The Senator's Assignment

by Joan E. Histon

  ‘He didn’t send Rico after us?’

  ‘Rico? I don’t know what makes you think Rico would come after you.’

  ‘It was Rico.’

  ‘If you’re sure then…then perhaps Pilate ordered him to keep an eye on you and he misunderstood his orders or … Oh, I don’t know.’ She waved her hand dismissively in the air. ‘Whatever happened, I’m sorry you were injured, but it wasn’t my fault.’ She was still pouting as she came over to where he perched on the desk. She stroked the graze on his knuckles; her silken gown tickled his bare leg. ‘You’re angry.’

  Vivius gently took her hand as he stood up. He found the closeness of her body disturbing. ‘Do you blame me?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going back to Rome.’

  ‘And what will you say to the emperor?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Why should I say anything to the emperor?’

  Her face reddened.

  ‘You think the emperor sent me to Palestine?’ He shook his head as he moved towards the door. ‘I don’t know what gave you that idea, Claudia,’ he said, but then halfway across the room his shoulders sagged and he turned to face her.

  ‘I don’t want us to part enemies, Claudia. Do you? I shall never forget our day at the olive grove, and…’ his voice dropped. ‘I don’t believe all of it was a lie, was it?’

  She moved over to him shaking her head. ‘No, not all of it,’ she said quietly. ‘There were…special moments…weren’t there?’

  Vivius took her hands in his. Her skin was cool and soft and the perfume of roses alluring. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘There were special moments.’ He kissed her lightly on the forehead but she lifted her head as though expecting more. When it didn’t materialise, she drew back and viewed him steadily.

  ‘Goodbye, Senator Marcianus,’ she said, and despite the winning smile there was an air of sadness about her. ‘I doubt we’ll meet again, unless it’s in Rome.’ And then sweeping out of his quarters she brushed her body seductively against him, almost as a reminder of what he would be missing.

  He closed the door after her thoughtfully, thoughts that were shattered by Lucanus bursting out of the bedroom.

  ‘I couldn’t help hearing what was said, Senator, and I must say, that was extremely well handled.’

  Vivius flared his nostrils. ‘Do you always have to air your opinion, Lucanus?’

  The physician flushed up. ‘Drat! I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Senator. I do tend to be a bit outspoken at times. I really must learn to curb my…’

  Vivius was saved having to listen to the confessions and failures of his physician by a second knock on the door. This time he found it was the clerk.

  ‘Good morning, Senator.’ He spoke in a whisper, his owlish eyes flitting nervously behind him. ‘Sorry about this last-minute information but as you can imagine, working out Nikolaos’s departure at such short notice took some planning.’

  Vivius indicated the clerk enter their quarters which he did so by sliding around the door with another apprehensive glance behind him. Vivius closed the door.

  ‘He’s to be transferred to your trap between here and the city gates.’

  ‘Trap?’ Dorio was standing at the bedroom door listening to the conversation.

  ‘Yes, Decurion. It was hoped you would ride inside the trap…’

  ‘Like an invalid, you mean?’ Dorio said flatly.

  ‘Yes sir, exactly sir. No one’s likely to stop a wounded Roman.’ The clerk turned back to Vivius. ‘Pilate has given orders for everyone leaving Jerusalem to be questioned. It’s Nikolaos and his files he’s after. But I doubt he’ll risk using his auxiliaries to stop a senator from Rome, and once you’re through the gates you’ll have an escort—of sorts—to…well, I’m not sure where they’ll leave you.’

  ‘Escort?’

  ‘Yes, Senator…sort of. They’ll help you get through the city gates.’ He paused. ‘Which port are you leaving from?’

  Not wanting to give too much away, Vivius hesitated. But then, realising the clerk was as anxious for him to reach Rome as he was of getting there, said, ‘Joppa. Although I’ve informed Pilate I’ll be sailing from Caesarea. But Joppa is closer; a longer sea voyage but less overland travelling for the Decurion.’

  The clerk nodded, his owlish eyes blinking rapidly as he digested the information. ‘Your escort will support you for as long as they can. So it’s, er…been extremely interesting meeting you, Senator, extremely interesting. May God go with you.’

  Deciding now was not the time to enquire which god he was talking about, Vivius gave the clerk a brief nod of thank-you. It was only as he closed the door behind him that he realised he still hadn’t asked the man’s name.

  Fifteen minutes later, Vivius found a small trap with a tired-looking donkey hitched to the front waiting for them at the stables. Alongside it stood a tall, sturdy army horse.

  Vivius could almost feel the bristles of indignation from Dorio. ‘Yesterday I was fighting for the glory of Rome, today I’m being treated like a useless invalid,’ he muttered allowing Lucanus to take his good arm and help him into the trap.

  ‘Stop complaining, act wounded and show your arm—the missing one,’ he ordered. ‘If we’re being watched you need to look as though you’re in a bad way.’ Throwing their luggage on to the trap and a blanket over Dorio’s legs, Lucanus climbed on to the trap and picked up the reins.

  As he mounted the horse Vivius looked carefully around. If Pilate was keeping them under observation, it was impossible to tell. Digging his heels into his mount, and with the trap following closely behind, he made his way out of the fort and into the steady stream of traffic.

  Wagons converged all around him, with red-faced tradesmen laden with carts of fresh produce, local farmers bullying complaining asses, merchants from far and wide entering Jerusalem overloaded with goods on snorting camels, grumpy travellers wiping the sweat off their foreheads. Vivius clicked his tongue in annoyance and found his body breaking out in a sweat with the crush of traffic. This was not what he had expected at the start of their journey; it was caused no doubt by the searches taking place at the gate.

  The traffic soon brought them to a standstill.

  Vivius raised himself in the saddle to see how far they had to go. Not far. He could see beggars gathered around the gate crying for alms, and harassed Roman sentries trying to move them out of the way so they could question the travellers leaving the city. Vivius ran his hand down his face, concerned that they were so close to the gates and there was still no sign of Nikolaos.

  And then, without warning, a beefy, big shouldered man, with a butterfly of sweat under the arms of his tunic, pushed in front of Vivius’s mount, grasped the reins of the donkey pulling the trap, and to Lucanus’s alarm began dragging them and the complaining donkey to the side of the road.

  ‘Make way there! Make way!’ the beefy man bellowed, but far from making way a heavily laden wagon of apples appeared to be trying to overtake them.

  ‘Whoa! Whoa!’ Vivius was about to steer his mount between the wagon and the trap when a rough, wiry-looking man with unsettling black eyes, and a jagged white scar from the corner of the eye to his chin grabbed his horse’s rein and hissed, ‘Don’t interfere, Senator.’

  And before Vivius had a chance to respond, the side of the overtaking wagon fell away and tons of apples rolled on to the highway. Vivius’s mount snorted and backed away, alarmed by the angry cries, the waving arms and abuse in all languages around them. But then, in the midst of the confusion, Vivius caught sight of Simon. He had picked up a small figure in a long grey tunic and was hurling him from the apple wagon into the trap. Dorio recoiled. But recovering quickly, helped Simon pile their luggage and his blanket on top of the bookkeeper. The whole transaction was performed with such speed that Vivius barely had time to register what had taken place.

  The beefy, big-shouldered man was now pulling at the donkey’s reins, leading him back into th
e stream of traffic as though nothing had happened. Lucanus, having lost control of the steering, was gripping the sides of the trap completely mesmerised by this unexpected turn of events.

  Vivius glanced down at the man with the scar. He still had hold of the rein. ‘And how do you suggest we get through the gate,’ he murmured.

  ‘You’re a senator; use your authority. We’ll do the rest.’

  Vivius tried not to contemplate too hard on what the rest entailed but as his guide clung on to the reins and led him up to the gates, Vivius threw his cloak back revealing his senator’s toga. The sentries, surprised to see a Roman senator approaching, and assuming the man walking alongside him was his servant, waved him through.

  But halfway through Vivius stopped. Turning in his saddle he saw Dorio was giving a first-class performance of a wounded Decurion by holding the stump of his arm and groaning. The beefy, big-shouldered chap was pulling the trap up to the gate. ‘You!’ Vivius bellowed. ‘Are you going to take all day with my wounded Decurion?’ Addressing the sentries he snapped, ‘Let them through. I want to reach Emmaus by midday, not tomorrow.’ Then urging his mount forward Vivius rode through the gates. Once out of the city he glanced back. The sentries, clearly not wanting to stop a wounded Decurion, and conscious they were being watched by a senator from Rome, were saved the embarrassment of having to make a decision by an angry cry from one of the beggars. A moment later, half-a-dozen beggars were pounding at each other on the ground, screaming abuse and disrupting incoming traffic. The Roman sentries hurried forward to stop the fight. Taking advantage of the chaos the beefy, big -houldered guy pulled the trap through the gate.

  Vivius’s scar-faced guide waited until the trap was alongside them before giving a shrill whistle. The beggars glanced towards the trap and before the Roman guards had a chance to arrest them, they had fled. Vivius, the trap and their new travelling companions moved swiftly on, but not before Vivius had glanced back to see the driver of the half-empty apple wagon had pulled up and blocked the gate completely. He gave a half smile and glanced down at the man with the scar. ‘Your diversion?’ he asked.

  The man grinned and nodded. ‘Pretty good, eh?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Nathan.’

  ‘And you’re from the sect of the Nazarenes?’

  Nathan gave a course laugh. ‘What? Me? Not likely!’ He looked up; his eyes narrowed. ‘Is it true; you have information that can get the likes of young Zachary justice and maybe even have Pilate recalled to Rome?’

  Vivius raised his eyebrows. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Is it?’

  Vivius hesitated, but only while he contemplated how he was going to explain to the emperor how half of Palestine seemed to have found out what he was up to. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you really are a senator?’

  ‘I am, and now that my identity’s sorted, I’ll ask you again. Who are you? If you don’t belong to this sect of the Nazarenes then…’ Vivius pursed his lips as he came to the conclusion himself. What other Palestinian group would have the expertise to get him out of Jerusalem? Not the Pharisees or Sadducees, their concerns were purely religious. The ruling council, the Sanhedrin, with the exception of Joseph, wouldn’t align themselves with the affairs of a Roman senator but…‘You’re Zealots?’ he asked quietly and glanced cautiously over to Dorio in the trap and the beefy, big-shouldered Zealot still leading it. Yes, the roughness of their ways, their talk, the carefully planned operation had the markings of the Zealots. ‘I’m being escorted out of Palestine by Zealots,’ he murmured.

  The edges of Nathan’s mouth quivered. ‘That’s exactly what I said to Simon. “What, escort Romans out of Palestine?” I asked, and he said, “You’re always working out ways of getting rid of them, now here’s your chance to do it, and get something back at the end of it.”’

  Vivius gave a short chuckle then glanced around. ‘Where is Simon?’

  Nathan nodded ahead. ‘He’s in front.’ He jerked his head behind, ‘I’ve a couple more following; two left early this morning for Emmaus and the rest…well, you saw the chaos back there.’

  ‘Impressive,’ Vivius murmured.

  The reply was a nod. ‘I know.’ Nathan stepped back and beckoning to his beefy, big-shouldered comrade, who now sported an even bigger patch of sweat, both men took up positions to their rear leaving a good distance between them and the trap.

  Vivius took a deep breath, and rolling his shoulders to ease the tension glanced up at the dark grey clouds looming above them. They were heavy, but they should get to Emmaus before it rained, he decided. He raised himself in the saddle to get a good look at the road ahead. It was busy. There were legions heading towards Jerusalem, a few small parties of Jews returning home after the Passover celebrations and the usual loaded camels, wagons, tradesmen and businessmen. In the middle of them, walking alone, a good distance ahead was Simon.

  Glancing back at the trap Vivius noticed Lucanus was still sitting bolt upright, gripping the reins, his eyes scanning every bush and passer-by with suspicion.

  ‘Relax,’ Vivius said dropping back to join them. ‘The Zealots are keeping their eyes open. Besides, the road’s too busy for an ambush.’

  ‘Relax? Senator, how can I relax?’ the physician said heatedly. ‘It’s been one incident after the other since…Zealots! Our escorts are Zealots?’ Lucanus snorted through his nose. ‘I’d rather keep watch if you don’t mind.’

  Vivius shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, but I don’t know why you think that’s going to help.’ He edged up to the side of the trap. ‘Nikolaos, we’re out of Jerusalem. Why don’t you come out from under those blankets and sit up front with Lucanus?’

  There was no movement from the back of the trap. Vivius guessed Nikolaos was thinking about it, possibly deterred from showing himself by the physician’s ill-timed remarks on being ambushed and escorted by Zealots. But then the bags and blankets rolled to one side and a red and bruised-faced, dishevelled and decidedly nervous bookkeeper emerged.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Senator. Thank you, yes I will,’ he muttered.

  Lucanus drew the trap to a standstill to allow Nikolaos to scramble up beside him. Vivius edged his mount up to the side of the trap.

  ‘I could do with stretching my legs, Dorio. Do you want to ride?’

  ‘Stupid question.’

  Vivius dismounted.

  ‘Did I hear you right?’ Dorio asked climbing from the cart on to the animal’s back. ‘We have Zealots escorting us?’

  Vivius noted the edge in his voice. ‘Yes.’ He handed him the reins. ‘We wouldn’t have made it out of Jerusalem without them and we may still need them,’ he added pointedly. He strode ahead leaving the trap and Dorio to follow at their own pace.

  It took a few minutes of brisk walking before Vivius was able to catch up with Simon. He had debated whether he should bother but then, deciding he could hardly ignore the man after all he had done for them, he increased his pace until he fell into step with him. Simon didn’t even turn to acknowledge him. His face was grim and his stance hostile.

  Vivius glanced behind. Lucanus and Nikolaos were babbling in Greek in the trap; behind them rode Dorio. Vivius chewed the inside of his lip hoping there’d be no trouble given the Decurion blamed the Zealots for the loss of his arm.

  It was curiosity over the rhythmic march of his and Simon’s boots on the dusty road that caused Vivius to break the silence. ‘You’re a trained soldier?’ He could tell the Jew was not as well trained as a Roman by the way he had fought, but he could also tell he’d been trained by someone who knew what they were doing.

  ‘Yes,’ came the sullen reply.

  A cohort of Roman soldiers approached on their way to Jerusalem, their feet stirring up the dust on the road. It took a while for them to pass, and even when they had the dust didn’t settle straight away but took time drifting down on to their legs and feet.

  ‘You better make sure them Romans what killed Zachary are punished.’

/>   The demand was unexpected and argumentative so Vivius decided to give it thoughtful consideration before answering. ‘The legionaries won’t, no, all they did was to obey orders. Zachary was a Zealot, an enemy of Rome…’

  ‘And he wouldn’t have been with them Zealots if you Romans hadn’t massacred his family!’ The response was aggressive. ‘The same Zealots what have just got you out of Jerusalem by the way.’

  Vivius pursed his lips and for a while focused on the rhythmic pounding of their feet on the road, the babble of Greek voices behind them, and the squeak of the cart’s wheel as the donkey pulled the precious load to safety. They reached an overgrown clump of bushes with long spikes reaching out into the road, and as if by unspoken consent they made a detour around it.

  ‘That ambush we were in,’ Vivius said breaking the silence. ‘If you hate the Romans so much, why did you come to our aid?’

  Simon snorted through his nose. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Roman. I almost thrust my dagger into your back myself.’

  Vivius decided silence was the best tactic after a comment like that but clearly Simon didn’t.

  ‘Aren’t you curious to know why?’

  ‘Not particularly, but I suspect you’re going to tell me?’

  ‘I am. It’s quite simple. I hate Romans.’

  ‘Really,’ Vivius said dryly. ‘I would never have guessed.’

  Simon either decided to ignore the sarcasm or it fell on deaf ears. ‘I hate being under Roman rule, but what to me is unforgivable is the way you Romans massacred over two hundred of my people,’ he said vehemently. ‘Zachary’s father and his brothers; my father, brothers; we was all in a peaceful demonstration over Pilate using our holy money to build an aqueduct. Then, without warning he turned on us. Our family, they was…butchered…there’s no other word for it…butchered, by you Romans.’