James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Journey to Judea

“At least the Syrians know who their masters are,” Valens muttered as he walked next to his centurion.

Artorius’ servant, Nathaniel, could clearly hear him, though he remained silent. Having been a slave his entire life, he was used to the veiled and not-so-veiled insults against his people.

Nathaniel had proven useful to Artorius since they arrived in Judea. His knowledge of local languages and customs had made the daily interactions of his master with the populace far less painful. As a reward for discovering the arms smugglers, Artorius had offered to buy his slave a wife, though he had respectfully declined, stating that if he were to ever marry it needed to be out of love rather than obligation. Instead, Artorius purchased for him one of the Jewish holy books that Nathanial had long wished for.

On the outskirts of the city, the century made ready to camp for the night. Given the brevity of their journey, they had kept their baggage to a minimum, electing to sleep under the stars and only bringing a handful of pack mules with cooking supplies and rations. The nights were cool during the late winter and early spring, and those legionaries not on sentry duty huddled beneath their cloaks around a series of campfires.

The next day they arrived at the fortress of Legio XII Fulminata, also called The Thundering Legion . The absentee legate, Lamia, had at last been replaced after having governed for ten years without so much as leaving Rome. The new legion commander, as well as governor of Syria, was a man named Lucius Pomponius Flaccus. Despite the similar name, he was unrelated to the retired optio that served with Artorius during the early years of his career in Legio XX. However, as he governed from Antioch, it was not he, but rather his very young chief tribune, who greeted the detachment from Judea. Instead of armor or uniform, he wore a civilian toga, with emphasis on the broad purple stripe that denoted his status as a member of the senatorial class.

“Detachment from the First Italic Cohort, reporting” Artorius said, saluting.

The tribune returned it rather lazily. “Hmm, I see you have our weapons that were stolen by those beastly renegades.”

“Yes, sir. One hundred and fifty gladii, with the same number of pilum. Almost enough to equip two centuries.”

“And yet no word on the men who perpetuated this crime,” the tribune noted. “It would seem Pilate is still lacking as always when it comes to garnering information from prisoners. No doubt he’s already crucified this Jesus Barabbas before he could be persuaded to spill his guts to us.”

The tribune’s insulting behavior grated on the centurion, and as such he elected to keep quiet about Barabbas, who was still very much alive. He was sentenced to die, certainly. However, Pilate’s best interrogators were still working to get any useful information about who at the depot was stealing arms to sell on the underground markets.

“At any rate, we’ll take those weapons off your hands,” the tribune said, snapping his fingers.

A dozen legionaries who’d accompanied him surrounded the wagon and started to guide it into the fortress. He appeared surprised that Artorius still stood before him. “You are relieved, centurion.”

“I had hoped my men could rest here for the night,” Artorius remarked. “It is late in the day, and we traveled light, with only minimal provisions and no tents.”

“That’s not my problem, is it?” the tribune scoffed. “You’ve finished your mission and are no longer needed. And you can tell that incompetent fool, Pilate, that though he may have survived the aftermath of his precious patron, Sejanus’, fall, we still remember him as nothing more than that praetorian’s lackey. Now off with you!”

“What is it, Justus?” Pilate asked a few days later as he read through the weekly pile of decrees, tax notices, public works projects, and the never-ending complaints from the Sanhedrin.

“It’s about the Nazarene,” the centurion replied.

“Which Nazarene?” Pilate asked, still reading the latest note from Caiaphas that had him irritated at the moment.

“The so-called prophet, Jesus of Nazareth. You tasked us with following him for a week and then reporting back.”

“Oh, that Nazarene,” Pilate said, letting out a loud yawn. “Well, what did he say; anything seditious that you had to cut his heart out for?”

“Actually, no,” Justus replied with a chuckle. “He…he told the people to pay their taxes!”

Pilate was signing a document when Justus’ words made him scrawl the quill across the parchment.

“Come again?” he asked, looking up at him for the first time. “These bloody Jews never talk about paying taxes unless they are complaining! Hell, I couldn’t even get them to pay for their own damned aqueduct from the fat coffers of their precious temple without causing a riot!”

“I know,” Justus continued. “It was truly the strangest thing.” Justus then went on to explain to Pilate about the conversation that ended with Jesus telling the people to ‘Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s’.

“And the people didn’t lynch him on the spot?”

“No sir, they love him,” Justus answered. “I don’t doubt that his comment will garner him few friends within the Pharisees or the Sanhedrin, but the common people adore him. He said something else, too. He told the people that they should love not just their neighbors, but also their enemies.”

“A Jewish prophet who tells the people to pay their taxes, and that they should love their enemies, meaning us.” Pilate sat in thought for a minute before addressing the centurion once more. “Well done, Justus. Continue to observe this man. If he is, indeed, loved by the people, he may prove useful to us.”

It was as they were finishing their conversation that the doors were opened once more. Artorius strode in, looking rather filthy and disheveled, still in full armor with his helmet tucked under his arm.

“By Juno,” Justus said, “Could you not have bathed and shaved first?”

“I would have bathed in Raphaneae, had we not been told to piss off as soon as we delivered the weapons,” Artorius protested. He then spoke to Pilate, “We were forced to march straight back to Tripolis, without so much as being allowed inside the fortress. It would seem you have some enemies in the Fulminata Legion.”

“So I have,” Pilate acknowledged. “They did not appreciate my coming down hard on their rankers for lapses of discipline. But after all, that was why I was sent there in the first place. They are a good legion, mind you, though I think my patronage with Sejanus caused some ill feelings.”

“Yes, that was made very clear to me,” Artorius added. “Still, the weapons have been returned. Any word yet from that creature, Barabbas?”

“Not yet,” Pilate replied. “We’ve avoided outright torture for the moment, as the information is usually unreliable if applied too soon. We did get him to confess to a number of other crimes, though.”

“Such as?”

“Horse thievery, as well as the rape of a rabbi’s daughter,” Pilate said with disgust. “He claimed they were lovers, though at the time the girl was only thirteen. She has vouched for his identity. It was two years ago and she has made plain that, her age aside, their relationship was not consensual.”

“Then the sooner we put him on a cross, the better,” Justus said. Having a daughter around the same age and hearing this new revelation about Barabbas only sickened him further.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to crucify him soon enough,” Pilate replied. “He will be coming with us to Jerusalem, along with whatever’s left of those zealots you captured. We’ll execute them as soon as we arrive, and perhaps save Barabbas as a special gift to the populace during Passover. No doubt seeing him hung from a cross will please the girl’s father.”