by Ken Parejko
Finally we reached Ptolemais, where the bulk of the army ringed the city with its camps while we waited for the artillery to catch up. Meanwhile we met in strategy sessions. Two days later Titus and his legion joined us. Once again I was sure I’d made the right decision. Our simple strategy was to continue south into Galilee and by capturing a major city or two impress the Jews with our military power. Exactly which cities we’d decide along the way.
In time we would learn as it were from the horse’s mouth what was going on ahead of us in Judea. The Sanhedrin, the Jewish aristocratic council, had appointed Joseph bar Matthias leader of the Jewish force being mustered to face us. But Joseph, in addition to holding us off, had to deal with the peasant rebels. Our spies told us that he was moving his men toward the Galilean city of Jotapata. So we wheeled in that direction. As our great, lumbering army passed Sephoris that city’s residents watched with horror the huge dust clouds which we stirred up into the heat of the afternoon and sent their town council out to beg for mercy. Vespasian accepted their surrender, and without a drop of blood being shed, the first Jewish city was captured.
Vespasian left Placidus with half a legion to defend Sephoris, and we moved again toward Jotapata. After we’d left Joseph’s army accidentally bumped into our army and put Placidus into full retreat, proving Joseph's brilliance as a general and the naivete of those among us who thought this would be a short and painless war.
Vespasian, now aware of Joseph’s abilities, swung the army into a methodical siege and capture campaign. We surrounded and cut Gadara off from all hope of rescue then brought in the artillery which for days rained big rocks and boulders onto the city’s walls and residents. Each day little by little the walls, not built to withstand our modern siege machines, gave way. Before Joseph had embarrassed us at Sephoris Vespasian had planned to be lenient. But when the cracks in Gadara’s walls were wide enough for his army to pour through, he ordered his men to kill anyone who could not be taken into slavery. Inside the city they found only old men, women and children left behind after the able-bodied had joined Joseph’s army. Our officers sorted through the survivors. Women and children with any value as slaves were headed off to prison camps. Everyone else was killed. Watching from the outskirts as the city went up in flames, and hearing the cries of the women and children, I was horrified. Drusus’ words echoed over the years from my dream: We make a desert and call it peace.
When I returned to camp that evening and told Lucius about my day it was not with the voice of a soldier proud of our victory. What honor or victory was there in slaughtering defenseless citizens? Was this what Rome stood for? As I lay that night trying to sleep, the great dome of the desert stars wheeled immutably above me, distant and indifferent. How naive I’d been, how protected my life spent in the libraries and gardens of Rome and Antioch while every day at the margins of the empire women and children were massacred. What strategic value could justify the death at the sword of so many old men and women? The children -- that haunted me most, the children. My rational mind was no help, my extraordinary memory an impediment. I found neither sleep nor the answers I craved.
Morning came to the smoldering ruin of Gadara. Vespasian sent men ahead to clear the mountain roads towards Jotapata and make way for the heavy artillery we could now withdraw from Gadara. We broke camp, crossed the Jordan and marched past the Sea of Galilee. Here we saw fishermen in small boats busily casting their nets onto the lake. I escaped from my moral dilemma into the refuge of natural history. I’d read in Aristotle of a fish in the Sea of Galilee that swallowed its young when danger threatened, and regurgitated them when all was safe. I hoped to ask the fishermen if they knew of this fish. Perhaps I could actually see one, or at least find out if the story was true. An image passed through my mind, of the women of Gadara swallowing their infants to keep them from Roman hands, then regurgitating them after the battle.
But in our hurry to reach Jotapata there was no time to gratify my new-found obsession with natural history. I noted in my journal that on the 21st of May we first glimpsed the high peninsula of land, jutting out from the rugged hills, on which Jotapata was built. When a day later we arrived at the outskirts of the city we learned that Joseph and his army were inside the city walls. The most important battle of the Judean campaign lay at our feet: the capture of Jotapata and with it Joseph’s army.
But Jotapata, built on a high spur of land, protected on all sides but the north by steep, impregnable precipices, was as much a fortress as a city. As we approached we could see the sentinels on the wall-towers peering down at us, sentinels who’d watched the dust-clouds rise into the hot Judean sky for two days, as our army approached then streamed past: thousands of cavalry and archers, tens of thousands of infantry, the many huge siege-engines, and the trailing mass of wagons carrying food and supplies. What they saw must not have cheered their hearts.
The sun set in brilliant colors over the hills to the west, which hid the Middle Sea beyond. In its dying light it lit up the swords and armor of our legions, and flashed now and then off the growing forest of standards, the bronze and silver eagles which led the army into battle. A forest of tents sprung up before their eyes; our trumpets blared and ten thousand bivouac fires came to life. From inside the city walls it must have seemed as though the day of judgment had come, and I imagined the bravest of the men there feeling their hearts sink as they watched our war machine assemble itself beneath their eyes.
But, as we learned from him weeks later, Joseph bar Matthias carefully kept from his men his own fears and misgivings. In what he knew was the darkest hour in the hearts of an army, as the sun slipped below the western horizon and night rose from the desert he ordered his men to gather in the city’s central square, where he stepped onto a raised platform and held his sword high. When they had all gathered he addressed them, his voice rising loud and clear and drowning out the noise of the army outside the north wall. The die has been cast, he told them. It is time to put off the yoke of Roman cruelty. Had they already forgotten the massacre at Gadara? The pogroms in Caesarea and Alexandria? What right do these Romans have, pouring like plague into our land – our land! -- and demanding taxes and tribute, telling us what we can or cannot believe, carrying our wives and children off into slavery? The God of Israel did not desert us when Moses led us out of Egypt. He will not desert us now.
Joseph, the Jews’ best chance at victory over Rome’s imperial might, reminded his men that they fought for their families, their country, and for the survival of Judaism itself. He told them that no matter how fearsome the odds seemed he himself never doubted they would be victorious. Defeat meant not only our own death but the complete destruction of the Jewish people. This was a war for survival of the race. Will you let Judaism die? he shouted, and they shouted back. No! Never!
“The Lord God Jahweh is at our side,” he shouted. “Will you desert our Lord?”
“No! Never!” they shouted.
By the time Joseph stepped down from the platform he’d turned the fear in their hearts into a strong and bitter anger which they took with them to bed. There must have been many who lay awake that long, dark night, watching the starry firmament wheel above, who prayed for dawn to come quickly, they were so eager to rout our army.
But the coming days and weeks would prove that passion and anger were not enough to destroy us. Vespasian had brought with him the best siege technology in the world, and a genius for using it. Under the protection of a withering fire of ballistae -- rocks of many sizes fired from the Roman artillery-pieces -- and arrows let loose from a thousand archers, our men approached the city from the north, where I watched as they built a wide ramp leading toward the city’s wall. Another thousand men were sent to scour the countryside and soon a river of carts, creaking under the load of stones, roots, and entire trees, streamed in our direction. For miles around the once-forested hills lay denuded. All these tons of materials were set into the ramp which rose, day by day, higher and closer to the wall. Jose
ph went on the offensive, poured his men out of the north gates and surprised our men working on the ramp. The fight lasted all day, as bodies of the dead and wounded piled up. Our men were driven back from the ramp, which the Jews tore down and set on fire, in a few hours destroying weeks of hard work. In the coming days the two armies fought again and again over the smoldering remnants of the ramp, the tide of the battle surging one way, then another.
Having bought himself time Joseph turned to bolstering his defenses. He knew we would most likely try to breach the north wall, which he began to raise even higher. But as his workmen brought their stones and mortar our archers felled them. Joseph had scores of oxen slaughtered and used the thick, fresh hides as roofs over his men. Our arrows now bounced off or stuck themselves uselessly into the ox-hides.
We watched as the north wall grew each day higher. In a long, heated meeting the decision was made to besiege the city rather than attack it. The army were ordered to back off and wait. Days became weeks. Our men had little to do but sleep, mill around, and play dice and cards. I used the time to dictate to Lucius the many observations I’d made of the mountains, the sea of Galilee, and the plants which grew here.
Joseph had prepared for a siege, had stocked the city with enough food to last months. But Jotapata, perched high on a rocky precipice, relied on rainwater to refill its voluminous cisterns. Summer had arrived, the rainy season was past, and their water supplies were dangerously low. Joseph instituted a brutal water rationing. As he later confessed to us, some of his own troops and many of the civilians rose up against him. How can we survive on these few drops of water a day, they complained. Joseph listened patiently. When they were finished he announced that he and his officers were leaving and they could do as they liked with what little water was left. This brought the city to its senses: without their best general and his army, they had no chance against us.
To restore their spirits Joseph again led his army out of the city to face our men head-on. From a nearby hill I watched the bloody hand-to-hand combat as they fought their way into our camps, tore down our tents and slaughtered our wounded, then snatched up whatever water and weapons they could, chasing our legions far back into the hills, Vespasian along with them. I knew how bitter retreat was to him, and wasn’t surprised to see he and Titus, under the cover of massed archers, lead a cavalry charge down into what was left of our camp. While Vespasian’s charge pushed the Jews back into the city, we knew they must be gloating over the weapons they’d captured and the damage they’d done. Our men, on the other hand, faced a ruined camp, slaughtered comrades, and as far as we knew at any moment another attack.
So we met to talk things over, and in the end settled on once again attacking the city, this time with a battering-ram, which we immediately set about building. It was to be of massive hardwood and swung by thick ropes from a tall timber frame. In only a few days under the cover of night sixteen strong oxen dragged the ram up against the north wall, and the terrible crashing of the ram against the wall commenced, echoing far across the hills and down into the quiet countryside below where the peasants working in the fields could count with each blow the numbered days of their brothers and sisters, husbands and fathers, in the fortress above. We grew used to the steady sound of its beating as slowly the wall gave way. Once the wall was breached there would be no stopping our army from streaming into the city. Desperately, Joseph had his men stuff huge sacks with straw, which they lowered over the wall to cushion the force of the ram’s blows. This blunted both the fury and the sound of the blows, and the city again breathed with hope. Their hope was doubled Jewish archers wounded Vespasian.
Titus and I hurried to his side. He lay on his cot surrounded by doctors busily examining the wound. We were told he’d gone up to inspect the ram and devise a way to once again make it effective when he was struck in the foot by an arrow shot from the north tower. He grimaced in pain, and blood poured from his foot. The arrow had cut through a small artery. The doctors extracted the dart, wrapped the wound tightly and to slow the bleeding convinced Vespasian to sit with his foot held high.
But rumors were passing around camp that he’d been killed. He had to show his face. Even worse, emboldened by the rumors of Vespasian’s death, Jewish troops had once again come out of the city and were attacking the troops operating the ram. Vespasian had his foot wrapped tightly and limped out to show himself. Heartened, his men forced the Jews back into the city.
It came my time to be useful. For the ram to become effective again something had to be done about the bags of straw blunting its blows. I suggested we ignite the bags with flaming arrows. Archers were brought up who lit arrows soaked in pine-pitch and sent them into the bags, which first smoldered then caught fire. We watched the dark smoke billow up into the sky. Now again the ram commenced its terrible rhythm, unimpeded and uninterrupted. The end of the north wall seemed to us close at hand, as it must have to the Jews in the city.
The next day we could see first a tiny crevice open in the wall’s rough masonry, then a small hole. As the ram continued its irresistible work the opening grew deeper and wider. Our men cheered. Victory is at hand, Vespasian shouted, and on one foot if I have to I’ll lead you into the city. The trumpets blared the attack-call, the legions raised a great roaring shout and the attack started. I stayed behind with Titus, in case Joseph should counter-attack. At first a few men breached the hole in the wall and pushed Joseph’s men back. But the Jewish troops poured boiling oil on them, then slicked their way with bucket after bucket of boiled hay. Hot oil seeped through their armor and burned their skin. The fight to make their way into the city stalled.
Night came, and though we’d pounded a hole through the city wall, our army was kept at bay. During the night a deserter slipped out of Jotapata, surrendered and asked to see Vespasian. Stripped naked and thrown down in front of the general, he begged for his life. He told Vespasian that in the middle of the night the Jewish sentries guarding the breached wall, as tired as they were thirsty and hungry, often fell asleep. Vespasian ordered a commando raid. As the middle of the night passed, a sliver moon sliding down to the west, twenty men with blackened faces and light armor slipped through the breached wall. One by one the sleeping sentries’ throats were cut, and before the Jewish army could respond half a legion had followed the commandos into the city. Joseph’s men fought bravely but chaos soon reigned, made worse by a fog which now rolled down from the hillsides, covering the city and hiding our men as they poured through the walls. What followed was pure slaughter, of Jewish soldiers and civilians alike. Joseph and his highest officers escaped by disappearing through secret trap-doors into a maze of tunnels and caves under the city. Dawn came to the dying city and brought a cruel and brutal last day to its thousands of residents. By that evening we’d discovered most of the secret hiding places. Only Joseph and a dozen or so of his closest aides, hiding in the most secret places of all, had managed to escape us.
When he told us of the three days they cowered in that cave, the smell of their burning houses and screams of their dying families reaching them in the candle-lit darkness, Joseph’s voice quavered. He closed his eyes and recalled the sound of our men beating with sledges at the doorway to the cave. An argument broke out, and Joseph tried to convince the others to surrender. But his men said they would rather die fighting, and threatened to kill Joseph if he tried to surrender. He convinced them that to die by their own hands was more honorable than to die by a Roman sword. They paired up and drew straws. Whoever drew the shorter straw was to be killed by whoever held the longer. One by one these brave but desperate men who’d fought beside each another for months now slit each others’ throats. Joseph was one of the last two left alive, and having convinced the other man to surrender and take their chances with us, they tore down the bracing they’d erected against the cave-door and faced our men across the rubble.
I was in Vespasian’s field-tent when Joseph was dragged in. He was by now a shadow of a man, exhausted and emaci
ated, having survived for more than a month with little food, almost no water, his last three days in the darkness and stench of the cave. The greatest Jewish general the Roman armies had faced in a generation stood before us reduced to a shell of himself.
Joseph fell to the ground and begged for his life. Though his native language was Aramaic he spoke in a clear and precise Latin. Several years before during Nero’s massacre of the followers of Christ he’d been sent to Rome to get Jewish prisoners released. He'd finagled an audience with Nero’s wife Poppaea, a secret sympathizer with the Jews, and accomplished his mission. Now a prisoner himself, lying naked on the floor, his voice was obsequious. “You are a great general,” he said, “and your power and the power of Rome are too great to withstand.”
Vespasian gestured Joseph to rise. “Yes, this is true, but it is no great wisdom to speak it,” he said. “If you’d only admitted it earlier you would have spared your people great suffering.” Joseph nodded lightly, acceding to his captor’s logic. “Now,” Vespasian said, “tell me why I should spare your life.”
Joseph spoke slowly. “I’ll tell you, and what I say is true. While we were hiding in the cave two nights ago God came to me in a great white light, his voice the sound of a great fire, and told me that the future of our land was no longer ours, but yours.” Vespasian listened with interest. “And with His voice of fire He also told me that you would not only conquer Galilee, and Judea, and Samaria, and Idumea, but would become emperor of all the world.” Joseph looked Vespasian straight in the eye.
Vespasian’s eyebrows rose. “Emperor?” He laughed. “I think your god is mistaken. I’m but a poor Sabine farm lad. I have no desire to be emperor.”
“Surely you’ve heard,” Joseph answered, “that my people live in hope of a Messiah who will bring a New Age upon this earth, an age of wisdom, peace and justice. It has been foretold that this Messiah will come from Judea, from the direction from which you came.” Joseph stopped, gathered his strength. “I believe that in our darkest hour God was telling me you are that man. And so I welcome you and offer you my help. I will join you in bringing this New Age to my people.”
