Scourge of Rome

by Douglas Jackson

  ‘The medicus said you had a shaking fit.’ Valerius studied his friend for any sign of a reaction. ‘He thought it might be something to do with the injury to your head. Apion probably saved your life.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense.’ The Spaniard sucked at a hollow tooth and stared at the tent wall. ‘Sometimes it feels as if the world’s going on its way without me.’ He bowed his head. ‘I’ve always been in control, Valerius. Always been sure of myself, especially with a sword in my hand. Now, I have this feeling: What if? What if I’m guarding your back and it happens? You could be killed and it would be my fault. What use is a man with a sword if he’s not able to use it? Maybe it would be best to get someone else to look out for you.’

  Valerius clapped the Spaniard on the arm. ‘Hole in the head or no, I wouldn’t trust another man to be my shield in a fight. Battle turns you into a different man, Serpentius. The gods of your ancestors fight at your side. They will protect you, and you will protect me. The way it’s always been.’

  ‘I know.’ The Spaniard looked up with a sheepish grin that looked out of place on his savage features. ‘I’m talking like an old woman. I’m still as fast as I’ve always been.’ He reached for the wooden practice swords they exercised with most mornings. ‘Come out to the sword butts and I’ll show you.’

  Valerius shook his head. ‘Someone gave me enough sword practice yesterday to last me a long time.’ He explained about the ambush on the road from Berenice’s villa and the Spaniard looked crestfallen.

  ‘See,’ he said, ‘I should have been with you. Are you sure you didn’t know this tribune? He must have been watching us to know where to ambush you.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Valerius had considered the question. ‘I saw plenty of escort troops guarding the timber convoys. More likely it was just chance.’

  ‘So it wasn’t old roasted face.’ Serpentius said it as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Paternus had been a potential threat for so long it was difficult to consider him as anything else.

  ‘No,’ Valerius said with a rueful smile, ‘though if he’d had his chance earlier it’s likely I’d have ended up floating down the Orontes with a knife in my back. Fortunately, he delayed long enough to appreciate my legendary charm.’

  ‘Did they tell you we’re moving? I heard it at the shit pit this morning. They’ve cleared enough of the town for a camp inside the old city walls. The Fifteenth are building it while the Fifth and some new recruits from the Twelfth work on the siege ramps. They’ve already started.’

  ‘We should take a look,’ Valerius suggested, trying to lift the Spaniard’s mood.

  ‘Better than sitting in here scratching our backsides,’ Serpentius agreed.

  Though Valerius had spent much of his adult life marching with the legions it still came as a surprise to discover how quickly his comrades could tear a city apart. They had an almost joyous lust for destruction. A thousand paces of wall and seven towers had disappeared since the original breakthrough. Where once had stood streets of shops, houses, workshops and temples all that remained was a field of dusty, churned-up earth. Once the buildings were demolished their rubble was turned into neat, anonymous piles. Hundreds more legionaries laboured to create the ditch and bank of a temporary fort within what had once been the New City.

  ‘I don’t understand why they didn’t just make a perimeter using the walls as a base,’ Serpentius said. ‘It would have saved them half the work.’

  ‘Because the walls were theirs, this is ours.’ To Valerius it was blindingly obvious. ‘A legionary is familiar with every foot of a marching camp. He knows what he has to build and what he has to defend and how and where to do it. He’s done it so often it’s become second nature. The effort of constructing the fort is worth the lives it will save if we’re attacked. But it’s not just that. Titus had this ground cleared to create a launch point for the next part of the siege. He wants the Judaeans to see us and fear us.’

  ‘They see us,’ Serpentius pointed to where thousands of armed Zealot warriors lined the walls, ‘but I don’t think they fear us.’

  ‘They’ll learn,’ Valerius predicted with certainty. ‘There’s not a people on this earth who can stand against the legions.’

  ‘What about that Arminius who chopped up three legions?’ the Spaniard wondered mischievously.

  ‘An ambush.’ Valerius refused to rise to Serpentius’s dangled bait. The Varus disaster had happened sixty years earlier, but it was still the greatest stain on Rome’s military record. ‘But this is no ambush.’

  They walked their horses to an area where the Fifth legion had begun flattening ground and preparing ramps on the approach to the much stronger and higher inner wall.

  ‘They won’t abandon this position without a fight,’ Valerius predicted. ‘But it’s still a matter of when, not if.’

  Work on ramps had begun well out of range of the Judaean ballistae and scorpiones. Heaps of rubble packed between the stakes of a timber corridor gently sloped towards the second wall. Thousands of men trudged back and forth bent almost double beneath heavy baskets of earth, rubble and brush to extend the ramp another few feet. When a section reached the required elevation, teams of carpenters laid thick timber beams over the rubble to hold the weight of the huge siege towers. Once in range of the enemy, Roman light artillery pieces scoured the walls to protect the workers. In the meantime, the legionaries trotted forward with vineae, hide-covered shelters made of branches and wicker panels. These interlocked to form tunnels that allowed the labourers to work unmolested by spears, arrows and slingshots. Eventually the ramps would reach a height halfway up the walls and the builders would create a flat surface for the rams and siege towers.

  ‘How long?’ Serpentius asked.

  Valerius studied the progress of the ramps and the height of the walls. ‘Three days to finish the ramps,’ he estimated, ‘then another to get the towers and rams to the wall. The Judaeans will do everything they can to destroy them, but this time Titus will be ready.’

  ‘When the walls come down do we go in with the legions?’ Serpentius asked.

  ‘Are you so interested in glory?’ Valerius smiled. ‘Our time will come. For now we let the men being paid for it take the risks. I want you to stay close to Titus.’

  ‘What about you?’ The Spaniard’s voice contained a mix of puzzlement and concern.

  Valerius grinned. ‘Don’t worry about me. Like all sensible generals I’ll be watching from a safe distance.’

  Titus summoned him at the sixth hour to receive his final instructions – ‘and bring this famous armour. It’s about time I saw it, but don’t wear it just yet.’

  Valerius arrived at the command tent with two servants carrying the weighty cloth parcels and Vespasian’s son dismissed his aides. A few minutes later Lepidus joined them from the Mount of Olives.

  ‘It was useful to be able to cut through what’s left of Bezetha; it saves about two hours,’ the legate smiled. ‘It’s good to see you again, Valerius. Staying out of trouble, I hope.’

  ‘You hope too much,’ Titus snorted. ‘And you’ll see plenty of him over the next few days, so let’s get on with it. You have the armour?’ Valerius nodded to the parcels on a couch in a corner of the tent. ‘Then let’s see it on, man.’

  Valerius exchanged a glance with Lepidus. This was a new Titus; nervous and unusually waspish. He was reminded that the day must be fast approaching when Titus had promised his father Jerusalem and its spoils. Valerius could understand the conflicting obligations Titus was forced to juggle. It was very well for Vespasian to hand his son the throne, but unless Titus could prove he deserved it, others would surface to compete with him for the purple. Titus needed to legitimize his claim, and what better way than with a great victory? Vespasian’s son didn’t use up the lives of his soldiers lightly, but every life spent here might save ten later. Victory at Jerusalem and the triumph that followed would gain him the support of the legions, and not just those under his command. Mi
litary success and glory in war had long been a way of vindicating an emperor’s right to the throne. Caesar had invaded Britannia to compete with the titans Pompey and Crassus. Caligula had thought to do the same, but he’d baulked at the northern sea and in the end it had cost him his throne and his life. Claudius had successfully invaded the island and reigned for thirteen unlikely years. In Valerius’s eyes, Titus was better equipped than any of them to be the strong, competent and wise leader the Empire needed. How could he criticize him for having the unyielding ambition necessary to reach for the prize?

  Valerius wore the fine scarlet tunic from Emesa beneath his cloak. With Lepidus’s help it took only moments to don the ornate gilded breast- and backplates, followed by the greaves and the ornamental arm protectors for his wrists. The wonderful gladius in its elaborately decorated scabbard came next, this time slung on the baldric to fall at his left hip, as for a right-handed swordsman. Lepidus pinned the legate’s cloak at the shoulder with a brooch of gold before Valerius placed the glittering helmet with its plume of stiffened horsehair and decoration of four roaring lions on his head.

  Titus watched the transformation with something close to wonder. When it was complete he did a circuit of Valerius, shaking his head and chuckling. ‘General? Replace the scarlet with purple and he could be the Emperor himself.’ He looked Valerius in the eye. ‘It should be treason to wear something like that. By the gods, it must have belonged to Nero himself. I wonder if the fat little piggy ever wore it?’

  ‘He sent it as a gift to King Sohaemus of Emesa.’ Valerius felt less than comfortable under his friend’s scrutiny. ‘And now …’

  ‘And now,’ Titus grinned, ‘its bearer is a gift from the gods to Titus Flavius Vespasian. You see the resemblance, Lepidus? Perhaps a little over-prettified, but seen from afar like a pair of chickpeas from the same pod.’

  ‘All he lacks, lord, is your natural authority. Come on, Valerius, don’t be coy. Shoulders back, head up and chest out. We’ll make a proper aristocrat of you yet.’

  Valerius faced the two men with a wry smile. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d dumped this in the river.’

  The plan, as Titus had first outlined it, was simple. Valerius, dressed in his general’s uniform, would officiate at a pay parade of the Tenth on the Mount of Olives in full view of the Judaean lines. Afterwards, Lepidus would prepare his men as if for an attack, with Valerius in a conspicuous position posing as Titus. In theory, the commanding general’s presence would convince John of Gischala that the main attack would fall on his positions and the preparations at the second wall were a feint. Valerius doubted it would make an appreciable difference to the outcome, but Titus would use any stratagem to achieve the victory he sought. But it seemed this wasn’t certain enough.

  ‘I have discussed it with Lepidus.’ The Tenth’s legate raised a surreptitious eyebrow at Valerius and ‘discussed’ took on a different meaning. ‘Instead of putting on a display, the Tenth will make a feint attack on the Antonia fortress from the east. We’ll probably have to put ramps in there at some point, so it might as well be done now. The feint will begin an hour before the genuine attack and should make the Judaeans send reserves from the inner city to the eastern wall. The cohorts I’ve borrowed from the Twelfth will be available to support you.’

  ‘You don’t think you’ll need them for the attack on the second wall?’ Valerius couldn’t believe Titus would weaken his main thrust.

  The general handed him a tattered piece of papyrus. ‘This came from Zacharias yesterday by the Leper Gate. What do you think?’

  Valerius studied the note before explaining the contents to Lepidus. ‘He says the second wall is much weaker than it looks, especially in the central area. The morale of the defenders there is low, because they believe their generals have sent them there to die. They are led by a man named Judas and will run the moment the wall is breached.’ He turned back to Titus. ‘Break the wall and you will take the city.’

  Titus nodded grimly. ‘If we can get enough men through the breach before Simon bar Giora can reorganize his defence it will cause panic.’ He punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand with an audible crack. ‘It is an opportunity I cannot afford to ignore. When the wall is broken my legions will sweep all before them. With good fortune, we could have the entire city by nightfall.’

  ‘Then,’ Lepidus ventured cautiously, ‘perhaps the assault on the Antonia will not be required.’

  Titus shook his head. ‘You haven’t given your opinion, Valerius.’

  ‘I think it appears a fine opportunity, but it depends on whether you fully trust Zacharias.’

  ‘We have his wife and child,’ Titus shrugged. ‘Why should he betray us?’

  Valerius saw that Titus’s mind was made up. ‘Then I would only urge you to take personal care during the assault. The streets of Jerusalem are a maze, as the streets of Gamala were.’

  Titus’s eyes hardened. ‘You forget yourself, tribune, and you forget what kind of commander I am.’

  ‘I apologize.’ Valerius bowed his head, content he’d made his point. ‘My concern is only for your welfare. Since I am to be making a display and observing, may I offer you the services of a bodyguard?’

  ‘Serpentius?’ Titus blinked. ‘You would give me Serpentius?’

  ‘Let’s consider it a loan.’ The one-handed Roman couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘He is a free man and I wouldn’t like to be the person who tries to cage him again.’

  Simon bar Giora sat in the grand banqueting hall of the Hasmonean Palace and cursed John of Gischala for the twentieth time that day. He hadn’t slept for days, but that wasn’t his greatest concern. He needed more men, especially after what he’d discovered today. Yet every time he made a request for reinforcements the Galilean pointed to the Mount of Olives and claimed the greatest threat came from the Tenth legion. Simon knew the Tenth’s ferociously powerful catapults continued to cause a steady stream of casualties. A stream, but not a haemorrhage, which was what Simon faced if the second wall were to fall. Not a haemorrhage, to be honest, a massacre, unless … Well, he would think about that.

  The plans were already in place; all he had to do was act on them. James, the Idumaean general, would command now the Romans had taken the third wall. Fine fighters, the Idumaeans; would that there were ten times as many of them. Simon had lost five hundred warriors in sorties against the Roman war machines and probably delayed them by a single day. Castor, one of his best men, had burned one of the siege towers after duping Titus into thinking he wanted to negotiate. A pity the Romans had cut him down as he tried to escape. Still, they had to keep trying.

  The second wall was where the battle for Jerusalem would be won or lost, not the Antonia or the temple. Neither of them could be taken from the east, he was certain of it. The lower portion of the temple walls was a mere decorative skin upon the stone of Mount Moriah. If the Romans set their battering rams against them, all they would find at the end of a month was another wall of solid bedrock. The temple and the Antonia fortress were a single interlocking defensive system. If the temple held, Antonia would hold, and vice versa. The only way the Antonia could be overcome was if the second wall fell. Therefore the second wall must hold and John of Gischala must … give … him … more … men.

  He gritted his teeth until he felt they might break. His giant hands gripped the table until it seemed the solid wood was about to disintegrate. There was a knock on the door and he took a deep breath.

  ‘You sent for me?’ Zacharias, too, looked exhausted, but then he had been on the walls for almost as long as Simon, and he had a family to worry about.

  ‘I wanted your opinion about the state of our defences.’

  ‘The new lines to the north of the Monument of Hyrcanus are as you would wish. Strong enough to hold, flexible enough to suck them in, but with clear avenues of escape to the Tower of Mariamme. Once they are in the salient there is no escape. We will slaughter them.’

  ‘And in the centre?�
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  ‘We can hold them as long as the walls hold.’ Zacharias sounded reluctant to give his report. ‘But unless we can destroy the rams it is only a matter of time. Perhaps …’

  ‘You think we should seek peace? You think we should surrender?’

  ‘Can we win?’

  ‘If we keep our nerve and fight and make them bleed we have a chance.’ Something in the atmosphere changed and Zacharias shivered as he felt Simon’s dark eyes on him. ‘But we must keep our nerve.’ A scrap of parchment fluttered on to the table between the two men. Zacharias’s heart jumped into his throat. The dark eyes never left him as Simon continued. ‘Judas and the men in the central tower have lost their nerve. What would you have me do with them?’

  ‘Send them to the rear.’ Desperation made the younger man’s voice sound shrill. ‘Make them dig the latrines and carry out the dead, but spare them.’

  Simon sighed, and rose to his feet. He beckoned Zacharias to him and with fearful eyes his aide did as he was bade. ‘I’m afraid it is too late for that. Panic and betrayal are like the miasma that overcomes an army that stays too long in one place with foul water. Only by cleansing itself will that army ever recover. Oh, Zacharias,’ the words were almost a sob as he took the young man in his arms, ‘what have you done?’

  ‘I had to save them, lord.’ Zacharias clung to what dignity he could. ‘There has been too much death. Ruth and the child will have a life. I …’

  Simon shook his head. ‘Do you not see? You have betrayed them as you have me.’

  ‘No,’ Zacharias whispered. ‘Never.’

  ‘They can never be free. As long as a single Sicarii exists, their lives will be forfeit. Better that they had died an honourable death.’

  ‘No.’ Zacharias shook his head. ‘I did what was right. What about the hundreds of thousands condemned to death by your foolish pride? All those innocents already starving on the streets of Jerusalem because Simon bar Giora does not possess the courage to utter the word surrender? Go and ask them if what I have done is so wrong.’