Simon sank down on to a stool and screwed the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘He’s just a lad,’ he muttered.
Nathan rested his hand on his shoulder. ‘Yes, but he was found in a house of Zealots.’
Simon ran his fingers through his grizzled hair. The tension in his head was expanding at such a rate that he felt it was ready to snap at any moment. ‘My fault,’ he muttered angrily. ‘I should have taken a firmer line with the lad after he lost his family. I should at least have stopped him joining up with that thug Barabbas. I tried warning him but…’ His stool scraped across the wooden floor as he stood up. ‘I have to go, Nathan.’
Nathan examined him soberly. ‘Well, I’m here if you need me. I don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I? The Romans might have eased curfew for the Passover, but they’ve got more Roman patrols wandering around this part of the city than there are fish in the Sea of Galilee.’
Simon simply uttered a string of obscenities under his breath as he opened the door.
* * *
‘Forgive me for asking, Senator, but is anything wrong?’ The young centurion warming his hands over one of the glowing iron braziers in the middle of Fort Antonia’s courtyard was clearly eager to be of assistance to a senator from Rome.
‘Yes,’ Vivius said irritably. ‘My physician should have arrived with the legion from Caesarea this afternoon but he hasn’t, which is highly inconvenient as the infirmary have transferred the Decurion to my quarters. I now have a disgruntled medicus running between my quarters and his infirmary wanting to know why my physician isn’t taking care of his patient.’
‘Would you like me to make enquiries, Senator?’
Relieved to have someone else pick up his problem, Vivius stretched out his hands to the warmth of the iron brazier. ‘Yes, do that. His name is Lucanus, he’s Greek.’
Beckoning to a battle-scarred legionary hovering a distance away, the centurion issued him with orders and joined Vivius warming his hands at the brazier.
‘My men raided a house of Zealots this afternoon,’ he said by way of making conversation.
‘Really,’ Vivius answered stiffly. He made it a statement rather than a question hoping he wasn’t going to be subjected to a running commentary of how it all happened.
The young centurion wafted smoke away from his face as the breeze changed direction. ‘Barabbas was seen recruiting in the city so two of my men followed him to a safe house.’ He hedged a grin. ‘Unfortunately, one of them has the longest legs and brightest red hair you’ve ever seen. The Zealots couldn’t fail to notice they were under surveillance.’ There was a hiss as the breeze ignited a fresh log of wood, sending a spurt of flame into the dark night sky. ‘Barabbas was in the house, and believe me, Senator, Barabbas is not a man to tangle with, as my men found out. Fortunately Pilate’s auxiliaries were close by so they helped in the arrest. We might not have got Barabbas but we did get another Zealot; Zachary something or other…’
Vivius turned as the discrete cough behind warned the veteran soldier had returned. The glow from the fire highlighted his ugly white scars, giving his face a distorted appearance.
‘Excuse me, Senator. The guardhouse tells me your physician arrived with the reinforcements from Caesarea, but as no one could find you, and as there was some confusion as to what a Greek was doing at the fort, the guards refused him entry. So the physician left a message to say he’s gone to stay with friends in the Grecian quarter of the city for the night.’
‘He’s gone to do what?’
‘To stay with friends in the Grecian quarter, Senator.’ The soldier handed him a ragged piece of papyrus with an address scrawled across it. ‘That’s where he’s staying.’
Vivius crumpled the papyrus in annoyance and thrust it into his tunic pocket. ‘Well, he better be back first thing tomorrow morning or there’ll be trouble,’ he said to no one in particular.
‘The physician also left this for you, Senator. He said it arrived the morning you left Caesarea.’ Handing him a small roll of papyrus, the soldier saluted, and moved away. Vivius pushed it into his tunic pocket along with the crumpled papyrus and with a curt nod made his way into the fort.
The oil lamp on the table was casting uneven shadows across the walls when he crept inside his quarters. He assumed it had been lit by the medicus when he came to check on his patient. Quietly opening the bedroom door he saw Dorio sprawled out on mussed sheets, his breathing heavy, his curls clinging to the sweat on his brow. Kneeling down at the side of the bed, Vivius ran his hand under the mattress and gave a grunt of satisfaction as his fingers lighted on Fabius’s journal.
The movement must have disturbed the patient because Dorio groaned and rolled over. Vivius grimaced and averted his head as a stench of drugs and bodily odours drifted his way. Swiftly leaving the bedroom, and closing the door firmly behind him, he flung open the shutters in his living quarters and inhaled lungfuls of cool night air. A pleasant aroma of spices drifted towards him.
Resting his arms on the sill he gazed across the city of Jerusalem. It looked different from the other nights, he mused. Lights shone in homes giving indication of activity; people wandered the streets, their laughter suggesting they were enjoying their celebration, and enjoying the freedom of having had the curfew lifted for the Passover.
He gave a tut of irritation as a groan emerged from the bedroom. In the name of all the gods, was he expected to sleep through that? Of course, he thought irritably, if he’d curbed his dalliance with the delectable Claudia he might have arrived back at the fort in time for Lucanus, who would now be administering some weird herbal concoction to silence his patient. Although…a hint of a smile emerged at the thought of Claudia. It had been an…interesting day, he reflected. Not an opportunity for him and Claudia to make it more interesting—personally—but then… His fingers drifted pensively through the folds of his toga to his dagger, his thumb running smoothly over the ruby in the handle. Why, he wondered, having spent an entire day in the lady’s company, had he returned without a single thing of notable interest for his assignment?
His ponderings were distracted by the groans in the bedroom turning into loud rhythmic snores. Closing the shutters with a clatter, Vivius turned to his table and that was when he spotted the tablet. Curious, he opened it.
Senator: When you were exploring the Hasmonaean dynasty you asked me for the address of Nikolaos the bookkeeper. I cannot give you his address but I can tell you how to get to his house. I shall be in my office all day tomorrow.
The bookkeeper! Vivius tried not to build his hopes up in case it turned out to be another dead end. But on the other hand, he reasoned, surely it was about time he had a bit of good luck.
But first, he decided, he needed Lucanus to pick up his duties. Pulling the crumpled scrap of papyrus from his tunic pocket, he studied the address Lucanus had left him. Of course, he could send someone to get the physician but why bother when in all likelihood he would spend the night tossing and turning with the racket from the next room.
His decision made, Vivius turned off the lamp and left his quarters.
He had always enjoyed walking through cities at night, away from people, away from the clamour of shoppers, the urgency of businessmen, the noise of traders and whinging of children. He found Jerusalem was no different. Occasionally he came across a Jew sauntering home after the celebrations, or the singing of a psalm drifted through an open window, but on the whole the city was quiet. He glanced behind at regular intervals. Not that he believed he was being followed, but being aware of his surroundings was a habit which had kept him safe over the years.
Only once was he forced to ask a Roman patrol for directions. If the officer in charge was puzzled to find a Roman senator wandering through Jerusalem in the dead of night he didn’t show it, but pointed him towards the Grecian quarter of the city, a maze of poor houses situated in narrow streets.
Finding the house took him longer than anticipated, but eventually he discovered it was a typic
ally small Judean house with a flat roof and a dozen or more like it in the lane. To his relief a light still burned in the open window, and there was a murmur of voices from inside.
He knocked on the door. The voices dropped, a chair scraped across the floor, footsteps padded towards him, and the door was thrown open by a large unshaven Greek with bulging apple red cheeks, a gut hanging over his belt, and a wide intoxicated smile that said everybody was his friend that night.
Vivius inclined his head as a prelude to introducing himself, but the arms that were flung wide in greeting and the torrent of Greek assured him such courtesies were not needed, not at this house and certainly not tonight. Vivius stepped smartly back, his hands raised, and was relieved to be saved further embarrassment by the arrival of Lucanus.
‘Senator?’ The physician beamed at him. ‘Come and join us.’
‘Thank you, Lucanus, but I’m not here to socialise and neither, may I remind you, are you.’ Vivius said stiffly. ‘I’m here because your services are needed at the fort.’ Judging from the fallen faces his arrival had clearly drowned what remained of the celebrating.
‘There’s no need to be angry, Senator,’ Lucanus said defensively. ‘I did call at the fort but the guards wouldn’t let me in so I came here. These people are friends of mine. I went to medical school with their son.’
Vivius struggled to envisage the drunken Greek swaying in the doorway conceiving an offspring intelligent enough to attend medical school. ‘I’m afraid I must steal Lucanus away from your celebrations,’ Vivius said changing easily from Latin to Greek. ‘I have a wounded man for him to attend to.’
The lopsided grin took a downward spiral. ‘Ah! The duties of a physician, eh? But then you must come inside, out of the chill wind my Roman friend while Lucanus collects his belongings.’
Vivius reluctantly stepped inside, but kept his eyes on his boots as a noisy, arm waving, embracing farewell took place. Only when the door had banged behind them, and the quietness of the city had wrapped itself protectively around him again, did he feel at ease.
‘You got the letter then, Senator?
‘Letter?’ Vivius set off at his usual brisk pace, anxious to get back to the fort. ‘Oh, you mean the address of your Greek friends? Naturally, how do you think I found you?’
‘No, Senator; I mean the letter from Rome. ‘I brought it with me from Caesarea. I left it at the fort for you.’
Aware the physician was lagging behind due to being lumbered with a medical case and a shabby, cloth travelling bag, Vivius slowed down. He patted the pocket of his cloak. He had totally forgotten about it. ‘I haven’t got round to reading it yet.’
Even as he spoke he was conscious of the figure coming towards them. There was something about his sheer bulk, his steady march, like that of a soldier …that reminded Vivius of the Jew he had seen in the Kidron Valley. It was only as the figure drew closer, and the glaring black pools of hatred in his eyes were turned in his direction that Vivius realised it was the same man. His hand strayed through his cloak to his sword—just in case he needed it.
* * *
Simon was returning from Nathan’s house when he heard voices; Roman voices, and it wasn’t soldiers; he could tell from the high-class accent of one and the Greek accent of the other.
As he rounded the corner he saw that he was right; one was a Greek traveller, he could tell from his tatty cloth travelling bag, but the other—Simon flared his nostrils. The other was the arrogant Roman senator he had seen riding across the Kidron Valley. The hatred bubbled up inside him like a pan of boiling water. He glanced behind; the lane was empty. No one would see if…his fingers gripped the handle of his sword. Of course there was the Greek, he’d have to get rid of…he was only young; not much older than Zachary but… It was the image of Zachary’s cheeky face laughing up at him that took his hatred off the boil. Simon knew exactly what the Romans would do if they came across their murdered senator. Reprisals! And Zachary was already in Roman custody. Simon cursed under his breath and walked on by.
CHAPTER NINE
(Jerusalem)
Pontius Pilate paced the floor of his quarters, hands clasped behind his back, head down.
Claudia patted the chair at her side. ‘Sit down and relax over breakfast, my love. You know how fretting upsets your delicate constitution.’
Pilate glanced across at the bowl of figs, grapes and dish of honey cakes laid out on the table, and wrinkled his nose at the sweet sickly smell, but the expression only made his face look like a crumpled sheet. ‘Sit down! Relax! Don’t be ridiculous, Claudia! How can I relax when you calmly inform me the senator’s been asking for the bookkeeper’s address. You know the trouble I had with that silly little man, always counting his money, always questioning me over every single coin spent. He even had the audacity of accusing me of misappropriating tax monies, but it was him that was incompetent, and I told him so. The gods alone know what he’ll say just to get even with me.’ Pilate’s usually smooth voice grated as though he needed a strong drink to clear it of phlegm. ‘And why does the senator want the bookkeeper’s address in the first place; that’s what I’d like to know. Who put him up to it? It all stems from that letter Fabius sent the emperor. It’s a conspiracy. That’s what it is, a conspiracy.’
Claudia nibbled daintily at a fig as she listened to her husband’s ranting. ‘Against who?’
‘Me! Me!’ Pilate stabbed his chest so hard that acid indigestion rose from his stomach. He grimaced as he belched. Claudia was right, he brooded rubbing his chest. This upheaval was upsetting his delicate constitution. ‘And possibly Sejanus,’ he added. ‘I gather not all the Senate are agreeable of his rise to power.’ Frustrated by this latest news he slapped his hand harder than he intended on the cold marble head of Tiberius standing in the corner. It stung, but only momentarily. After a long pause his fingers began drumming over the marble eyebrows. ‘But the senator hasn’t got the address yet, you say?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. There wasn’t time; he was out with me all day yesterday.’
‘Hmm. Perhaps I should have his quarters watched.’
Claudia waved her hand dismissively. ‘Forget the senator. We have him under control.’
‘You think so, huh?’
‘I do.’
‘Then where do you think he went after he left you last night?’
‘To bed, I assume.’
‘Wrong. He took a late night jaunt through the city. Why he should do that I have no idea.’ He threw his wife a look of contempt. ‘So much for your charms in keeping him out of trouble, my dear.’
Claudia calmly popped a grape into her mouth, removed the pip and added it to the pile on her dish. ‘Would you rather I had spent the night with him?’ she asked tersely.
The question hung threateningly between them. Wandering over to the window, Pilate opened the partially closed shutters, rested his elbows on the ledge and studied the dark grey clouds overhead. The air that drifted in was thick and warm as though a storm was brewing. He was aware of Claudia’s eyes burning into his back but he didn’t move. Her question posed new and unchartered territory between them so he allowed his iron silence to speak for itself.
Eventually he said, ‘This has been a troublesome visit, Claudia.’
‘Has it?’ Her voice had an edge to it as though she was still mulling over his previous comments.
‘The Jewish Supreme Council has landed me with more problems than usual. They appear to have no understanding whatsoever of a multi-faith society. One God, they insist, and that’s it. Why can’t they follow the Roman example, that’s what I’d like to know? We have less problems with our many gods than these Jews have with only one.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Even the slightest change we suggest is met with opposition; either from the fanatical Zealots who will defend the Jewish way of life even if it kills them, or from the Jewish council. Do you know what they’re doing now?’
‘No, dear.’
‘
They’re using the same tactic as they did with that Nazarene fellow; you know, the one we crucified last year.’
‘You mean Jesus of Nazareth?’
‘That’s the one. They’re insisting his followers are a threat to Rome in what they preach. But I know what the Jewish council are up to. They want rid of this sect so they’re calling it blasphemy and a threat against Rome so we’ll crucify them. Damned impertinence!’
‘Hmm, well.’ Claudia wiped her sticky fingers, ‘I shall leave you to your Jewish problems and I shall see what I can do to amuse the senator today, shall I?’
Pilate made no comment; he didn’t even turn when he heard the rustle of her dress as she left the table or clatter of the latch as she left the room. In fact he was still staring out of the window when Rico entered to clear the table. But it was only when his slave cleared his throat as indication of his presence that the Procurator realised he was there.
‘I thought you might like some wine, excellency?’
‘You thought right,’ Pilate waved his hand towards a goblet on the table and listened to the trickle of wine as Ricco poured from the jug. Pilate ran his tongue around his lips. ‘This has been a troublesome visit, Rico.’
‘Yes, excellency.’
‘Made more so by the arrival of the senator.’
‘Yes, excellency.’ Rico handed him a full goblet.
The pause was a long one.
‘It would make my life far less troublesome if I knew what he was up to, where he was going and who he was seeing. The Lady Claudia can’t keep him under observation all the time.’ He paused. ‘In fact, it would reduce my troubles considerably if…if the Zealots disposed of him for me or…or if he simply…disappeared altogether.’ Pilate swung round to face his slave; wine slopped over the rim of his goblet at the sudden movement but Pilate’s unblinking bulbous eyes never wavered from those of his slave.
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