The Artifact (61 page)

I must confess resentment toward this flawed religious sect that has taken the lives of both my beloved brothers.
Christiania
will surely falter when it moves from the fanaticism of simple-minded peasants and reason-blind supporters to astute men who will recognize it as an emotional, mystical grasp at relief from earthly hardship by people so frustrated that they can believe a man could return from the dead on visions claimed by one delegated as his prime disciple, and a foul-breath rabbi so ridden with guilt at his persecution of that Jesist sect that when struck by lightning, imagined he had communed with its deceased leader.

I was absent from Jerusalem during James’ trial and execution, which in a way was fortunate, because the incident might have provoked me to some futile act alone, or with a band of
Sicarii
. Upon my return, his widow Elizabeth accompanied me on my visit to the vault and ossuary containing James’ body. Since all their children were married and lived in their own homes some in the far-flung reaches of the country, I insisted that Elizabeth quit Jerusalem to abide in my home in Tel Gezer, where she could invite friends to visit during my travels, occupy her time with the business if she desired, and be welcome to summon her grandchildren for pleasant stays in our rural setting.

3812
Iyar
(CE 66 May)

Bands of
Sicarii
and Zealots had been attacking isolated Roman garrisons and sympathizers for years, until Procurator Florus levied a tax of seventeen talents on the Temple, for which in return, Elezar, Captain of that sacred edifice, curtailed daily sacrifices for the emperor, constituting an affront that could only be interpreted as open revolt against Rome.

Initially precipitated and led by the Temple Priests, the ownership and thrust of the War changed hands when rebel bands entered Jerusalem claiming supremacy, and went on a rampage killing Sadducees and priests, terrorized and murdered Pharisees and other wealthy Jews throughout the city. In that same year, rebel peasants in Samaria and Galilee joined in a savage revolt, driving the Roman garrison from the region, repulsed a Roman invasion from Syria, wrested control of Palestine from procurator Florus, and evicted his leaders in charge. Fortunately, Governor Cestius Gallus of Syria did not launch his forces against us until late summer, which provided three months for us to fortify Jerusalem, where the ultimate battle would take place. When Gallus did come from Syria into the Galilee with one
legion
⁹³
and auxiliaries, they slaughtered practically every Jew in Caesarea, inciting our retribution with similar attacks on pagan populations in several northern cities, even across the Syrian border. Gallus eventually prevailed, however, but upon reaching Jerusalem, even as his legions were poised to broach the walls, ordered an illogical fallback that gave us an opportunity to decimate that surprising and disorganized retreat. Our leaders sent General Josephus and me in command of a mixed force numbering fifteen rebel
legions
to pursue

that rout into the Galilee, forcing Gallus back into Syria in a pincer maneuver at Kefar Bar’am,

where I took a Roman arrow through my shoulder, requiring my return to Jerusalem.

Although our peasant fighters lacked sophisticated fighting skills, they were willing to die for their freedom and determined to win. Yet our, their religion, in my opinion, would be our downfall. Because despite our history, Jews have complete faith in some cataclysmic intervention by Yahweh which forefends disciplined military organization and strategies, allowing them to think that as long as they persist, their One True God will ensure their victory. Another loss from religion were the Jewish
Christianoi
in Jerusalem, who did not join our rebellion, but fled en mass to the burgeoning center of their sect in Antioch.

Having devoted the prior twenty-five years of my life to organizing training and planning local uprisings with Zealot bands, my resolve to expel the pagan hordes was as great as any Jew in Palestine. Despite the enthusiasm of all Jews to expel the Romans, the persistent petty arguments and animosity among our leaders, friction and outright fighting between
Sicarii
, Zealot and other rebel bands now gathered together in the city, remained a serious detriment to forming a cohesive plan in which all rebels would act in concert against our common enemy. I could not comprehend the nature of those Jews, who had waited for three generations for an opportunity to throw off the hated rule of the Roman Empire, then achieving it, become stymied by internal arguments and opposition to one another, rather than combine their efforts to thwart our Roman conquerors.

To my mind, but for two incredible incidents, we could have been victorious and saved our Temple in that bloody war that claimed the lives of more than one million brethren. The first came at the very beginning of our revolt when Menahem, grandson of Judah the Galilean, appeared in Jerusalem with his substantial number of
Sicarii
I had helped him organize during years past. The man was a courageous swordsman and tactician who had been harassing Rome in the north for a decade, but was also an egotistical leader, convinced that his heritage should place him in charge of all rebel elements. When he marched into Jerusalem proclaiming himself king of the entire undertaking, he was assassinated by Zealots, which exacerbated the divisiveness among rebel factions that lasted throughout the War.

The second instance was a totally misguided effort by one rebel chief to coerce the thousands of frightened, wavering Jerusalem residents and Passover pilgrims to desist from their wish to surrender and join in active battle against the Romans. In his attempt to bend those petrified civilians to our cause, that imbecile had his men burn almost the entire food stockpile within the walls, which could have fed us for almost a decade under siege.

When my suggestions for combining our fragmented efforts into a single militia under one leader was rejected, I henceforth tried to remain apart from those internal quarrels, keeping my own force of 15,000 rebels camped in the Lower City under the southern wall.

The War went our way until 3813
Tishri
(CE 67 October), when Nero, anxious to quell the embarrassing Jewish uprising, sent General Titus Flavius Vespasianus into the fray commanding three battle-hardened legions and auxiliaries. His intent was to put down our rebellion quickly, whose success or prolongation could destroy the fragile political situation in the Roman Senate caused by the frivolous depletion of the treasury by that half-mad, self-indulgent Emperor. Vespasian subdued the region in a series of bloody contests, capturing six thousand rebel Jews he sent into slavery to build the canal in Corinth. Josephus was also taken prisoner, turning traitor, advising Vespasian on our battle plans and strategies. Remnants of the rebel army fled to Jerusalem, regrouping into four divisions, one assigned to the citadel and east wall, one on the northern wall, one in Temple, myself on the south and west walls.

By the time we were sequestered within the City, Vespasian had learned of my position as one of the rebel generals and sent an unarmed mounted soldier under a white banner to request a conference with me. My old childhood friend and I approached each other on foot without armor or arms, he in a simple military toga with purple stripe, my own clean tunic cinched with my wide
balteus.
Neither could refrain from a wide grin as we locked forearms in greeting.

He then turned to a stalwart general of forty-some years by his side, introducing the man as his son, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, mentioning our childhood friendship and that of his Aunt Tanya.

Titus looked at my still unruly red hair with his own smile. “I can see that. My closest friend as a child was my cousin, Simon, for whom I yet have a high regard.”

The son of Vespasian seemed a noble man of whom I wished to ask a thousand questions.

“You have come some distance since our youth in Sepphoris,” Vespasian said in Latin.

“And you also,” I replied in Aramaic. “Suppressor of uprisings in Gaul and Germania, conqueror of Britannia. Take care or they will make you Emperor, Vespasian.”

Vespasian gave out a loud laugh. “My nephew has almost fifty years, you old bastard! You are a grandfather three times over.” He shook his head in amazement. “How you were able to seduce my sister....”

As bad as Rome was with their dilettante practices, the Circus horrors, depraved Emperors such as Caligula and Nero, we surpassed them in our willful strangulation of what could have been our emergence from the dominance of a harsh conqueror, abandoning a fortuitous occasion to establish a Jewish state ruled and defended by a homogeneous populace. I began to wonder even then what manner of men were we. The chosen people of Yahweh whom the vast majority of us believed would extricate us from our predicament right up to the burning of the Temple doors. We behaved better under the heel of Rome than we did squabbling for our independence. Did we deserve freedom and national unity, or has our One True God again chosen us to suffer defeat and hardship through our own devices? Rather than believe that, I am still persuaded that whatever Supreme Being rules the universe, He has long ago abandoned all men to our own mean machinations.

Vespasian surrounded the City for two years, but the suicide of Nero during the spring of 3814 (C.E. 68), the ensuing civil war in Rome and appointment of two emperors in quick succession caused him to slow his attack to await the outcome. To our great advantage, his tactics were hesitant before the constant onslaught of our defenses, as we pummeled his advancing troops with arrows, dumped flaming oil on their wooden battering rams, their massive ramps and other siege weapons below, slaughtering soldiers on ladders and bursting through our own bolstered gates in surprise attacks on unwitting cohorts. When Vespasian was declared Emperor in 3815 (C.E. 69) and returned to Rome, our spirits soared. Until his son Titus advanced on Jerusalem in full battle armor commanding four legions, some 70-90,000 foot soldiers, cavalry, engineers, plus other support and auxiliary forces swelling every road as far as the eye could see.

The issue of my boyhood friend set up camps encircling the city and forthwith offered terms of surrender that were refused, thereafter retaliating with wheeled catapults capable of throwing huge boulders of 5,460
akt
⁹⁴
. Titus concentrated his deadly machines on the north wall with lesser attacks on the other three sides, including my position to the south, more heavily fortified with protrusions and turrets. Jerusalem was now under total siege from every quarter, the air so thick with pungent smoke that a dampened cloth tied around my nose and mouth could not prevent the acrid fumes from choking my throat, stinging watering eyes as ears as my mind was inundated by the incessant sound of huge rams battering against the Damascus Gate and northern foundation, accompanied by the swishing flight of massive stones crashing inside the Bezetha courtyard, demolishing structures and men beneath them.

After several weeks of listening day and night to the cacophonic pounding of our men and fortifications, our divergent rebel generals finally agreed to unite their forces. Zealot General John of Gischala took a defensive position at Antonia’s Tower, the Temple itself and western wall; Simon bar Giora positioned his forces behind the northern and eastern walls, and I stretched my troops along the walls defending the Lower City to the south.

The battle raged primarily in the north, resulting in the eventual breach of those walls, that section of the City falling to Titus, who curtailed further advances for a show of power in which he caused a parade of might in shined armor, replete with campaign banners, pylons and blaring trumpets marching in sight of our bedraggled militia in an effort to undermine our courage and weaken our determination.

When that futile demonstration was met with derisive shouts and insults from our men atop the parapets, the Roman general sent his captive traitor Josephus to plead for our surrender from the base of our wall, imploring us to prevent the further destruction of our sacred city and jeopardize our Holy Temple. I was amazed that our traitorous general was not cut down by a well-placed arrow despite the protection of the long shields of his armed escort holding a banner of truce.

Upon our rejection of that offer, about which I was becoming ambivalent, Titus renewed the battle with incessant attacks of men and siege engines that soon resulted in bringing down the walls of Antonia’s Castle. His foremost troops forged their way through the Upper City streets and finally into the Court of Gentiles within the Temple enclosure. Although the aggressors slew thousands of Jews in the process, fighting in the close quarters of the twisting streets and byways of an urban compound restricted their usual field tactics, and favored the less structured maneuvers of our militia. In addition to our strategy of ambushing an isolated contingent of advancing soldiers, we sent brave bands of volunteers outside the walls on moonless nights to infiltrate enemy lines to kill legionnaires in their sleep.