Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (29 page)

Legionaries from both ends of the steps swarmed the field below. Artorius and the other
centurions took their place on the extreme right, their options on the left. The mass of zealots had grown silent. They kept their distance, unsure of what to do in the face of this wall of men and metal. The soldiers stood ready, shields close together, javelins at the ready to throw.

A young man in the crowd
was filled with abject terror. He had heard those in the back yelling that the Romans had closed the gate behind them. They were completely unprepared for what they now faced. The zealots had been told the Roman forces would be preoccupied outside the city with only a small force of Pilate’s personal bodyguards manning the fortress. Where had these legionaries come from? There were hundreds of them, and he knew that he and his companions were at their mercy. Their paltry weapons could do nothing against the Romans’ shield wall or their protective armor. If only they had gotten those weapons Barabbas had promised them!

He looked into the faces of individual soldiers. A number of them were young, some perhaps no older than he was. Yet when he met their gaze, he saw that their age was the only thing they
shared. While he viewed himself and his fellow zealots as men who only fought to free their people, those who faced him were not even human; their entire existence centered on killing.

“What ar
e they waiting for?” he asked quietly.

“Barabbas will come for us, won’t he?” a nearby lad asked.

“Barabbas,” the young man scoffed. “He’s probably already dead. The Romans likely cut his throat as soon as they saw us coming for him. And what could he possibly do against that?” He pointed his weapon at the Roman line. He saw in the background behind the wall of legionaries the hated procurator, himself, standing atop the steps. Like a coward, he, too, was wearing armor. The young man tried to take a step backwards when his foot slipped out from under him. He looked down briefly and was horrified to see that he had stepped right into the splayed guts of one of his friends. As he looked up, Pilate addressed the mass.

“Rebellious scum!”
he called down to them. “You have violated the peace of this city, during one of your people’s most holy of celebrations! Have we not coexisted in relative peace and goodwill? Has Rome not brought order and prosperity to your cities? And this is how you repay our charity!”

“Charity?”
one zealot screamed.
“You would have us be your slaves!”

Pilate grinned at the outburst and continued.
“By standing before me, armed as you are, you have sentenced yourselves to oblivion! May your kinsmen learn well what happens to those who violate the peace of Rome!” He then turned to the centurion in the front rank, who was looking up at him, waiting for the order. Pilate simply nodded and walked away. The young man closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

“Front rank…throw!”
Artorius shouted.

The rebels’ indecision only hastened their destruction. Centurions in each rank echoed the order and storms of javelins ripped into their enemy. The silent pause was broken by fresh screams of anguish as blood and gore sprayed forth from the terrible wounds wrought by the heavy javelins. The rest of the mob gave a unified scream of rage and charged.

“Second rank…throw!”

“Third rank…throw!”

The young rebel
winced as the man next to him was skewered through the heart by a javelin. He cried out in pain as another tore through his shoulder and stuck in the rebel behind him. He fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder and crying in pain along with the other wounded that had been denied a mercifully quick death. Men trampled him as they rushed forward in a desperate bid to go down fighting against the Romans.

“Gladius…draw!”
Artorius shouted.

“Rah!”

“Advance!”

The zealots made an attempt to fight back as Artorius and his legionaries slowly marched forward. Men threw themselves against the shield wall, but it was in vain. One came at him with a garden tool in a hard slash, which he easily blocked. He then smashed the rebel in the shin with the bottom of his shield, snapping the bone in two. The line was advancing quickly, and he stepped over the crippled man, allowing Magnus to finish him with a stab to the vitals.

His men fell upon their foe and killed them with contemptuous ease. This rabble was not even a worthy enemy who could readily defend themselves, and Artorius’ disdain for them fueled his anger. One man threw his curved short sword at him, which was deflected by Artorius’ shield. His face was contorted in rage; the rebel’s eyes were wide with mad scorn. The centurion walked up to him and plunged his gladius into the man’s bowels. It would have been just as easy to stab him in the heart or the throat, yet he was so filled with scorn that he did not view this scum as deserving of a quick death.

From high above, Diana held Claudia’s hand as they watched from the balcony that overlooked the main courtyard. Her younger sister winced as individual screams of pain permeated the din of the ongoing brawl. The rebels were slowly being backed towards the gate; the bodies of the slain littering the ground as the legionaries stepped on and over them. The killing continued unabated. Diana heard Pilate tell Artorius that no quarter was to be given.

“Those bastards haven’t a chance,” Diana growled with a sinister grin. Her free hand gripped the pommel of her gladius.

Were any of the rebels able to escape the wrath of Artorius and his legionaries, they would not take her without a fight!

“As strange as this may sound, I pity them,” Claudia replied as the shriek of another zealot caused her face to twitch. Down below she could make out the screaming man, who was pinned against the wall, a legionary grinding the blade of his gladius into his groin.

Her older sister
gazed at her sternly. “You know that every last one of those brutes would not hesitate to rape you and cut your throat!” Diana admonished. “They are getting what they deserve! Do not show them pity, dear sister, for they would show you none.”

Claudia looked down
. “I know,” she replied. “In many ways I guess I’m still a naïve little girl who still sees the best in people. I’m sorry, Diana, but I have not had to deal with men at their worst like you have.”

“And for that I’m thankful,” Diana replied, clutching her sister’s hand. “I would rather you stayed the way you are.” Out of the corner of her eye she then saw the four men scaling the tallest tower. “Wait here,” she said.

The advancing legionaries stumbled as the ground filled with dying rebels. The men in the subsequent ranks could scarcely take a step without tripping over a bloodied corpse. The formation was tightly compressed and Artorius knew that executing a passage-of-lines would be impractical. His sword arm was starting to fatigue and he could not count how many men he had slain, if indeed they could be called men. Sheep or cattle would have made a better show of themselves! At last they reached the f
ront gate, where up above Julius and his men were sending arrows raining down upon the rebels still clambering outside the portcullis. One last rebel stood with his back against the wall, hands held up in surrender. Pilate had ordered all to be killed, and Artorius was not feeling merciful. He smashed the boss of his shield into the zealot’s face, sending him sprawling to the dirt. As he tried to stand, Artorius brought his shield down, repeatedly smashing the man’s skull until it shattered under his relentless onslaught. In a final insult, he spat on the twitching corpse.

Outside, civilians now swarmed the gate. Wives, mothers, and daughters trying desperately to drag away their men, who wailed in despair at leaving their companions to their fate. Despite the mass of women and other civilians amongst the rebels, the archers on the wall continued to fire without pity. Praxus winced as one young woman, who was trying to forcibly coax her husband away from the wall, took an arrow clean through her upper arm. She fell to the ground, her high pitched screams of pain reverberating throughout. Her husband screamed oaths of rage and started to throw rocks up at the men on the wall. One bounced off the helm of a legionary, who turned his bow on the man and with malicious glee shot him through the guts.

Though the Romans were not deliberately shooting civilians, the chaotic swarm below made it impossible
not to, and several other women were badly injured or killed by stray arrows. Julius sensed the inherent danger of continuing to engage civilians.

“Cease fire!”
he shouted.

“What gives?” his
optio asked. “There are still gods know how many of those bastards down there!”

“If we keep this up, we’ll kill an equal number of civilians,” the
centurion explained. “We do that and we’ll have the entire city clamoring for our heads.” Though Rome ruled Judea, he understood that several hundred legionaries, no matter how well fortified, could not withstand the uprising of an entire city.

Artorius had heard the order to cease fire given on top the rampart, and he knew the battle was now over. He looked to his left and saw  his men were doing anything but celebrating. Even the pirates they had butchered two years before had at least attempted to fight back. These men were nothing but cowards who thought they could walk into a Roman fortress and kill or abduct the procurator. He then turned to his fellow centurions.