The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  He remained behind the handful of spectators wondering how to get closer, realising that if he aligned himself too closely with Zachary he could be mistaken for another Zealot. There was no point in risking being arrested himself, he thought. He made a careful survey of the area. The Romans from the execution squad had settled on the grass to play dice; their centurion hovered close by engrossed in conversation with another officer. A distance apart from them stood a handful of sombre Jewish officials overlooking the proceedings. Everyone else Simon assumed to be spectators.

  He moved casually forward. He wasn’t the only one on the move; Golgotha was strewn with spectators. When he reached the first vacant cross he leant against the dried bloodstains; the wood was rough against his fingers. Even at this distance he could smell death, and hear the shallow breathing of the dying men and the weeping of the ladies around one of the crosses. The women didn’t look up; they only had eyes for their loved one.

  Simon glanced towards the legionaries. Judging from the raised voices there was a dispute over what number was thrown. He waited until the argument was over and they were absorbed in their game again before inching towards the first crucified man. He barely glanced up; it wasn’t him Simon was interested in. He moved to the second cross.

  ‘Zachary!’ He breathed in fiercely through his nostrils.

  The barrage of questions that whirled around his head was enough to make him dizzy. What had possessed the Romans to crucify a mere lad? He hadn’t killed anybody, had he? Why today, so soon after his arrest? What about his trial? What about his sentence? Simon licked his lips; they were dry and crusted. He inched forward.

  Zachary turned his head as though he sensed his cousin’s presence. His face was tearstained, grey, his body bloody, twisted. ‘S…i…m…o…n.’ His mouth formed his name.

  Simon reached out; he wanted to touch him, and stupidly reassure him, but instead they stared at each other wordlessly until Zachary closed his eyes.

  Simon choked back a sob. Retreating to the vacant cross he slumped down, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands and gave permission for his heart to grieve. But added to his grief came the awful realisation that there was no one there to mourn for Zachary, except him. No one knew Zachary was being crucified, only Nathan and he wouldn’t dare come. The Romans had given no warning no…

  In the distance, a clap of thunder echoed across the Judean hills.

  ‘You there! Are you a family member for one of these criminals?’

  Startled, Simon wiped his hand across his wet face and scrambled to his feet. A flushed-faced Roman centurion with a book in his hand was marching in his direction.

  ‘No,’ he muttered.

  ‘So you’ll have no idea whether the family wants the body of this second to end one? What’s his name?’ He glanced at his book. ‘Zachary Ben Elazar.’

  Simon miserably shook his head; torn between risking arrest himself for knowing a Zealot, and being responsible for Zachary’s body when it was all over. The centurion moved away. With a groan of disgust over his denial, Simon dropped his head in his hands.

  It was this self-absorption; the hurling of recriminations at himself that distracted him from realising he was under observation. When he did eventually sense he was being watched and looked up, it was to lock eyes with the Roman senator. Simon clenched his fists, his hatred flared naturally. The senator was sauntering towards him, his hand resting lightly on his sword.

  But then it dawned on Simon that the last thing Zachary would want was to see him arrested; not now, not when he was facing death himself. Gritting his teeth, Simon forced himself to raise his hands as a gesture of ‘no trouble’, and with his head bowed began backing away.

  ‘You there! I want to speak to you.’

  Simon stopped. He glared at the Roman. ‘Yeh?’ he said, unable to restrain his contempt. ‘And I’d like a word with you as well.’

  The senator’s grip tightened on his sword. ‘Go on.’

  Simon jerked his head towards Zachary. ‘He’s not had no trial, Roman. Why?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Zachary Ben Elazar.’

  ‘Which one’s Zachary Ben Elazar?’

  Simon jerked his head towards Zachary again.

  ‘Are you telling me that lad has been crucified without a trial?’

  Simon was surprised to find he had the senator’s full attention. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He was only arrested yesterday. There’s been no time for a trial.’

  ‘What about these others?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘Don’t know about them.’

  The senator frowned. ‘Your cousin; he was a freedom fighter and a criminal?’

  ‘A freedom fighter, not a criminal,’ Simon corrected. ‘But that still entitles him to a trial, doesn’t it?’

  The Roman senator moved his stance. ‘Yes, it does.’ He spoke with deliberation, then glanced up at Zachary’s cross. ‘Well, there’s not much we can do about it now. He hasn’t got long.’

  Simon snorted through his nose. ‘I can see that!’

  The senator hardened his expression but although his hand remained on his sword his body was more at ease. ‘How often does this happen, a crucifixion without a trial?’

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘You have proof?’

  Simon detected an interest in the senator’s voice that he found confusing. ‘No, no proof, but it does.’ He realised the senator was studying him carefully.

  There was a long pause before he said, ‘You clearly care for this lad.’

  Simon nodded.

  ‘And you hate Romans.’ It wasn’t a question more a statement of fact. Simon let his glare speak for itself.

  ‘And you consider this crucifixion to be unjust.’

  ‘Unjust?’ Simon snorted through his nose and jerked his thumb towards Zachary. ‘This is Roman justice for you. The lad should have at least had a trial.’

  ‘As should any Jew, or Roman, after they’ve been arrested.’

  Simon blinked rapidly.

  The senator pursed his lips. He didn’t speak for a while but appeared to be trying to make his mind up about something. Then glancing around and seeing there was no one close enough to overhear, he said, ‘I can get justice for the lad if you can take me to a member of the Sanhedrin, one who has access to Jewish records, and one who can keep his mouth shut.’

  Simon’s mind scrambled around for some hidden agenda the Roman might have for making this request, some cruel trick he wanted to play, or a sadistic move he wanted to make to satisfy his own Roman ego, but he couldn’t find one. On the other hand, Simon found that what he wanted more than anything was justice for Zachary. Whether that was to appease his own guilt at having failed the lad he couldn’t say. It was hard to work out…but…trust a Roman? ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you know such a Jew?’

  ‘I might.’

  The silence was an awkward one.

  The groan from the cross caused both men to look up. Zachary’s pain-fill eyes showed death was approaching rapidly. Simon struggled to keep his emotions in check. He wouldn’t show his grief, not in front of a Roman. It took a while before he said, ‘I know someone.’

  ‘And you’ll take me to him?’

  There was the slightest hesitation before Simon nodded. And that was when the first drops of rain splashed on to his cloak and ran uncomfortably down his neck.

  CHAPTER TEN

  (Rome)

  It dawned on Aurelia slowly that the voices drifting through her muggy sleep weren’t part of a dream after all. She could feel a draught coming through to her bedroom from an open door, and the sound of voices, urgent voices, then the soft patter of Ruth’s feet along the corridor. She sat up alarmed, clutching the blankets to her chest, She glanced at her partially shuttered window and saw from the inky blackness outside that it was the middle of the night.

  The knock on her bedroom door was urgent, so was Ruth’s hoarse whisper. ‘M
istress, mistress, Senator Felix Seneca and a…a lady are here, mistress.’

  Aurelia felt her heart pounding in her chest. ‘I’m coming.’

  Flinging off her bedclothes and grabbing a thick shawl for her shoulders, she tiptoed across the bedroom, her thoughts whirling as to why Felix should be calling on her at this hour of the night—and with a lady? She shivered, whether with fear, or the cold marble tiles penetrating her bare feet, she wasn’t sure. She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. When she opened the door she found a wide-eyed Ruth standing in the corridor in her nightgown holding an oil lamp high. The flame of her lamp flickered from the draught of the open back door sending uneven shadows across the corridor walls.

  ‘Your…guests arrived at the back door, mistress, straight off the river. The lady had fainted; the senator’s taken her through to your living quarters. They’re both wet through.’

  ‘Off the river? Fainted? What…’ Aurelia gnawed nervously at her lip, momentarily confused by the upheaval. ‘I suppose…’ She ran her fingers over her brow as if it would help get her thoughts operational. ‘I suppose…bring them something hot, milk, anything, and towels,’ she instructed.

  Hurrying into her living quarters her eyes widened when she saw her female guest was none other than Apicata, the former wife of Sejanus. She was shivering uncontrollably, her face white and pinched as she hovered over what little heat remained in the brazier. Her cloak was wet, and the fashionable hairstyle that Aurelia had admired the other day was now devoid of fancy combs and hung in a tangled mass of curls over her shoulders.

  Felix rose to his feet as Aurelia entered, his eyes anxiously searching hers for a reaction. His hair was plastered to his head and his cloak hug heavy with dampness.

  ‘Aurelia, my love; I’m sorry about this.’ He took her hands in his. They were icy cold. ‘I didn’t want to involve you but Apicata took ill and we had nowhere else to go where she could be safe. Can she stay till daylight?’

  Aurelia’s heart summersaulted at the word ‘safe’, but all she said was, ‘You’re welcome, both of you. But look at you; you’re drenched. You need to get out of those wet clothes.’

  Apicata’s fingers were trembling as she tried to loosen the clasp of her cloak.

  ‘Here, let me,’ Aurelia said gently and was surprised how the simple task of unfastening the clasp and pulling the heavy cloak from her shoulders stopped her own shivering. She noticed the cloak had a smell of salt and sea spray to it. ‘I shall get my servant to dry this off by the kitchen fire.’ She fingered Apicata’s pale cream dress. It was equally damp. ‘I’ll get her to bring you something of mine,’ she added.

  Somewhere in her trembling Apicata nodded. Ruth slid in from the kitchen, towels over one arm and a steaming jug of milk in the other.

  Felix turned to the girl and with a tone of authority that even had Aurelia quaking snapped, ‘If you value your mistress’s safety, you’ll keep silent about our arrival here.’ He pulled off his wet cloak and shook it, sending a spray across the room.

  Ruth lowered her eyes and gave the slightest bow. ‘Yes, sir.’ She handed him a towel, poured the hot milk into the beakers and reached out her hand for Felix’s cloak.

  He shook his head. ‘No. I have to leave.’

  Aurelia heart sank. ‘Leave?’

  Felix waited until Ruth had retreated to the kitchen before saying, ‘I have to, my love. I must be seen in the city early tomorrow for a meeting of the Senate. And it must appear as though Apicata has travelled in to Rome to see her children.’ He glanced at Apicata’s anxious face. ‘You understand how important it is that Sejanus lets you take them back to the country with you? No one must know where we’ve been tonight.’

  Apicata nodded; her teeth were still chattering.

  Aurelia handed them both a beaker of hot milk. ‘And don’t worry about me. I certainly won’t tell anyone you’ve been to see the emperor,’ she said and was gratified by the look of astonishment on Felix’s face.

  ‘How did you…?’

  She pointed to his wet cloak. ‘It’s not raining outside. I would have been able to hear it. Besides, both your clothes have the salty smell of the sea about them, and not even I am stupid enough to believe you’d fancy a nightly row on the sea unless you had to.’

  Apicata wrapped her hands around the hot beaker and looked anxiously up at Felix. ‘Very good,’ he said with a smile and Aurelia found herself blushing at his expression of admiration. ‘And you’re right. No one must know we’ve been to see the emperor.’

  ‘Which is why I shall get Ruth to wash Apicata’s dress for tomorrow, and why you should do the same, Felix.’

  ‘What? Wash my dress?’

  Aurelia shook her head at him, amazed that Felix could still joke and bring a smile to her lips over what appeared to be a serious situation. But then seeing Apicata’s anxious furrow had not lifted gently added, ‘Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.’ She paused, surprised at how calmly she was beginning to take this unexpected crisis and how sharply her mind was working. Turning to Felix she asked, ‘I gather you rowed up river from Ostia?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Because you came in through my back door so presumably the boat is still tied near my house?’ She lifted her hand reassuringly at Felix’s concern. ‘Don’t worry. I shall get the slave next door to move it. For a few coins he’ll do any job I ask.’

  ‘Right.’ Felix reached for his purse in the pocket of his cloak and threw a few coins on the table. ‘You’ll be safe here tonight,’ he said turning to Apicata. ‘And tomorrow, do as we planned. Go to Sejanus, persuade him to let you take your children home.’

  Apicata nodded, albeit nervously. ‘Thank you, Felix,’ she said. Aurelia realized this was the first time she had heard the woman speak. Her voice was soft, low and cultured.

  Felix smiled crookedly at the woman. ‘You did well today. That was not an easy interview.’

  She looked down into her beaker. ‘I know,’ she whispered. She paused. ‘He will act, won’t he?’ The worried furrow had returned. ‘It’s just…he kept saying, “You’ve no proof! You’ve no proof! Give me proof.”’

  Felix hesitated. ‘He’ll act on it. Anything concerning his son Drusus…’ He glanced at Aurelia. ‘Have no doubt; he’ll act on it.’ He flung his wet cloak over his shoulders again. ‘Now, get some sleep, both of you. And remember, you must leave first thing in the morning, Apicata. I don’t want Aurelia involved in this more than she has to be.’ Felix gave a courteous nod to them both before quickly leaving the house.

  It seemed unduly quiet in the atrium after he had gone. Apicata was still white, looked exhausted and was clearly not in the mood for talking. So respecting her need for privacy, Aurelia set about finding clean nightclothes and blankets for her guest, then showing her to the guest room allowed her to retire for what remained of the night.

  * * *

  ‘You see this, Macro?’

  Sejanus flipped a coin in Prefect Macro’s direction. The Prefect of the Vigils had just walked into his office for the morning and was sitting at his office desk when Sejanus made his usual unannounced entry. Macro caught the coin neatly in his hand and examined it. His grey wolfhound slid under the desk, his tail between his legs.

  ‘Tiberius has had a second batch minted with my face on them.’ Sejanus’s chin jutted out in the manner of a man well pleased with himself. ‘Ha! What does that tell you, eh?’

  ‘So that’s what’s put you in such a good mood, is it?’

  ‘It is indeed, and, er…’ He leant forward, his knuckles rested on Macro’s desk who leant back. The smell of stale wine was strong. ‘Have you heard the rumour concerning the emperor naming his heir?’

  Macro struggled to keep his gaze remote. ‘Naming his heir? Where did you hear that?’

  Sejanus stood up straight and waved his hand noncommittally in the air. ‘I thought, with your men being on Capri, that they might have picked up the rumour.’

  ‘We
ll, if they have they haven’t reported it back to me.’

  ‘Really?’ Sejanus wandered over to the window, hands clasped behind his back but when he turned back again, Macro didn’t like the cool smile that had replaced the self-satisfied smug of earlier. ‘And it’s not the only thing they haven’t reported back to you, is it?’ he said smoothly.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Senator Felix Seneca? One of my guards saw him leaving the palace on the Isle of Capri and he wasn’t alone. There was a lady with him. Obviously they had been to see the emperor. Why have you not reported this to me?’

  ‘Who was the lady?’

  ‘No idea. According to my source she kept her hood up, head down and a scarf covered her face.’ He lingered by the window, his hands behind his back, his thumbs dancing nervously around each other. ‘You know Felix Seneca; which lady could it be?’ he asked in a manner that left Macro time to form his answer.

  ‘Felix Seneca is a man who knows many ladies, Prefect. It could be any one of dozens.’

  ‘Name one.’

  ‘Well I, er…’

  ‘How about the lady Aurelia Suranus, betrothed to Senator Vivius Marcianus?’ Sejanus interrupted, glaring at Macro. ‘Who was she seen with in social circles before her unfortunate marriage? It was Felix Seneca. Who did she turn to after her husband’s death? Felix Seneca. My own enquiries found that much out, and unlike your men, mine were quick to report that the lady visited the same Felix Seneca only the other day.’ He stabbed a finger at Macro. ‘You should have known that. You should have known Felix Seneca was on Capri but who with, that’s what I’d like to know. Was it Aurelia Suranus? Has Vivius Marcianus sent his lady information from Palestine to give to the emperor?’ He gave his barrage of questions time to digest before narrowing his eyes. ‘I do have your loyalty, don’t I, Macro? You wouldn’t deliberately keep this to yourself, would you?’

  Macro stood up and glowered. ‘You ask me a question like that?’

  The wolfhound growled softly at the raised voices.

  Sejanus gave a ‘Huh-huh!’ before wandering back to the window.

  Macro ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. It tasted like sawdust, but then it always did when Sejanus was around. ‘What are you going to do?’