The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  ‘Gentleman, please.’ Claudia raised her hand in protest. There was a teasing smile across her lips. They were shining and oily with fish, but Vivius didn’t miss the flashed warning to her husband. ‘Do I have to listen to politics all evening?’ She turned to Vivius, her hair shimmering red under the oil lamps. ‘I want to hear about Rome, Senator.’

  Deciding this was probably as far as he would get in assessing the Procurator and his views this evening, Vivius relaxed back on his couch and flinging his arm over the back smiled at his hostess. ‘Well, there’s a growing body in Rome with strong republican views. They want freed men to have a voice in the city. They believe the Senate should be in control of Rome, and the Caesars should renounce claims of being divine.’ He shrugged. ‘They have their point of view, but in my opinion Rome wouldn’t be where it is today without the strength of the Caesars.’

  Claudia wafted her hand dismissively in the air. ‘No, no. I mean what’s on at the theatres and the arena? What are the latest fashions? What are they bringing into the slave markets?’

  ‘I’m sure the senator isn’t interested in the latest gowns, my dear.’

  Vivius gave a short laugh.

  ‘Then tell me about yourself, Senator. We know you own an olive grove, that you’re a senator, and that you’re to be married in the summer. What else?’

  ‘I’m a Roman official. A magistrate.’

  ‘You deal with criminals?’

  Vivius waited until Rico had replenished Pilate’s goblet for the third time before answering. ‘I don’t judge petty crimes. I deal with treason laws and foreign policies.’

  ‘Ah! That explains your interest in how Rome’s policies work in Jerusalem.’

  ‘Partly, but as a military man I’ve always been impressed with Rome’s ability to improve the lifestyles of other countries.’

  ‘And do you report your findings back to the emperor?’

  Vivius found a disquiet creeping over him. ‘No. My work in the Senate means I’m usually based in Rome,’ he answered cautiously.

  ‘Ah! Rome! How is Tiberius? Do you see much of him?’

  Vivius studied the cracks in the ceiling as if contemplating the question. ‘What I do hear is that he still grieves over the death of his son, Drusus.’ He looked at her directly. ‘Personally, I think grieving is one of the reasons why he stays shut up on the Island of Capri.’

  Rico moved silently around the room clearing away the empty dishes. A second slave brought in a platter of apples with raisins, cinnamon and pastry.

  ‘Then we must be grateful that Rome is in the capable hands of Sejanus,’ Pilate raised his goblet in the gesture of a salute.

  Vivius shook his head when Rico offered to refill his goblet; he needed to keep a clear head. Judging from tonight’s conversation it wouldn’t do to underestimate the governor – or his wife.

  * * *

  Vivius lay on the couch in his quarters, his fingers entwined across his chest and wondered for the umpteenth time how in the name of all the gods could he be expected to make any headway with his assignment when he had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for. Pilate might be tough, even cruel at times, but if their conversation over dinner last night was anything to go by, he was only doing his job and there certainly wasn’t sufficient evidence to make charges against him. All Pilate had done so far was disrespect the Jewish religion by flaunting heathen symbols, burn a few houses, crucify a few Zealots and use temple treasury money to build an aqueduct. Of course, massacring two hundred Jews when they complained didn’t look too good on his record, but a court of law could always argue there were Zealots in the crowd and he was forced to react to keep order. As for Sejanus, all he appears to have done was chose Pilate for the role in the first place. If the emperor was hinting at anything else he was mistaken.

  Vivius scratched his head in frustration. As for how he was supposed to judge the mood of the Jews without speaking to them… He pinched between his eyes.

  A knock on the door startled him. Swinging his legs off the couch he opened it. A guard handed him a tablet, saluted and moved away. Vivius opened the tablet.

  Senator. My work with the physician in Caesarea is complete. I shall be arriving with the next Roman legion bound for Fort Antonia.—Lucanus.

  Vivius gave a grunt of satisfaction; at least something was going right, he brooded. He paced across his quarters, head down, hands clenched behind his back, his thumbs twirling around each other like dancers in the theatre.

  The other inconvenience, he mused, was the amputation of Dorio’s arm. Naturally it was more inconvenient for Dorio than it was for him, Vivius conceded. But the latest news from the hospital was that Dorio’s fever was dropping. If it kept on dropping it might only be days before the medicus decided he was well enough to travel, which meant his time in Jerusalem was limited. He rubbed his chin fiercely. He needed to get busy; he needed to check the records here at the fort, and then he needed to find the whereabouts of Nikolaos, the bookkeeper.

  Deciding there was no time like the present to start, Vivius left the confines of his cramped quarters and took the stairs leading down to the administration offices. A clerk stood in the corridor with a dozen or more tablets in his arms.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  He was a mouse of a man with flat white hair that looked as if it had been cut around a basin, grey owlish eyes, and a crumpled tunic.

  Vivius brought out his social smile. ‘I don’t think so, unless, er…’ An idea occurred to him. ‘Unless you know anything about the Hasmonaean princes.’

  The owlish eyes blinked rapidly. ‘P-Pardon?’

  ‘Hasmonaean princes. I was assigned to Fort Antonia as a young officer of the legion but this part of the fort was out of bounds to me then.’ Vivius moved his cloak to make sure his senator’s toga could be seen. ‘While I’m here I would like to explore what was their palace and their influence in the area. I trust you have no objection if I wander around?’

  The clerk shuffled uneasily. ‘Er, …no, Senator, I…of course not, no of course not. Although I should point out that this area is normally reserved for administrative staff but…I suppose…please, explore all you like.’ He lifted a finger as though an idea had occurred to him. ‘You do know the fort was built directly over subterranean springs, don’t you?’

  Vivius didn’t. ‘How interesting.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, isn’t it. And you’ll find caves on the lower levels where the dungeons are.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Dreadful place, cold, dark and…’

  ‘Fascinating. And the rooms here are used for…what?’

  ‘Administration.’ The clerk pointed to the room he had exited. ‘That’s where we do the accounts.’

  ‘You’re an accountant?’

  The clerk gave a chuckle. ‘Oh dear, my goodness me no, no, no. What an idea. I have no head for figures, I’m afraid. I keep records of current affairs in Jerusalem.’

  ‘Current affairs?’

  ‘The arrival and departure of our legions, visitors to the fort, conflicts with the Zealots, demonstrations, that sort of thing.’ The clerk pointed to a door. ‘That’s my office. It’s nothing special; no influences from the Hasmonaean Princes in there I can tell you, but I do have a few old volumes which may go as far back as their time here. You’re welcome to take a look if you want.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  The owlish eyes blinked rapidly, as if surprised that anyone would even consider looking as his musty old volumes. ‘No, Senator, not at all, not at all.’

  The keys on his belt rattled as he unlocked the door. ‘It’s rather untidy I’m afraid,’ he apologised as they entered. ‘And I doubt the Hasmonaean Princes used this room to live in; it’s far too small. They probably used it as a cupboard.’ He gave a chuckle as he dropped his sealed tablets on to the already littered desk.

  Vivius rubbed his nose at the musty smell of old parchments and ledgers stored haphazardly on the wall-to-wall shelves.

 
; ‘We have a Hall of Records in Rome,’ Vivius told him. ‘If you can find anything in there it’s only by intervention of the gods, but the clerks appear to know where everything is.’

  ‘Oh I can assure you, I know where everything is in here, Senator. Over there, for instance…’ As the clerk pointed to the various shelves around the room, Vivius made a mental catalogue.

  ‘And you have records going back how long?’

  ‘Years and years and years, Senator.’ He pointed to a row of ledgers on the top shelf. ‘Those are the earliest records we have. They might go as far back as the Hasmonaean Princes, and they may even cover the years when Herod the Great changed the palace into a citadel.’

  ‘May I examine them?’

  ‘Of course. Please help yourself. Records going back that far aren’t confidential.’ The clerk dragged a short pair of stepladders over to the shelves and climbing up pulled the ledgers off the shelves one by one. Layers of dust drifted down with them. He sneezed.

  Vivius flicked through one of the ledgers. ‘I could spend hours absorbing myself in the information recorded here. You’ve done well in keeping such a meticulous office. The clerks in Rome should take a lesson from your record keeping.’

  The clerk flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Senator.’ He hesitated. ‘Actually, Senator, I was about to go to the canteen for my dinner. We’re supposed to lock up when we’re out, but if you would like to browse while I’m away then I’m sure the Procurator wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t,’ Vivius murmured picking up one of the ledgers and feigning an interest.

  The clerk laid the keys on the desk and beamed at him. ‘If I leave you for an hour or so, is that all right?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  As soon as the clerk had closed the door, Vivius laid the old ledgers to one side and pulled out the latest chronicled records for Jerusalem. Within minutes, he had come across a report from the tribune of Fort Antonia.

  Report:

  Pilate believes that building a twenty-five-mile aqueduct into Jerusalem will be progress.

  I agree. Unfortunately, he chooses to finance his venture with holy money from the Jewish temple. It is my understanding of these people that they will protest so I have expressed my concerns, warning him that this is an infringement on Jewish religion and could cause protests, demonstrations and even riots.

  As I predicted, the Jews protested, but it was a peaceful demonstration. I was ordered by Pontius Pilate to place my legionaries strategically amongst the demonstrators in case of trouble. I did. But unknown to me, Pilate had dressed his own men up as Jews and infiltrated them into the crowd. Then, at his given signal, his men randomly attacked and killed the protesters. Over two hundred Jews were killed.

  I would, however, stress there could have been Zealots amongst the citizens that I knew nothing about.

  Vivius pursed his lips. A different perspective on the same old story of the death of two hundred Jews, but once again, nothing of significance; at least nothing to build a solid case against Pilate.

  The sound of footsteps in the corridor warned Vivius that his owlish clerk could be returning from his dinner. Hurriedly pulling the parchment out of the file, he rolled it and pushed it into his tunic pocket. Then replacing the files on current affairs, he opened the dusty old ledgers on the Hasmonaean Princes and feigned an engrossment in the writings.

  The little man beamed at him as though he’d bestowed the greatest favour in allowing a senator from Rome the use of his office to pursue his historical hobby. ‘Did you find everything you wanted, Senator?’

  ‘I did. Yes, thank you.’ Vivius stood up, made his way to the door and was about to leave when a though occurred to him. Turning back to the clerk he asked, ‘Do you remember a Greek called Nikolaos? I believe he was Pilate’s former bookkeeper?’

  The clerks smile brightened. ‘Nikolas? Oh yes, I know Nikolaos well, very well. His accounts office was just over the corridor.’

  ‘Do you know where he’s living now?’

  ‘Nikolaos? Oh yes…’

  Vivius noticed the clerk’s gaze had drifted over his shoulder but it was the aroma of roses that warned him they were not alone. He swung around. Claudia was standing in the corridor behind him, wearing a low-cut, dusky pink dress beneath a brown velvet cloak.

  ‘Good morning, Senator.’

  Vivius inclined his head wondering if she had overheard him asking for the bookkeeper’s address. If she had, she gave no indication of it but threw Vivius a wide-mouthed smile. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘You have?’ he said pleasantly. ‘I was researching the Hasmonaean dynasty.’

  ‘An interest of yours?’

  ‘Not particularly but it fills in the time while I’m waiting for the Decurion to be well enough to travel. What can I do for you?’ He gestured to the door indicating they leave the administration quarters.

  ‘You can take me out of Jerusalem tomorrow.’ she said pertly, falling into step with him.

  ‘With it being the Jewish Passover the city is unbearably crowded. You said you wanted to visit an olive grove so I’ve planned a trip.’

  Vivius hesitated. ‘Ah! I’ve made arrangements for Dorio to be transferred to my quarters tomorrow.’

  Claudia waved her hand dismissively. ‘The medicus can do that?’

  ‘And I’m expecting my Greek physician.’

  ‘If he’s travelling with the legion from Caesarea, they won’t arrive until late afternoon.’ She twinkled mischievously at him. ‘Are you trying to avoid taking me out, Senator?’

  She brushed against him as they climbed the steps; her body was warm and soft.

  He paused, but only briefly. ‘You win,’ he said with a smile. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  She raised her dress fractionally above her ankles as they took the stairs. ‘We’re going to visit a Roman who has an olive grove three miles out of Bethany. The countryside en route is beautiful, his villa is beautiful, his olive grove is the best in the area, and the food is unquestionably more appetising than the food here at the fort.’

  They stopped when they reached the door of Vivius’s quarters. She rested her fingers lightly on his arm, so lightly it tickled the hairs. ‘You’ve barely been out of the fort, Senator. A change will do you good.’

  She was right, he mused. A break would do him good. A break from the smell of drugs in the infirmary, from the cramped conditions of his quarters—and from pouring over unreadable parchments and tablets. He grasped the door handle.

  ‘What time should we leave?’

  She inched closer, squeezing his arm, drawing his attention to the softness of her body. ‘I shall send Rico to your quarters early tomorrow morning,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’ll be ready.’

  She smiled. ‘Good.’ The ringlet on the back of her head narrowly missed his face as she swung around. He didn’t enter his quarters straight away but stood watching her swaying hips gliding down the corridor.

  An image of Aurelia flashed briefly in front of him, but it was only briefly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  (The Kidron Valley)

  Simon was a beefy, big-shouldered Jew. His appearance was rough, his features course and yet, possibly because of his great size, he moved with a certain grace up the hill. He stopped when he reached a palm tree and leaning against the trunk drifted his dark, liquid brown eyes lazily across the smoking campfires and colourful blankets spread out across the Kidron Valley. They look like a rainbow of tents, he thought. The makings of a smile pushed its way through his shaggy beard as he remembered how, when he was young, his parents, uncles, aunts and cousins used to join the thousands of pilgrims converging on Jerusalem to celebrate the Jewish Passover. They knew they would never find accommodation in the city, so would camp here, on the Kidron Valley. The atmosphere was always relaxed; there was always laughter and chatter and cries of excitement as they came across old friends, family members or neighbours who had travelled from
other villages.

  Simon wafted his hand as smoke from a nearby camp fire drifted towards him. A small clay stove was set on top of the fire and there was a smell of dried fish, which reminded him he was hungry. He looked back towards Jerusalem, and decided if Zachary didn’t arrive soon he was heading into the city for food. That was how he spotted the two horses coming through the city gates. They were followed by two Roman legionaries on foot. From this distance he could see that one of the riders was a woman, the other was clearly a Roman.

  Simon spat out a gristly lump of saliva, wiped his sleeve across his wet beard and cursed the Romans under his breath. He did that often; he knew he shouldn’t. He knew the sect of the Nazarenes would have something to say if they knew how deep his hatred of the Romans ran. They would tell him he wasn’t following the teachings of Jesus, that he should have moved on from this intense hatred of them, learned to forgive them, but he knew he hadn’t. Hatred clung to him like a leech, its poison festering inside him like a growing boil. The sect of the Nazarenes were right, he thought. This depth of hatred was against everything they believed in but Simon was used to its venom. He told himself it was part of his fiery nature, and had used this an excuse for his flare-ups, his rants, his spitting so often that he had almost come to believe it himself.

  ‘Simon!’

  Distracted, Simon looked around. The shout appeared to have come from a wizened old man, leaning heavily on his staff. His face hidden by his hood, but for an old man he was moving towards him with remarkable speed. Simon narrowed his eyes, but when the old man was only feet away he whipped back his hood to reveal an impish face with laughing brown eyes. ‘Ha! Scared you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Idiot!’ In three long strides, Simon had grabbed the young man by the shoulders of his tunic, and hauled him towards the cover of the palm tree as if he was dragging a sack of potatoes. ‘What you doing in Jerusalem, lad?’ Simon spoke with a thick Capernaum accent.

  Zachary’s lanky arms waved uncontrollably in the air. ‘Get off you big oaf and keep your voice down. Do you want to announce my whereabouts to the entire Roman Empire?’ He glanced around uneasily as he straightened his clothes, but then he lifted his head. ‘Barabbas sent me,’ he said with unmistakable pride. ‘I’m to find out how many extra patrols the Romans have brought in for the Passover. With all the visitors we’re recruiting, extra patrols are not good news for us Zealots.’