by James Mace
Noting the weariness in his cohort commander’s face, Pilate dismissed Artorius as soon as he finished with his meal. The centurion then took his leave, a servant escorting him to where Claudia held her dinner party. Most of the guests had departed by this time, and the two sisters lounged on couches across from each other, talking nonstop.
“Ah, my love,” Diana said as she reached a hand up, which Artorius readily took. Her expression was as tired as he felt.
“My apologies, dear sister,” Claudia said as she reached over and took Diana’s other hand. “I have kept you up late, and you’ve both had a long journey. Please, off to bed with you both. There will be plenty of time for us to catch up.”
After Artorius helped her to her feet, Diana leaned down and kissed Claudia on both cheeks before they allowed the servant to escort them to their room. The palace was quite large, far more spacious than any other residence Artorius had ever visited. He wasn’t even sure if he could find his way out again! He noted the occasional guard that strolled through the corridors, though these men were neither legionary nor auxilia, but rather private bodyguards that Pilate had personally hired. This particular hall was not completely enclosed, but had a series of open balconies that seemed to almost run together. The moonlight shone brightly, negating the need for additional light, although the servant did carry an oil lamp before him.
The doors were all painted with a variety of bright colors, though in the moonlight, combined with his extreme fatigue, it was hard for Artorius to differentiate between them. The slave seemed to instinctively know which room was theirs, and at length opened the door to a rather spacious suite. Artorius could not help but notice that the room was larger than a squad bay that housed eight legionaries, with plenty of ornate furnishings and a huge bed that looked all-too-inviting. He instructed the servant on when to have him woken, and the man bowed deeply before leaving, closing the door behind him.
“An overdue night of comfortable sleep,” Diana said as she threw back her stola and unstrapped her gladius.
Artorius chuckled as he unbuckled his own weapon and wondered if her sister knew that she almost always walked around armed. In a place like the governor’s palace there was no need. However, the streets of the city, and especially the surrounding countryside, were inhospitable at best.
The faint glow of moonlight fell upon the room through an open window. As Diana laid her head on his shoulder, Artorius contemplated this next chapter that was about to begin in their lives. The east was completely foreign to him, and he recalled a conversation he’d had with Sergeant Cicero before they left Cologne. The empire was, indeed, vast and despite his years in the legions, his only exposure outside of Italia had been eastern Gaul, Belgica, and Germania. A new world opened before him, but that would come in the morning. For now, he rolled over and kissed his wife deeply, his desire for her never waning as she moaned passionately and took him into her arms.
As the sun broke over the horizon, the city of Caesarea slowly came to life. Hansi Flavianus had arisen a couple hours before and, after a few interactions with slave merchants and old acquaintances, he made his way to the inn where his brother had elected to sleep the night before. Like many buildings in this region, it looked to be almost entirely made of stone. The Nordic sailor stepped through the entranceway, which was simply a large curtain over where there should have been a door. The bottom floor was a mostly-deserted tavern, and on the extreme right were the uneven stone steps leading up to the rooms. Grinning, Hansi bounded up the stairs and down the short hall on the second floor, to where he knew Magnus was staying. Without so much as knocking, he burst in.
“Brother, I’ve found a possible buyer for the prisoners,” he said loudly.
Magnus was fast asleep, a local prostitute draped over his arm. He had accompanied Valens the night before, and after finding some suitable reprieve, had acquired a room at the nearest inn for the night. Though it was now early morning, long after he normally roused himself, the centurion felt he could sleep for another ten hours.
“Don’t you ever knock?” Magnus chastised as he threw a sandal at his brother before crawling out of the creaking bed and pulling on his tunic.
The woman had the blankets pulled up to her chin and was giggling in a high-pitched voice.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy,” Hansi chided with a laugh. He held up Magnus’ sandal, which his brother quickly snatched from him.
“Yeah, well maybe you sailors are fine with spending weeks or months at sea, jerking off over the side of the ship. As for me, I need more quality satisfaction than what can be wrought with the palm of my hand.”
“Well, actually I use two hands,” Hansi laughed, gesturing crudely. “Now hurry up. Our potential client will be seeing us about the prisoners within the hour.”
“Who is he?” Magnus asked, pulling on his sandals and then giving his lady companion a smack on the butt as she shuffled out the door, half naked, and still laughing.
“No idea,” Hansi replied. “He didn’t tell me his name. A few friends I have in port recommended him to me. None of them were even remotely interested in the disease-ridden lot we captured. So this fellow claims he’s from Syria, but he doesn’t look like any Syrian I’ve ever met. From the look of him, I’d say his origins are even further east than Parthia.”
“So what’s his interest in our prisoners?” Magnus asked as they stumbled down the stone steps out of the inn. He barely took notice of the sailor who accompanied his brother, a very young man with light hair and fair skin such as his. He had the hood of his light cloak pulled up over his head to shield it from the sun as the three men stepped out into the sun.
“I’m going to hate this place,” Magnus sighed as he squinted in the bright light.
“As long as you get to stay here in Caesarea, it won’t be too bad,” Hansi replied. “The sea breeze is nice and makes this place rather pleasant. It’s Jerusalem and the inland cities that prove insufferable.” He then turned to the young man who accompanied him. “Alaric, run off and see about the sail makers. Report to Commander Stoppello once you have negotiated a price.”
“Yes, sir,” the lad said, still shielding his face as he turned away.
“What’s with him?” Magnus asked.
“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” his brother answered. “He joined us in Ostia, said he’d served six years on various merchant ships. He must have been very young, as I don’t think he’s even twenty. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s a good worker. Said he’d never wielded a weapon in his life, though he fought well enough against the pirates, even got one of the bastards right in the stomach. For some reason he’s awfully skittish around legionaries, probably something to do with his past. But, whatever that may be, it’s his own business. Now, let’s go see our new friend.”
As one of the major port cities in the eastern empire, Caesarea was full of merchants, tourists, and various persons from every corner of Rome’s domains and beyond. Oriental silks, eastern rugs, exotic clothing and décor seemed to overflow from every vendor stall; all punctuated by the smell of various spices and burning incense.
“It’ll be another week till our ship is repaired,” Hansi continued, “So I’ll get to enjoy baking with you for a little bit longer.”
“A week,” Magnus scoffed. “I’ll be here for gods know how many years.”
“You and Artorius seem to follow each other all over the empire,” Hansi observed as they walked along the cobblestone street, past the stockade on the docks where freshly-imported slaves were temporarily held.
“He’s been my best friend since we joined the legions,” Magnus replied. “I couldn’t let him run off without me. Besides, how much of the empire have I really seen? Grandfather may be a true Norseman, but we were all raised in Ostia. I’ve never even been to the ancestral homeland. My entire tenure in the legions has been spent on the Rhine frontier, plus our three-year stint in Gaul. At least you’ve been around the whole of the empire.”
“Only the wet bits,” Hansi noted with a laugh. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea why I joined the Roman Navy. For years it was rather tedious and backbreaking, sitting behind an oar for most of the day. Our pay is far inferior to that of legionaries, and the little time we did get to spend on dry land was usually nothing more than a day or two in a port city. The people may dress and talk differently, and the whores vary in skin color and how badly they are disease-ridden, but they are basically the same. Once you’ve seen one port, you’ve seen them all.”
“Still, you’ve done well for yourself,” Magnus observed, “Being a sailing master now and all.”
“I had to work my way up to that,” Hansi replied, “Just like you did in the legions. Spending all my days behind an oar with some oaf breaking wind at every fifth pull became too much after a while. I was also the only oarsman below deck who could read, and once the sailing master of my first ship found out, he immediately pulled me from the oars and had me acting as the captain’s scribe. From there I was able to learn new tasks and eventually found myself where I’m at today.”
“Commander Stoppello seems to rely on you quite a bit,” Magnus observed.
“It’s the way of things. He was the sailing master who got me away from the oars in the first place. I didn’t realize it at the time, but all the while he was grooming me to replace him. When he received command of his own ship, I was transferred with him and promoted. I’d like to get my own ship, but we’ll just have to see. I’ve already got twenty years with Roman Navy, and I’d like to settle down at some point.”
“I can understand that,” Magnus noted. “Still, it hasn’t been all toil for you over the years. And surely you’ve made some lucrative hauls.”
“We are able to supplement our income with various charter missions that the crew always gets a cut of,” Hansi said. “And now that I’m sailing master, my take on a haul like we just did is substantially higher. Commander Stoppello is off negotiating with shipwrights to see who will pay the highest for our captured enemy vessel. Of course, the emperor will get his share right off the top, but there will still be plenty for us and the lads. Fortunately, the government doesn’t bother with enforcing taxation on the sale of prisoners. Ah, here we are then.”
They had reached a narrow, yet very tall and colorful tent that was crammed between a pair of food stalls. Hansi pulled back the heavy tent flap and, despite the bright colors on the outside, as well as the glaring sun that continued to rise through the morning, it was completely dark, almost foreboding within.
“Ah, my northern friend!” a thickly accented voice said from within.
The walls of the tent were thick and covered in various animal skins, so as to make it almost as dark as night. Only a pair of oil lamps hanging from the supports gave any light at all. The two Norsemen gave their eyes a moment to adjust before entering in further. A number of small tables, animal cages, and various rugs were strewn about. They heard what sounded like a loud grumbling, though they could not discern from where or what it came.
The man who greeted them sat on what looked like a raised chair made of nothing but large pillows. He was reclined; a narrow cylinder in his hand which was attached to a length of tubing that ran to a large bowl. He appeared to be inhaling through the pipe, and when he exhaled through his nose, clouds of smoke wafted out.
He wore a large ornamental headdress with leather flaps that ran just past his cheeks and covered his ears. His robes appeared to be a deep red with gold embroidery. His eyes were narrow and slanted, with a face that was accented by a thin moustache that ran well past both corners of his mouth, and a thin beard that hung a few inches past his chin.
“You are right,” Magnus said. “He does not look like any Syrian I have ever seen.”
“And who is your friend?” the man asked Hansi, a cheerful smile never leaving his face.
“My brother. He is here to assist me in our business.”
“I see by your garb that you are a Roman soldier,” the man said. Then nodding towards Magnus, “And from your belt and how you wear your weapon, I would guess you are a centurion or better.”
“I am a centurion,” Magnus replied. “But you, sir, still have us at a distinct disadvantage. It is plain that you are from lands beyond the empire. So, who are you?”
“I spoke facetiously when I told your brother I was from Syria,” the man replied. “As to where I am from…well, that is not important. Suffice it to say I come from a land many leagues east of Parthia. As for who I am, my name is Sukhbataar, it means ‘hero of the axe’ in my culture. And so, from one warrior to another, I bid you welcome.”
“As do I,” a woman’s voice spoke up, startling the two Norsemen. In the darkness they did not see the cloaked woman, who threw back her hood, revealing a beautiful and exotic face.
“Now she is clearly Syrian,” Magnus said, regaining his composure.
Though her skin was on the fair side for her people, she had deep set brown eyes and hair.
“May I introduce Achillia, one of the finest gladiators in the world,” Sukhbataar said.
The woman’s eyes were hard, but she allowed a single corner of her mouth to turn up slightly in a smile as she folded her arms across her chest. She simply nodded to the men.
“We do not see many women gladiators,” Hansi observed. “Most Romans view them as more novelty than serious combatant. A shame, really.”
“As you know,” Sukhbataar continued, “Syrians are renowned for their skill with the bow.”
“Yes, we know,” Magnus replied. “We have plenty of them within the army. Most of our bowmen come from Syria.”
“I assure you,” Achillia said, “I am faster and more lethal with a bow than any man within the Roman Army. It is only because I am a woman that I am not allowed to serve.”
“I do not detect any trace of a foreign accent,” Magnus said. “You also speak to us as an equal. I take it then that you are not Sukhbataar’s slave?”
The woman’s head tilted back as she burst into a fit of laughter. Magnus found her slightly unnerving, yet at the same time exotically beautiful.
“Not all who fight in the arena are slaves,” Sukhbataar stated. “Achillia and I are…business partners, if you will.”
“You are also correct in that I am not what you would call ‘foreign’,” Achillia continued. “I am a Roman citizen, like you. Yet a life of docile maternity does not suit my talents. I cannot join the army, so I must find other ways to hunt.” Her gaze was now sinister, though her smile remained.
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Hansi said while Achillia and Magnus continued to stare at each other. He then addressed Sukhbataar. “We have sixty prisoners we captured when we took a pirate ship. They are in pretty sad shape and of no use as gladiators. However, I think they’d be better used for Achillia’s sport, rather than the boring process of tying them to stakes to be strangled or nailed to crosses.”
“Hmm.” Sukhbataar had his eyes closed in thought.
Magnus and Hansi thought they heard the loud grumbling again.
“What is that noise?” Magnus asked.
With a mischievous grin, Achillia pulled back a large blanket that revealed a gigantic sleeping tiger.
“What the fuck is that?” Hansi snapped, jumping to his feet.
Magnus was at his side, gladius drawn as the great beast opened its eyes and yawned lazily. Sukhbataar was chuckling softly as Achillia laughed aloud once more and then began caressing the huge animal behind its ears.
“This is Sargon,” she said. “He means you no harm. I have raised him from the time he was born, and together we hunt.”
Magnus sheathed his weapon as he and Hansi sat once more. The great cat closed its eyes, and they realized what had sounded like loud grumblings was, in fact, Sargon’s purring.
“So shall we say ten denarii apiece?” Magnus offered.
“Three,” Sukhbataar immediately countered.
“Oh, come off it
!” Hansi snapped. “You came highly recommended, and you would take us for fools.”
“As you say, they are a pitiful lot,” the entertainer said calmly. “But how about this; I’ll make it five while having you and your friends as my personal guests at our show in the Jerusalem arena in two weeks’ time.”
“Seven,” Magnus retorted.
“Six,” Sukhbataar said slowly.
The two brothers looked at each other for a moment and both nodded.
“Done,” Hansi replied, extending his hand.
“We will be by later this afternoon to collect the prisoners,” Sukhbataar said.
As Magnus and Hansi left the tent they were almost blinded by the bright sun which contrasted sharply with the deep dark from inside.
“What an odd fellow,” Magnus said, as they regained their bearings and started the long walk back towards the barracks.
“You meet all sorts on this end of the empire,” Hansi replied. “There are many lands and peoples that extend far beyond even the borders of Parthia. Though few will venture any further west than Syria or Asia Minor, many flock to places like Caesarea. I have to go inform Commander Stoppello about the deal we’ve struck, so I will take my leave, brother.”
Artorius had woken to his first morning in Judea as the predawn cast its faint glow on the city. He had left his wife sleeping as he rose, shaved, and taken Pilate’s offer of using his personal baths for an invigorating plunge.
Though Pilate had business to attend to that morning and could not join him for breakfast, he made certain that his brother-in-law was taken care of. The centurion sat at the long table alone as servants brought him cooked eggs, fresh fruit, sharp cheese, and strips of meat from a mysterious animal he could not quite place, though he found it rather palatable. As he washed down the first few bites with a cupful of watered down wine, the large doors were opened and a servant announced, “Commander Tiberius Stoppello of the Imperial Navy!”