by James Mace
Artorius felt a trace of pity for the man, knowing that he would be severely chastised for not bringing him before Herod immediately. However, it was also a subtle ploy on Artorius’ part. The Jewish king may have been able to make him wait a day,, but by coming on his own terms, Artorius made it clear that he was not answerable to Herod. He would, of course, give him all manner of respect due to his person, though he would not cower, grovel, or in any way show subservience.
It was closer to a full hour before Artorius made his way into Herod’s audience chamber. He had been unable to find Valens, and so he rounded up two squads of legionaries, had them get into full kit, with each man carrying a pot or jar of spices and incense that Pilate had sent.
“Centurion Pilus Prior Titus Artorius Justus, Emissary of his Excellency, Gaius Pontius Pilate!” The chamberlain’s voice sounded both frayed and relieved that Artorius had finally arrived.
Herod’s hall was dark, lit only by a series of oil lamps that made the room smell of smoke. Brightly colored rugs adorned both the walls, as well as the floor. The hall was full of people, various Judean officials, priests, members of the Sanhedrin, as well as a number of young women and slaves. Seated at the far end on a raised step was Herod himself, along with his queen, Herodias. Agrippa lounged on a couch and appeared to be trying to remain inconspicuous. Artorius was surprised that he did not see Herod’s stepdaughter, Salome. Remembering that he had been unable to find Valens earlier, he cringed at the thought of his optio creating a diplomatic disaster.
“I bid you welcome, noble centurion,” the Judean king said. He was perhaps in his early fifties, though his hair was surprisingly still dark and thick. It was naturally curly, and hung in great locks from the sides and back and was parted down the middle. His moustache and beard were very thin and trimmed short. His robes were a variety of patterns of mostly black and blue, the edges laced with gold. “What is it you bring us from your master?”
The word ‘master’ was meant to demean Artorius, though he kept his expression one of cordial respect. It was clear the two would be playing a game of veiled insults with each attempting to mentally dominate the other.
“Various spices, as well as some fresh incense,” the centurion replied. “The procurator even sends a jar of rare scented soap that I am sure Your Excellency will appreciate.” He then waved his legionaries forward, each man setting his jar or pot at the foot of the raised step.
“Does Pilate suggest that either I or my people smell vile?” Herod asked, leaning back in his chair and resting his chin in his hand.
“I think you will be able to judge for yourself after you make use of his generous gifts,” the centurion replied.
This created a stir amongst the throng within the hall, though Herod actually gave an appreciative chuckle as Artorius produced a scroll.
“I also bring a formal message from the procurator.”
Herod signaled to Agrippa, who reluctantly rose from his couch and walked over to Artorius, his eyes fixed on him the entire time. As he got closer, Artorius could see they were bloodshot, and he stank of wine, though he appeared to, at least, be mostly sober at the moment. He gave a knowing grin as he read the contents of the scroll.
“To his Excellency, Herod Antipas,” Agrippa read. “It is with the spirit of friendship and cooperation that my centurion and his men bring these gifts to you. I trust you will put them to good use. I also thank you for your continued assistance in maintaining good order within the province and that this will give you continued patronage of the divine Emperor Tiberius Julius Caesar, by whose grace we both owe our positions.” Agrippa deliberately paused for a moment, and Herod looked as if he regretted having Pilate’s message read publicly. His nephew continued, “I expect I will see you in Jerusalem when I make my annual stay during your people’s Passover celebrations. Yours faithfully, Gaius Pontius Pilate, Procurator.”
The letter was respectful enough, though with emphasis on certain words, Pilate made plain that Herod was his subordinate, as well as the emperor’s. And though he was respectful enough in his invite to join him in Jerusalem at the next Passover, it was clearly an order and not a request. The simple offering of gifts and a single letter made it very clear to Herod Antipas that he was not the supreme ruler of his lands that he pretended to be.
“You can thank the procurator for his gifts and words of friendship,” Herod said to Artorius curtly, dismissing him.
The centurion gave a quick nod and signaled for his men to follow him out of the hall.
“After reading Pilate’s letter, the tension became thicker than that wretched smoke,” Sergeant Cicero said as soon as they were in the outer atrium.
“Did you know what the message said before it was read, sir?” a legionary asked.
“That’s being rather presumptuous as to how much you think I am in the procurator’s confidence,” Artorius replied, though his grin told the soldiers all they needed to know. “And now to rally our lads and make ready to leave this place. I suspect by the time we find Valens we will have worn out our welcome here.”
“Centurion Artorius!” It was Agrippa, coming from the hall, where many voices could now be heard talking.
Artorius nodded for his men to leave them. “I thank you for your hospitality last night,” he replied as the Jewish prince walked next to him. “I do think, though, that it is time for us to leave soon.”
“And I will likely be joining you,” Agrippa replied, causing Artorius to raise an eyebrow. “Trust me, my own welcome has become well-worn. I think it is only a matter of time before my uncle tires of me or gets word of one of my loose-tongued rants before throwing me in the dungeon. My company is no longer wanted here.”
“Where will you go then?”
“Rome,” Agrippa said without hesitation. “My true friends are there, what remains of them. Even the emperor will most likely welcome my return. Knowing now that Drusus was murdered, Tiberius no longer blames me for his death.”
Their conversation was cut short as they neared a flight of steps just off the large open air entrance to the palace. Sounds of maniacal laughter echoed down the stairs, along with the rapid sound of running feet. They were almost knocked over by Valens, who was rushing down the stairs while trying to cinch up his belt.
“Damn it, Valens!” Artorius snapped. “Where the hell have you been?”
The optio’s eyes were glassy, though he did not smell of alcohol. He grabbed his centurion by the shoulder guards of his armor. “Artorius, you would not believe what I’ve been doing! That Salome is a freak! She does this thing with her finger…” He paused as he noticed Agrippa. “No offense intended towards your cousin-niece.” He broke into a fit of laughter at his own last remark.
“Please, feel free to insult her all you want. I know what she is.”
“And save it for later,” Artorius added, grabbing Valens and guiding him towards the exit. “For right now, we are leaving.”
“Leaving?” Valens asked. “But why? I thought we were off-loading all that pungent crap that Pilate had us deliver to make that ass, Herod, smell a little better.” His voice was loud and carried further than made his centurion feel comfortable.
“Already been done,” Artorius explained. “Seems he wanted it a little early. And what is with you?” He was exacerbated by his optio’s constant giggling and complete indifference to everything inappropriate that he was saying loudly.
“Must have been whatever that crap was she was burning upstairs,” he reasoned. “I don’t know what it was, but it stunk terribly! I told her she needed some new incense, that whatever she had was rotten. That sultry bitch laughed and told me to just inhale deeply. So I did, and that’s when things got weird.”
Artorius could not help but break into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of his friend’s remark. “Valens, when you of all people say that something has gotten weird, I probably don’t even want to know what that entails.”
“Probably not,” the optio replied wit
h his brow furrowed. “In fact, I’m not sure I even want to know.”
Chapter XXII: Disciples of Love and Hate
***
Two of the prisoners died on the way to Caesarea, and due to their slow rate of march, even with cavalry lances in their backs, they still only arrived a day before Artorius and his contingent returned. Centurion Taurus sent a rider ahead, and so when they reached the outskirts of Caesarea that evening, Magnus and two dozen legionaries were there to greet them.
“We’ll take charge of your prisoners, sir,” the Norseman said as he saluted.
“Much obliged,” Taurus replied. “I will make my report to Pilate in the morning. I sent some of my men back to see about Artorius, and he’s on his way back. They’re camped about ten miles from here, so they should return by late morning.”
Magnus nodded and then waved his men forward. Legionaries fell upon the hapless prisoners, berating them and prodding them towards several caged wagons that were waiting for them. As they were being manhandled into each cage, Cornelius and Rebekkah came walking from the other direction, unaware of what was transpiring. As they got closer, one of the prisoners stopped just before the edge of the cart, his eyes growing wide. Rebekkah gave a short cry and placed her hand over her mouth. She then rushed over to the man, startling both Magnus and his legionaries.
“Jotham!” she cried morosely as she placed both hands on his face, which was devoid of emotion. “Dear God, what have they done to you?” She was now sobbing openly, though her pleas were cut short by a legionary who forced his way between them.
“Here, you can’t be doing that! Off with you now!”
As Cornelius ran over and grabbed Rebekkah by the shoulders, Magnus snapped at him, “Damn it, Cornelius, keep control of your ‘friend’!”
“I’ve got this handled, Magnus,” the centurion replied curtly before leading Rebekkah away, who was, for a minute, unable to speak through her sobbing.
“Into the cage, filthy bastard!” the legionary snapped at Jotham, cuffing him hard across the back of the head.
“What was that all about?” Cornelius said with exacerbation as soon as they were away from the scene where the last of the prisoners were now being loaded into the carts and led away. “You created a scene and made me look like an ass in front of one of my peers and his men!”
“I’m sorry,” Rebekkah said with shuddering breath as she tried to regain control of herself. “It’s just that…that was my brother.”
“Your brother,” Cornelius acknowledged coldly, releasing her.
“Please,” Rebekkah pleaded. “You must help him. They’ll surely crucify him!”
“And rightfully so,” he replied with contempt. “Damn it all, Rebekkah! We keep the peace in this province, for if we did not the insane factions of your tribes would rip each other apart. I have even given much of my own coin in assisting your people’s orphaned children, while fat priests in their vast temples ignore their plight. And for all that, your brother has taken up arms against Rome!”
“I swear I didn’t know,” Rebekkah replied, wiping her hand over her tear-stained eyes. “He disappeared over a year ago. We heard no word from him, and for all we knew he was killed by robbers. I am sorry, my love, please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Cornelius replied gently, taking her in his arms once more.
“I’m frightened for him.”
“The brother you knew is already dead,” Cornelius emphasized. He regretted his biting words to this woman he’d grown to love deeply over the past year, yet all he could do at that moment was just hold her as she let her built up tears of sorrow fall.
Artorius rode straight to the palace after arriving in Caesarea the next morning. A servant took his horse, and he removed his helmet while heading into the palace and up the stairs to Pilate’s study. When he arrived, the procurator was in a heated argument with the Jewish High Priest, Joseph Caiaphas. A pair of freedmen scribes were furiously trying to scribble down all that was said between the two.
“I have no issue with your people policing after themselves,” Pilate emphasized as Artorius quietly let himself in. “However, this time the mobs have gone too far!”
“The woman was a prostitute and an abomination before God,” the priest retorted. “Her crime is punishable by death under our laws.”
“Your laws,” Pilate replied, “not Rome’s. Roman law supersedes that of the Jews, and whether you like it or not, prostitution is not a crime under Roman law, let alone punishable by death. Therefore, your complaint against the rabbi who stopped the mob from stoning the poor woman to death is invalid. What was his name again?”
“Yehosua,” Caiaphas replied, trying to keep his temper under control. “In Latin his name would be pronounced Jesus. And I must correct you, procurator, for he is no rabbi.”
“Well, teacher, then,” Pilate remarked. “Whatever he is, he saved that woman’s life. And it would seem he has quite the influence over your people.”
“He is the son of a carpenter from Nazareth, though his manner of speaking does not sound like anyone from our region. And you are correct, he does have a profound influence on our people who listen to his teachings. And that is why I tell you he is dangerous. He speaks of love and forgiveness, but he’s already started to undermine our authority over the Jews. How long, then, do you think before he starts trying to undermine yours?”
“Thank you, Caiaphas,” Pilate said, ending their discussion. “I appreciate your concern about the strength of Roman rule over your people and will look into the matter.”
Knowing there was nothing more to be gained, Caiaphas bowed and turned to leave, almost bumping into Artorius.
“Eavesdropping on private conversations, I see,” he grunted.
“And good to see you, too,” Artorius replied with a grin as the disgruntled high priest left. The centurion then turned to Pilate, who was accepting a cup of wine from a servant. “What was that all about?”
“The short version of the story is that a mob flew into a rage over a local prostitute and tried to stone her to death. The teacher from Nazareth you heard us discussing intervened, quelled the mob, and saved the woman’s life. I have told the Jews repeatedly that it is Roman law they fall under, not the laws of Moses or whatever prophets they choose to reference. This latest incident was too much, and I’ve had to take more drastic steps.”
“Such as?”
“I’ve revoked the Jews’ authorization to carry out capital punishment,” Pilate replied. “From now on, only Rome will administer the harshest of sentences, and even then only those for crimes committed under Roman law.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Artorius asked. “That is going to create a massive load of work for our courts, plus it leaves the potential for us being placed in a very precarious position.”
“Artorius, you are both my friend and brother-in-law, which is one reason why I allow you to be far more candid than perhaps I should. That said, I do not tell you how to train legionary or auxiliary infantrymen. Do not tell me how to pass laws and edicts on these insufferable people.”
“Apologies,” Artorius replied, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
Pilate raised a hand, silencing him. “No,” he said, “I should apologize. You always mean well, but you do not see what I have to deal with every day from these people. And remember, I was governing this province five years before you arrived.”
“There are many days I don’t envy you.” Artorius decided it was time to change their topic of conversation to the very reason why he’d come straight to see the procurator. “Speaking of capital punishment, I take it you received word about the ambush and the prisoners we took?”
“Centurion Taurus gave me a full report. Your men did well. I sent both Justus and Julius to Jericho. As it is about twice the distance from here as Tiberias, I do not expect them back for a few more days. Praxus went by ship to Gaza. I gave him a mission similar to yours, extending our friendship to the loca
l ruler, another one of Herod’s relatives, while gently reminding them that they still fall under Rome.”
“Fortunately for us, the zealots are unorganized and lack central leadership,” Artorius observed. “I hate to think what would happen, should they ever quit fighting each other and actually unite their people against us.”
“And that is why this Jesus from Nazareth may need watching,” Pilate remarked. “I’ll grant you, prophets and so-called messiahs can be found behind every bush in this province. However, most are blustering fools who the people pay little attention to. As much as I loathe the thought of Caiaphas being right about something, he makes a valid point in that the people actually follow this man. But I don’t think you need to concern yourself over it. I’ll speak with Justus when he returns and get his input.”
“What about Cornelius?” Artorius asked. “He seems to have a rather strong affinity with the Jews.”
“Yes,” Pilate concurred. He then remarked, “Perhaps too much of one. No, Justus is the best set of eyes and ears we have. He’s spent almost his entire career in the east, he speaks most of the languages, and I hate to admit it, but his network of informers is far superior to mine. That’s why I sent him to Jericho. It is deep within the province, and if anyone can gauge the true disposition of the people, it will be Justus.”
Another week passed before Justus returned from Jericho. Much to Pilate’s relief, the city was mostly docile when compared to the simmering cauldron of hatred that was Jerusalem. There had also been more sightings of the man known as Jesus of Nazareth, and Pilate decided it was time to put the matter to rest. Late one morning after breakfast, he called a meeting with both Artorius and Justus, as well as an auxiliary cavalryman from Taurus’ regiment who had heard the Nazarene teaching the week before.
“Prophets in this region spring up all over the place,” Justus observed. “Why should this one be any different?”