Scourge of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘I don’t know, but that stretch of wall will be out of sight of the men in those siege towers.’

  Valerius increased his pace and angled his mount towards the tower closest to the danger area. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he didn’t sound convinced, ‘but we’ll let them know about a possible threat and get ourselves out of there. I’d planned a quiet day.’

  By now they were halfway to the siege towers, and Valerius searched the walls for anyone who might be targeting the two isolated riders with a captured ballista. Serpentius’s face split into a knowing grin, but he kept his mouth shut.

  ‘What?’ Valerius demanded.

  ‘I was just think—’

  But Valerius would never know what the Spaniard was thinking. And his chances of a quiet day were disappearing with every hundred Judaean rebels who spilled out of those innocent bushes. He could see them making their way in a stealthy rush towards the siege towers two hundred paces away, but they were invisible to the attacking Romans.

  XXXVII

  ‘Go!’ Valerius dug his heels into Lunaris’s ribs and the gelding surged away in a cloud of dust as Serpentius struggled to keep up. They galloped across the stony ground roaring to alert their comrades to the unseen enemy. Valerius knew anyone who saw or heard them would probably think of them as either a pair of madmen or a threat, but they had to try. He was thankful for the helmet which identified him as a Roman. At least it lessened the likelihood of their being greeted by a volley of pila. His eyes darted between the Judaeans, who were all but invisible now, screened by the curve of the wall, and the attacking cohort from the Fifth.

  A hundred paces to go, but it would only be moments before the Judaeans – upwards of a thousand, at least – were in position to make their final charge. ‘Form line!’ he screamed at the startled men in the rear of the closest cohort’s ranks. ‘Form line, right!’

  But why should they respond to a maniac bearing down on them at the gallop when they could see no threat?

  At last the siege tower loomed over Valerius. He reined in beside the vast wooden structure and threw himself from the saddle to grab the nearest man. ‘Rebels,’ he rasped. ‘Form line, right. Where is your centurion?’

  ‘Centurion Glico?’ The legionary frowned. ‘He’s directing operations in the tower, sir.’

  ‘Then forget him. Form a defensive line on the right flank, and be ready to—’

  But it was already too late. The man’s mouth gaped as he looked beyond Valerius’s shoulder and a long ululating scream from a thousand throats announced the Judaean attack. Valerius turned to see a wall of spear-wielding men rushing towards them less than sixty paces away.

  ‘Form line!’ Valerius pushed the young legionary forward and grabbed the man next to him. ‘Lock shields and prepare to receive attack.’ To his right Serpentius was doing the same, pushing and pulling the legionaries into a rough line on the same axis. By now men were screaming at their comrades to join them and the inbred discipline of the legion quickly produced a rank of fifty or sixty men. It wasn’t enough, but it was all they had. ‘Draw swords,’ he shouted to anyone, belatedly remembering that he hadn’t drawn his own. He pulled the gladius free from its scabbard and gabbled a prayer to every god he could think of. And looked up.

  As they struck.

  The line was like the sand wall a child builds on a beach to hold back the incoming tide, and the attack the wave that overwhelms it. The sheer momentum of the Judaean assault carried them through the weakest points in the shields. Screaming warriors hurled themselves where the edges of scuta failed to touch. Spearmen instinctively sensed where a nervous hand held a sword. They poured round the flanks in their hundreds into the pocket of confusion behind, where Valerius was trying desperately to create a second rank. In moments he found himself at the centre of a maelstrom of men fighting for their lives. A gleaming spear point darted at his eyes and he twisted to allow it to slide past his right cheek, instinctively taking the step that carried him into sword range. He could smell the man’s rancid breath and saw the eyes widen almost before he realized he’d rammed the point of the gladius forward. A twist of the wrist and the blade broke the suction of the reluctant flesh. The Judaean dropped the spear and folded at the middle with his hands scrabbling to return the slippery coils of his intestines to their natural home.

  ‘Your right!’ Serpentius’s shouted warning allowed Valerius a heartbeat to parry the unseen thrust from the flank. His blade slipped down the spear shaft and a second Judaean rammed his point into the Roman’s chest. If the thrust had been perfect it would have pierced the breastplate’s layers of thrice-tanned bullhide, split ribs and pinned Valerius’s heart. Instead, the point struck at an angle and skidded off the leather to score a groove across the flesh of his right shoulder. He screamed as a white-hot bolt of agony ripped through him and he was driven backwards and down by the weight of his enemy. As he flailed uselessly with his sword two snarling rebels jostled for the right to ram a spear into his throat. Their rivalry saved his life. A whirlwind of glistening iron appeared from nowhere and in an unreal moment one of the bearded heads parted company from its owner in a spray of scarlet. Before the second Judaean could react Serpentius smashed him backwards with a shield he’d somehow fallen heir to and kicked his spear aside to stab him in the throat.

  They found themselves in a strange pocket of calm in the midst of the battle. Valerius cried out as the Spaniard hauled him to his feet by the injured arm. Serpentius flicked back Valerius’s cloak to expose his bloodstained shoulder. He inspected the wound. ‘It looks worse than it is, but it’s just a scratch. Try to use your arm normally or it will stiffen up.’

  Valerius nodded and stood on shaking legs as he studied their position. Men continued to fight for their lives all around them, but the bulk of the Judaeans had bypassed the knot of defenders at the southern siege tower to attack their real target. Dozens of rebels in the rear ranks of the Judaean assault ran in pairs and carried pots of liquid fire suspended from wooden rods.

  ‘They’re going to try to burn it from the ground up.’ Despite the efforts of the ram’s defenders, flames were already licking at the base of the tower where the wooden frame wasn’t protected by dampened hides.

  ‘Nothing we can do about it now,’ the Spaniard said. Valerius saw he was right. Their services would make no difference to the outcome of the savage little skirmish. The legionary cohort from the northern siege tower had belatedly formed ranks and was marching to the rescue of the ram. At the same time the thunder of hooves from the direction of the Roman siege line announced the arrival of a reinforced wing of auxiliary cavalry.

  The commander of the Judaean attack must have taken the sensible decision to withdraw, or his warriors made it for him. Suddenly hundreds of men in the distinctive Judaean robes were streaming past Valerius and Serpentius on their way back to the hidden portals. The only thought on their minds was to return to the safety of the city. They posed little danger, but one man came too close and Serpentius stepped out from behind the shield and clubbed him to the ground with the hilt of his sword.

  Whooping auxiliaries pursued the fleeing Judaeans, mercilessly cutting down the slowest and the injured. The legionaries concentrated their efforts on dousing the flames, which had caused only superficial damage to the ram tower. Serpentius dragged his terrified prisoner to his feet and prodded him ahead with his sword point towards a little group of cavalry officers observing the aftermath of the attack. Valerius was surprised to see that Titus himself had commanded the rescue effort.

  The general frowned as he recognized the two men with the prisoner, taking in the recently used swords and the blood dripping from Valerius’s wooden fist. ‘Even when I order you to stay safe you cannot keep out of trouble,’ he smiled. ‘But it seems I am in your debt once more.’

  ‘We were out for a ride and took a wrong turning.’ Valerius’s face split into a weary grin. ‘Serpentius has brought you a gift.’ The Spaniard pushed the captive forward un
til he stumbled at Titus’s feet. Black-bearded and stocky, he cut a ragged, miserable figure, cringing in the dust.

  ‘Put him with the rest,’ Titus ordered. ‘I will see them in a moment. Ten prisoners out of so many hundreds,’ he said to Valerius. ‘They have a fondness for sacrifice, your Judaeans.’ He gave the order for the ram to resume its work as soon as the structure had been checked. The attack would continue. ‘Now, let us get this unpleasantness over.’

  The ten captives sat in a huddle under the watchful eye of legionary guards. One or two appeared terrified, including Serpentius’s man, but most stared defiantly at the splendidly dressed soldier who rode up to inspect them from his saddle.

  ‘I congratulate you,’ Titus called to them. ‘You almost caused me a setback. Who was your leader?’

  One of the prisoners stood, a tall heavyset man in a striped robe tight-wrapped at the waist in the fashion Josephus had used in the tunnel. ‘Our general was John, an Idumaean commander. He lies next to the tower with an arrow in his throat. You will know him by the eye patch he wears, for he only has one – or should I say had.’

  Titus nodded thoughtfully. ‘You fought well, Judaean, and with courage, but now I fear you must summon more. There is a price to pay for your audacity. I cannot let the defenders who man your walls believe they can sneak out and attack our lines with impunity. To be truthful, I do not have the wood to spare, but you will be crucified in full view of the Tower of Psephinus, and your bodies left to rot, so all can witness the cost of defiance.’

  One or two men groaned at the terrible end they faced, and one cried out, but their spokesman bristled defiance. ‘You can crucify us by the hundred, but Jerusalem will never surrender,’ he said, and spat towards Titus’s horse. One of the guards moved to strike him with a club, but the general raised a hand to stop him.

  ‘We will see how eloquent you are after a few hours hanging in the sun. Take them away.’

  ‘No! Please, no.’ The man Serpentius had struck pushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of Titus. ‘I am no rebel. My name is Benyamin of Ephraim, and they made me join them. My son is dead in the fighting. I have a wife and three other children who will starve without me. Have mercy, in God’s name, I beg you. I am but a simple carpenter.’

  ‘A carpenter?’ Titus studied him as if a snake or a lizard had spoken. ‘All the better. You may have the privilege of fashioning your own cross.’ He turned to the guards. ‘Make sure he is scourged until it is perfect.’

  ‘You may kill ten of us, Titus Flavius Vespasian,’ the tall Judaean cried out, ‘a thousand, or even a hundred thousand, but Judaea will rise again and Rome, the Whore of Babylon, will fall. It is written. As is your end. You may wear the purple when your dog of a father is in his grave, but not for long.’

  Valerius saw his friend’s eyes harden. ‘My end may be written,’ Titus’s voice was little more than a whisper, ‘but one thing is certain, you will not be there to witness it.’ He nodded to the guard commander. ‘When he is on the cross break his arms and legs so he knows the true meaning of punishment, and the price of insulting the Emperor.’

  XXXVIII

  Titus would never admit it, but the sortie by the Judaeans made him more cautious. He abandoned any thoughts of taking the wall by storm and the rams hammered at the stone blocks by day and night. One of the Roman engineers, eager to ingratiate himself with his commander, estimated the wall would fall within a week. Instead, it took thirteen days of relentless effort before the masonry began to crumble beneath the iron heads. After two more, Simon bar Giora surprised everyone by ordering his warriors to abandon their positions and retreat to more defensible positions in the inner city.

  Valerius accompanied the men of the Fifteenth legion as they swarmed into Bezetha through the breaches and orchestrated the great sweep Titus hoped would denude Jerusalem of half its defenders. All they found were a few dead bodies among the shattered houses, already turning black beneath the hot sun, and the odd elder abandoned by his family. Titus decided to move his legions into Jerusalem. He ordered the third wall torn down and every house and temple in the New City demolished to create space for his camp. The rubble would supply material for new siege ramps required for the next stage of the campaign. Not even Josephus’s plea could save the magnificent Tower of Psephinus from destruction.

  As the work continued, Vespasian’s son called a conference of his commanders. All four legates were in attendance, plus Tiberius Alexander. Valerius, his shoulder still throbbing from his wound, was invited as an observer. As they waited in the stifling atmosphere inside the heavy cloth pavilion the generals alternately mopped their brows and plucked at the necks of their sweat-soaked tunics. Valerius had his first sight of Paternus for almost a month. The heat had turned the tribune’s injured face, never the most appealing sight, a vivid shade of purple.

  Between the threat of a Judaean counter-attack and his growing relationship with Tabitha it was easy for Valerius to forget that Domitian’s assassins might only be a step away. Serpentius, however, was always on the alert, and never far from Valerius’s back. He reported that Paternus’s dangerous-looking servant – Valerius smiled when the Spaniard referred to Gavvo, without a hint of irony, as the scarred tribune’s pet killer – had gone missing. They spent the ensuing days in a high state of tension in case he was preparing some sort of attack, but nothing materialized. Valerius took the opportunity to ask politely about Gavvo’s whereabouts.

  ‘I sent him away.’ Paternus stared at him with his single cold eye. ‘I have a legionary more attuned to the ways of the camp than my servant. In any case,’ his unscarred lips flickered into a sneering half-smile, ‘anything that requires completion I am well able to carry out myself.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘You may take it any way you like. My brother’s death remains unavenged. I see that you, on the other hand, prosper. I read our general’s report on the conduct of the siege thus far and your actions took up an entire page. It seems you may yet wear your general’s armour in earnest.’

  ‘I only did my duty.’

  ‘As must we all.’ Paternus turned away as an aide ushered Titus into the command pavilion and took his cloak and helmet. The general was followed by Josephus, who met Valerius’s eye with a grim smile.

  A table at the centre of the room held a model of Jerusalem roughly outlined in sand and Titus walked directly to study it. ‘The demolition?’ he demanded.

  Tiberius Alexander turned to Claudius Paternus. ‘It goes well,’ the disfigured tribune said. ‘We have destroyed four hundred paces of wall and three towers, plus three districts of the New City. But it will take a few days before we are ready. We had to renew the ram heads.’

  ‘And of course,’ Tiberius added significantly, ‘we need to know where to transport the rubble spoil.’

  Titus nodded slowly, still studying the model. ‘That is why we are here.’ He turned to Sextus Cerealis, grizzled commander of the Fifth Macedonica. ‘Legate?’

  Cerealis frowned and ran a wrinkled hand over the top of his bald head. ‘There has been a slight change in the situation since our last discussion. As well as holding the inner wall, the rebels have created a defensive line on the approaches to this monument …’ He used his pugio to indicate an area in the west of the city close to the Valley Gate. Titus looked to Josephus for an identification.

  ‘The tomb of John Hyrcanus, lord, son of Simon Maccabaeus.’

  ‘Under normal circumstances,’ the legate continued, ‘a makeshift defensive line would make an attractive point of attack. As you can see, this is different. Once we take the bank and ditch we would still be faced by the western portion of the second wall dominated by this tower. We would also, in effect, have been drawn into a salient and subject to crossfire from ballistae and scorpio artillery here and here.’ He pointed to the sides forming the apex of a triangle whose point was one of the three great towers shown to Valerius by Josephus on their tour of the walls.


  ‘What about this Antonia fortress the Judaeans make so much of?’ Titus surprised Valerius by appearing to abandon his carefully laidout strategy. ‘If we take the fort and the temple our artillery would dominate the entire city and the rebels would have no option but to surrender. Can it be done, do you think, Lepidus, with your Tenth attacking the walls while the Fifth and the Fifteenth come at it simultaneously from the north?’

  Lepidus’s handsome face creased in a frown. ‘We’ve done some damage to the wall with our catapults, but we haven’t been able to get a ram close because of the terrain. We’ll need to put in a ramp. I should also point out that the wall is at its strongest and highest where it backs on to the temple.’

  ‘There is also the question of the approach to the tower.’ Titus Phrygius, legate of the Fifteenth, nervously ventured another potential flaw in his general’s plan. ‘It too is protected by a hidden gorge and we would need ramps to get the rams close. It would also leave us open to flanking attacks.’

  ‘At which we have seen the Judaeans are adept.’ Titus took no offence at being proved wrong. ‘Very well. We are left with the central section of the second wall. Have the engineers start work immediately on ramps here, and here. The Fifteenth will attack east of the central tower and the Fifth to the west. Marcus, I’ll want four cohorts of your Twelfth again to exploit any breakthrough, and the Tenth,’ Titus smiled at Lepidus, ‘will once again provide covering fire with their ballistae. Josephus here assures me they are the pick of the army and feared by the Judaeans.’

  Lepidus nodded his thanks to Josephus. ‘We won’t let you down.’

  The officers, including Josephus, filed out, but once more Titus called Valerius back. ‘How is your wound?’

  Valerius assured him it was healing well.

  ‘I’m glad,’ Titus smiled. ‘I may have work for you. I hope you still own this fabulous armour Paternus tells me about? Good. I want you to keep it and yourself at the ready.’ Valerius left the tent shaking his head at his friend’s attention to detail, but he soon had something else to consider. A messenger from Queen Berenice’s court was waiting with a slip of parchment.