That’s the trouble with these commemorative celebrations.’

  Vivius picked up a leg of game. ‘The Jews can be troublesome people,’ he said casually, turning it over in his fingers, examining where to take his first bite. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ve had your problems dealing with them.’

  ‘Problems? We’ve allowed the Jews to rebuild their own temple and worship their own God. We’ve even allowed the Sanhedrin, as a judicial body, to deal with their own civil and criminal cases, but they’re constantly harassing for more freedom. If they would control their own Zealots I might be more amenable to their demands, but they don’t. Then there’s this new sect that’s irritating them, and consequently irritating me.’

  ‘Sect?’

  ‘The sect of the Nazarenes. They’re constantly at loggerheads with the Pharisees.’ He paused. ‘The Pharisees are a religious group, highly educated, well spoken, and widely respected in the Jewish culture,’ he explained. ‘They claim this sect of the Nazarenes are preaching at variance with the laws and teachings of their God so they’re constantly dragging them in for questioning or to give them a good thrashing. It doesn’t seem to deter them.’

  ‘Are they as aggressive as the Zealots?’

  ‘Goodness, no. They’re not aggressive at all, but the way their numbers have grown in only a year is becoming a concern, so I keep an eye on them.’

  Claudia’s body moved seductively as she turned to face him. ‘The sect started a year ago when we crucified a Jew by the name of Jesus. He was a Nazarene, and claimed to be their long awaited Messiah. In only three years he built up quite a following, but the real trouble came when his followers claimed their God resurrected him from the dead.’ She shrugged her shoulders, the strap of her dress sliding an inch down her shoulder. Who knows, it co
uld be true,’ she said softly.

  ‘As you can hear this story has caught my wife’s imagination,’ Pilate sneered.

  Deciding to move the conversation on to something more relevant to his assignment, Vivius asked, ‘Wasn’t there an incident recently, something to do with riots and the massacre of two hundred Jews?’

  Pilate considered him guardedly. ‘The word “massacre” is questionable, Senator. There were Zealots amongst those citizens and they needed to be controlled. Give the Jews too much freedom and they abuse it.’ He popped a sliver of fish into his mouth; his jaws snapped as he chewed. ‘The next thing you know the Zealots are gaining the upper hand.’

  ‘How do you deal with them?’

  ‘Crucify them.’

  ‘Who? The Zealots or the common Jew in the street?’

  Pilate shrugged before leaning forward to examine the tray of game. ‘I have a difficult job, Senator. I’m responsible for taxing these people, and for implementing Rome’s judicial functions on them. The Jews don’t like paying our taxes and they don’t like being ruled by Rome. My discipline has to be harsh to deter troublemakers. Crucifixion; that’s the best way.’

  Rico cautiously removed the platter of fish from the table.

  ‘And how do you reconcile your actions with the emperor’s foreign policy of keeping the Jews’ approval by giving them freedom of worship and freedom to keep their own laws?’

  Pilate glared at him. ‘I do that, Senator; when I can. But there are times when only brute force will control these Jews.’

  Vivius sat forward; the inflammatory journal in his tunic rustled but he resisted the urge to check it. ‘So what you’re saying is, there are times Rome’s foreign policies have to be overlooked for the sake of keeping control?’

  Pilate’s face reddened. ‘No, senator. What I’m saying is, Rome’s foreign policies don’t always work in a country that…’