Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “At least they found you a worthy successor,” Artorius noted when he read that Cassius Chaerea had been assigned as deputy prefect.

  “Enough of the levity,” Pilate scoffed as Claudia gently rubbed his shoulders, trying to calm him. “My appointment was at the behest of Sejanus. Tiberius knew he was my patron, and now he has been executed as a traitor. It would seem Justus gets the last laugh in their feud after all.” He laughed darkly at the irony.

  Though Sejanus had many enemies, the fact that one of the few who ever had the nerve to stand up to him was a mere centurion from the ranks had been a constant irritant. He had made it clear on multiple occasions that the only reason Justus was not exiled or dead was because of their mutual friendship with Pontius Pilate.

  “These letters came to us very quickly from Rome,” Artorius observed. “If Tiberius wanted to dispose of you, he most likely would have dispatched a group of praetorians to come for you at the same time he ordered the arrest of Sejanus. So, in simplest terms, you should do nothing. And I would say nothing to the Syrian legate, either in correspondence or in person.”

  “We don’t have to worry about seeing him in person,” Pilate grunted. “I wouldn’t know him if I saw him, as he still governs in absentia from Rome. In my five years as procurator none of his bureaucrats have ever called upon us nor so much as invited me to come to Syria.”

  “Well, if the emperor wanted you eliminated, he would have done so already,” Artorius speculated. “All the same, the loss of Sejanus does lead to potential vulnerability. He was able to shield Tiberius from much of what went on here. As it is, you can bet the emperor will now have an eye on Judea. If we are able to maintain order then I believe in time he will forget or, in the least, forgive your being a patron of Sejanus.”

  That evening Artorius went to the tavern that was enclosed within the legionary barracks. Justus Longinus had had it constructed, giving them a place of recreation that was just for legionaries, as well as a few select ‘companions’. It was run by a rather affable Greek whose full beard and theoretical nature caused the soldiers call him ‘Socrates’. No one knew his real name, and he seemed content enough being known by the name of one of his people’s most famous philosophers. Soon after assuming his position, he had told Justus that he preferred legionaries as clients rather than local auxiliaries because he knew they would always pay their bill. Artorius and the other centurions had made it clear that anyone refusing to pay for goods or services rendered in Caesarea would be subject to ten lashes, plus a forfeiture of a day’s wages in addition to what was owed. Socrates had once told Artorius that while he appreciated such discipline making legionaries ideal customers, he wondered if it was a bit excessive. To which the centurion had replied, ‘I have no idea if it is excessive; we’ve never had to instigate this punishment. And if we ever do, I promise it will only happen once or twice.’

  This particular evening Socrates was serving wine and food to Justus Longinus, his optio, as well as some of the decanii from his century. Justus was visibly drunk and practically throwing coins at Socrates every time he ordered another round; with the Greek only too happy to oblige. His daughter assisted him this evening, and though relatively attractive, it was made clear to the soldiers that she was not for the taking.

  Artorius sighed and shook his head as he walked over to the table. Part of his reason for going there was he knew that Justus would be in a celebratory mood.

  “Centurion Artorius!” one of the decanii said as several of the men quickly rose from their seats. Artorius quickly waved them to take their seats.

  “Sit down, I’m not the emperor!” he remarked with a laugh.

  “There you are!” Justus shouted, despite Artorius standing next to him. He slammed his fist on the table, causing one of the cups to tip over. “The lads and I have just been knocking back a few.”

  “A few?” Artorius asked, looking over at Socrates.

  “I’ve sent my boy out back to fetch a fresh cask,” the Greek replied with a boisterous laugh. He then quickly walked over with a cup for Artorius, which the centurion eyed suspiciously.

  “Trust me this is not the normal piss water I serve to the rankers. Your friend here has been buying me out of my best vintage.”

  Artorius chuckled and smelled the contents of the cup before taking a drink.

  “Come!” Justus said sharply. “Another toast, now that our cohort commander is here.”

  All the men rose and held their cups high. “To the fall of Sejanus!”

  “May his corpse not poison the Tiber!” the men all replied in unison.

  Artorius remained silent through this, though Justus did not appear to notice. If the message from Rome was true, then Sejanus was certainly a traitor, and Artorius could not fault his friend for celebrating the demise of such a hated enemy.

  “Good riddance, you bastard,” Justus said with slightly slurring speech. “May he and all his closest friends rot.”

  At this Artorius elbowed him sharply.

  “What?”

  “You forget who some of his friends were!” the centurion snapped.

  “Not you, surely,” Justus replied, causing Artorius to elbow him again.

  “Ass,” he grumbled. “I’m talking about Pilate. Our friend, and not to mention governor of this province, was a close confidant of Sejanus. Understand that with his fall, Pilate is now vulnerable and by association so are we. Revel in the demise of your enemy, but do not forget that with him gone, we will now be under direct scrutiny of the emperor.”

  “I’ll take Tiberius on the imperial throne over Sejanus,” Justus grunted.

  “Agreed,” Artorius conceded. He then said quietly, almost to himself, “I fear that this last betrayal will have far reaching affects, darkening whatever remains of Tiberius’ reign.”

  Artorius had returned to Jerusalem to conduct a cursory inspection of the garrison a few weeks later. He hoped it would not take more than a week or so, as he and his men who accompanied him wished to be back in Caesarea in time for the Saturnalia celebrations. In addition to Valens and a handful of legionaries, he had also brought Sergeant Cicero, his chief armorer. He was conducting a thorough inspection of the arms rooms while Artorius and Valens watched a batch of new volunteers being led to the drill field.

  The sight of auxiliary recruits attempting to march was a pathetic tragedy in Artorius’ mind. There were approximately a hundred of them, most wore little more than rags, and some were devoid of even rudimentary sandals on their feet. The decurion leading them gave the order to halt before quickly walking over the centurion and optio, rendering the customary salute.

  “An inspiring sight,” Valens said with thick sarcasm. “I’ll bet the people of the city feel safer already.”

  “With respect, sir,” the decurion spoke, “you asked for volunteers, and these are who came forward.”

  “Take them over to the quartermaster,” Artorius ordered. “Have them draw a single tunic and pair of sandals, then take them to the river and have them washed, shaved, and given some semblance of a haircut before billeting them.”

  “Yes, sir,” the decurion said with another quick salute. He then shouted a few orders to the mob, who lethargically followed him over to the supply rooms.

  As Artorius and Valens watched them depart, Sergeant Cicero joined them, his face full of vexation.

  “I’ve completed my inspection of the arms room,” the armorer said.

  “And?” Artorius asked.

  “It’s pretty sad,” Cicero replied. “Many of the gladii are rusted and pitted; hamata armor is mostly rusted, with broken links, and otherwise unserviceable. There are also numerous weapons that are simply missing.”

  “What of the previous armorer?” Valens asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  “I told him to piss off unless he wanted what’s left of his teeth broken,” Cicero remarked. “Sorry sirs, but my father was a smith, and he taught me to respect one’s weaponry; steel was the one thing a
man could trust.”

  “You’re not taking over their armory,” Artorius emphasized. “The man responsible for this mess will be flogged and reduced back to the ranks. However, we must find someone amongst the auxiliaries who is knowledgeable with weaponry and metal smithing. I cannot believe that all of these men are worthless scum.”

  “They aren’t,” Valens agreed. “Mind you, even the legions have their share of cowards and shirkers, but I do feel that a large enough number of those who did not desert are at least willing to become soldiers. I spoke with Abenader, and he feels that all current auxiliaries should go through recruit training along with the new men. I have to say, I agree. We may as well start them all over. Let them write a new chapter, as it were.”

  “That is if any of them can read,” Cicero scoffed. “I’ll start vetting volunteers who wish to work in the armory. At minimum, there should be three or four armorers per cohort, though it would be ideal if each century had its own.”

  “Do what you can,” Artorius replied. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir. I need steel, and lots of it. I think most of the weapons and armor can be repaired, and any that are unsalvageable we’ll melt down for scrap. I also know that we’ll eventually need to forge replacement weapons and equipment for ourselves. I do not trust weapon merchants in this region. Their work is shoddy at best. And since we are not officially assigned to any legion, we are not authorized to draw replacement arms from the imperial depots.”

  “A bureaucratic technicality,” Valens grunted.

  “I’ll speak with the procurement office,” the centurion replied. “I cannot promise anything, but if we have to, we’ll send out scrounging parties to acquire what you need.”

  While Artorius and his men continued to try and rebuild the Jerusalem garrison, even more disturbing news came to Pilate from Rome; strangely enough, none of it from the emperor. Even though Tiberius corresponded with the procurator directly, his dispatches were all official business regarding the running of the Judean province. The news Pilate received came from either the consul Regulus or the new Deputy Praetorian Prefect, Cassius Chaerea. It seemed that the plot of Sejanus went deeper than anyone suspected. And when Artorius returned to Caesarea, just a week prior to Saturnalia, he discovered more than he ever wanted to know, and it all came from an unlikely source.

  Hail, Artorius, old friend and brother-in-arms!

  I write you with much vexation in the aftermath of the fall of Sejanus. Know that I have no regrets in the role I played exposing the traitor for what he was; a soulless tyrant who would sought to make himself master of Rome. I was there when he was strangled, his body cast down the Gemonian Stairs and torn to pieces by the mob. He betrayed the empire and his punishment was just.

  It is what happened after that weighs on my heart. Tiberius tasked me and an old friend of yours, Gaius Calvinus, with discovering the truth behind other rumors he’d heard whispered. What we found was that Sejanus had already murdered in his quest for power. The emperor’s son, Drusus Julius Caesar, did not die from too much drink as had long been assumed. No, he was murdered, not only by Sejanus, but also by his own wife, Livilla! Tiberius’ wrath has been renewed, and I now fear for Sejanus’ two younger children, who are no longer safe. I have used my Tribunician veto to stop the executions of those falsely accused of being privy to the plot; however, should the emperor himself unleash his wrath, I will be powerless to stop him.

  In the end, I view this letter as my confession. I dare not let Pontius Pilate know of my involvement in Sejanus’ fall, as doubtless that will cost me his friendship. You, however, Calvinus and I know we can trust. You still have friends in Rome, as does Pontius Pilate. The emperor is wary of his Judean Procurator, but he still views him as an honorable servant of the empire. But do not allow any reason to arise that would make him think otherwise. As I said, as long as I hold office of plebian tribune I can veto the senate, but I can do nothing should Tiberius unleash his rage. And I fear he is set to do so against the blameless children of Sejanus. Should they die, I will have myself to blame.

  I did my duty, and it has cost me deeply. Take care, old friend.

  Always,

  Aulus Nautius Cursor

  Artorius had not spoken to Cursor in several years. In fact, he regretted deeply not making time to see him or his former Master Centurion, Calvinus, when he was in Rome.

  What Artorius did not know was that between the time Cursor had penned his letter to when it reached his friend in Judea, Tiberius had exacted the ultimate penalty against Sejanus’ remaining son and daughter. The son, though only thirteen, was dressed in his formal toga to signify he was a grown man, before he was strangled. The daughter, a year younger, was first raped by the praetorians, as there was no legal precedent for executing a virgin. In a horrifying display, the girl had been defiled while the rope was around her neck. Cursor had witnessed the sickening display, powerless to save them. He’d left a broken man, seeing the price of doing his duty. In the end, he was left wondering if Rome was even worth fighting for.

  Chapter XX: Horsemen under the Bull

  Caesarea, Judea

  July, 32 A.D.

  ***

  Spring came once more to the empire, with many feeling a sense of rebirth after the hated affair that came in the wake of Sejanus’ fall. The dark cloud had hung over Caesarea, and especially Pontius Pilate. Even the joyous celebrations of Saturnalia could not remove the pervading gloom.

  The baggage train, carrying all the household goods for the officers of the First Italic Cohort had at last arrived, along with all of their servants and the twenty legionaries who had acted as their escorts. Though they had seen a substantial portion of the empire during the months it took for them to cross from Gaul into Judea by land, they had been oblivious to the fearful news from Rome, hearing only the odd rumor here and there. As the daily business of most inhabitants within the empire was unaffected by what happened in Rome, Artorius wondered if the average citizen even knew who Sejanus was and why he had been struck down.

  Pontius Pilate had, at last, quit panicking whenever he received official imperial correspondence. The only real change was that instead of communicating with Sejanus, he now received his instructions directly from the emperor. Most of the provinces were considered senatorial, with their governors appointed from the senate and allowed to rule with near autonomy. Judea was one of the few imperial provinces, with an equite procurator, answering to the emperor instead of through the senate. And while rumors abounded as to Tiberius’ state of mind, what dispatches he did send to Pilate were mostly routine and almost mundane in nature.

  The spring Passover had been mostly uneventful, with Pilate making his annual speeches to the assembled masses, reminding them that despite their religious autonomy, they still fell under the rule of Tiberius Caesar. I was now summer and Artorius had just returned to Caesarea, following another garrison inspection in Jerusalem.

  “The training of the new recruits goes well, I take it?” Pilate asked as Artorius handed him a pair of scrolls.

  “Well enough,” the centurion replied. Though molding the new auxiliaries was moving at an agonizingly slow pace, coupled with his at times strained rapport with Abenader, Artorius knew he had to instill confidence in the procurator. “These scrolls are the updated rosters for the garrison, along with the payroll that will require your authorization. It is slow going, but at least there was no violent quelling of riots this last Passover.”

  “Hmm,” Pilate muttered, setting the scrolls aside. “You know that the garrison of Jerusalem is but a fraction of my responsibilities in this province. Whatever issues arise, I depend upon you to resolve, until such time as they are able to manage themselves effectively.”

  “Understood,” Artorius replied.

  “Was there anything else?” Pilate’s face was worn, and Artorius wondered if he slept at all anymore.

  “There is,” the centurion confirmed. “I have a handle on the auxiliary infantry, but
have yet to so much as see a single cavalryman since I’ve been in the province. I know they exist, I saw the manning rosters.”

  “Ala I Gemina Sebastenorum, a regiment of Samaritan cavalry,” Pilate acknowledged. “They spend most of their time patrolling the major roads between Judea and the bordering provinces. Given the unbridled hatred that you are well aware of between the Jew and Samaritan, I tend to keep them out of the cities as much as possible. You should pay them a courtesy visit. Their commander is a centurion named Taurus. He’s a Roman, at least, and a sound cavalry officer.”

  “I’ve likely seen him in passing,” Artorius noted. “When is he due to be in Caesarea again?”

  “The day after tomorrow,” Pilate answered. “As I personally don’t care to see any of his Samaritan cavalry, I have directed him to give his monthly reports to me personally. Return around midday tomorrow, we should be finished with our meeting then.”

  For Centurions Cornelius and Julius, there was more to serving the empire than simply commanding their centuries in battle. Julius was originally from Tarsus in Asian Minor and, as such, was familiar with the numerous peoples within the eastern empire, to include the eccentric Jews. As a boy he had visited Caesarea, as well as Jerusalem with his father. Therefore, he was able to view the populace not as conquered subjects but as people.

  Though from Rome, Cornelius made the acquaintance of Claudia Procula’s Judean friend, Rebekkah, and the two were spending a significant amount of time together. It was midmorning when they walked past an old building, the sounds of many very young voices caught Cornelius’ attention.

  “What is that?” he asked. “It sounds like it is full of children.”

  “It is,” Rebekkah replied, “But that is no place of happiness.” She attempted to guide him away. He took her by the hand and quickly walked around the stone wall to the open gate. The stench was overpowering. Numerous children, many with various diseases, and all malnourished, were congregated within.