by R. W. Peake
“No. First, I'm not going to kill you, at least not myself. As much as I may want to, that's not my place. I'm going to see you executed, but not before you confess that you ordered Publius to murder Joseph of Gaza, and that's the real reason you must die, not because of Fuscus.”
I glanced at Fuscus as I talked, trying to gauge his reaction to Cornuficius’ lacerating scorn. He was indeed shaking with rage, but he said nothing when I was finished.
“So, if I don't confess, then I'll live?”
It was a feeble joke, but I finally saw a hint of desperation in Cornuficius. His eyes kept shooting over to the two men who would be responsible for extracting his confession, standing impassively against the wall, acting like this whole thing was boring. I suppose it was to them; I did not want to think about all the things they had done and seen over the years.
“You will confess, Cornuficius,” I replied quietly. “Even if you didn’t do it, you'd confess by the time they're through and you know it.”
Suddenly, his body slumped, his head dropping to his chest as he closed his eyes tightly, muttering something to himself that I could not make out. At length, he raised his head, and I saw a man for whom all hope was extinguished, who knew that he had come to the end of his road. Despite myself, I felt a twinge of pity.
“He was cheating me.” He said it quietly, but it was silent in the room so we heard him clearly.
“How do you know?”
He looked sharply up at me, his mouth twisted in a bitter grimace, then gave a cough that I guessed was a laugh. “How does any cheat know he’s being taken? It takes one to know one, I suppose. He was playing with loaded dice.”
“Then why didn’t you call him on it and expose him?” Fuscus asked.
Cornuficius may have realized he was through, but that did not mean that he had any greater regard for Fuscus, the sneer briefly returning as he gave Fuscus a withering look. “If I could have, don’t you think I would have? He was too good, too clever.”
His mouth turned down into a grimace that spoke of the bitterness that comes to a man who has always thought he was the cleverest, but discovers that there is always someone better down the road, waiting for you. I knew then that this is a truth that extends to all things, that if I continued in the army, and continued to march for Rome, that one day I would run into that man who was better than I was. On that day, my life would end, but I still had such a belief in myself that I thought that there was a possibility that I was truly the best that lived during my time. Such is the vanity of youth. Now I was watching a man who was being forced to confront the reality that he had been bested at a game that he thought he owned, and I could see it was a bitter drink for Cornuficius indeed.
~ ~ ~ ~
In the end, Cornuficius confessed everything, without being tortured. If he were a slave of course, his confession would not have been valid unless he was tortured, something I never saw the sense in, but that has been the law since long before I was born and will be so long after I die. Caesar arrived at headquarters shortly after dawn, as was his normal custom, with Antipater and ben-Judah, along with a small group of other Jews who were not present at our first meeting arriving shortly thereafter. This was when I learned of Jews and their particular obsession about pigs. They had recovered Joseph’s remains, or what was left of them and they were clearly enraged. I handed Caesar the wax tablets containing the accounts of Publius, Genusius, and Larius, along with the signed confession of Cornuficius, which he read impassively, not bothering with the others’ testimony. He did raise an eyebrow at one point, shooting me a questioning look.
Turning so that the others could not overhear, he asked me, “Do you believe what Cornuficius says? About being cheated?”
As easy as it would have been simply to say “no,” I suppose that there is enough of an honest and fair man inside of me that prevented me from doing so.
More importantly, I knew that it would not really matter. “Yes, I do believe him. I think that Joseph was just better at cheating than Cornuficius and that made him angrier than losing the money.”
He considered what I had said then nodded, handing me back the tablet as he turned to address the Jews.
“We have a signed confession from Decimus Pilus Posterior Cornuficius admitting to ordering one of his men to murder Joseph of Gaza and dispose of his body. He will be executed immediately, according to the rules and regulations of the Roman army.”
I suppose it was too much to ask of the Jews to simply accept Caesar’s decision and leave it at that. Still, I was not prepared for the howls of anger and rage from the small group.
“That is not acceptable to us.” This did not come from Antipater or ben-Judah, but from another man that I had seen several times yet did not know.
He was dressed differently than the others, not wearing armor or carrying a weapon, wearing a simple but obviously expensive gown and a large conical hat that added almost a foot to his height. I thought he looked slightly ridiculous, but I could see even Antipater treating him with a respect just short of deference. The man continued speaking though his Latin was somewhat hard to understand because of his accent and his tightly clenched jaw.
“He has defiled a high ranking officer of our army, not to mention a well-respected member of our community. We demand justice according to our laws. The criminal needs to be turned over to us immediately so that he can be punished.”
Of all the people in the room at that point, I think that I knew better than any of them that this man, whose name I learned was Hyrcanus, had made a grave error. If he had phrased his short speech in the form of a request, I would not have been surprised if Caesar had turned Cornuficius over to them, but he used the word “demand,” practically guaranteeing that it would not happen. As great a man as Caesar was, he was still a man with faults and one of those was a stubborn streak that tended to surface at moments like this and I could see by the set of his jaw that Hyrcanus’ words had angered him.
“I understand your anger, but what does it matter how he dies? He's going to be executed in the same manner as if he had murdered a Roman citizen.”
“It matters a great deal,” Hyrcanus countered. “We have our own laws and customs by which these matters are handled and he should be punished according to those laws and customs. Our people demand no less.”
“Your people are in no position to make demands. They are subjects of Rome, and no matter what your laws and customs dictate, your people and you,” Caesar said pointedly, “are subject to the laws of Rome. And in this matter, the punishment is clear and will be carried out according to our laws, not yours.”
To any other people this would have been enough and stopped the argument, but as I was learning, the Jews are not like other people. Instead of accepting Caesar’s word, they continued to argue with him, and I could see that he was getting angrier the more they talked. Things were getting out of hand, and I did not know where this was headed, but it was not going to end well for anybody.
“You said that Joseph didn't drink much, is that correct? But what about gambling? How much did he gamble?”
As usual, I had not planned on saying anything, but that numen had inhabited me again so the words just came tumbling out, catching everyone by surprise. To my vast relief, Caesar did not seem irritated, a look of understanding crossing between us as he gave me a slight nod to continue. The same cannot be said for the Jews, and I felt a surge of triumph when I saw ben-Judah and Antipater shoot each other a glance, looking very worried indeed.
Ben-Judah spoke, clearly reluctant. “Joseph enjoyed gambling as much as any man,” he said cautiously.
“So you're saying that you gambled just as much as he did? Or as much as you?” I pointed to one of the other officers, then swung my finger to another, “Or how about you? Are you saying that he didn’t gamble more than any of you?”
Ben-Judah’s face flushed, but his tone was even. “Perhaps I misspoke. Joseph did gamble more than most of us. It was his one
vice. What of it?”
“Did he ever have any trouble before this concerning his gambling?”
“What do you mean by ‘trouble’?” ben-Judah asked hotly, his hand dropping in what I hoped was an involuntary gesture to the hilt of his sword.
“What Pullus is asking is if we were to conduct a deeper investigation, would he find others among your people who perhaps did not share as high an opinion of Joseph as you, particularly when it came to his gambling habits?” Caesar’s voice was mild, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was deadly serious.
Ben-Judah and Antipater exchanged a look between each other, then I saw Antipater give the slightest shake of his head before ben-Judah answered Caesar, “When one gambled as often as Joseph did, they are bound to rub some people the wrong way,” ben-Judah said carefully.
“Particularly one who won as often as Joseph did?” Caesar asked gently.
Ben-Judah sighed, his shoulders slumping as he closed his eyes, like he did not want to look Caesar in the eyes as he replied, “Especially Joseph.”
Antipater exhaled, and as he did so, I realized that I had not been the only man holding his breath.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Jews relented in their demands for Cornuficius, grudgingly agreeing that we would carry out the punishment of him, with them acting as witnesses only.
They filed out of the room and as ben-Judah walked by, he whispered harshly to me, “I hope you’re happy now, Roman.”
I said nothing, just looked down at him as he passed, keeping my face a mask. After they had left, Caesar let out a great sigh, throwing the tablet on his desk, then sitting next to it while rubbing his brow.
He looked up at me, shaking his head. “This is most inconvenient, Pullus, most inconvenient. Now I'm going to have do something to smooth things over with the Jews before we leave here to go after Pharnaces.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know right now, but I'll have to think of something quickly. Now,” he turned his mind back to the immediate matter. “I will have Apollonius draw up the necessary paperwork for the execution of Cornuficius. One thing though; we're not going to follow custom and hold a public execution. Your Centurions who already know will be present of course, but outside of that, only my immediate staff and whoever the Jews appoint to attend.”
I nodded my understanding, then asked when he wanted it to be carried out.
He frowned as he thought about it. “I want it done today, as soon as the orders can be prepared and the audience assembled. We'll do it downstairs, out of public view. He may have been a murderer and a cheat, but he was a Centurion in my army, and that counts for something.”
I saluted, then left the room, heading downstairs, where Fuscus, Sertorius, and Diocles were waiting with Cornuficius. I wasted no time trying to come up with words, just telling Cornuficius that his fate had been decided and what it was. His face went pale, but other than that, he kept his composure, for which I felt a grudging respect. Sertorius looked grim while Fuscus, well Fuscus just looked relieved.
“I don’t suppose you could untie me, so I could at least take a piss before I die?” Cornuficius asked, and seeing no harm, I undid his bonds, signaling to two of the provosts to accompany him to the corner of the basement where there was a pit dug for such purposes.
They returned shortly, then I sat Cornuficius back in the chair, but only chained his legs, leaving his hands free. He asked for something to eat, and I saw no point in refusing that either, so I sent Diocles to find some food, while I sent Sertorius to gather the other Centurions, instructing him not to give them the reason why. Finally, I went to see if everything else was ready as far as the written orders. The time for the execution was set for a third of a watch before sundown, and once everything was prepared, there was nothing left to do but wait.
~ ~ ~ ~
I will say that Cornuficius died well. He did not cry or grovel, walking steadily to the spot in the basement that had obviously been used for executions in the past, the stone floor stained more darkly than the rest of the stone surrounding it. The Jews were there, their anger still evident, and as Cornuficius was led past, ben-Judah spat on the floor then said something in his tongue that I can only guess at. Cornuficius did not react at all, staring straight ahead, stripped down to only his tunic. Caesar was present, but he chose Apollonius to read the warrant for execution, saying only what was required of him, that the sentence was to be carried out. Like the men from the torture detachment, there are men trained for executions of condemned men, and one of those men was standing there waiting, armed with a spatha instead of the infantry sword. The blade of the cavalryman, being longer and heavier, makes it a better tool for decapitating a man. Cornuficius knelt, his lips moving in prayer to his household gods I imagine, as the executioner stepped forward, looking to Caesar to give the signal. Caesar waited until Cornuficius was through, then nodded. The blade swung into the air before flashing downward in a brutal arc, slicing through Cornuficius’ neck as easily as if it were a loaf of bread, his head falling with a thud that made my stomach lurch. Blood spurted several inches from his neck, the body remaining upright for an instant before toppling sideways to the floor. It was done; one of my bitterest enemies was dead, yet I felt no real triumph, just a sense of relief that I would not have to watch my back anymore. I looked over at the Jews, some of whom looked triumphantly at the corpse, while most of them looked solemn and as if they would rather be somewhere else. Most surprising to me was that one of those was ben-Judah; I had expected him to look, at the least, satisfied at the death of Cornuficius, yet he did not appear to be so.
Despite that, I could not resist saying to him as he walked by, “Are you happy now, Jew?”
A look of real anger flashed in his eyes and he took a step forward, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, but before he could say anything, I nodded down at his hand, saying quietly, “You should be careful of making it a habit of reaching for that whenever you're angry. Someone might think you were going to use it, and that would be bad. For everybody.”
He stopped short, but his hand moved away from the hilt, and he let out a breath, nodding slowly. “I suppose you are right. And am I happy?” He considered this, then shook his head. “No, I am not happy. Joseph is still dead. The blood of your man does not change that. But I admit that justice has been done, even if it was not in the manner in which we wanted. I suppose that’s the best we can expect . . . being subjects of Rome.”
The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, and I saw in his face the despair that comes from being a people subject to the will of another, more powerful nation. There was nothing more to be said after that, and he left with the rest of the Jews. After they had gone, Publius was brought forth and executed; the Jews were no more interested in him than they were in the sword that had been used on Joseph, knowing that he was just a tool. For his part, he did not die well, sobbing and begging Caesar for mercy, having to be dragged to the spot where Cornuficius had died, his body already removed. Being as large a man as he was, it took three provosts to drag him, kicking and screaming, the spittle flying from his mouth, spraying the others around him. All in all, it was a pathetic scene and we were thankful when it was over. The other two men, Genusius and Larius, were not executed, but they were scourged, again in private and not in the forum as custom dictated. Caesar wanted to keep this affair as quiet as possible, but a Centurion cannot just disappear, therefore I was ordered to call a formation to read the charges, along with the execution warrant at the morning formation. There was also the matter of Cornuficius’ replacement, and I promoted Sertorius from the Fifth Century. Additionally, in a somewhat unusual move, I named Salvius’ Optio Porcinus, who had impressed me a great deal, into Sertorius’ spot. Sertorius’ original Optio, a man named Spurius Albus, was not happy about it, but I promised him that the next opening that came up in the 10th, I would promote him to that slot. Into Porcinus’ old slot, I promoted Numerius Pupinius, which did not please
Salvius in the slightest, but he had been recommended by Porcinus and I trusted his judgment much more than Salvius’. I did this all the evening after Cornuficius’ execution, calling a meeting of the Centurions and Optios of the 10th in the headquarters building, ostensibly to inform them of the promotions, not wanting the men to have a chance to find out what had happened to Cornuficius. When I informed the officers of all that had transpired, the only part I left out was the belief that Joseph of Gaza had cheated Cornuficius. Their reaction ranged from shock and disbelief, to what looked almost like panic on the faces of men like Favonius and Cornuficius’ Optio, a little worm named Ligus, who had been one of his toadies. Fuscus was no longer trying to hide his look of triumph at the death of his longtime Nemesis, while Sertorius was giving nothing away, looking as impassive as that statue of the Sphinx we had seen on our sightseeing excursion on the Nile. After the announcement, we had the formal promotion ceremony, whereupon I dismissed the men, having Diocles hand the proper warrants to each of the newly promoted men so they could go to the Legion quartermaster to draw the extra gear that came with their new ranks. I returned to the camp, more exhausted than I had been in a long time; it had been a very trying day.
~ ~ ~ ~
While I took care of my own administrative details, Caesar was doing the same, on a much larger scale. As he told me, he had to think of a way to appease the Jews, doing it in his usual thorough and grand way. During our stay in Ace Ptolemais, one of Antipater’s rivals, a man named Antigonus had come before Caesar to accuse Antipater and Hyrcanus of trying to poison him, asking Caesar for justice. Antigonus’ timing could not have been worse, though he had no way of knowing what had transpired with Joseph of Gaza. In what Apollonius described as a scene worthy to be called theater and to charge people for admission, there was a confrontation between Antigonus and Antipater. Antipater disrobed to show everyone there the scars that he had borne during the battle on the Nile fighting for Caesar. Even if there had not been the Joseph affair hanging over his head, there was no way that Caesar would turn his back on a man who had shed blood for him, meaning Antigonus was sent on his way empty-handed. Both as a reward for his service and as a way to appease the Jews for the murder of Joseph, Caesar told Antipater to pick the office he wanted to hold in Judaea, and Antipater made himself procurator of the province. Antipater promptly appointed his fifteen-year-old son, Phasaelus, governor of Jerusalem, and his other son, Herod, governor of Galilee. Caesar also bestowed Roman citizenship on Antipater, freeing him from taxes for the rest of his life as well. Hyrcanus was confirmed as high priest of the Jews, which Caesar also decreed would be a hereditary post, Hyrcanus’ sons and grandsons inheriting the office. With these two acts, the Jews were appeased, enabling Caesar to turn his attention back to the matter of Pharnaces.