The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  ‘Barabbas!’ Simon spat the name out. ‘Even that idiot should have had more sense than to send a mere lad into Jerusalem. He has a price on his head; do you know that? If the Romans associate you with him…’ Simon furrowed his brow as though a thought had just occurred to him. ‘Why’d you want to see me?’

  Zachary glared at him. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time but if you’re going to be grumpy…’

  Simon’s eyes drifted over Zachary’s shoulder to the two riders. They had made a detour from the busy Bethany and Bethpage road and had taken a track which would lead them towards him and Zachary. ‘Go on then, I know you’re dying to tell me. What have you found out in your snooping?’

  Zachary’s chest puffed out and the lad seemed to stand an inch taller when he said, ‘I saw Pilate arrive at Fort Antonia with his fancy lady and her slaves and far too many auxiliaries. Barabbas isn’t going to be pleased with that news I can tell you.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘And, interestingly enough, while I was watching the troops I saw a Roman senator arrive. We don’t get many of those in Jerusalem,’ he furrowed his brow. ‘Wonder what a senator is doing here? What do you think?’

  Simon jerked his head towards the riders. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  Zachary spun around.

  Simon watched the approach of the riders with growing animosity. Not so much towards the lady—Pilate’s lady—he’d seen her before. She’d been at Golgotha a year ago when his friend Jesus had been crucified. He could remember her standing at a distance from the cross, alone, the hood of her cloak over her head as if she had hoped to remain anonymous, but he had recognized her. He narrowed his eyes when they landed on the approaching Roman, a senator judging from his apparel. His back was straight, head held high, handsome but arrogant in his posture, as if he personally had been responsible for overpowering Jerusalem. Simon sucked at the congealed saliva in his mouth, gathered it together, and waiting until the riders were only yards away, turned and spat it out in front of the horses. Then he looked up, his eyes catching those of the Roman’s. There was an expression of disgust in them, as though he was surveying a mangy dog.

  Yet the first thought that shot into Simon’s mind was, ‘He’s a soldier, like me.’ Although there was nothing about the Roman to indicate that he was right, Simon held a firm belief that there was something about soldiers worldwide that enabled them to identify each other—in or out of uniform. He held the Roman’s chiselled gaze as horse and rider passed by.

  Simon’s hand inched into the folds of his tunic, his fingers encircling the handle of his dagger as he realised he had probably overstepped the mark, and stupidly with young Zachary at his side. Yet pride forbade him from dropping his eyes. Fortunately, excitable children raced in front of the Roman’s mount, distracting from his silent battle. He muttered something, then turned to give instructions to the two legionaries behind. One was short and stocky, a veteran judging from his scars, the other was unmistakable for his long, hairy legs and the wisps of bright red hair protruding through his helmet. The veteran moved up to the senator’s mount, nodded, saluted and Simon watched him and the redhead retrace their steps back to the city. When he glanced back at the senator again, he was surprised to see the Roman was watching him, curious, almost questioning.

  Simon grabbed Zachary’s cloak. ‘Hood up, head down, and make for the city.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do it.’

  Only when they were a safe enough distance away did Simon feel he could chance a glance back. He was relieved to see both riders had moved on.

  ‘Madness you coming into Jerusalem, today.’ he snapped. ‘Madness!’

  ‘I told you. I’m under orders from Barabbas. Barabbas wants to know whether…’

  ‘Barabbas! Barabbas! Never thought you’d have been stupid enough to join up with a thug like him.’

  ‘Better fighting Romans with him than walking out on the Zealots altogether, like you.’ Zachary’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have you forgotten what the Romans did to us, cousin?’

  Simon pursed his lips tightly to prevent an angry retort which meant they continued their walk in silence. But halfway down the hill, Simon’s shoulders sagged and he stopped. ‘I don’t want to argue, Zachary.’ The anger had gone out of his voice, but there was a solemn tone to it as he pointed to Jerusalem. ‘See that?’

  Zachary followed his cousin’s pointing finger.

  More impressive than the stone palaces and limestone buildings in the city stood the Temple Mount, rebuilt by the Jewish king, Herod the Great. It rose majestically on its plateau, its high white marble pillars towering above the turreted and buttressed walls surrounding the city. Both men knew it well, the eight gates, the wide temple courts, the balustrade. It made them proud to be Jewish. Nothing could compare with it except… Zachary adjusted his gaze when he realised Simon’s finger was not pointing towards the temple but the massive building brooding alongside it—Fort Antonia, once the palace of the Hasmonaean Princes, now a Roman fortress and a clear reminder to all Jews of the superior force who dominated their land.

  Simon dropped his hand and began walking again but more leisurely this time. ‘Every time I look at that fort I’m reminded who was responsible for that…that butchery?’ He made no further comment until they were near the city gates.

  ‘It was the boots what gave them away, did I ever tell you that?’ Simon said.

  ‘The boots?’

  ‘Ay, I was standing behind your mother and father; don’t know where my folks were, nor my brothers. Somewhere in the demonstration that’s for sure. I remember it being hot, and me being bored listening to our Sanhedrin droning on. Pilate had his hands on hips, he looked even more bored than me. We were demonstrating over him using our holy temple money to build his aqueduct. That was when I noticed the boots.’

  ‘Whose boots?’

  ‘Them boots what…’ The beggars hovering at the entrance looked up at him hopefully. Simon shook his head, touching the coins in his pocket. He’d had no breakfast and he barely had enough coins for lunch. ‘I saw that although some of the men in the demonstration were dressed like us Jews, them boots that they wore were Roman legionaries’ boots.’

  ‘You’ve never told me this before.’

  ‘’Cos straight after the…massacre you charged off like a mad bull to join the nearest Zealot unit swearing vengeance on every Roman in sight. And where’s that got you, lad? Every time you kill a Roman we get reprisals.’

  ‘I don’t need a lecture, Simon. Get back to the boots.’

  ‘I pointed the boots out to your father.’

  ‘I was standing next to my father. I didn’t notice.’

  ‘No, ’cos you were too engrossed in a girl if I remember rightly.’ Simon gave a wry smile but as the scene unfolded in his mind the smile faded. ‘I’d barely given your father warning when the command came from Pilate. Next thing I knew, the Romans had flung off their Jewish clothes, drawn their swords and…and our punishment for complaining to Rome was the slaughter of…of two hundred Jews.’ Simon couldn’t stop his voice from shaking.

  ‘I wanted to stay to fight.’

  ‘I know you did, lad. So did I, but what with…bare hands? We were unarmed. Your father pushed you in my direction and shouted, ‘Get him out of here! He created space for us, tried to protect us. I had no option. The demonstrators was screaming, running in every direction. It was chaos. We was helpless against armed legionaries. Our parents, our brothers…’ Simon shook his head. ‘I want rid of the Romans as bad as you, Zachary. Don’t you never accuse me otherwise.’

  ‘Then why did you leave the Zealots?’

  Simon scratched his shaggy beard. He desperately wanted to protect him, make him understand the dangers of belonging to the Zealots, especially the group led by that thug Barabbas. ‘I was fed up. These skirmishes with them Romans wasn’t getting us nowhere. There were always reprisals, more killing of innocent Jews. That was when I came across Jesus, the Nazarene. It wasn’t
just the revolutionary things he said and the things that he did, it was…’

  ‘He’s dead, Simon. I’d have thought you’d have been glad to re-join…’

  ‘But his cause lives on and our numbers grow fast,’ Simon interrupted. ‘All I’m trying to say is, after three years with him I knew I could never go back to the Zealots. Besides, our ways are more peaceful.’

  ‘So was the demonstration over the temple money and look where that got us,’ Zachary retorted.

  The silence was awkward.

  An overweight woman with an overloaded basket of vegetables elbowed him out of the way. Simon blinked rapidly, surprised to find himself in the marketplace. He’d been so engrossed in his discussion with Zachary he couldn’t even remember walking through the city. But now he saw that shoppers were buzzing around the market stalls like bees gathering nectar; stall-holders were bargaining loudly with buyers, and women were dragging crying children around in their wake. Simon stepped back as one of them brushed past, only to bump into two fellow Jews with slaughtered lambs slung across their shoulders. They hurried by leaving an overpowering stench of blood in their wake.

  Simon pinched his nose and then grabbed Zachary’s tunic. ‘Come on. Let’s get food.’

  Buying a loaf of bread, cheese and a handful of figs they slid into the narrow alley behind a fruit and vegetable stall. The stall-holder barely glancing at them. He was too busy haggling with an argumentative woman over the price of his goods.

  ‘Any news from Capernaum?’ Simon asked tearing the bread in two and handing half to Zachary.

  Zachary’s sullen expression softened. ‘Only that your sister’s given birth to a boy.’ The cheeky grin returned as he bit hungrily into his share of the bread.

  ‘A boy, eh?’ Simon said between mouthfuls. ‘I didn’t even know she was expecting a baby.’ He handed Zachary half the cheese.

  ‘By the way, while I was watching Pilate’s entourage arrive I saw one of your sect getting a beating.’

  ‘Who? What for?’

  Zachary shrugged and helped himself to a fig. ‘No idea, but I guessed he was one of yours because he was preaching. Herod’s guards dragged him away when Pilate and the Romans arrive. We don’t want them thinking we can’t handle our own internal affairs, do we?’

  Simon grunted. ‘Our sect have got our authorities worried. We’re growing too fast for their liking. It’s getting to the stage if you even mention the name of Jesus you’re likely to get a whipping.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The Pharisees and Sadducees don’t like our teaching, do they? Them religious bodies reckon we’re at odds with the Mosaic laws.’ He paused. ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked changing the subject. ‘Not with Barabbas, I hope.’

  ‘Stop fretting, Simon. You’re turning into an old woman. I’m in a safe house, Nathan’s place.’ Zachary helped himself to another fig and glanced around the marketplace. ‘I really ought to go,’ he said biting into it. ‘If, as you say, there’s a price on Barabbas’s head, I better not hang around here in case I’m recognized.’ Zachary waved his bread in the air. ‘Thanks for this.’

  Simon grabbed the sleeve of his tunic as he turned to go. ‘Spend Passover with me.’

  Zachary twisted his face. ‘You mean with the Nazarene sect? I don’t…’

  ‘I’ll meet you here, in the marketplace,’ Simon persuaded. ‘I reckon it’ll do us good not to argue but to remember happier times.’

  ‘Well…’ Zachary wavered but then gave a grin. ‘Right! I’ll meet you here.’ And with a final glance around the busy market square he pulled his hood over his head and disappeared into the crowds.

  Simon watched him go, an anxious furrow across his brow. So Zachary was staying at Nathan’s place, was he? Yes, Nathan was all right. He was a good Zealot. He could trust Nathan to look out for the lad.

  His eyes drifted on to two familiar Roman legionaries browsing around the souvenir stall. One was stocky and scarred, a veteran by the looks of him, and the other had long red hair on his legs and arms. Simon stepped back into a doorway and made contact with the dagger under his tunic; it was a comfort having it at his side today.

  * * *

  As Vivius rode through the city gates with Claudia, he was surprised to see a colourful blanket of tents spread across the Kidron Valley. He could smell cooking in the air, and sensed the Jewish anticipation for their forthcoming celebration so strongly he felt he could almost reach out and touch it.

  ‘Impressive,’ he commented.

  She didn’t answer, but manoeuvring her mount away from the Bethany road, took a track leading around the village.

  Two young boys raced across the path in front of them yelling and laughing. Vivius watched them clamber up a palm tree to see who would reach the top first. It was a game, that’s all it was, but for no logical reason he found himself disturbed by an unexpected flash of jealousy. He knitted his brow trying to fathom out why. Perhaps it was because he’d never experienced the joy of playing with sheer abandonment? Perhaps it was because he’d never had a close friend his own age to play with? Yes, it could be either of those things, he mused. Even from an early age his father had been a harsh taskmaster. If he wasn’t studying, his father had brought in older boys to train him for combat, and what time was left his father insisted he spend with Phaedo learning about olive groves. Although, he conceded, that had never been a hardship but it did mean his father’s…Vivius blew softly through pursed lips. His father—again? He wrenched his thoughts back to the present. He was thinking too much, he decided. He needed to give himself a day off from assignments and investigations.

  That was when his eye fell on the big Jew. It was the surly glare that caught his attention; the dark piercing eyes that never wavered from his own, eyes that had the unmistakable message, ‘Given half the chance I’d kill you.’ But he wouldn’t; Vivius knew that, not with two legionaries as escort. Nevertheless, Vivius made a point of returning the silent battle with his own superior stare; that is, until the two small boys ran across the road to join their friends, one of them, in his haste, narrowly missing Vivius’s mount. The boy let out a cry of alarm when he saw it was a Roman. The horse snorted, startled, and Vivius was forced to relinquish his silent battle to concentrate on calming the animal. One of the legionaries chased the youngsters away with a loud bellow which gave Vivius an uncomfortable feeling of having a nursemaid. Reining in his mount he waved the legionaries forward.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to accompany us farther,’ he told them. ‘You might as well return to the fort. I think they’ll have greater need of you than we do.’

  ‘Yes, Senator.’

  Vivius allowed his eyes to drift over to the Jew again. He was still glaring in their direction, but then his gaze dropped to the young lad at his side. He hesitated, spoke to him briefly, then clearly not wanting to create an incident, the Jew turned abruptly and followed the legionaries back to the city. Vivius experienced a brief moment of regret. Tiberius had wanted him to assess the mood of the Jews, and he guessed that was one Jew who wouldn’t have been afraid to give it to him in a straight talking manner.

  As they moved on, leaving the Kidron Valley and its colourful spread of tents, campfires, smell of food and the relaxed and congenial atmosphere, Vivius realised Claudia was skirting the village of Bethany. He glanced across at her. She had been quiet since leaving the city but now they were away from people he noticed she had closed her eyes and tilted her head back to catch the fresh breeze sweeping down from the Judean hillside.

  Unobserved, he watched her body swaying easily in the saddle, her cheeks flushing up with the heat in the sun, her auburn hair, not coiled but blowing free. His smile widened; it wasn’t hard to guess she was glad to get out of the city.

  They were heading east, he noticed; where fresh green crops warmed to Palestine’s springtime, fields of yellow wheat waved in the gentle breeze, and splashes of red and blue anemones grew by the wayside. A moving shadow over
the field of wheat caught his eye. He shaded his eyes. A hawk circled lazily above them in the cloudless blue sky; a pigeon gave a throaty call of warning from the branches of a palm tree, a dove cooed his unhurried reply, and the flap of tiny wings grew silent as the sparrows hid in the white-blossomed almond tree.

  Vivius sampled a lungful of fresh air, holding on to the fragrance of almond blossom for as long as he could. Then following Claudia’s example, he closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of the sun on his back, the musical tinkle of the goats’ bells in the distance, and the slow steady rhythm of his mount to draw him away from the problem of his assignment.

  They skirted Bethany in a wide arc so they could admire the view, but it was only when the village was well behind them that Claudia became more talkative. She told amusing anecdotes about her life in Rome, in Caesarea and in Jerusalem, and Vivius found himself laughing with her over seemingly trivial incidents. Twice he tried to broach the subject of Pilate but each time she cleverly deviated him from anything remotely political.

  Eventually, they rode through an arch supported by two stone pillars and Vivius found himself on a long, straight road of well cared for olive trees planted regimentally on either side.

  Claudia pointed ahead. ‘I told you their villa was beautiful, didn’t I?

  ‘A Roman villa in Palestine?’ Vivius raised his eyebrows, at the Ionic columns, balconies, the fountains, the Roman statues and garden of palm trees.

  When they reached the stables Vivius dismounted, handed his reins to the stable slave and then reached up to lift Claudia down from her mount. As he wrapped his hands around her slender waist, he found her warm body pleasantly disturbing. She leant forward, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. He was aware of her yellow silk dress slithering through his fingers, the softness of her body pressing up against his as he brought her slowly down from her mount. As her toes reached the ground she tilted her head back to look up at him, her green eyes regarded him steadily, with invitation, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. He kept his hands around her waist longer than was necessary, trying to read her mood; the fragrance of roses was heady, her lips shining, wet. His hand moved deliberately from her waist to her back; he pulled her gently closer, she didn’t resist.