“The fact is, they seem to move as one.” He shut his eyes and again saw the crowd and heard their murmurs wash over him like waves of a human sea. The chants themselves were not alarming, but the sound as of one voice held implications of a power he could neither understand nor truly describe.
Alban finally realized why Pilate was so concerned about revolution. The man ruled this province with one irregular legion, mostly mercenaries, few fully trained. Against him stood a people who were united only by prayer. But united with a mysterious bond totally foreign to any Roman Alban knew.
Roman gods were fickle allies to be bribed into cooperation, at least temporarily. Many of his own Gauls worshiped certain trees and hilltops, or spoke of faeries and wood sprites by name. But nowhere had Alban seen anything like the way these people worshiped. The intensity they shared, the passion. They truly believed. All they needed was one voice, one man to claim the right to lead them. And every Roman in Judaea and the whole province would be swept into the sea.
Alban spoke almost to himself, “If they can be so joined by a simple act like prayer, think what would transpire if they decided to revolt.”
The voice from the sauna’s other side held a veteran’s gruffness. “Where are you stationed, centurion?”
“Capernaum.”
Alban saw through the mist a man rise and head for the exit. “Every arriving soldier should be brought to Jerusalem for a week,” he growled over his shoulder. “It’s the only way to understand the threat we face here.”
When the door shut behind the departing soldier, Linux stood and walked through the steam, making a circuit of the entire chamber. He returned to sit beside Alban and whispered, “I was not able to find your Atticus or the guards.”
“If the sauna is empty, why do you whisper?”
“You really are a provincial, centurion. Pilate was right to have me watch your back. Without me, you would perish within the hour.”
“I made it back from the high priest’s house, no thanks to you.” But Alban made sure his tone held no malice.
“I fear I deserve that.” Linux leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs. “The fortress commandant spent a good half hour dressing me down, if that’s any consolation.”
“What did you do?”
“Other than breathe the air of this pestilent city, I have no idea. I asked around in the guardroom where I might find the two who had been stationed at the tomb. I might have been talking to the floor beneath our feet.”
“They refused to help you?”
“They claimed to know nothing. I then asked the duty officer where I would find the centurion Atticus. The officer didn’t know, he said. The next thing I knew, the commandant had sent his aide with two armed legionnaires to fetch me. The commandant demanded to know why I was pestering his men.” Linux rose to his feet. “Come, my provincial friend. It’s time we cooled off.”
Alban followed Linux into the cooled waters of the smaller bath, its water piped directly from an underground spring. After rinsing off, they chose an alcove at the far end from the entrance. Alban asked, keeping his voice low, “What can you tell me of the commandant?”
“He’s a veteran campaigner. He earned the rank of tribune in battle. This tribune also asked me who rode one of Pilate’s own horses. He knows his steeds, that man, and he has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“But why did it seem as though he might arrest you?”
Linux dragged the towel over his handsome features. “Before commanding the Jerusalem fortress, he served the governor in Damascus.”
“Ah.” Alban nodded his understanding. Originally Judaea had been under the direct command of the regional governor in Damascus. Nine years earlier, Emperor Tiberius had changed all that when news of a possible Judaean revolt alarmed him greatly. Not because of Judaea’s strategic importance, which was paltry, but rather because of all the Judaeans living throughout the entire Roman Empire. Tiberius feared the prospect of such a revolt spreading through the realm and toppling his own rule. So the emperor elevated Judaea to full provincial status, personally choosing his ally Pontius Pilate to become its new governor. He refused to submit Pilate’s name for senate approval and ordered the prelate to answer directly to him, which enraged the senate.
It also enraged Herod’s brother, who lost his governorship. A man loyal to Damascus was a natural enemy to Pontius Pilate. And vice versa.
Linux went on, “The tribune demanded to know why we had been sent here during the busiest period of the year. He could not grasp how Pilate would place such importance on one more bothersome Judaean, particularly one who was already dead. I’m probably only here because I found opportunity to tell him about your authorizations from Pilate himself.” Linux leaned his head against the tiled wall. “One more thing I can tell you for certain: The tribune hates Gauls.”
The next day, Leah left Pilate’s Jerusalem residence and walked around the outer wall to the corner and to the main portal of Herod’s adjoining palace. It included a fortress that guarded the Jaffa Gate into the city, and the grounds contained vast ornamental gardens. The whole complex was so large Herod Antipas had offered Pilate one wing as his own Jerusalem residence, an attempt to strengthen their alliance.
Unlike Pilate, Herod permanently staffed each palace. He loved to rub the noses of his Judaean subjects in his lavish way of living. Pilate was conservative with his money and left only a few trusted older servants in his absences.
Leah exchanged greetings with the guards. Notorious for troubling the young and pretty, Herod’s guards left Leah alone. The two men only nodded and saluted as they opened the wide outer door to her. She gave her name to the first servant who passed, and settled onto the bench used by supplicants seeking Herod’s aid.
Enos, Herod’s chief of staff, appeared shortly, looking shocked to find her waiting on the supplicants’ bench. “What, pray tell, are you doing out here, Leah my dear?”
“Resting.”
“This won’t do at all. Come with me.” Enos snapped his fingers at a passing slave. “Bring water for washing and wine and food.”
“Not wine, please,” Leah said. “I’m afraid I would sleep and not wake up again.”
“Tea, then,” he called to the slave. “And hurry or I’ll give you the lashing you’ve been asking for.” Enos sniffed as the maid scurried away. “As if they ever learn the meaning of the word hurry.”
In a household known for every possible excess, where pleasure was the only idol to be worshiped, Enos was a curiosity. He had the look of an ascetic and wore only white. He was as lean as a whippet, and his nose thrust out from his cavernous face like a great hawk’s beak. He wore his thinning hair in a long silver tail that trailed over his right shoulder. Yet his simple robes were of the finest material, and his skin gleamed from daily baths and rich ointments. Herod’s slaves were terrified of him, yet to Leah he had always appeared friendly enough. Even so, Leah was certain that given opportunity for personal gain, Enos would sell her to Parthian slavers for a handful of silver.
There was only one thing that Enos loved more than money. And that was gossip.
Enos ignored Leah’s protests and ordered the maid to wash her feet, as for a visiting noble. When the maid was gone and a table by the central fountain had been spread with food and tea, he said, “Weren’t you too ill to travel here with the governor?”
“That was the previous time. I’m well now.”
“Indeed. You do look healthy—if you were one of my maids I’d suspect you had been faking to avoid Jerusalem during the festival season.” But his tone was jovial.
“That is not my way.”
“No, you never were one to shirk your duties. Unlike my own servants. Procula is fortunate to have you.” He folded his hands and leaned toward her in a familiar manner. “How is your lovely mistress? Recovered, I hope.”
“Her headaches come and go. Actually, she is here.”
He showed genuine shock. “What, back in Jerusalem
?”
“It is not an official visit.”
“You’re certain? You can’t be wrong about this!”
Enos’s visible unease was justified. Throughout the Roman Empire, governors were the center of social, political, and financial life. Pilate’s official presence would require the city’s governing structure to shift drastically.
Leah replied, “The prelate will not arrive for another week or more.”
The head of Herod’s household blew out a sigh and relaxed. “Why is she here?”
“My mistress seeks information about the crucified prophet. She is hoping you might be able to help her.”
Leah had half expected the man to dismiss her out of hand. Instead Herod’s servant gave his nose a thoughtful rub. “She was having dreams.”
Leah did not bother asking how the man knew. “Nightmares.”
“About that man Jesus.”
“Yes.”
Enos continued to rub his giant beak. “The prophet may be dead, but he continues to trouble others as well. How much do you know of Caiaphas?”
“The high priest? Very little, in fact.”
“Caiaphas was actually appointed to the position by Gratus, the governor who preceded Pilate. I have never known anyone to love gold as much as that man.”
Leah blinked. To have Enos make such a statement was astonishing indeed. “So Caiaphas bribed Gratus for the job?”
Enos smiled indulgently at her. “What a delightful young woman you are. Everyone bribed Gratus. He actually sold the position of high priest to five different people. Only Caiaphas was devious and powerful enough to actually hold on to the job. I have heard the amount he paid to Pilate to keep the job was his own weight in Temple gold. But that is not the only reason he still holds the position today. Caiaphas is the son-in-law of Annas, who was a high priest before him. Annas remains the most powerful man on the Sanhedrin.”
“And what does this have to do with the prophet?”
“All I know for certain is this: Caiaphas—and probably Annas also—is still extremely worried about a man who was most definitely crucified and buried. The body of this Jesus has vanished, but I suppose you already know that.”
Leah nodded slowly. “My mistress wishes for me to speak with the prophet’s disciples. But I have no idea where to begin.”
Enos gave a slow smile, the one he showed all supplicants seeking an audience with his master. “I am ever ready to stand in the service of Pilate’s lovely wife.”
“Procula suggested I offer a . . . a reward for your help.” Leah retrieved the pouch from her pocket. “I have no idea how to go about this, or even what to say.”
“Your honesty is almost too charming.” With the delicacy of a bird drinking from a fountain, Enos dipped his fingers into the pouch and quickly retrieved two gold coins that just as quickly were secreted into his robe. “I will see what I can learn, my dear.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Antonia Fortress
THE JERUSALEM GARRISON’S commandant, Tribune Bruno Aetius, was a crusty veteran of a hundred battles. The fingers of his right hand remained half curled even when empty, as though the soldier were unable to relinquish his sword’s haft. Close-cropped grey hair and beard set off a broken nose that angled slightly to the left. The scar running from a corner of his mouth to his ear made him appear to leer, certainly when angry. Which he indeed was now.
After keeping Alban waiting in his antechamber for almost three hours, the tribune greeted him with a roar. “Front and center, soldier!”
“Sir!” Alban came to rigid attention as his feet smacked the floor and saluted. “Centurion Alban reporting to the garrison commander, sir!”
“I caught your mate skulking around here yesterday. You are of the impression that tossing Pilate’s name about is going to impress me?”
“Indeed not, sir!”
“Alban—that’s no Roman name.”
“I hail from the north, sir. From Gaul, sir.”
Bruno Aetius offered a few choice remarks about Gauls pretending to be Roman soldiers, then noted, “Aren’t you the one assigned to that pestilent outpost crammed with other mercenaries?”
“Along with other foul beasts. Yes, sir, that would be the one standing here at your command.”
The tribune must have caught a glint of humor in Alban’s response. He barked, “Something strike you as amusing?”
The man’s gruff demeanor took Alban straight back to his childhood. His first teacher and dearest friend, the retired centurion, had sounded so similar to Bruno Aetius they might as well have been brothers. Alban replied, “Only that it’s good to be in the company of a real soldier again, sir.”
The tribune’s eyes narrowed. His next volley lacked some of his former ire. “If you expect my men to bow and scrape, you’re soon to be disappointed.”
“Indeed not, sir. I was merely hoping to ask the commandant’s advice.”
“I’m not in the habit of advising mercenaries.” But the tribune’s growl was now a mere rumble. “You have some ill-considered reason for being so far off post, some odious purpose for fouling my quarters?”
“I was hoping to report to you about Parthians and the Damascus Road.” Swiftly Alban recounted the raid, the capture, the summons from Pilate, the strange response the Parthians gave to their captivity.
The commandant pondered for a time, then conceded, “Splitting your men like that and using a landslide was rather clever. Where did you come up with that one?”
“My homeland lies not far from the Alpine slopes. A neighboring province rebelled against Rome around the time I was born. Landslides were a favorite tactic. They once took out almost six hundred legionnaires. The Parthians outnumbered us and were holed up in a pair of caves overlooking the caravan. I needed to keep them from attacking while we moved into position.”
Bruno Aetius gave a single nod of approval. “I fought the Gauls. Farther north than your homeland. Across the sea, west of a town called Londinium. Fierce, they were. Terrible fierce.” He turned and shouted for an aide. Then he said, “Seat yourself, centurion.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The aide appeared and looked startled at the sight of Alban seated across from the commanding officer. His eyes widened further still when Bruno Aetius asked Alban, “Some tea?”
“I wouldn’t say no, sir.”
When the aide departed, the commandant went on, “The Parthians call their land Persia. We don’t know how far it spreads or how many they number. All we know for certain is they care nothing for the lives of their men. We kill ten thousand, and they send ten thousand more. You’re wondering why the Parthians were so casual about their captivity.”
“Just so, sir.”
“That’s easy enough. Because this province has more problems than there are fleas pestering a donkey’s hide!” He brought his fist crashing down on the maps and scrolls littering his table. “There’s not a decent Roman legion in the entire province! Then Herod Antipas is permitted to have his own forces, as is the high priest Caiaphas, not to mention a dozen or so merchants who claim they need private armies for their caravans. They’re all little more than villains in fancy robes!”
It was a complaint Alban had heard many times before. He let the officer across from him fume a moment, then changed the subject. “I became trapped outside the fortress by the Friday prayers.”
“My men have strict orders to be either on base or on the city walls an hour before sundown. Which you would have known if you’d reported in as you should.” At a knock on his door, he barked, “Come!”
Alban accepted his tea. He had not come to discuss the Parthians, and he suspected the commandant knew it. He’d merely brought the incident up as a means of establishing his credentials with the tribune. Alban spoke now as a fellow warrior. “I was ordered by Pilate to go straight to the home of Joseph of Arimathea. We’d been traveling so hard and fast I overlooked that it was Friday.”
The eyes tigh
tened, but the anger did not return. “So what is this errand the prelate has sent you on?”
Alban recounted the story of the prophet’s missing body, or at least he started to, because the commandant cut him off. “This province breeds rabblerousers like Rome does rats. What difference does it matter if the disciples steal his body away for whatever reasons they might have? The man was dead, I tell you! Dead!”
“I was hoping to speak with the ones ordered to guard the tomb where Joseph of Arimathea placed the body.”
The commandant snorted his disdain. “That arrogant high priest is responsible for the guards.”
“Caiaphas?”
“He keeps a few of my men on hand during the festival seasons.
Some like the assignment because the duty is light. Others detest it because they serve with the Judaeans under the whim of the high priest, who is an old goat in fancy robes.” He noticed the aide still hovering by the door. “What is it, man?”
“Forgive me, sire. But Herod’s man is outside. He wishes to have a word.”
“Well, he’ll have to wait.” He waved his aide away. “Where was I?”
“Caiaphas uses your men as extra guards during the festival season.”
The commandant grunted. “This festival has been the worst of all. It won’t end too soon for me or my men, I can tell you that.”
“The prophet Jesus caused you trouble?”
“His name was everywhere. And the ruling council, the Sanhedrin, they were frantic. That man had them worried like nothing I have ever seen.”
Alban ventured, “Did the prophet or his disciples preach revolt against Rome?”
Alban had expected the commandant to brush the question aside with a veteran officer’s claim that any threat against Rome would be crushed. Instead the commandant stood and walked to the window. “This is your first visit to Jerusalem, you say?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“This city is unlike any place on earth, and I’ve served Rome in some strange and dangerous regions, I don’t mind telling you.” The commandant squinted into the daylight and mused, “I don’t know what to tell you about the prophet they call Jesus of Nazareth, except that he was crucified and buried, and now his body is gone.”
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