by James Mace
“What is this?” Cornelius asked.
“A place for orphaned or unwanted children,” Rebekkah replied sadly. “A local rabbi does what he can for them, but sadly these poor souls are mostly lost.”
“This isn’t right,” Cornelius said, shaking his head. “Surely there is something that can be done. I have seen the temple in Jerusalem and loathe the idea that a place with such wealth would allow children to starve.”
“The priests do ask us to pray for them,” Rebekkah said hopefully, though Cornelius only shook his head in disgust.
“Prayer is worthless without action.” He released her hand and walked through the courtyard, which was overgrown with weeds. He shook his head as he walked past the children who varied in age between two and fourteen years in age. There were a few older women looking after them, though they mostly hid behind their head scarves and kept their eyes averted from the centurion. Rebekkah waited for him just outside the gate as he made his way into the stucco building. He came back out after just a few minutes, his hand over his mouth as if he were gagging.
“Please, let’s leave this place,” Rebekkah pleaded. “There is nothing you can do here.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Cornelius replied as he took a small rag and wiped his brow. “They have no sewage or waste disposal. It is disgusting in there! I am going to get in touch with some contacts I have who may be able to help.”
Rebekkah stopped abruptly and was gazing at the centurion with admiration. “You really do care about our people.”
“They are my people, too,” he reasoned. “This province is part of the Roman Empire, and therefore the people within are, to a certain degree, Rome’s responsibility. But know that I curse those fat bastards at the temple who allow this to continue! The scraps they throw away from their table would be more than enough to feed these children. And if they are not given an education or any skills, what happens to those who survive? Many of the bandits and zealots in this region probably came from places such as this!”
The next day Artorius arrived back at the governor’s palace just as Taurus was finishing his report to Pilate. The cavalry centurion was aptly named, as he was rather bullish in appearance. He was broad in the shoulders and thighs, with a dark complexion and a gruff face that looked as if it required a shave twice per day.
“Centurion Artorius,” the man said, extending his hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Does it now?” Artorius asked, accepting Taurus’ hand.
“I trained under an old friend of yours, Aulus Nautius Cursor,” the centurion explained, causing Artorius to grin.
“I remember Tribune Cursor well,” he remarked, suddenly remembering the troubling letter he’d received from his friend the previous December. The two men continued their way down the long corridor, “Though I have not seen him for several years.”
“He is doing well enough,” Taurus remarked. “He was elected as a plebian tribune a little over a year ago, though he has tried to keep himself out of the public eye ever since the fall of Sejanus.”
“Why would he do that?” Artorius wondered aloud, even though he knew the answer. “He wasn’t one of his followers, as far as I can tell.”
“No, that is correct,” Taurus explained. “He kept whatever level of decorum was necessary while Sejanus still held the emperor’s favor. I have not been to Rome for some time, so I cannot say for certain. However, rumors do have a nasty way of traveling, even this far east. Word has it that Cursor was one of those who brought down Sejanus. My sources even say that it was he who exposed the betrayal of the emperor’s niece, Livilla.”
“Cursor has a fierce devotion to duty, no matter how painful,” Artorius observed. Even without the tribune’s letter, he would not be surprised at the notion that his old friend would have done what was necessary if he knew Sejanus to be a traitor.
“That he does,” Taurus concurred. “He’s also one of the most candid officers I ever served with.”
“I have to ask you something,” Artorius said, stopping to face the centurion as they reached the atrium. “Were you one of the ten-thousand?”
“At Braduhenna?” Taurus’ face was dark and serious. He gave a short nod of confirmation. “Yes, I was. As painful as the memories are, I was not going to address this out of respect for what you and your men in the Twentieth endured.”
“It’s been four years ago as of next month,” Artorius noted as servants opened the great doors, and the two men stepped out into the afternoon sun. The elevation of the palace on the high steps allowed it to catch the cool sea breeze that was denied the congested streets below. The heat of summer was great in mid-July, and Artorius was ever grateful that their posting was on the coast and not inland at some stifling garrison like Jerusalem or Jotapata. “I have to ask… how? How exactly did you all march forty miles in a single day and still have the strength to fight at the end?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question every day,” Taurus answered, taking a deep breath as they descended the steps and walked the few blocks to the small stables by the barracks where the senior officers boarded their horses. “To be honest, it is mostly muddled in my mind. It was late afternoon when we started, and once night fell it seemed as if our trek would never end. Cursor insisted we walk our horses for the majority, allowing them to save their strength. Time stood still, and as we marched along the river, trying not to snap our ankles on the slippery rocks, I felt like Sisyphus, pushing his boulder for all eternity. I cannot imagine what that night was like for you.”
“Cold, wet, and unforgiving,” Artorius replied. “I felt as if the Rhine at our back was really the River Styx, and the Frisians were there to send us to Charon. My men were already battered and exhausted, plus we’d already suffered a number of casualties.”
“Even after we crossed the river, mercifully unopposed,” Taurus continued, “I lamented privately that we had to make the same trek back again. Thank the gods that the Fifth Legion had repaired the bridges during the night and were able to reinforce us. Had they not, both your legion and our entire force would have been annihilated.”
It always darkened Artorius’ mood to talk about Braduhenna. Though he’d fought in numerous campaigns, even the triumphs of Germanicus were lost in the shadow of that dark place where so many Roman soldiers needlessly died. Still, there were times he needed to talk about it, as if the pressure was ever building and his soul would rupture if he did not release it. Taurus was the first man, besides Tribune Cursor, that Artorius had spoken to since then who had been a part of The Ten-Thousand, as they were known.
Unsure what else to say, they walked in silence until they reached the stables. Artorius was accompanying Taurus to where his cavalry regiment was cantoned just outside the city. A groomsman brought Taurus’ horse to him, as Artorius’ servant, Nathaniel, fetched his own mount.
“How would you rate the overall quality of your men?” he asked openly as soon as they were mounted and riding at a slow trot through the streets.
Though densely crowed, the people cleared a path for the two men, not wishing to run afoul of a pair of armored Roman soldiers.
“They’re not the men I had on the Rhine,” Taurus replied candidly. “I won’t lie to you, there are many days I would cast the whole lot of them in the abyss. For us it is not simply a matter of finding volunteers, but also men who can effectively ride a horse. Despite our proximity to Syria and Arabia, this is always hard to come by.”
“I would think Arabians would flock to the standard.”
“So did I,” Taurus replied. “And of course politics plays a substantial part, just like in all of our other affairs. The best Arabian horsemen who enlist end up attached to the legions in Syria, Egypt, and Asia Minor. It seems every time I do get a handful of troopers worth a damn, the legates snatch them away from me. That leaves me with Samaritans and those who no one else wants. Both Pilate and his predecessor, Gratus, have tried to get m
e some better quality men. However, as they are but equites themselves, the legates are not exactly inclined to listen to them.”
The camp of the Judean cavalry contingent consisted of numerous tents and a hastily erected crude fence for stabling their horses. The entire regiment was assembled in ten ranks with a large enough gap for the two centurions to walk between them. They dismounted and, with Taurus’ permission, Artorius inspected random troopers’ weapons for serviceability and wear. On the surface, he could find little fault with Centurion Taurus’ cavalry contingent. The men were washed and shaved, their arms and equipment reasonably serviceable.
It was only as a courtesy amongst peers that Artorius was even allowed to inspect the men. As Taurus also came from the legions and held the billet of cohort commander, the two men were technically the same rank. In fact, given that Artorius had only held his position for a little over a year, he reasoned there was a good chance that Taurus was senior to him based on date of rank.
“Your men look a little rough, but nothing serious,” Artorius noted to Taurus, as he returned a cavalryman’s lance back to him. The three-hundred men stood in formation, each man to the left of his horse.
“In daily duties they perform adequately,” Taurus noted. He then said a few words to one of the other centurions, who in the Samaritans’ native tongue shouted a series of orders and dismissed the formation. “Just know that there is a reason they are mostly kept from the major cities.”
“I figured as much,” Artorius noted, raising an eyebrow.
“To be honest,” Taurus continued, seeming glad to have a fellow Roman officer he could vent to outside of his regiment, “These lot are a nightmare to keep control of under ideal circumstances. It’s not that they won’t fight, but rather it’s getting them to cease once the engagement is decided. I sent some men out to pursue a small group of bandits we’d tracked down. I specifically told them to bring at least a couple of them to me alive for interrogation. All but one were left impaled on spikes, and the one they did bring to me, all they brought was his head.”
Artorius broke into a laugh, which Taurus could not help but do the same. The cavalry centurion then guided him over to his personal tent, which was substantially larger than the ones that housed his troopers. It was a large Bedouin style, with a semi-permanent presence to it. A Numidian servant held the flap open as the two men entered. Inside, the large camp bed was about twice the size of a soldier’s cot and covered with thick blankets. A stand in the corner held a large clay water jug, and in the center stood a table with six chairs.
“I occasionally hold meetings with my centurions in here,” Taurus explained. He then snapped his fingers and the same servant entered with clay goblets of wine.
“Your mission is to patrol the main roads of the province,” Artorius said, “Yet, you are too few in number to effectively hinder bandits from harrying the populace.”
“Hence, those who can afford it bring an armed escort with them,” the cavalry centurion replied. “The rest are left to take their chances in the wild. We cannot prevent outlaws from plying their trade, although I would like to hinder their access to weapons.”
“That is where, perhaps, I can help you,” Artorius conjectured. “My men have been doing little except trying to train the local garrisons. They need a real mission. What do you know about the zealots and other rebels within the region?”
“Only that they are disorganized and lack central leadership,” Taurus answered.
“They are also better armed than simple bandits,” Artorius added. “Capturing some of them may lead us to where they are getting their weapons.”
“Possibly,” Taurus conceded. “However, it is not like there is only one arms supplier in the region.”
“No, but if we can eliminate one of them it may dissuade others. There have been several weapons shipments from the imperial depots that were bound for the legions and have disappeared. I know we cannot stop the flow of unlawful arms completely, but to do nothing is simply unacceptable. Especially if we are dealing with stolen legionary weapons. I have an entire cohort at my disposal. What say we conduct a joint mission, utilizing all of our assets to bait some of the better armed and more organized rebels into a brawl?”
Chapter XXI: Punish and Enslave
***
It had taken a bit of convincing in order to get Pilate’s authorization, though in the end he reckoned hunting renegades and arms smugglers was a better use of his legionaries than simply training the local auxilia. For this particular venture, Artorius would take a single century of legionaries on a road march to the port city of Tiberias, on the Sea of Galilee. It was the seat of the Jewish king, Herod Antipas. The publicly stated purpose was for the soldiers to bring a number of state gifts from Pontius Pilate, as well as give Herod a personal display of Roman power.
Tiberias was only a couple days’ march from Caesarea. It would take them through rolling hills near Nazareth that were thick with woods and vegetation. Such terrain would offer much cover for any bands of renegades or zealots. It also allowed a contingent of Taurus’ cavalry to parallel the main road mostly unseen. The intent was for the legionaries to draw their foe into the open and have the cavalry cut off their escape. Artorius only took one century with him, as he felt that any larger of a force would be viewed as too formidable for a zealot band to risk attacking.
They left one morning in early August, just as the predawn cast its glow and before the heat of day. Artorius rode at the head of the contingent, his signifier marching alongside his horse with the century’s signum held high. The cohort had a lone cornicen, who walked behind the signifier, his curved horn draped over his shoulder. Felix, the tesserarius, was at the head of the column, just in front of the first pack mule. All the logistics animals bearing the soldiers’ rations and tents, as well as some exotic spices for them to present to Herod, were in a long line. Legionaries marched in a file on either side of their supply animals. Behind the column marched two squads, led by Optio Valens, who also had a horse. His slave, Erin, walked beside him and was the only woman within the group. Taurus led a detachment of fifty cavalrymen, who in the open regions kept at least a single terrain feature behind Artorius’ men.
The first day passed uneventfully enough. Occasionally, Artorius would have his men search the passing wagons, though there was little to be found that would arouse suspicion. As night fell, they arrived at the town of Nazareth. It was mostly a farming community, the actual urban center consisting of mostly single story buildings. Only the single inn that they could see from the outskirts had a second floor.
“We’ll bivouac outside the town,” Artorius directed his officers. “Have the men set their tents on the west side of the road. We’ll make our presence know, though we are not here to cause any undue disruptions.”
Shepherds led their flocks along the road as legionaries went about setting up their camp for the night. The men hurriedly guiding their sheep past the camp gave the armored soldiers an occasional nervous glance. Within a half hour, ten squad tents stood erected in a perfect hollow square, with separate tents for the principle officers, as well as Artorius’ private tent in the center.
“Not much in the way of entertainment in these parts,” Valens grumbled as Erin helped him out of his armor.
“There will be plenty to keep us amused in Tiberias, I’m certain,” Felix replied with a chuckle. He then looked lost in thought for a moment. “You know, I heard there’s a rather famous Jewish teacher from this area.”
“From here?” Valens asked, bemused. “I find that difficult to believe. There is little here that makes me think of it as the home of any sort of learned person. These people are mostly shepherds and farmers.”
“I can only go by what I’ve heard,” Felix remarked. “I’ve never met the man personally. Apparently though, he often speaks out against the Sanhedrin, calling them hypocrites who should act to help the people instead of acting all pious and praying loudly. Publicly they denounce hi
m as a heretic, although given his popularity with many of the people, I think they are afraid of him.”
“Well, then, I’m amazed Pilate has not invited him over for supper. It seems those two would get along famously!”
The large door flap of their tent was rolled open, and they leaned back on their cots, watching the sun slowly set behind the low hills as the occasional legionary walked past.
“There is a certain peacefulness about this place,” Felix said after a few minutes. “I can’t quite place it, but somehow I understand why the Jews love it here.”
“They call it their promised land.”
The soldiers were gone before the people of Nazareth had roused themselves for the day. It was still another full day’s march to Tiberias, barring any unforeseen crises. As much as Artorius wanted to get his men some actual experience, he knew it was far better if their march proved uneventful.
“Contact right!” a soldier shouted, dashing any chance of a monotonous trek to the Sea of Galilee. Instinctively, all legionaries on the right side of the column turned in the direction of the threat, forming two battle lines, shields together. The sun was just starting to crest over the hills to the east, its orange light glaring in their faces. Two squads on the left side faced out the other way, lest they be attacked from both sides.
Artorius, at first, thought the legionary may have simply panicked at the sight of a shepherd, but then his eyes grew wide as dozens of men rose up from behind the line of sagebrush plants, slings whirling over their heads.
“Down!” Felix shouted as a barrage of sling stones bounced off the wall of shields.
“Rear guard, hold in place!” Artorius ordered, instinct and training taking over. After all of his years in the legions, it came reflexively to him. “Right wing, advance! Left wing, on me!”