James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Journey to Judea

Rock of Golgotha, outside Jerusalem

This was the second Passover Artorius would witness in Jerusalem, and the prisoners he and Taurus had taken the previous summer were finally being given their sentence. Several had died from disease or suicide during the months between their capture and transfer to their place of execution. It was because thousands of pilgrims were already flocking towards the Jewish holy city that Pilate had wanted to make as public a spectacle as he could of the fate of those who would bring violence against Rome. The day after the attack on the Antonia Fortress, he ordered Artorius to take a detachment up to the large rock known as ‘the skull-pan of a head’. Far too large to be just a rock, but too small to be known as a mountaintop, it was the place where criminals handed down the most severe of sentences were taken for crucifixion.

“Don’t bother taking the prisoners to the dungeons,” the centurion told his men. “We’ll make directly for Golgotha and get this over with.”

“Sir, what about Barabbas?” a soldier asked. “Do we crucify him as well?”

“No. Leave him in the prison under heavy guard. We’ll see if Abenader’s interrogators can get any more useful information from him. Besides, Pilate wants his execution saved for the Passover celebrations.”

It was a pleasant evening as the sun set and a gentle breeze blew across the skull-shaped rock. Artorius marveled at how it contrasted to the ghastly task they were about to perform. Under normal circumstances the condemned would be required to walk to their place of execution, often times carrying the cross beam to their crucifix. Pilate had wished to expedite the fate of these condemned rebels. Those Pilate decided to make the ultimate example of, were blindfolded and thrown into the back of a single ox cart. Artorius had arrived with some of his men an hour earlier, and he could hear the creaking of the wheels from the cart coming up the path.

“At least the evenings are pleasant enough,” Metellus said as he walked up behind Artorius.

“I hate this place,” he replied quietly.

“Judea?” his son asked.

“That,” Artorius acknowledged. Two years had passed since the day he’d received his orders sending him and his friends east. And yet, despite the promotion, plus the far more pleasant climate of Caesarea, something about the province never sat well with him. He felt he was better suited keeping barbarians at bay on the Rhine frontier, rather than trying to placate a province where one never knew who was a friend or enemy. “But this place is truly malevolent. Many a wicked soul has been purged here, and I swear that evil permeates from this cursed rock.”

“Forgive me for asking, sir, but was this not your idea?” The decanus’ face bore a look of puzzlement as Artorius turned and faced him.

“Metellus, what are you doing here?” Artorius asked, ignoring the question. “I told Cornelius to have your century stand down.”

His adopted son gave a shrug.

“Morbid curiosity I suppose,” he replied. “I know this is a hateful task, and it’s one I have yet to take part in.”

“No one should relish crucifying other men,” Artorius remarked. “The humiliation and pain we subject the condemned to has left me with many a sleepless night.”

“I don’t relish the idea,” Metellus said gravely.

Even in the closing dark Artorius could sense the apprehension in the young soldier.

“I would much rather be getting drunk and shoving my cock into a young whore, believe me. I can’t explain why I felt I had to come here, I just did.”

“Alright,” the centurion responded. “If you wish to educate yourself on inflicting our greatest punishment, I won’t deny you. Drop your armor and go see Felix. Have him put you on one of the teams.”

“Yes, sir.” As Metellus wandered off to find the tesserarius, the cart slowly came into view.

Artorius saw Valens sitting next to the driver, holding a lantern. Two dozen legionaries walked on either side, with a few more riding in the cart with their javelins pointed at the hearts of the condemned.

“There you are,” the optio said, jumping down and walking over to his centurion.

“Any trouble from this lot?” Artorius asked.

Valens shook his head. “No, they are pretty docile. My guess is they accepted their fate a long time ago.” Valens then noticed Metellus talking with Felix, who was instructing one of the other legionaries to stand down. The young soldier looked relieved and quickly started to don his armor and equipment, anxious to leave the hated place. “What’s Metellus doing here? You put him on a crucifixion team?”

“He feels he needs to learn what it is like,” Artorius answered. “Besides, I was even younger than him when I did my first crucifixion. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” Valens nodded. “It was our first action after you were appointed squad leader. That one fellow you went insane on, slashing him up with your gladius and then having us plant his cross right on top of an enormous mound of carnivorous ants.”

“I had a lot of hate in my heart then,” Artorius said, closing his eyes for a moment at the memory. “There are many times it almost destroyed me. I hated the Germans, and pretty much any non-Romans after what happened to my brother. I hated women because I felt abandoned by Camilla. That day we crucified those barbarians, if you had told me that ten years later I would be happily married to a woman I dearly loved, with my brother’s son adopted as my own, I would have laughed and probably punched you in the face.”

“You’re definitely not the same person you were then,” Valens observed.

“Are any of us?” Artorius replied. He then looked over at his son. Despite the fact that Metellus had been a soldier for nearly six years, Artorius still felt an instinctive need to protect the young man.

“Well, this will be a good lesson for him,” Valens said with a shrug. “Cornelius brought his name up the other day. He never says much to you because you’ll think he’s just telling you what you want to hear. But he said the truth is, Metellus has been a model soldier and is seen as a mentor by a number of the men in the ranks. No ego, either. The lads in his squad were stunned when Cornelius told them about Metellus earning the civic crown at Braduhenna.”

“He makes me more proud than I have ever been able to tell him,” Artorius replied.

A legionary then walked over and interrupted their thoughts.

“Sir, we’re ready to conduct the crucifixion,” he said, bringing Artorius and Valens back to their dreaded task.

The centurion shouted over to his tesserarius, “Felix, bring your teams up!”

“Sir!” Felix responded. “Alright, lads, let’s get it over with.”

Six men would take each rebel, because when one was filled with extreme terror, they become capable of ungodly feats of strength, and it would take a number of them to subdue each condemned man. Valens walked back to the cart and came back with a hammer and canvas sack full of large spikes. Another legionary carried a corded whip.

“Oh, come off it, Valens!” Felix said with exacerbation. “We’ve got plenty of rope, there’s no need to get ghastly and nail these poor bastards up.”

“True,” the optio conceded, “But supposing someone wants to cut them loose? I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on staying up here for several days, waiting for them all to die. No one will live for very long after having rusted spikes driven through their wrists and ankles. We nail them up. It will make any attempt at rescue futile.”

“You do it then,” Felix retorted as he walked over to supervise the removal of the prisoners, who so far were still strangely quiet.