Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

Nicholas nodded, turning in his saddle. The rest of his century was backed upon the road and in the piazza. He felt a queer crawling sensation and suddenly knew that the locals were watching them from behind the shuttered windows and laughing.

"All right. Sextus, Vladimir, get everyone turned around and out of town. Scout the other gates, if there are any, and find out if there's a Legion encampment here. If not, find one of these springs that Frontius is always going on about and make camp there-a fortified camp, too. Until we set things right, this is hostile country, understood?"

"Ave!" Sextus made a half-salute, grinned, and jumped down off the wagon. He scrambled back along the line of the redii shouting orders. Nicholas motioned to Dwyrin.

"Come along, lad, we'll find the governor and introduce ourselves."

– |The streets of the inner city twisted into a maze of dark shadowy corridors. Little temples and shops crowded every available space and the slope of the hill made for a steep climb. Finally, after thirty minutes of trotting along deserted alleys, Nicholas and Dwyrin came out into a tiny square, which abutted against a substantial bridge. The arch of the bridge rose up to the east, their left, and ran through a long tunnel cut into the side of a massive wall.

Nicholas was impressed. Nearly everything that he had seen was built small, but this edifice rising fifty feet over his head was massive. The stones were the size of wagons and fitted in alternating courses. A pair of square towers cut from the same stone loomed over the roofs of the houses, showing archaic-style battlements. The buildings of the town were built right up to the wall, unfortunately, and the ramp rose up over what had been-at some time in the distant past-a moat. Now it was covered over by shops and houses. This gate, too, stood open.

Here, at last, were two Roman soldiers standing watch. Nicholas dismounted at the bottom of the ramp and led his horse up. Dwyrin's pony ambled up, with the Hibernian leaning forward over its head.

"Ave," said Nicholas, saluting the two guards, who were sitting on triangular wooden stools in the deep shade of the gateway. "I've come to report to the praetor of the city."

One of the guards opened an eye and pointed back down the street, across the tiny square. The other continued to sleep, his stool tilted back and his head resting against the big square blocks of the city wall.

"The praetorium is that way," he said gruffly. "This is the Temple of Jupiter. Go past the tetrapylon and you'll come to the Jaffa gate. It's on the left."

"Thanks," grunted Nicholas as he swung back upon his horse.

Dwyrin nodded to the one man who was awake, but the soldier ignored him. Both of the legionnaires were wearing only stained tunics and broad leather belts. Neither was clean shaven. Their helmets, rectangular shields, and pila were piled in a heap behind them against the wall. Even their sandals were kicked under the chairs. The gruff man settled back to sleep, idly brushing a fly away from his nose as they rode away.

Like everything else in the city, the praetorium was a hastily built building, three stories high, packed into a space behind the Jaffa gate. Of a wonder, it had a cleared space around it, though Nicholas could see that during market day the area was crowded with temporary stalls, lines of donkeys, and heaps of rubbish. The rubbish was still there, along with the donkeys' contributions to the close, fetid smell of the city. However, less than a block to the south of the praetorium building, which was heralded by an Imperial standard leaning drunkenly from a second-floor window, there was a real wall of dressed stone and a closed military gate.

Above the military gate, another pair of standards hung limply in the hot afternoon air. Underneath them was a wooden placard covered with blocky Latin letters.

Dismounting, Nicholas nodded at the closed gate and gestured for Dwyrin to take his reins.

"There is a Legion encampment of some kind, lad. Make sure the horses are taken care of."

Dwyrin opened his mouth to say he was a sorcerer, not a stable hand, but Nicholas had already stalked off into the shadowy doorway of the praetorium, his back stiff, and the Hibernian sighed and made the best of it.

Besides, he thought, I can get the latest gossip from the lads in charge of the horses.

– |"Come in."

Nicholas pushed open a door of light green-painted wood and stepped into the office of the military governor of Aelia Capitolina. The dingy building had indeed proved to be the offices and residence of the praetor. It was just as grim looking inside as out, showing quite a bit of empty corridor, bare wall, and minimally furnished chambers. A sleepy attendant on the ground floor had given Nicholas directions. Despite the close-packed nature of the city buildings, he was beginning to wonder if anyone actually lived here. He had seen barely a dozen people since entering the walls.

"Nicholas of Roskilde, centurion on detached duty, reporting, sir." Nicholas snapped a salute, arm clenched over his heart, then extended, fingers stiff. The man behind the desk raised an eyebrow and motioned to a low wing-backed seat by the side of the marble table that served as a desk. Nicholas handed his travel orders to the man, then sat, his face impassive, and looked the praetor over with a gimlet eye.

"Well met, Nicholas. I am Bardanes Turcus, praetor of Judea and governor of this city. What brings you to Capitolina?" Bardanes took a moment to stack the scrolls in an untidy pile.

Nicholas paused a moment, weighing his words. The lax defense of the city troubled him greatly, particularly since a large and well-armed force of bandits had attacked his century barely a day away. Examining the bodies-or what was left of them after Dwyrin's fire had burned out-had revealed that many of them bore arms and armor of Imperial origin. Nicholas had read over his briefing papers carefully the following night, hunched in his tent with a small candle-lantern for illumination, and there had been no indication that local garrison units had joined the "bandits." Unless there had been a recent defeat for Roman arms, the only other way for such a quantity of weaponry to have gotten into indigenous hands would be for it to have been sold to them. This Bardanes was a stout, almost squat man with thick black hair on his head and forearms. His face was almost square, with a pug nose and close-set eyes. Today, sitting at ease in his office, he was wearing a fine quality cotton tunic in green with gold edging and lace-up leather boots. The fellow had an open seeming face, but Nicholas was wary. The man reminded him of a badger.

Nicholas had never been fond of badgers.

"Lord Bardanes, I have been sent by the Imperial Offices in Constantinople to see about the… bandit… problem the province has been suffering. As my orders relate, I am to base myself and my men here in the city and see that order is restored in the surrounding countryside. A letter was supposed to have been sent to you. Have you received it?"

Bardanes shook his head slowly and opened the orders packet, his thick fingers spreading the documents out on the top of the desk. "I have received no notice of this in the usual dispatches. What bandits were these?"

Nicholas felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. The man was either utterly ignorant of conditions in the countryside or a brazen liar.

"Reports, sir, had been received in the capital that at least one band of brigands had caused unrest in Judea and that other trouble was expected. A request was made for additional assistance. It was indicated that the local garrison was already occupied."

The praetor smiled genially and put down one of the papers. "There has been a great deal of trouble, Centurion, across the river in the Decapolis. But here? Sheep thieves, petty crime, drunkenness… those are the kinds of problems that we suffer here. Capitolina is a sleepy town on the edge of nowhere. Now, across the river, I have heard they have some troubles… wandering bands of Persian soldiers, desert raiders, all that sort of thing. Did you have any problems on the road from Caesarea?"