Stone and Steel

by David Blixt

  Intending it as distraction for the others, Judah found himself genuinely interested. Asher quoted whole passages verbatim, and even when he wasn't certain of a phrase, his natural ability as a storyteller was evident.

  Listening, Judah was particularly struck by the story of Diomedes and Glaukos, the combatants who meet on the field of battle and realize their grandfathers were friends. They refuse to fight one another because of the bond of xenia, hospitality – Glaukos' grandfather had been a guest in Diomedes' grandfather's house, and even two generations later, that bond was sacrosanct. He found that a very Hebrew quality.

  The brothers Philip and Netir, on the other hand, showed especial interest in the Greek concepts of Kleos and Timê. “So Kleos is honour earned in battle,” asked Netir, “while Timê is honour gained through achievement?”

  “That's about right,” agreed Asher.

  “Then let's hope we earn lots of Kleos,” said Philip, “and yet live long enough to earn Timê as well.”

  Asher did not speak his thought. That's up to another Greek concept – Fate.

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  THAT SAME NIGHT, Nicanor was ushered into Titus' quarters. “You wished to see me, legatus?”

  “Nicanor!” Laying aside a thick scroll, Titus rose from his couch. “How has the siege been treating you?”

  “I find myself the target of my countrymen's slings.”

  “The cost of being loyal to Rome. Sit! I've asked you here because my father has questions about this Josephus. He wishes to see inside our enemy's mind, and he's given me the job. You shall be my guide.”

  “However I can help,” replied Nicanor.

  Titus indicated the scroll he had been reading. “This is Josephus' history of the Makkabi revolt. Fascinating stuff. I'm no connoisseur, but there are several good turns of phrase. Still, much of it is beyond me. For instance, he references three sects, but does not name them.”

  Nicanor sipped some wine. “Likely he referred to the current philosophical favourites. On the one hand are the Zadokim, whom the Greeks call Sadducees. They believe only in the written word of our God. They are fiercely nationalist, tied to the land, and do not believe in the immortality of the spirit.”

  Titus drank in the information. “Go on.”

  “Contrast with them the other extreme, Essenes, who are hermits entirely by choice. They adhere to the rituals of our people, both written and spoken, and lead a life of austerity. They take no part in government, and accept no responsibility for the greater whole. This, and their diets, grant them long lives – I have known Essenes who lived well past their hundredth year! But they eat in silence, own no private possessions, and refuse to engage in the sexual act.” Nicanor paused. “I fear I am not entirely clear.”

  “No no,” said Titus, fascinated. “I've followed you. The Sadducees are temporal, material, and rigidly backwards-looking. The Essenes are devout, joyless, and impractical.”

  “I envy the Roman way of cutting a thousand words to ten,” said Nicanor agreeably.

  “And the third sect?”

  “The Pharisees. They are the middle ground, reasonable yet devout. They balance the spiritual with the temporal. Intellectually lenient, yet religiously rigorous. They're rather like the Roman Stoics – self-disciplined, fatalistic, yet pragmatic.”

  “Sadducees, Pharisees, and Essenes,” mused Titus. “And which is this Josephus?”

  “Yosef trained as an Essene for three years, but ended up choosing the Pharisees.”

  Slowly Titus' smile widened. “Started out with pure faith, but became a moderate.”

  “I believe,” observed Nicanor in neutral tones, “he was interested in politics.”

  “That will please my father. He prefers practical foes to fanatics. Speaking of fanatics, what about the Zelotes? Are they Sadducees?”

  Nicanor's brow furrowed. “Hmm. Perhaps they are best termed a fourth sect. They first appeared here in Galilee, and refuse to acknowledge any ruler except our God. They are opposed not only to Roman occupation of these lands, but to the presence of any gentile – meaning, any non-Hebrew.”

  “But then how will they prosper? Without trade, there is no culture, no growth! Surely they mean to except tradesmen and merchants?”

  “None but men of our faith,” declared Nicanor. “In their minds, Judea is a land for the Hebrews alone. It is not even Judea, but Israel, the land our Lord promised us. To them that means it belongs to Hebrews solely. The most extreme of these are the Sicarii, the knifemen who do murder to gain their end. I apologize,” he added, seeing a glaze across Titus' eyes. “I drone on.”

  “What? No no! I was just noting the similarity between our peoples. Not the exclusivity, which is ridiculous, but the emphasis on land. Greeks believe that ideas are paramount, but we Romans understand the importance of the physical place.”

  “As do we Hebrews. Ideas and beliefs grow from the place where they were born. Without a place to flourish, ideas wither and perish. As does faith.”

  “So Zelotes fight for the land your god gave them. Damn. That's a strong motivator.”

  Nicanor was almost apologetic. “Yes. In Hebrew a Zelote is called a kanai, meaning 'devout'. The Zelotes claim that there can be no ruler of Israel that is not descended from King David.”

  “King David?”

  “Our greatest king, the ideal leader and founder of our nation.”

  “Romulus,” said Titus at once.

  “In a way. Certainly he built our capitol, just as Romulus did yours.” The corners of Nicanor's mouth curled into a slight smile. “Which would make Mosheh into Aeneas, wandering the wilderness in search of a new home. Ha!”

  Titus rubbed at his head. “Clearly I am ignorant of the important names of your history. Start at the beginning – broad strokes only, please.”

  “Titus Flavius, I'm no scholar…”

  “Good, then you won't bore me. That's an order, by the way.”

  “Very well.” Nicanor paused to frame his thoughts. “In the beginning, Yahweh created the world…”

  Titus interrupted. “Yahweh is the name of your god?”

  Nicanor shook his head emphatically. “Yahweh, Jehovah, Elohim – these are what we call Him in place of His name, which we do not speak but one day a year.”

  Just like Rome's secret name, thought Titus. Known to all citizens, if the name were ever spoken aloud, it would bring disaster and ruin to Rome. Names had power. For every difference, a similarity.

  Nicanor continued. “Yahweh created this world in a state of perfection. But Man was dissatisfied with his status of subject to Yahweh's Will, and so rebelled. The Lord punished Man by removing the perfection, which is why we all now suffer, wither, and die.”

  Prometheus, punished for stealing fire.

  “It was actually Woman who tempted Man, bringing about his fall from grace. But Woman was created from a part of Man, which again symbolizes that the fault lies within.”

  Interesting! Pandora, the first woman, was Man's punishment for stealing fire, not the cause! But with her little jar she brought destruction. For every difference, a similarity.

  “But our Lord is merciful and offered Man a chance for redemption. He chose one good man, Abraham, who is the patriarch of all the Jews. After testing Abraham's fidelity, the Lord laid down the Law for our people to follow. It forever marks Abraham's descendants as the Chosen of the Lord. We are the vehicle through which this world will be redeemed.”

  A special people, thought Titus. With a special destiny. Every nation believes it of themselves. But only Rome has proved it.

  “Abraham's grandson, Jacob, was given a second name by the Lord Himself – Israel. The Zelotes take the land's name from him. He had twelve children, from whom were born the Twelve Tribes of Israel.”

  Much like the famous families, the Patricians, the founding 'fathers' of Rome. They ruled Roma for hundreds of years because their blood was the best.

  “The Twelve Tribes were eventually conquered, and
enslaved in Aegypt. They were delivered from their bondage by another of Yahweh's anointed, called Mosheh. Through him, Yahweh bound us further with a Covenant, a set of laws and prohibitions called the Mosaic Law.”

  “Mosaic, as in the tiles?” laughed Titus.

  “As in Mosheh, the Lawgiver,” Nicanor corrected gently. “The Lord guided the Twelve Tribes to this land and chose a king – David. From that time on, the King of the Jews has been the divine representative, anointed by the Lord to lead us. Until Herod,” he added.

  Isn't that always the way? mused Titus cynically. From Alexander to Mithradates, kings claim divine sanction to all their deeds. Whereas we Romans did away with kings. But how clever, to wrap it in an exclusivity, at the same time ennobling the Jews by claiming they will be the salvation of the world.

  Nicanor added, “It might interest you to know, Titus Flavius, that Yosef can trace his line back to the house of David. It adds to his claim of leadership.”

  Ancestors, thought Titus with the anguish of a man who had none. Rome exalted ancestry, and woe to any man whose forebears did not distinguish themselves.

  Suddenly another name came to Titus' lips. “What of the Chrestiani?”

  Nicanor grew still. “You've heard of them?”

  “Heard of them? They're infamous! Nero blamed them for the Great Fire. Which are they, Pharissian, Sadduccean, Essene, or Zelote?”

  Nicanor chose his words carefully. “Originally Essene in nature, they take their name from the Greek word christos, meaning anointed one. In the Hebrew tongue, the word is Mahsiah, the man anointed by the Lord to lead our people.”

  Titus said, “Does this mean that the patriarch you speak of, Abraham, was the first christos? And Mosheh and David, they were christosi as well?”

  This was a new thought for Nicanor. “Strictly speaking, I suppose so.”

  “If christos is a title, not a name, who do the Chrestiani worship?”

  Nicanor affected the tone of a skeptic. “A man. Very little is known of him, actually. Nothing was written down. His name was Y'eshua, from Nazareth – not far from here. A carpenter, midway through life he began to preach. When he came to Jerusalem, he caused a scene at the Temple, was accused of inciting riot, and was crucified by the Roman procurator.”

  “Clearly not everyone felt he was the christos,” observed Titus wryly.

  “The priests maintain it is impossible he was the Mahsiah. The scriptures are quite clear – the Mahsiah will be born from the house of David, not some carpenter from Galilee.”

  Titus grasped the problem instantly. “Noble blood, once royal. Like the Julians, who were anointed by Venus. Your christos must be a Caesar for the Jews.”

  Nicanor nodded vigourously. “Indeed! It's amazing the power that names take on. Four or five generations past, Caesar was just one of many names – respected, but just a name. Today it adorns the greatest men in the world. What is Caesar, if not another word for christos?”

  They talked on, Titus finding more parallels than he expected between Roman and Hebrew history. This pleased him enormously – besides looking into the mind of his foe, he could surprise Queen Berenice in their next encounter with some learned conversation.

  They parted in the small hours of the morning, Titus thanking Nicanor profusely. Nicanor promised to return, then walked through the camp in a state of relief. Titus' question about the Chrestiani had been innocent and genuine, but it had been difficult for Nicanor to answer dispassionately about them.

  Which was only natural, as Nicanor himself was one.

  XXVIII

  JOTAPATA, GALILEE

  12 JULIUS, 67 AD – 38TH DAY OF SIEGE

  IT WAS THE BIRTHDAY of the Divine Caesar, and the siege engines were burning once more. Not a thought to make a career soldier proud.

  “This is growing tedious,” complained Vespasian.

  “Reminds me of the Britons.” Cerialis shivered, recalling his losses as commander of the Ninth Legion.

  “The Britons wore less clothes and more paint,” observed Vespasian idly. “Remarkable, considering the climate.”

  “Britons are mad.”

  “And these Judeans are not.” Vespasian pressed his lips together. “How many days?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  Vespasian nodded. He was in a cleft stick. His tactics were sound, yet his men were growing restless while the Judeans became emboldened with each sortie. The so-called prophecy of Josephus was looming. If Jotapata survived the full forty-nine days, it would be a tremendous spiritual victory for all of Judea.

  There is an indefinable art to generaling. A plan can be sound and sure, but if it didn't have the support of the men, it was doomed. Vespasian could feel his legions growing restless. If the Judeans had only remained behind their walls to suffer, they might have gotten through. But by persisting in midnight raids, Josephus was humiliating them. More, he'd stolen away the initiative. Vespasian had to gain it back.

  “Start crucifying prisoners. And bring up Big Julius.”

  The engineers set to work, raising crosses and affixing Judean captives placed upon them – tied, not nailed, that they might last longer. These rebels went to their deaths praying, all repeating the same words over and over: “Hear, Israel, one and eternal is our God, Jehovah!”

  “Juh juh juh!” taunted the Romans. They brought a mule to the crosses and asked the condemned men to pray to it. “Is that what hides in your great Temple? It is a mule? Is your lonely god nothing more than an ass? Lucky for us the Old Muleteer knows how to handle a bunch of stubborn asses!”

  While the first batch of prisoners were being crucified, Vespasian said, “Has anyone seen my son?”

  Trajan answered. “He volunteered to make the trip to Sogane to fetch the reserves from King Agrippa.”

  Vespasian snorted. “Of course he did.”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  Sogane, Galilee

  QUEEN BERENICE SCREAMED her pleasure and Titus rolled her off him, laughing and panting.

  Not bothering to cover her nakedness, she struck his chest with her fist. “Why do you laugh?”

  He grinned at her. “I love that you enjoy yourself.”

  She frowned playfully. “And you don't?”

  “That's not what I mean. I'm just not used to a highborn woman so openly enjoying lovemaking. I wish more did!”

  “I don't,” said Berenice, curling into him and toying with the hair on his chest. “I would cease to be unique.”

  “That, love, is impossible.” Breath returning, Titus stroked the beads of sweat on her back. He wondered if all Eastern women perspired so heavily, or just the nobility. It was a sign of balanced humors. A Greek doctor had once explained to Titus that men were superior to women because of their larger pores, which allowed them to sweat more and release foul humours. Most women were incapable of perspiration, which led to their monthly need to purge their bodies.

  Perhaps it was a balance of her humours that made her such an excellent lover. Titus delighted to hear her pleasure at climax. That she did not always make those sounds only made Titus more determined to work harder next time. Like her gait, he knew this was probably craft. But he did not care.

  They lay for a time in blissful languor. Then Titus said, “I take it that Mars is no longer lodged in your breast.”

  Berenice smiled thinly, her eyes narrowed. “I have purged all unworthy emotion.” Titus understood her to mean that she had purged Florus from the earth. “Now tell me about Jotapata.”

  “What's to tell? They're clever, but they can't last. Their water is running short. The city has no spring, just collects rainfall. The rains were light this year, and the cisterns below the city are nearly dry. But I'm sure Josephus will think of something – he's a clever one.”

  “Is he?” asked Berenice. “I never thought so.”

  “You know him?”

  Berenice smiled thinly. “More than know him. We're related.”

  Titus sat up. “You didn't tell me that.”


  She waved away his concern. “Distant cousins, no more. We share a common ancestor – a great-great grandmother, I believe – who was able to trace her line back to the House of David.” She reached out to smooth his frown with her hands. “Does it trouble you? It is not as though we were ever close.”

  Titus said nothing. Sleeping with a foreign queen was forgivable in a Roman soldier – look at both Caesar and Antony. But if it became known that she was also a cousin to the enemy general, Titus' father would demand this affair end immediately. Which Titus could not allow. “Just promise me not to mention this to anyone until Jotapata is taken.”

  “Of course,” she said at once, perplexed but willing to appease him. She liked this Roman, and saw in him great potential – both for his own career, and hers.

  They lay together again, but not as comfortably as before. Suddenly Titus said, “The House of David. Nicanor told me about it. He also said something about a savior – Christos.”

  “The Greek word for Mahsiah.”

  “Nicanor said that this Mahsiah had to be from the House of David. Is it possible that Josephus is –”

  Berenice was already laughing, a wonderful rumble that shook her breasts. “Absolutely not! Yosef has a great mind, but everything he knows is learned! There is nothing genuine in him – it is all stolen, borrowed from others. Others may be impressed, but trust me, at his core he is not a leader of men.”

  “So far he's done well. Nicanor tells me his people have begun to call him the Mahsiah.”

  “He may let them, to give them hope. But if he believes it himself, he is a fool.” Smiling, she began to kiss Titus' neck. “Trust me, I know a great man when I see one.”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  OUTSIDE THE PALACE, Nicanor waited, tracing little lines in the dirt with the heel of his sandal. As the liaison between the Judean royal family and the Romans, he'd come with Titus. Though boring and more than a shade humiliating, it was still better than watching his countrymen get pummeled by catapults, even at a distance. So far the siege had been relatively bloodless. He hoped it would remain so, though he knew he hoped in vain.