Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (31 page)

To their credit, each of the condemned men did his best to remain silent and not give what they thought was satisfaction to the Romans, yet none of them could withstand the pain of having spikes driven through their wrists and feet. As Artorius knelt down to help Valens nail the next victim, the slap of the corded whip biting into the crucified man’s flesh echoed along with his screams.

“This is going to lead to a few sleepless nights,” he said while staring Valens in the eye.

The optio nodded. “They brought this about, not us!” he replied with a grit of renewed determination as he swung the hammer home once more.

The cries had mercifully subsided by the time Artorius dismissed his men. He had ordered two squads of legionaries to guard the execution site until morning. Men from Cornelius’ century would be relieving them at that time. He watched as the soldier with the corded whip walked past him, his face still twisted in anger. The
centurion grabbed the decanus that was behind him and pulled him aside.

“
You two know each other well?” Artorius asked.

“Yes
, sir,” the squad leader replied. “Not done anything wrong, has he?”

“No,” Artorius replied, shaking his head. “But I think this place is getting to him or at least something is.
I understood when he flogged the pirates, and I can even understand this to a degree, but he seems a bit unstable. Keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t start lashing people on the streets or his own soldiers with that thing.”

“I understand, sir,” the
decanus replied. He paused for a second and decided to tell his commander what he knew. “Look, he had himself a Jewish girlfriend. Not too hard to comprehend, happens all the time in the provinces. Well, sir, these people are funny. Her father threatened her and their whole community rebelled at the idea of one of their own defiling herself with an infidel such as us.”

Artorius snorted at the idea, but it was true. Though a conquered people, the Jews still viewed themselves as superior to the Romans
.

“So any
ways,” the decanus continued, “She was given the choice between the one she loved and her family. Well, sir, you can guess what choice she made.”

“Alright,” Artorius said, giving a short sigh of relief. “If that’s all it is, h
is broken heart will mend. Take him to the brothels this week.”

“Not sure if he’s feeling up to it…” the squad leader began.

“That wasn’t a request, sergeant,” Artorius scowled. “I’ll do worse than lash him with a corded whip if he isn’t balls deep in the most debauched whore in the province.”

The
decanus laughed and nodded. “Don’t worry, sir. He’s a good soldier; it won’t take that much to convince him to clear his mind and his groin.”

Though he could have left any time he wished, Artorius elected to stay at least through the first guard shift. The sixteen legionaries and their decanii spread out in a semicircle in front of the crosses. They placed a handful of torches to give them at least enough light to spot anyone who might come and try and rescue the condemned. Behind the crosses, the legionaries for the other shifts laid down to try and catch some sleep.

An hour had passed and Artorius sat on a rock, his head bowed. He did not realize he had started to doze off when he heard a commotion coming from the guards.

“Here!” a legionary shouted. “Stop right there!”

Artorius bolted upright and saw two of his men dragging a young woman into the torchlight. The slumbering legionaries were also alerted.

“It’s alright, go back to sleep,” he told his men, who lay back down. He walked over to the soldiers who threw the woman down at his feet. Her body was trembling in fear, and she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Come to rescue the damned,” one of the legionaries said.

“Don’t be fucking daft!” his decanus snapped. “One little girl is going to cut these men down? I think not. Keep your eyes front and make sure she doesn’t have friends hiding in the dark.”

“I’m alone, I promise,” the woman managed to say through her tears.

Artorius walked over and gazed down at her in realization.

“I know you…” he started to say.

“Rebekkah!
” one of the prisoners cried from above. It was the first sound any of them had made since they had been strung up. “Don’t hurt her! Let her go!”

“Shut up, you!”
the decanus with the whip shouted, lashing him hard across the torso with a loud slap, leaving a fearful bleeding gash.

Artorius knelt down and lifted the woman’s chin up. Her face was flushed, her eyes swollen and filled with tears, which stained her cheeks. He could tell she wished to pull away from him, yet her abject fear paralyzed her.

“Your brother,” he said, motioning with his head towards the man who had cried out.

She nodded nervously.

He then looked over at his legionaries. “Leave her be. We have punished the guilty; the least we can do is show a little mercy.”

The soldiers nodded and walked away from the sobbing woman.
Artorius had heard that one of the prisoners was the brother of Cornelius’ lover, though with all he’d dealt with over the past few months, he’d forgotten.

“Dearest brother, what have they done to you?” Rebekkah sobbed as she ran her fingers over Jotham’s leg.

His feet and legs were stained with dried blood from the
grisly wounds the spikes had left.

“You still call me brother
,” he said quietly. His mouth was parched and it hurt to speak.

“We heard rumors, but we never paid them any mind,” Rebekkah said.
“I could not bear to think that my only brother had become a…no, it was better to think that you were dead.”

“You’re right,” Jotham replied with a raspy voice. He then broke into a coughing fit, spewing bile and blood that told of unseen internal injuries from the beatings he’d suffered at the hands of his Roman captors.
“Leave me, Rebekkah. Your brother died long ago.”

Her despair was total
, and she could not fathom the abject horror of his fate. Artorius and his legionaries stood out of the way as the young woman walked away. Her hand was over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her sobbing. She did not even notice the soldiers as she stumbled out into the darkness. One of the legionaries walked over to Artorius and shook his head as he watched her disappear.

“Sir, was that Centurion Cornelius’ woman?”

“It was,” Artorius replied. “Not a word to him.”

“I hope we’ve done our last crucifixion in this gods’ forsaken country,”
the soldier said quietly.

“So do I,” Artorius replied. “If these insane bastards would just quit giving us reason to!”

“I swear the heat must fry their brains,” Valens mused as he joined them. He was wiping a rag over his mouth, having gone off and vomited once they finished hammering the last spike home. He and Artorius walked away from the circle of torches and could just make out Rebekkah meeting another cloaked figure who carried an oil lamp. “So are you going to tell Cornelius about our little visitor?”

“No,” Artorius said. “What is between them is not our concern.
We’ve done our duty here, and now we have to make certain order is maintained through the Jewish Passover.”

“Hmm,” Valens mumbled. “You know, I heard that Nazarene teacher
arrived in Jerusalem while we were thrashing those buggers who attacked the fortress.”

Artorius cocked
a smile. “We should invite him to the palace. Pilate’s been wanting to meet him for some time.”

Chapter
XXVIII: Unholy Hatred

***

There was a warm night breeze wafting through the mostly quiet streets. For Sergeant Cicero, it came as a reprieve. Whenever the cohort came to Jerusalem, he spent most of his days in
the sweltering heat of the forge and the armory, training and supervising the auxiliary armorers. They were still amateurish when compared to those of the legions, but at least they no longer needlessly broke weapons they were trying to repair, and they understood how to keep the arms and kit of their men serviceable. Cicero was also a decanus, and as such he felt that all his time in the armories caused him to neglect his duties as a squad leader. So he was grateful when Felix, his tesserarius, granted his request to place him and his squad on two weeks of night patrol. Cicero figured that would save them from the insanity that was the Passover celebrations.

With the plethora of pilgrims who made their way to Jerusalem every spring, the population of the city nearly doubled and with only so many inns and residents willing to take in guests, there were many who simply slept on the streets. The legionaries marched down the center of the road, so as to avoid stepping on the countless pilgrims who slumbered in heaps along the edges and in every doorway.

“Such a relief they put us on night patrol,” a legionary said as they rounded a corner that took them towards the temple and the Antonia Fortress.

“I know,” one of his companions replied. “Imagine what these streets are like during the daytime!”

The sounds of shouting alerted Cicero and his men.

“
What the bloody hell is that?” the first legionary asked.

“Sounds like a damn riot,” another responded. As they started to move towards the commotion, a group of men on horseback rode past them.

“Samaritan auxiliaries,” the first legionary observed.

“Then this is more than just a minor disturbance,” Cicero responded. “Let’s go!”

The decanus rightly feared that a minor situation could become volatile quickly, given the abject hatred that existed between the Judeans and the Samaritans.

The
squad of legionaries jogged up the block and arrived just as the horsemen dismounted and started shouting in Aramaic to the crowd that had gathered just outside the meeting hall. Cicero halted his men and formed them into a column, which marched calmly but deliberately towards the commotion. The crowd of Jews, which appeared to be all men of the Sanhedrin given their more elaborate dress, immediately ceased in their shouting as the legionaries advanced. As they forced their way into the hall, Cicero saw a Judean standing before what looked like a judiciary tribunal. His hands were bound in front of him, his face swollen and bruised. Off to the side he recognized Caiaphas, who was arguing with an auxilia decurion.

“Is there a problem?” Cicero asked calmly.

“We’ve got this under control,” the decurion replied indignantly.

Cicero then walked over to the prisoner, who was motionless and silent.
“What happened here?” he asked, noting the man’s purple cheek and eye that was swelling shut.

“This man is our prisoner,” one of the Sanhedrin guards responded quickly. “He is accused of treason and blasphemy!”

“Accused but not convicted,” Cicero replied. “
Explain the marks on his face.” He knew it was hypocritical for him to broach this subject, given that Roman legionaries never shied from physically abusing prisoners, even before conviction.

And yet
, the Sanhedrin guard was suddenly silent.

“I told you, we have this under control!” the
decurion suddenly interrupted.

Cicero grabbed the man by the shoulder and led him aside.
“Let me be very clear,” he said in a low voice, “You do not
ever
try and undermine me in front of these people! I need not remind you that as a legionary decanus I am the senior ranking here.” “And now comes our officer who is senior to you,” the auxiliary said with a sneer.

Cicero looked over his should as Centurion Abenader walked into the hall.

“What’s going on here?” Abenader asked.

“Just a minor disturbance over a local religious matter,” the
decurion replied.

“More like a fucking riot about to start!” Cicero retorted.
“I want to know why these people are holding a tribunal in the middle of the night.”

“Whatever it is I’m sure my men can handle it,
sergeant
,” the auxilia centurion said with a slight trace of disdain in his voice. The ever-present strain that existed between Abenader and Centurion Artorius often carried over when each had to interact with the other’s soldiers.

“Then why are you here, sir?” Cicero’s question caught Abenader off guard.

But instead of answering, he walked over to Caiaphas. The glares from the rest of the Sanhedrin filled the room with a noticeable tension. Whatever pleasure they may have gotten from watching the Romans argue amongst themselves was overshadowed by their intense hatred of them.

“A bit late for a religious trial,” the
centurion observed.

“There is more to this than you need to worry yourself over,” Caiaphas replied. “This man has broken our laws
, and we will deal with him accordingly.”

“But has he broken Roman laws?” Cicero spoke up. He expected another rebuke from Abenader, but the auxiliary
centurion simply nodded.

“The sergeant is correct,” he said to Caiaphas.

“This man is claiming to be the Son of God,” the priest answered. “This is not only a gross defamation of our laws, but any man professing to be a deity and a king is in direct defiance of Roman rule.”

“Alright,” Abenader conceded. “But let him be tried before Pontius Pilate. If
, indeed, he is seeking to make himself king, then he has committed high treason. However, it is not within the authority of this tribunal to pass guilt or innocence.”

“Very well,” Caiaphas said with a nod. “Let the procurator be his judge.”

Abenader sent word to Pilate that night, warning him of the Sanhedrin trial and that the situation required his jurisdiction. The next morning the procurator had the prisoner brought before him at the Praetorium, a set of stairs which Pilate had his seat of judgment placed, at the Antonia Fortress. Artorius and Justus accompanied him, along with a number of freedmen, clerks, and legionaries.

“So who is this faux ‘king’ that Caiaphas is bringing before me?” Pilate asked as they crossed through the atrium towards the Praetorium.

“It is the teacher we’ve been hearing about, sir,” Abenader replied, “Jesus of Nazareth.”

These words caused all the men to stop abruptly.

“It can’t be,” Justus said quietly.

“I thought you said he was a harmless preacher who told the masses to pay their taxes?” Pilate said in rebuke to his
centurion.

“I did,” Justus replied. “And yes, he did say those words. I cannot believe the man who told the people to love their enemies would be guilty of subversion against Rome!”

“That will be for me to find out,” Pilate said, as the men finished the short walk.

Waiting for them were Caiaphas, various members of the Sanhedrin, and the man who
m the procurator had wanted to meet for some time, yet now was placed in a position to decide whether he lived or died.

“So this is the man you say wishes to make himself king,” Pilate stated.

“Yes, procurator,” Caiaphas replied.

Pilate then noted the bruising on the Nazarene’s face. “And you bring this man before me, already physically chastised before guilt has been proven?”

“Apologies, procurator,” the high priest said with a bow. He was clearly being patronizing, which angered Pilate considerably.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Pilate asked the Nazarene. When the man remained silent, he then looked back to Caiaphas. “What crimes has he been charged with?”

“Three crimes,” Caiaphas explained. “The first is perverting our sacred nation; the second is compelling the people to refuse to pay tribute; the third, and most severe for your Excellency, is sedition against the Roman Empire.”

“Indeed,” Pilate said, still keeping his eyes focused on the Nazarene. “You say t
his man is from Nazareth, which is in Galilee. That makes him a subject of Herod’s. Let Herod deal with him. I’ll have no part in this.” As he turned around, Pilate was shocked to see his wife standing in the atrium, watching the entire spectacle.

“The trip to Tiberias will take at least a week!” Caiaphas protested.

“Well, fortunately, Herod just happens to be in Jerusalem for the Passover, on my personal invitation,” Pilate retorted, turning back around. “I would think you’d be aware of the arrival of your actual king, were you not too busy trying to root out false ones.”

Caiaphas looked crestfallen, clearly wishing to have the issue with Jesus of Nazareth decided already.

Pilate then looked to Artorius. “Have him taken to Herod. Let him pass guilt or innocence and decide what is to be done.”

“I
will take him personally,” Justus said quickly.

Pilate gave him a puzzled look, but thought no more about it when Artorius simply nodded his consent.

As a squad of legionaries led the Nazarene away, Valens whispered to Artorius, “I’ll go, too.”

His
centurion gazed at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t need you causing another diplomatic incident,” he replied.

The moment of levity was short-lived. More of Caiaphas’ supporters from the Sanhedrin and Pharisees had arrived and were crowding the area known as
the Pavement
just outside the Praetorium.

Pilate left through the atrium, where he was met by his wife, who bore a look of deep consternation.

“My love, I beg you,” she said, “Do not have anything to do with this man! I had a horrid dream last night on account of him. He is innocent of what the Sanhedrin accused him of, and I suffered much in my dreams because of this.”

“It’s alright, my dear,” Pilate said, placing both hands on Claudia’s shoulders. “I’ve sent him to Herod Antipas. Even if he does find this Jesus of Nazareth guilty, he cannot pass capital sentence on him, only I can. So not to worry, the Nazarene’s life is quite safe.”

The palace used by Herod was located in an upscale community not far from the Antonia Fortress. Herod had acquired the entire building for his stay during Passover. A messenger had been dispatched and reported back that the Judean king was anxious to finally meet Jesus of Nazareth. Given the gravity of the situation, plus Valens’ promise to be on his best behavior, Artorius had relented and let him accompany Justus.

Word of the Nazarene’s arrest had spread throughout Jerusalem, and the column of legionaries that escorted him to Herod had to force their way through the curious throngs of people, many of whom had greeted Jesus’ arrival the week before with cries of adulation and the laying of great palms in his path.

Justus marched at the head of the formation, with Valens in the center of the column, just behind the Nazarene, who still had not uttered a word since first being brought before Pilate. As they approached the palace, one of the guards on the entrance quickly rushed inside, escorting out Herod’s chamberlain a few moments later.