To the Death (28 page)

So Vespasian ordered that Josephus be held in custody and be well treated, for he had a use for him. A task that would require Josephus to appear in public, looking well cared for and not as some enemy prisoner suffering under the victor's heel.

Before being taken away, Josephus asked to speak to Vespasian in private. Intrigued, Vespasian ordered everyone except his son Titus to withdraw. “Understandably sir” said Josephus, “you regard me as just another captive, albeit an important one; but still just a prisoner. I come, however, as a messenger sent by God himself. I know the law both civil and military. My death by the Emperor Nero's hand or yours is inevitable. How long will Nero, and those destined to succeed him, remain on the throne before your turn comes? You, my Lord Vespasian, will be Caesar and Emperor”.

Assuming that Josephus' speech had been made to save his skin, Vespasian signalled to the guards he was to be taken away. Later, however, questioning other prisoners he discovered Josephus' reputation of second sight
had been proven on many occasions, even in childhood.

At the outset of the siege of Jotapata for example, he had predicted it would fall on the forty eighth day of its siege and that he would be taken prisoner.

So although Vespasian kept Josephus under lock and key, it was with many privileges. Titus, who had taken a liking to their prisoner, also treated him with kindness and respect.

26

I
n
the early morning, Titus the
tribune
s and senior centurions had gathered in Vespasian's campaign tent for a briefing. Maps and documents were spread across trestle tables dotted with wooden blocks to mark positions of interest. A large map hung on a frame was the focal point. Vespasian, joined by Titus, motioned for the officers to find a seat while Mucianus, who was to conduct the meeting, moved about the tent greeting men by name.

With everybody seated Vespasian raised his hand for silence and without preamble opened the briefing. “Replacements for our fallen comrades and those seriously injured will be with us within the next two weeks. Our immediate task is to bury our dead. This will be done starting today and completed over the next few days. It will be done with all ceremony and with full military honours. To avoid disease, the enemy dead are to be collected and dumped in a deep ravine. With the town cleared we need to consider the state of our men. We have over five hundred seriously wounded and the same again hurt badly enough to be declared unfit for duty. Those who are fit are in need of a breather.”

Vespasian paused to sip from a glass before continuing, “It is my intention to kill two birds with one stone. The town will be demolished - this will take time. Our wounded need time to recover, at least until they are fit enough to travel in the hospital wagons. Your victories in this campaign do not go unheard in Rome. The taking of Jotapata and the capture of the enemy's general are of great importance and will shorten the war. When news of this reaches Rome, your names will be honoured. The Emperor himself will speak of you with pride”.

A low murmur of satisfaction rippled around the tent and Vespasian waited patiently before continuing. “We shall probably be camped here for six weeks; then we march. Our final objective is Jerusalem, but in getting there we have to continue with our policy of pacification. The country has to be cleared of our enemies; the Emperor's orders were very clear. He wants the Jewish problem solved once and for all”.

Vespasian paused to sip from a beaker, continuing “The next phase of our campaign will take us south towards our ultimate objective, Jerusalem. Our enemy will resist us every inch of the way. They know only too well the price of rebellion. Knowing your enemy is vital to achieving success on the battlefield. Good military intelligence is worth an extra legion. We are fortunate in this campaign to have King Agrippa and his men as our allies. The King and his men fight loyally by our side; they share our wounds, our losses. I am proud to call them brothers in arms”.

A loud cheer of approval greeted these remarks and a grave faced Agrippa rose from his chair and bowed to Vespasian and the gathering. When the noise subsided Vespasian continued. “As you know, General Mucianus has served in this region for many years and is an expert on it and its people. I will hand you over to him, to take us through what lies ahead. Before doing so, can I say it is very important that what you learn today is passed on to the men who serve under you. Legionaries fight better if they think their officers know what they're doing”. This last remark, delivered with a grin, brought an answering burst of laughter.

Mucianus nodded to Vespasian and took his place in front of the map. “Majesty, General, Gentlemen. Knowing your enemy saves lives - yours in particular. The enemy in this case is rebellious Jews. It is of course much more complicated than that, and we need to understand those complications if we are to succeed”.

Mucianus picked up a pointer and tapped the map. “By the way,” he said “interrupt at any time with questions. This area north of Judaea has a large gentile population. It prospers in a quarrelsome bunch of provinces where Jews, Greeks and a patchwork of squabbling near eastern nationalities live in a permanent state of tribal distrust.” Glancing at his attentive audience he continued, “When we Romans came to Judaea, we made it the strongest military power between the Roman provinces of Egypt and Syria. It was also a buffer between the Empire and the Mesopotamian Parthian threat to Rome's total control of the Eastern Mediterranean. Also, this area is bandit country. Various opportunist warlords operate in the area, relying on our being too busy with the uprising to deal with them. Before we move from here we will clear the surrounding countryside of any potential trouble”.

“Sir?” the questioner was a grizzled veteran, probably serving his time out. Mucianus nodded acknowledgement. The veteran centurion said, “Sir, the countryside the locals refer to as upper Galilee is rich and fertile, well watered and will grow just about anything. When we have won the war will you be settling any of it?”

Mucianus burst out laughing, the vested interest so obvious that his companions shared in his mirth. But when the laughter died down, they waited expectantly for the answer to what was a serious question. Roman soldiers coming to the end of their contracted twenty five years of service were frequently settled as pioneers in recently conquered territories. The arrangement suited both sides. Rome established an outpost of trained soldiers in case of future trouble, at no cost. The retiring legionaries acquired a free farm and slaves to work it.

“Live long enough to claim it, fight well, and you and your comrades will have land and slaves to work it”. Mucianus' reply brought a rousing cheer. The next question was more sober in content.

“Sir, why have the Jews rebelled against Rome? We allow them freedom to worship their God and manage their own affairs”.

“Good question
tribune
”, replied Mucianus. “Deserves a simple straightforward answer, but it won't get one”. This brought a ripple of laughter. Mucianus continued, “A lot of Judaean power rests with the priesthood, which means the Temple in Jerusalem. A devout Jew accepts no authority or master other than his God. However, the civil authorities who administer the city and the country acknowledge the necessity and duty of co-operating with Rome. They and the High Priest of all Israel balance civic duty with duty to Rome and Roman laws, with duty to their God. They keep them separate and maintain the peace. In fact, many high ranking councillors, Jews of power and influence in Jerusalem, are Roman citizens”.

This brought a rumble of comment which died away as Mucianus continued, “In Jerusalem you have the misguided - Jews who for theological reasons promote rebellion. You also have the opportunists, who see a chance during a time of turbulence to seize power and become rich. Finally, there are the politicians who see a chance to peddle their brand of nationalism and take control of the country. These diverse groups are clearly rivals and are our unwitting allies. Already they are at each other's throats. In the name of their God they have started a civil war in the city and are taking no prisoners”. This last drew a gasp from its audience and caused even Vespasian to raise an eyebrow.

Scarcely had this amazing piece of information been absorbed when another hand shot up. “Silence”, called Mucianus. “The centurion at the back. Your question soldier”.

“Where do we go from here sir?”

Mucianus grinned, “To glory son”. This brought an ironical cheer. “We march to Ptolemais, which is of great importance to us and loyal to Rome. A Greek city that was once the most important harbour serving Galilee and to this day is of strategic importance. In Ptolemais we will gather our strength and march to Jerusalem. There we will plant the eagles of Rome to do battle with the enemy”.

A week later they arrived in Ptolemais without incident and were received by the city fathers, bearing the traditional offerings of bread and salt. The city gates stood open and the civilian population welcomed them with garlands of flowers and warm applause. After discussing the disposition of his forces with Mucianus, Vespasian sent two of his legions to Caesarea for the winter. The Fifteenth he sent to Scythopolis, to avoid straining Caesarea's resources.

Meanwhile in Rome, Nero, who was busy working on his latest musical composition, reluctantly agreed to receive Tigellinus the Commander of the
Praetorian
Guard.

A grey faced Tigellinus and three of the
praetorian's
most senior officers were knelt on one knee, heads bent, in front of the seated Emperor. To his left, in a cloud of her own courtiers, the heavily pregnant Poppaea froze like a cheetah into a hunting stillness.

“Insurrection?” Caesar whispered the word, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Insurrection?” This time it was bellowed as the white mountain moved. Nero rose to his feet, shaking with rage. Incoherent with anger, saliva flew from his lips as he glared at the unfortunate messenger.

An ashen faced Tigellinus continued with his report. “Galba with the Sixth, the Ninth and the Eleventh Legions who have declared him Caesar, is marching on Rome”.

“Crush him. You have the
Praetorian
”. The outraged and terrified Nero was shambling up and down the room, his head swinging from side to side. Had he ever seen one, Tigellinus would have been reminded of a polar bear. The little red eyes suddenly fixed on the luckless
Praetorian
commander. “We can count on the
Praetorian
?”

“To the death”.

“It may come to that sooner than you think”, snapped Nero viciously. “Why is Galba doing this to me?” The bottom lip trembled and a fat tear ran down the white cheeks. Nero shivered uncontrollably. Unconsciously he lifted the hem of his toga and put it in his mouth, sucking on it noisily.

“Vespasian”. Nero's arm shot out and he clutched his guard commander's arm. “Recall Vespasian and his legions”.

Tigellinus swallowed and tried to answer, but failed - the words simply wouldn't come out. One of his officers came to his aid though even his voice faltered. “Vespasian's troops are either at sea or are three months away, Divinity. In any event if we recall them Judaea is lost and that will encourage others. The Empire could be overwhelmed”.

Nero screamed at this news. He tugged at the neck of his tunic, ripping it along the seam. Foam collected at the corners of his mouth. “You”, he pointed a shaking finger at Tigellinus, “are supposed to protect me, to lay down your life for me”.

“Majesty, the
Praetorian
are loyal, I swear it”.

Nero charged across the room to stand inches from the quaking guard commander. “Where is the army? Rome has fourteen legions to defend her”.

“They stand aside, Divinity, to see which way the gods will declare”.

“Stand aside - gods?” Nero was apoplectic. “I am a god, how dare they not worship me. Why would they desert me?”

Tigellinus could find no answer to this.

“Karkinos”. Nero's voice rose in triumph. “Send for the magus - through him we will summon legions from Hades, soldiers who are immortal. Galba and every man who fights under him will be crucified. Go!”

Shaking with reaction, the
Praetorian
officers and their commander backed out of the room. Left alone but for a silent Poppaea, whom he had either forgotten or was ignoring, the gross white figure lumbered up and down the room. Poppaea lay impassively on her side, a jewelled hand resting possessively on the mound of her belly.

“Perhaps,” she said softly, “now is the time to declare our unborn son your heir”.

The sweating Emperor froze in mid stride, the button eyes focusing short-sightedly on the reclining Poppaea. Without warning his foot lashed out. She screamed in agony as the toe of the heavy sandal buried itself in her belly. Grunting with the effort, Nero savagely booted her again. At last he had found something on which to vent his anger and frustration.

“If ”, he panted between kicks, “your bastard”, - kick - “wants” - kick - “to wear” - kick - “the purple, he had better put in an appearance”.

In helpless horror, the Augusta's servants watched as blood suddenly coursed down the legs of the semi-conscious Empress. At the sight of blood, Nero beamed at the broken figure rolling at his feet, moaning in agony. Before leaving the chamber, he turned the twitching Poppaea over with his toe and jumped on her from a small stool.