James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Journey to Judea

The so-called Samaritan Messiah decided in an instant to end the discussion. “ I’ll save our people, even if I have to martyr myself!” he screamed as he drew his sword and lunged towards Pilate.

The procurator quickly drew his gladius and stepped back. His foe’s sword slashed against the cheek guard of his helmet.

“Shit!” Artorius swore as he and Abenader drew their gladii.

Each stepped forward to protect Pilate, driving their weapons into the vitals of the men on either side of Taheb, who had stumbled forward from the momentum of his attack. Pilate sprang forward and stabbed him through the throat. The prophet’s eyes grew wide in disbelief as he fell to his knees. He choked up gouts of blood, which also gushed from his ruptured neck. Pilate spat on him as he and his centurions quickly backed away. The mob of Samaritans was momentarily stunned at the sudden slaying of their savior.

“Javelins…volley by ranks!” Artorius shouted. He did not know if the enemy’s shock would turn to rage and was not going to give them any chance of seizing the initiative. He also knew he had to smash them quickly, in case the auxiliaries wavered. And even if they held their ground, the horde still had them substantially outnumbered.

“Front rank…throw!” Valens shouted.

A storm of javelins sailed over the top of Pilate and the centurions, who sprinted up the hill. Artorius immediately took his place on the extreme right of his century; Abenader and Pilate to his left. The auxilia centurion stayed close to the procurator, acting as a personal bodyguard. Decanii within the century gave subsequent orders and several more volleys of javelins rained down upon the Samaritans. On either side, the rest of the cohort was raining down its own storm of death on their hapless foe. Artorius turned around just in time to see a mob gathering around their dead prophet, wailing in sorrow and rage, cut down by the wave of death that descended upon them. Javelins tore into their flesh, their wicker shields proving all but useless against the storm of death. In his peripherals, Artorius saw the other centuries unleashing their remaining salvos of javelins.

“Gladius…draw!”

“Rah!”

It had been three years since his men had drawn their blades in anger. The arrogance of these so-called ‘people of God’ enraged them. For a sect that claimed to be one of peace, they were quick to turn to violence.

“Charge!”

The order was followed by a continuous shout as the legionaries stormed down the hill. They smashed into the Samaritan horde, shields bowling those closest to them over. To his right, Artorius could sense the men from Praxus’ Century crashing into their enemy. By this time the Samaritans had recovered from the assault and began to fight back against the hated Romans.

Still up on the hill, Pilate and Abenader watched the battle unfold. Pilate’s head was bowed slightly. He had come to attempt a peaceful resolution and had failed.

“Sir, look!” As Abenader pointed to his right, Pilate saw the auxiliary cavalry riding parallel to the enemy flank.

At first he wasn’t sure if they were simply abandoning the field, but then they immediately conducted a hard left turn and charged into the Samaritan flank. He looked to his left and saw the cavalry on that wing executing a similar maneuver. The infantry had also attacked and were fighting alongside the legionaries. He then breathed a sigh of relief.

“I told you my men would remain loyal,” the centurion asserted.

“You have my gratitude, Abenader,” Pilate replied.

Below, the enemy horde was breaking. In a matter of minutes it was over. The Samaritans broke and ran. The legionary and auxiliary infantry pursued as far as the bottom of the hill. The cavalry continued and slaughtered many as they tried to flee. Abenader’s face twitched. The horsemen were so anxious to prove themselves to the Romans that they needlessly continued the killing long after the issue was decided. It was the one confounding issue Taurus had always said about his men; they would always fight, but often not know when to stop.

“We’ve taken over five hundred prisoners,” Magnus said as he joined the senior leaders at their camp.

Several oxcarts had been brought on the journey and were now laden with arms taken from the Samaritan dead. The wailing of grieving wives and mothers echoed throughout the landscape. The Romans were camped several miles from the battlefield, and yet the cries of the grief-stricken still permeated their senses.

“Well done,” Pilate replied.

A servant handed the centurion a goblet of wine, and the procurator proposed a toast. “Gentlemen, to the suppression of insurrection before it had a chance to begin.”

The men all drank thirstily and Pilate then addressed Centurion Taurus. “Your men proved their loyalty today, and for that I am grateful.”

“Thank you, sir,” Taurus replied.

“They probably killed a couple hundred more than necessary,” Pilate continued, “But I am not going to lose any sleep over the bodies of rebellious scum.”

“Nor should you!” a voice said boisterously.

The assembled officers were surprised to see it was Caiaphas, along with members of the Sanhedrin. He was grinning broadly, which was something Artorius had never recalled seeing.

“Caiaphas,” Pilate grumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“We received word of the troubles,” the high priest explained. “And once I heard that the rebels were routed, I wished to come congratulate you on your great victory.”

“Given how much your people and the Samaritans hate each other,” Artorius observed, “it is hardly surprising that you would celebrate their slaughter.”

“Please,” Caiaphas replied, raising his hands in resignation. “I know we’ve had our differences and doubtless will continue to. However, I am willing to admit that you have kept the peace over the past three years, and with the destruction of this rebellious army, you have maintained that harmony.”

The continuing cries of mourning loved ones of the slain added a macabre accent to the high priest’s words.

“Then perhaps you will join us for a drink,” Pilate said, signaling a servant to offer the priest a cup of wine.

“So what will you have us do with the prisoners?” Magnus asked.

“We’ll execute the leaders and any who cause further trouble,” Pilate said without hesitation.

“Ah, now that I will drink to,” Caiaphas said with a chuckle as he held his wine cup high.

Reports of the Battle of Mount Gerizim would take several weeks at minimum to reach Rome, and as Pilate did not foresee any ill consequences to come of it, he elected to take Claudia on a long awaited holiday. If anything, he felt that a commendation from Vitellius, the senate, or perhaps even the emperor would be waiting for him. It was with great shock that he received different news altogether when he returned to Caesarea more than two months later.

The man’s name was Marcellus, and it was known that he was a close friend of Vitellius. He had not traveled alone, but rather brought an entire entourage of bureaucrats, freedmen, and staff. And as Marcellus had expressly forbidden Artorius or any of Pilate’s friends from breaking the news to him, his words completely took the procurator off guard.

“Pontius Pilate,” the man said. “I am here as your replacement, by order of Lucius Vitellius, on the authority of the Emperor Tiberius Caesar.”

“Replacement?” Pilate said aghast. “What is the meaning of this?”

“A number of issues,” Marcellus explained, with a certain trace of arrogance in his voice.