Magnus, lying next to him, contemplated the question for a few moments. ‘Not as many as will do.’
Vespasian frowned to himself. ‘That’s remarkably philosophical for you.’
‘What do you mean “for me”? And anyway, why are you accusing me of being philosophical? I’m just being logical.’
‘Logical?’
‘Yes, taking the facts as we know them and following them through to a conclusion based solely upon those facts without the influence of sentiment, wishful thinking or exaggeration.’
‘Oh, I really have caught you on an evening of deep thinking. So, give me the benefit of your logic, if you will.’
‘Well, it stands to reason, don’t it, sir. If, despite all the efforts we make to the contrary, people are continually being born and then survive infancy, it follows that no matter how many people have already been born, that number will be topped by those yet to be born.’
Vespasian was surprised by his friend’s insight. ‘Provided that the world doesn’t end, of course.’
‘I can’t see how it will.’
‘The Jews believe that it will; and those who follow Paulus or his rival sect that worship Yeshua believe that it will end very soon. Remember him going on about the End of Days which is at hand, or some such thing; so if he’s right, your theory, however deeply thought, is wrong.’
‘Yes, but who can believe him? He also believes that Yeshua’s mother was a virgin.’ Magnus chuckled. ‘Really? A virgin in Judaea after our lads had been marching up and down it for a few decades since Pompey conquered Jerusalem?’
‘It had reverted to being a client kingdom at the time when Yeshua would have been born so there would’ve been hardly any of our boys stationed there.’
‘Yeah, well, the only virgins I’ve ever heard getting pregnant were Vestal ones and they ended up being buried alive with a jug of water and a loaf of bread.’
Vespasian sat up and looked over to Hormus who was roasting slices of meat over a smoky, camel-dung fire. ‘You’re our expert on this, Hormus; have you heard people say that Yeshua’s mother was a virgin?’
Hormus looked up from his cooking and grinned. ‘No, master; no one would say that if they wanted people to believe the rest of the things that are spoken about Yeshua.’
Vespasian smiled back at his slave. ‘I can see that we’re all thinking deeply this evening; it must be the scale of the sky inspiring us to greater things.’ He lay back down and returned to his contemplation of the vastness above him and was about to make an observation concerning the whereabouts of the gods amongst all those stars when a series of shouts disturbed the peace of the camp. Men, clustered around other cooking fires, sprang to their feet and grabbed their weapons. But there were no sounds of conflict. Vespasian unsheathed his sword and stood cautiously, looking towards the direction of the disturbance. From out of the blackness of the desert a darker shadow emerged; none of the Royal Guards made any attempt to stop it – in fact, quite the reverse: they backed away from it. As the shadow came within range of the glow of the fires it resolved into a group of men, almost two dozen, Vespasian estimated. They came unarmed and made no threat to any man. In their midst were a couple of the royal archers who had been on sentry duty out in the darkness; they were unharmed and released in full view of everyone to show that the newcomers came in peace.
The party then stopped and one man stepped forward and looked around. Eventually his eyes rested on Vespasian and he smiled the smile of a man who had just had his suspicions confirmed. ‘Greetings, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, former Consul of Rome. My name is Malichus; I am the second of that name to rule the Kingdom of the Nabataeans. I have come to inform you that you are trespassing on my land.’ He hefted a full goat skin, his smile growing ever broader beneath his bush of a beard. ‘However, I am willing to overlook that for a little while and share my wine with you.’
‘The truth of the matter is that I need a favour,’ Malichus told Vespasian through a mouthful of roasted meat.
‘And how did you know that I would be out here in the middle of nowhere?’ Vespasian asked, warming to the man despite his better instincts.
Malichus waved a dismissive hand as if he bumped into ex-consuls every day in his vast but empty domain. ‘Caravans cross my kingdom regularly, Vespasian; if I come across them they pay a toll whether it be in coinage, goods or information.’ He paused to spit out a well-chewed lump of gristle, wiped the grease from his beard and then grinned at Vespasian, his teeth glowing in the firelight. ‘When I heard that you would be passing through in a few days I praised the gods of my ancestors and sacrificed two camels and a slave in thanks for them hearing my prayers and answering them so swiftly.’
‘I’m pleased that you have such a close relationship with your gods.’
Malichus looked hard at Vespasian, unsure whether he had heard sarcasm in the last remark. Vespasian kept his face neutral, masking his thoughts on human sacrifice.
Malichus burst into laughter and leant over to slap Vespasian’s knee. ‘All great men have close relationships with their gods; how could it be otherwise?’
‘Indeed, Malichus. So what is this favour that your gods have brought me here to grant for you?’
Malichus became suddenly pensive, shaking his head at the remembrance of the weight of his problem. ‘I’m a powerful man; a great man, you understand, Vespasian. I am independent from both Parthia and Rome. I rule my kingdom justly and with thought for my neighbours. But do my neighbours have the same consideration for me? Pah! They treat me worse than I treat my women!’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Vespasian said as he realised that Malichus’ expression was inviting comment. ‘What is it that Rome has done to make you feel of less worth than one of your women?’
Again Malichus stared hard at Vespasian, looking for signs of sarcasm as again Vespasian’s expression betrayed none; just genuine concern. With another laugh and slap on Vespasian’s knee Malichus continued. ‘Seventeen years ago, in my father’s time, the Emperor Gaius Caligula transferred the sovereignty of Damascus to the Kingdom of Nabataea as a gift of friendship to a mighty neighbour in the first year of his rule.’
It was something that Vespasian was unaware of but he made sounds of approval nonetheless.
‘And my father presented him with four magnificent Arab stallions.’
‘Yes, I remember now; Caligula was very fond of one of them in particular, Incitatus was its name. I had the pleasure of dining with the beast on a number of occasions,’ Vespasian said, recalling Caligula’s habit of inviting his favourite horse to dinner.
Malichus evidently did not find an equine presence at the dinner table unusual. ‘Then, when my father died three years later, Caligula confirmed the gift of Damascus to me upon my coronation.’
‘And very right and proper for him to do so,’ Vespasian commented solemnly, amused by how the brash young Emperor had managed to use the same gift again.
‘Indeed, my friend; a gift from one equal to another.’
‘Quite so.’
‘And in return I sent him another four stallions. However, he, er … died in the spring of the following year, before my gift arrived.’
‘But Claudius accepted them instead?’
‘Yes, he did, and then confirmed Damascus on me as a gift commemorating his elevation to the Purple.’
Vespasian hid his admiration for such an economical use of a single gift. ‘Again the correct thing to do.’
‘Yes, my friend, and now that I’ve been given the same gift three times over you would have thought that it really was mine to keep.’
‘But it’s not?’
‘No! Two months ago that poisonous ex-slave Felix, the procurator of Judaea, a man so beneath my rank that it offends me even to look at a letter written in his name, wrote to inform me that Claudius has decided to take Damascus back under Roman rule as part of the province of Syria. Pah! Pah!’
Vespasian inclined his head in lieu of expressing an o
pinion.
‘Damascus is my main income! The taxes from there alone are more than those of Petra and Bostra combined. My brethren in the desert, naturally, do not pay taxes, so I have to rely on the settled population of Jews and Greeks and suchlike in my three main cities for income. If Claudius takes Damascus from me, how will I be able to distribute wealth to my desert brethren and afford all the finest things for my horses and sons?’
‘Cut back on what you spend on your wives and daughters?’ Vespasian suggested, instantly regretting his flippancy.
Fortunately Malichus considered the suggestion worthy of deliberation. ‘I have thought about that but it would not save enough. I have to provide respectable dowries for my daughters as befits a man of great position; this year alone I’ve married four of them off at the cost of many horses, camels and goats as well as much gold. As to my wives and lesser women, I already provide them with the bare minimum to keep them quiet and prevent too much friction in their living quarters. No, my friend, my budget is tight as it is; I need to keep Damascus.’
‘Then appeal to Caesar.’
Malichus gleamed at Vespasian, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. ‘My friend, you understand my predicament so well; that is indeed what I must do. However, I am not a Roman citizen so therefore I do not have the automatic right to make such an appeal.’
Vespasian thought he understood where the conversation was heading. ‘So your favour is to ask me to appeal in your name as an ex-consul?’
‘No, Vespasian; the favour that I would ask of you is to get me citizenship.’
‘Citizenship?’
Malichus nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, my friend; as a citizen I can go to Rome knowing that my person is safe and there I can appeal to Caesar face to face, man to man; a conversation between rulers. And also if I were a citizen Claudius would have less right to take my property away from me.’
And so therefore he would be hardly likely to grant the request that would prejudice his case, Vespasian deemed, though he did not share the thought with Malichus. ‘As an ex-consul, I do have a certain amount of influence with the Emperor; I shall see what I can do. Tell me, do you know why he has decided to take Damascus back?’
‘To finance the invasion of Armenia. Pah! Gaius Ummidius Quadratus, the Governor of Syria, and Gaius Domitius Corbulo, the Governor of Asia, have been ordered to retake that kingdom; however, they haven’t been given sufficient finances so Quadratus suggested that if Damascus were to be added to his province it would go some way to covering the shortfall. The Emperor agreed and so I am expected to finance the war against the Parthians in Armenia. Pah!’
Vespasian mused for a few moments on how wide and varied were the consequences of Tryphaena’s self-serving scheme to secure both sides of her family in power and then dismissed the thoughts as irrelevant. Power and fortune could never be spread evenly and if it was not Malichus who was suffering, it would only be someone else; as long as it was not himself or his family then Vespasian did not much care who it was. ‘So if I try to get you citizenship, what favour will you do me in return?’
‘Apart from not charging a toll on this caravan?’
‘Yes, apart from that; this is not my caravan.’
Malichus grinned again. ‘I shall send you a gift before you depart for Rome.’
Marcus Antonius Felix embraced Vespasian formally at the top of the steps leading up to Herod the Great’s palace in the modern port-city of Caesarea. A fanfare of horns greeted the distinguished visitor. As the music died away Felix declaimed the ritual welcoming in the Emperor’s name to a man of consular rank. Vespasian replied, equally as ceremoniously, thanking the procurator for his words and avowing his loyalty to the Emperor. With a thunderous crash, the cohort of chain-mailed auxiliaries, formed up in the agora before the palace with their standards fluttering above them in the sultry sea breeze, came to attention and then hailed the Emperor, the procurator and then finally Vespasian. The formalities over, Felix led Vespasian into the kingly palace that was now the residence for Rome’s representative in the province.
‘You come in troubled times, my friend,’ Felix said as they entered the cool of the interior.
‘I would think so, judging by the amount of occupied crosses I saw outside the city’s gates,’ Vespasian replied, easing his hastily borrowed toga away from his left shoulder to allow some of the trapped heat to escape; it was not the ideal garment for high summer in Judaea.
‘There are even more outside Jerusalem.’
‘We avoided that city; Sabinus’ description of it from when he served as quaestor there didn’t enamour me of it.’
‘A sensible decision. I hate going there; I just get swamped by the bigoted self-interest of all the various religious factions. It’s impossible to make a judgement without mortally offending at least half of the population. I’ve found that the best policy is to show no mercy; any offence against the rule of Rome is punished by death and I’ll only repeal the sentence for a large financial consideration.’
Vespasian looked sidelong at the procurator; it was the first time he had seen him without a beard. Felix, unlike his older brother Pallas, had evidently decided to Romanise his appearance now that he had achieved such exalted rank. ‘You must be doing very well out of it then, Felix?’
Felix smiled; it was a pleasant smile that reached his eyes. ‘I need to have some reward for dealing with these people. But I mustn’t complain too much; this was the best that my brother could do for me. No freedman has ever been made a procurator before so I suppose it’s no surprise that I was given a shit-hole that nobody else wanted.’
‘And how is Pallas?’
‘He’s well; he’s still in favour with both Claudius and Agrippina and has been able to perform some substantial services for Nero. I think he’s very well set.’
‘Set for what?’
‘Suffice it to say that Nero married Julia Octavia, Claudius’ daughter, at the beginning of this month.’
Vespasian immediately understood the implication; Agrippina and Pallas had finally got their way. ‘That would make Nero’s claim to the Purple over Britannicus very hard to refute. Pallas must be very pleased.’
‘Yes, he is. He wrote to ask me to emphasise to you the importance of seeing him before you see Narcissus or anyone else, including Caenis, upon your return.’
Vespasian was astounded. ‘How did he know that I’d be coming here? I’ve been imprisoned in Parthia for the last two years.’
Felix shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask him; all I know is that I’ve been looking out for you for the last two moons.’
‘The whole of the East seems to be seething with insurrection but no place more than here in Judaea,’ Felix told Vespasian as they looked out over the magnificent harbour of Caesarea; a trireme, its oars spread wide and dipping in time to the faint whistle of the oar-master’s flute, manoeuvred with swan-like grace through the channel between the two great man-made moles that protected the port from the ravages of the open sea beyond. But this evening that sea was placid and the only thing to disturb its surface was the golden reflection of the setting sun, which caused Vespasian to squint as it glowed warm on the bellies of the cawing gulls circling above him, riding gentle, salt-tanged breezes.
It seemed to Vespasian that nothing could seethe with insurrection in the face of such harmony between man and nature. ‘How long before we have to fight to contain it, would you estimate, Felix?’
‘A few years, perhaps. This war in Armenia won’t help; if that drags on, things will speed up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the way that I understand it is that if Parthia resumes her hostilities next year then the following year we will organise a full-scale invasion. Quadratus will threaten Parthia’s borders whilst Corbulo will take at least two legions into Armenia plus the equivalent amount of auxiliaries. Where are those troops going to come from?’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Exactly. I’ve got seven auxil
iary cohorts here and I’ll probably lose three of them at least. What do I do? I can’t ease up on these people as they take kindness and understanding for weakness and then double their demands for exemptions for their filthy religion. Do you know that they are exempted from providing any auxiliary cohorts?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘So my only option will be to make up for my paucity of troops by using those that I do have harder.’
‘Which will add to the resentment and provoke the locals into rebellion.’
‘As surely as if I’m nice to them and they perceive Rome as weakening her grip on Judaea.’
‘I see the dilemma.’
‘The only man who can rule the Jews is their messiah and the last man who claimed to be that was Herod Agrippa.’
‘Did he? I thought he was just their king.’
‘No, he tried to claim more than that; it was the year after you went to Britannia.’ Felix gestured to the terrace that they were standing on. ‘It was right here. He appeared wearing a silver cloak at about this time of day. The sun burned golden on it, just as it’s doing now; he shone like a god and the crowd hailed him as such despite the blasphemy in Jewish eyes. They wanted him to be their messiah and lead them away from Rome and he didn’t deny it. He betrayed his friend, Claudius. Anyway, as he proclaimed his divinity an owl, the bird of death, perched above his head and he immediately felt ill; five days later he was dead, eaten from the inside by worms, so they say. Claudius then returned Judaea to direct Roman rule so the Jews, instead of gaining their messiah, got a Roman procurator in his place. The majority of them are still awaiting their messiah; the King of the Jews who will defeat Rome as some believe or, as others say, the King of Judaea who will rule in Rome. It doesn’t really make any difference as it’s all palpable nonsense.’
‘I thought that this Yeshua was their messiah?’
‘Only to a handful of fanatics who used not to be able to agree with one another and spent the whole time stirring one part of the populace up against another; but now their influence is growing. Just before I was appointed they apparently had a meeting in Jerusalem; have you heard of Paulus of Tarsus?’
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