The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  ‘Absolutely! In fact,’ Lucanus withdrew a roll of fresh bandages from his medical bag and began wrapping them around Vivius’s shoulder. ‘Now I come to think of it, he resembled our intruder. He had heavy black freckles scattered across his face like…like full stops on a tablet.’

  Vivius frowned at him. ‘I don’t remember you telling me about black freckles.’

  ‘I’ve only just remembered.’

  ‘Hmm. Pilate’s slave has black freckles and less than twenty minutes ago I noticed a nasty cut on his neck. I’d avoid that section of the fort if I was you.’

  Lucanus gave a wry grin. ‘Don’t worry, Senator. I’ve always avoided trouble. It’s only since meeting you that it seems to have caught up with me.’ He tied the bandage in a neat knot.

  Vivius closed his eyes. His head was beginning to pound, his shoulder throb, and he was in no mood to reprimand a cheeky young physician for the way he spoke to a senator. He gave a half smile. Especially not one who had tackled an intruder single-handedly, and fought assailants with only obscene language and a medical bag as weapons.

  He lay back on his couch, his thoughts quickly moving on from Lucanus to his visit to the administration offices and this unexpected bonus from… Vivius chewed his lip as it occurred to him he was placing an awful lot of trust in the hands of one little, white-haired, owlish clerk whose name he didn’t even know.

  * * *

  (Jerusalem)

  ‘Are you on your way to prayers, Simon?’

  Shading his eyes against the late afternoon sunshine, Simon found Joseph of Arimathea hurrying towards him in an exotic robe of black, white, fawn and grey and headgear that reminded Simon of a hoopoe bird. ‘I am.’

  ‘Let me walk with you. There’s a favour I have to ask.’

  Simon gave him an uneasy glance. ‘Seem to remember last time I did you a favour I ended up defending a blasted Roman.’

  Joseph patted his shoulder consolingly. ‘And this is another costly favour, my friend.’

  ‘You can ask, but I’m not saying I’ll do it,’ Simon said gruffly.

  Joseph slid his hands into the sleeves of his coat. ‘The Greek bookkeeper, Nikolaos, is in trouble,’ he said soberly. ‘He was badly beaten up last night. The Romans want his ledgers. The only good thing to have come out of it is that Nikolaos has decided that Jerusalem is no longer safe. He wants the Roman senator to take him and his ledgers back to Rome and he’s willing to testify against Pilate. My source at the fort tells me they leave tomorrow.’

  ‘So what’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘Ah yes, well,’ Joseph cleared his throat. ‘They need your help getting out of Jerusalem.’

  Simon stopped abruptly in the middle of the road. ‘What! Are you mad? How am I supposed to do that? I can’t concoct a plan overnight. It’s madness, Joseph.’

  ‘There’s also a wounded Roman Decurion and a Greek physician you’ll have to get out as well,’ Joseph added.

  ‘Why pick on me?’

  ‘Because as a former Zealot you’re the only one among the Nazarene people who would know how to do something like this.’

  Simon scowled. ‘I’m not helping a Roman,’ he said flatly.

  ‘I doubt that’s the attitude our Lord Jesus would have taken,’ Joseph murmured. ‘He told us to forgive our enemies.’

  ‘Forgive? You expect me to forgive the Romans for murdering my family?’

  The question hung between them like an iron silence.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Joseph eventually said but in a coercing manner. ‘It’s Nikolaos that needs your help and Zachary that needs justice. The Roman can deliver both.’

  ‘You believe that do you?’

  ‘I do. Absolutely!’

  ‘Sounds to me like I’m left with little choice?’

  ‘There’s always a choice, Simon,’ Joseph said pleasantly. ‘You should know that.’ He held on to his silken headgear as he ducked to avoid trailing ivy over the arch of the courtyard. ‘It’s making the right one that’s important.’ He patted Simon’s shoulder. ‘Come on. Let’s join the others for worship.’

  Simon glanced sullenly up at the upper room of the house and came to the rapid conclusion he was in no mood to pray. ‘You go ahead, Joseph. I need time to think.’

  Sinking down on the wooden seat under the almond tree, Simon leaned back heavily against the trunk. A white blossom floated over his head, landing on his tunic. He brushed it off with short angry gestures.

  He had hoped the quiet murmur of prayer drifting down from the window of the upper room might have calmed his troubled mind; it didn’t. Perhaps that was because he was more of a fighter than a quiet man of prayer, he brooded. He closed his eyes. Yet what he really needed right now was time to gather his shambolic thoughts together and make sense of what was happening.

  He stirred uneasily as he tried to remember the last time he had prayed. His memory skimmed back through the days and landed on the morning he had spotted the Roman senator riding across the Kidron Valley. He gave an angry grunt. Romans! And Joseph says forgive them? How could he possibly forgive them? The familiar loathing rose up inside him like a volcanic eruption. He found its familiarity almost comforting, yet… He pinched between his eyes…yet where had all this…loathing got him? Every time he got angry he felt like he was shovelling fuel onto an already blazing fire. It was burning him up inside. He had no peace; he couldn’t pray; he… It dawned on Simon bit by bit that all the hating was doing was destroying him, not the Romans.

  He opened his eyes and stared miserably up at the almond tree as a second thought occurred to him. If he hated the Romans so much, what insanity had sent him charging down the lane in defence of one? Why hadn’t he left the senator to the mercy of those thugs? Why hadn’t he stuck a dagger in the Roman’s back himself? After all, that’s what the Zealots had trained him to do. The Romans had invaded his country, murdered his family, crucified Zachary. Yes, the Zealots were right. They were at war with Rome, perhaps he should go back to them, revenge was…

  The Zealots!

  The thought burst into his head like a flash of sunlight through the branches of the almond tree. Simon leant forward, his arms resting on his knees. Nathan! Nathan knew ways of getting out of the city. He kept a record of Roman timetables; he knew how to create a diversion. If anyone could get the Greek bookkeeper and his ledgers out of the city, Nathan could if… Simon pursed his lips. If he could be persuaded to help a Roman that is.

  Simon sat for a while longer, finding himself torn between his need for revenge on the Romans, and asking himself why he should help this particular one. But at the end of each struggle the same answer came back to him. Regardless of being Roman, Greek or Jew; regardless of class, wealth or even religion; he was in the middle of a fight against injustice and intolerance, a fight against evil. Fighting evil; that’s what Jesus of Nazareth lived and preached and what he, Simon, had come to believe he was called to do, not just by prayer but by action.

  He rose to his feet, brushing the blossoms off his tunic but less angrily now that he had made his decision. Making his way up the stairs to the upper room he crept inside, closing the door quietly behind him so as not to interrupt the praying. He glanced around for Joseph. The sect of the Nazarene had grown to such an extent that he didn’t recognize half of them. They were squashed together on their knees, their heads bowed over folded hands. He spotted Joseph’s colourful and expensive attire almost immediately. It stood out against the simple coats and tunics around him. He was kneeling on the floor near the front. Simon groaned inwardly, knowing he’d get no thanks from the leaders for disturbing this quiet hour of prayer.

  Taking a deep breath he made his way to the front, conscious of the clatter of his boots on the wooden floor. One or two looked up curiously as he passed, others gave a tut of annoyance, but mostly he was ignored.

  He touched Joseph on the shoulder, and kneeling down beside him, whispered, ‘Did you say there was a wounded Decurion in
the party?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Simon could almost feel the angry glare from one of the leaders. He ignored him.

  ‘Can you get word to the clerk at the fort that we’ll need a cart for the wounded Decurion—and for Nikolaos. By the way, where is Nikolaos?’

  Joseph pointed to the far side of the room. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Conscious of the fact that his untimely interruption was beginning to try the patience of those leading tonight’s worship, Simon whispered, ‘Tell you later.’ Rising to his feet he self-consciously clomped his way back to the door.

  Once outside he made his way swiftly towards the Greek quarter of the city, and the terrace of dilapidated flat-roofed buildings. He found Nathan sitting in the semi shade of his front door, hands thick with slimy brown clay, making pots to sell in the market. He glanced up briefly, raised his brows when he saw it was Simon, then focused back on his work.

  ‘This is a surprise; two visits in a three days.’ He stood up, viewed the simple round pot on the table objectively, then with a grunt of satisfaction rinsed his hands in a bowl of water. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Oh yes? To do what?’

  Simon took a deep breath, inwardly uttering his first prayer for days, which is why he was surprised when the first words that burst out of his mouth were, ‘No one can hate the Romans more than me, Nathan. You know that.’

  Nathan wiped his hands on a towel. ‘So?’

  ‘They murdered my family, and they crucified Zachary. If I wasn’t going against the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth I’d wipe every Roman off the face of this damned earth.’ Simon was surprised to find that despite the strength of his words the hatred inside him was a long way from erupting. ‘Every Roman, except one,’ he added.

  Nathan sat down on his stool and regarded him curiously. ‘Go on.’

  ‘This one Roman; and make no mistake, Nathan, I loathe him with every bone in my body; he has the power to get justice for the families what were massacred by Pilate. He can also get justice for Jews that were crucified by Pilate without a trial.’ Simon paused. ‘This Roman; he’s a senator, a magistrate and he carries valuable information from our own people to the emperor; information what can have Pilate recalled to Rome.’

  Simon found Nathan regarding him with suspicion. ‘And why do you want me?’

  ‘I need help getting him and his companions out of Jerusalem and back to Rome.’

  ‘His companions?’

  ‘A Greek physician who hasn’t a clue how to wield a sword, an elderly Greek bookkeeper with information which Pilate will do anything to get his hands on, a one-armed Roman Decurion wounded by Zealots, and the Roman senator.’

  Simon watched Nathan tracing the scar down his face with his finger in a thoughtful manner. ‘The cause is a good one, Nathan.’

  The silence was a long one.

  Eventually Nathan said, ‘So we get rid of Pilate, his replacement might be worse.’

  ‘Can we get much worse?’

  ‘I need a few days to think about it, speak to the Zealots, plan and so on. When do you need to know?’

  Simon hesitated before he said, ‘Now. They leave tomorrow morning.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  (Rome)

  Aurelia rubbed the yellow cloth between her fingers and thumb, her lower lip jutting out as though she was trying to make a decision. The stall-holder hovered, a look of anticipation on his face. She felt sorry for him. She had no intention of buying the material but she was pleased it looked as though she had.

  ‘He’s over there, mistress,’ Ruth murmured at her side. ‘By the leather stall.’

  Aurelia found her heart was beating like a drum. ‘Are you sure it’s him?’

  ‘Yes, mistress. He’s carrying a cloak over his shoulder like the Lady Apicata said.’

  Aurelia glanced up casually from the yellow cloth, her eyes flickering through the bustling shoppers and landing on a tall neat man of middling years who was looking in their direction. He had a shy, pleasant, sleepy-looking face that she immediately liked, and greying hair set far back on his head. She was close enough to see he had strong blunt hands with grizzled hairs on the back.

  Deciding it would be safer not to give any sign of acknowledgment, Aurelia held eye contact with the man longer than was necessary before dropping the yellow cloth and moving casually away from the bales of material. The stall-holder’s face fell.

  Stopping occasionally to peruse various stalls, and to make sure the man with the strong blunt hands and the pleasant face was following, she made her way unhurriedly through the hot and bustling marketplace. Ruth kept her usual few paces behind as they wound their way back through the city to the Suranus town house.

  ‘He’s still with us, mistress.’ Ruth’s keys jangled as she opened the heavy wooden door. ‘And I don’t think anyone else followed but I can’t be sure.’

  ‘Good. Leave the door ajar for him.’

  Aurelia barely had time to remove her cloak before the gentle footfall behind told her the man had entered her house. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  ‘Thank you, mistress.’

  Aurelia smiled shyly at him. ‘Don’t thank me yet. We still haven’t got you safely away.’

  The pleasant face smiled back sending crinkles of laughter lines around his eyes. ‘You have my instructions?’

  ‘Yes. Apicata says you’re to wait until it’s dark. My back door leads down to the river. You’ll find a boat outside. You’re to row down river to Ostia where you’ll be met by the captain of a fishing vessel. He’ll take you over to the Isle of Capri.’ She paused. ‘Do you think we were followed?’

  The man shook his head. ‘It’s hard to say. I kept a sharp lookout. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble for helping us, but…’ the man looked at her soberly before pulling a letter out of his pocket. ‘My mistress says it’s vital this letter gets to the emperor. If anything should happen to me would you inform her?’

  ‘And your mistress is?’

  ‘My mistress is Julia Antonia Minor, the emperor’s sister-in-law. I was her slave until she made me a free man. But I still like to serve her when I can.’

  Aurelia tried not to look surprised that such an undescriptive looking man should be in service to such a distinguished lady as Julia Antonia Minor. So she simply nodded, and was relieved when she heard Ruth coming in through the door.

  ‘I have made a meal for our visitor as instructed, mistress.’ Turning to the man, still with his cloak slung over his shoulder, she said, ‘If you would like to come with me, sir.’

  The former slave bowed in a manner that suggested the old habits of slavery were still engrained in him. ‘Thank you, thank you, mistress.’

  Only when they had left the room did Aurelia feel the need to release the excitement of the afternoon by curling up on her faded couch, pulling a cushion into her stomach.

  For a while she chewed her thumb nail, fearful of a knock on the door. Her ears strained for the stomp of Roman boots or any unusual sounds from outside, and when they happened her body tensed. But as the afternoon wore on, and the sun slipped behind the roofs of the houses, and the heavy sounds of traffic eased, she found herself becoming calmer; although she had no inclination to relinquish her cushion, pick up her sewing or stir from her couch. More than once she asked why she had got herself involved, but was too scared to answer her own question.

  As dusk approached, Ruth brought her a plate of lentils and meat, but after moving the food disinterestedly around the plate, then forcing herself to sample a few mouthfuls she pushed it to one side.

  Ruth drifted in to light the oil lamp when it grew dark. She glanced at her briefly before saying, ‘You should take him down to the river soon, mistress.’

  Aurelia nodded and for the next half hour occupied her time by watching the flickering flame create shadows on the walls. It had that sickly smell of old oil but she didn’t care enough to o
rder it be changed. She rose only once, and that was to close the shutters.

  The knock, when it came, startled her. She found her hands were shaking. But when she heard the familiar voice she breathed a sigh of relief. Although when Ruth showed Felix into her living quarters, her relief was short lived. Felix’s face was set like marble and his eyes were burning with anger.

  ‘Felix, what are you doing here? You know your house is being watched.’

  ‘I gather you have the courier on your premises?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in the kitchen with Ruth. What’s wrong?’

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Aurelia, what in the name of Jupiter have you been up to?’

  ‘Nothing. I…Apicata asked me to do a message for her, that’s all. She’s been staying with me.’

  Felix ran his hand down his face. ‘What?’

  ‘I invited her to stay. She was upset when Sejanus wouldn’t let her take her children back to the countryside. She needed someone to talk to.’

  ‘She’s not still here, is she?’

  ‘No, she thought it would be a good idea if she spent the afternoon pestering Sejanus for her children while I brought the courier back here. It gives her an alibi if anything goes wrong. Sejanus…’ Aurelia faltered. ‘Sejanus hasn’t had her arrested, has he?’

  Felix shook his head. ‘No. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t want to upset his children.’

  ‘Then why won’t he let Apicata take them back to the country with her? It’s most unfair.’

  Felix pinched between his eyes. ‘Because, my dear,’ he began in a manner that made her feel he was trying to explain a matter of great importance to a small child—or an idiot. ‘Since Tiberius minted coins and erected a statue in Sejanus’s honour, Sejanus is even more convinced the emperor is on the verge as naming him as his heir. He’s insisting his children remain in Rome because he wants them to share in the grand occasion.’

  ‘Then why is Apicata so afraid for them?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be? If there are objections to the announcement and action is taken against Sejanus, Apicata wants her children safely out of the way.’