The Last Temple (11 page)

In the warm night air, Vitas heard the celebratory singing of hymns a few hundred yards before he reached the Jewish settlement. It only confirmed the decision he’d first made when he’d accepted the offer from Titus for an escort of soldiers.

“This is far enough,” he said, stopping and holding up a hand.

“We have our orders to protect you,” came an answer from the older soldier of the two.

“You have succeeded,” Vitas said. “We are almost there. What’s ahead of me will be safe enough. Please return to Titus and let him know it was my wish.”

“We have our orders to protect you.”

“Letting me proceed alone is the only and best way to protect me the final few paces. Listen to the singing. There are hundreds and hundreds of Jews gathered, and without doubt it’s to celebrate that none were slaughtered in reprisal for the assassination of Helva. Am I safer walking among them unarmed to look for a friend? Or bursting into their presence with the same Roman military that might have put their women and children on crosses at the side of this road?”

“Point taken. We will wait here to escort you back when you are ready.”

“Tell Titus instead that I will be at camp at dawn. I know the password to get through the gates.”

“I understood from him that he wants you back tonight,” the soldier answered.

“You’ve heard the rumors about him and Bernice,” Vitas said. “And you escorted him to her villa. He has one night here in Caesarea before marching again with the Fifteenth. Are you sure he’ll be disappointed if I don’t return?”

“Once again, point taken.”

Vitas moved slowly among the men and women crowded near fires at the center of the Jewish settlement. The shadows made it difficult to see faces clearly. While he was careful to check each person, he did not expect to find Sophia dancing and singing among them. She was heavily pregnant, and he expected that she would be exhausted not only from the events and stress, but from the heat of the day.

He looked for those who were seated and saw the elderly Arella first. Then Ben-Aryeh. But not Sophia.

He tried to contain the surge of disappointment and rationalize his fears. If Sophia were in any danger at all, Ben-Aryeh would be helping her, not here.

Still, Vitas was anxious and could not help but hurry toward the old Jew.

“Vitas!” The old man sprang to his feet and engulfed Vitas in an embrace. “I told her you would find a way back to her.”

“So much to talk about,” Vitas said. “And so many questions. But later. Please, take me to her.”

Ben-Aryeh grinned, his teeth gleaming in the firelight against the darkness of his beard. “Done.” He began to lead Vitas away from the crowd.

Vitas took a couple steps to follow, then touched Ben-Aryeh’s shoulder. “Wait.”

Vitas turned back to Arella, who had not moved. “Come with us,” he said.

“I know who you are and I know where you are going,” she answered. “We left her resting.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Vitas said. Life for a widowed elderly woman without sons or daughters was a perilous struggle. “Come with us. For what you have done to help, you must join our household.”

He took her by the arm, and both of them followed Ben-Aryeh away from the fires and singing.

She was asleep. On a mat in the hut that belonged to Arella.

With Ben-Aryeh and Arella waiting outside, Vitas held a lit candle and knelt beside his wife, the woman he loved and had believed was dead.

He listened to the slow, deep breaths that she took in her slumber.

Vitas did not believe in the gods of the Romans and wanted to believe in the God whom Sophia worshiped. He said a whispered prayer of gratitude, in the way he had learned from listening to her prayers. As he prayed, tears slid quietly down his face.

She was alive.

He set the candle down and leaned closer to take in the scent of her body.

She stirred. He moved away slightly, not wanting to startle her, and saw her lift a hand to her cheek, where a tear from his own eye had fallen upon her.

In the candlelight, he saw her smile. “You were in my dream,” she said. “Tell me now that I’m awake.”

“You are awake,” he said. “And I am here.”

“So long,” she whispered. “And so many miles.” She began to weep. “Hold me.”

He did.

“Eagles fly to victory,” Vitas told the guards at the camp’s entrance.

The Fifteenth was essentially composed of infantry with some cavalry support—six thousand soldiers in all. The smell of the stables just inside the camp was comforting and familiar to Vitas; he had spent years in the military and knew the smells and sounds of living among horses.

The guards expected no attack—Vitas was obviously unarmed and alone—but neither relaxed the spears with which they blocked his access through a gap in the stockade fencing that surrounded the camp.

Vitas wasn’t surprised at their discipline. First, it was expected of any Roman army. Large-scale discipline and organization was what made the Romans feared all across the world. Only the Romans would expect their soldiers to march twenty or thirty miles and then dig a ditch three feet wide and four feet deep to surround the camp. Only the Romans would put up the sharpened posts outward and upward at forty-five degrees to repel attackers around the entire perimeter, just for one night. Only the Romans would have three watches during the night, with a penalty of death for any sentry caught sleeping.

Second, this was the legion led by Titus, who was not yet thirty years old but had already earned a reputation for his military prowess. Were it not for the hereditary nature of succession, many would openly speculate that Titus would someday be emperor. As it was, Vitas had heard rumors of another revolt against Nero, and whispers already put Vespasian on the throne, which would someday bode well for Titus.

“Whom are you here to see?” the guard on the right asked.

No emotion in the question, no judgment. Entirely neutral. Another characteristic of the men who served Titus. They had no need to preen by bullying civilians.

“Titus.”

“He’s expecting you?”

“Yes,” Vitas said.

“Wait for an escort.” Not asking Vitas for proof demonstrated confidence. The guards fully expected that if Vitas were lying, Titus would dispense judgment and punishment. Their duty was not to interrogate Vitas, but to make sure that this strange slave could not wander camp at will, nor be a threat to Titus.

Vitas waited under their watchful eye, again comforted by the morning rituals. It was barely dawn, but already the camp was brisk with movement. It was set up in a large square to encompass all the tents. And since every legion’s camp was set up identically, he could have walked blindfolded and found the general’s quarters.

To each side of Vitas were stables, running lengthways along the perimeter of the camp, enclosing dozens of tents arranged in precise rows, each tent big enough to hold at least a century of men.

The main paths of a Roman camp were wide enough to allow for horse and wagon traffic, because except during the dark of night, it would always be busy with the movement of soldiers and suppliers. Via Principalis led straight ahead to the altar and camp headquarters and the general’s quarters. Halfway through camp, Via Decumana was a ninety-degree turn one way, and Via Praetoria the other way.

When an escort of two soldiers arrived, they were informed of their task and led Vitas past the altar with fresh animal entrails spread on the ground around it. This legion had a proud history since its establishment over a hundred years earlier with the nickname Apollinaris—“devoted to Apollo.” Daily, priests made sacrifices and read what the auspices portended for the day.

They reached the camp headquarters, a tent large enough to accommodate all the legion’s centurions and the junior and senior tribunes.

Outside the tent, near the
aquilifer
—the standard bearer—with the golden eagle atop a long pole, Vitas waited with the soldiers who guarded him. He did not expect to hear a murmur of voices through the walls of the tent. Titus, like all other generals, would ensure only one person spoke at a time, and only at his invitation. This morning, Vitas guessed, there would not be much discussion. The legion was not preparing for battle but was on the march. The new password would be given to all the centurions to pass on to their men, discipline reports would be made, and scouts would offer what they had learned about the terrain ahead and how far the march would be until the next camp.

When the tent flap opened and men began to stream out, Vitas kept a bowed head. He and Titus were close enough to be brothers, but it would be a sign of disrespect to take advantage of that in front of the men Titus commanded, especially with the mark on his forehead that still identified Vitas as a slave of the empire.

Titus saw the escorts, stopped, and nodded before they had a chance to explain why the slave stood beside him. “Yes, I was expecting him. You may leave him with me.”

“With your legion joining the two under Vespasian in Ptolemais, it should be a short-lived rebellion,” Vitas remarked as hundreds of soldiers scurried around them in their duties to take down camp and prepare to march. “Galilee will fall in weeks, if not days.”

They stood outside the general’s tent. None of the soldiers came within thirty feet, essentially giving them a private area in a vastly public place.

“Don’t be surprised if it becomes months,” Titus said.

“How many men could the Jews muster?” Vitas asked. “Ten thousand untrained and with few weapons? Against legions of seasoned veterans. And the royal troops of the Jewish king.”

“These Jews are fanatics,” Titus said. “You should know that as well as anybody.”

“Fanatics of flesh and blood who die to spear and sword as any other mortal. With stories about them that become exaggerated as they multiply.
You
should know that as well as anybody.”

“The stories serve Vespasian well. He’s in no hurry to conquer Galilee, and it provides a good excuse to extend the campaign as long as possible. Until the Jews are defeated, Vespasian will be in command of three legions.” Titus paused significantly. “After all, who knows what might happen in Rome?”

Vitas understood the implication immediately. A popular general might well be acclaimed emperor by his soldiers, and if he had enough of them, none would dare protest. But even a simple conversation about it was treasonous.

Titus laughed as if understanding those thoughts. “My involvement with helping you escape is already enough to mark me as a dead man if Nero discovers it. What is there to fear about this kind of speculation with you?”

“And you are wise enough not to speculate elsewhere? Not even with, for example, a devastatingly attractive woman who is queen of the land you plan to conquer?”

“The land has already been conquered. And as a descendant of Herod, she is Rome’s designated authority here. My task is to reclaim it from the rebels, return it to her, and in so doing, return it to Rome. And there is no need to discuss what would be obvious to her. She is as shrewd at politics as anyone. Even if I did discuss it with her, I am at no more risk than before. She knows who you are and that you are hunted by Nero. That alone is enough to send me to the arena. Every day, my life is in her hands. But she sees a far greater prize.”

“Her land returned? Or the trust of a future emperor?”

Titus became more serious. “All of that, perhaps. Or, difficult as you might find this to believe, it is also a matter of the heart. I have no intention of remarrying if it is to be a Roman. There is something about these Jewish women.” A rueful smile. “Vitas, we should each know that as well as anybody. For you would not be here unless you had found Sophia and she was well. Otherwise, you would have sent a message and continued searching.”

Vitas nodded and became equally serious. “Sophia is well. Last night, she told me about a letter that sent her to Caesarea, just as my letter directed me. Let me know your role in saving her life, for I believe I owe you everything I could ever offer, including my own life.”

“Let it be said only that I was among those who made arrangements. Until we are safe from Nero, we must remember the fate of Piso and my ex-wife’s uncle.”

The fate of unsuccessful conspirators. The less each conspirator knew, the greater the safety of the others.

“Sophia understands our debt to you,” Vitas said. “She also understands honor. I am at your command in any way that I can serve you. Either in my role as a slave or otherwise when this mark on my forehead disappears.”

“I know you well,” Titus said. “I know that you want nothing more than to be with Sophia. I also know she is heavy with child. I would not take you away from her.”

Titus spoke the truth. Vitas longed for a quiet domestic life in some backwater of the empire, away from Nero, away from intrigue.

“We’ve made arrangements,” Titus said. “You will stay hidden on an estate in Alexandria belonging to Queen Bernice. Enjoy life with your family.”

Vitas had just been given everything he desired. But he could not in good conscience take it as it had been offered.

“There’s an old Jewish woman. Would it be too much to make her part of the household in Alexandria?”

“Bernice will grant you whatever you want. She owes you her life from Jerusalem last summer, and now you’ve averted a slaughter of her people here in Caesarea.”

“Thank you.”

“I want you to be happy, my friend. But don’t thank me. Someday, should Nero be gone, it will serve my father and me well to be known as your rescuers. After your time in Britannia, and after how Nero so unfairly took your estate, the name of Gallus Sergius Vitas still has substantial political currency, especially among the military. If there comes a time our family needs your public support, we would welcome it.”

Another allusion that Vitas easily understood. A general with three legions was not a sure bet for emperor without the support of at least another three legions. Otherwise, legions went into battle against the others. Civil war.

“And Jerome?” Vitas said. “Could you send a message to Damian requesting I take him to Alexandria with me?”

That startled Titus. “You will be safe on her estate, trust me.”

“There is more to it than that,” Vitas said.

Titus waited to see if Vitas would explain, but Vitas held his silence.

“Take Jerome, then,” Titus said. He put his hand on Vitas’s shoulder and looked him straight in the face. “But there is no need to send a message to Damian. He found Maglorius in Jerusalem!”

“Maglorius!” Vitas’s heart swelled yet again. First finding Sophia alive. Now discovering that Maglorius—an old friend who’d been lost in Jerusalem—had been found . . . “Damian told you this himself?”

“No,” Titus said. “The children. Quintus and Valeria. Maglorius found and protected them during the uprisings in Jerusalem. He and Damian sent them here to Caesarea for my protection. They will join you tomorrow.”

“Wonderful,” Vitas said.

He saw a dark look cross Titus’s face.

“What is it?” Vitas asked.

“In saving the two children,” Titus answered, “Maglorius and Damian were captured in Jerusalem by Jewish rebels.”

Vitas reacted immediately. “Then promise you will make sure Sophia is safe as you send her to Alexandria. I will go directly to Jerusalem.”

“No,” Titus said. “I’m sorry, my friend. Maglorius and Damian were executed.”