Stone and Steel

by David Blixt

  “If we sacrifice a thing without worth,” said Asher, exasperated, “then the act has no meaning!”

  Listening, Judah saw what Asher did not. Yosef was not lamenting the death of Atlas. He was wondering what purpose his own death might serve. “The only sin would be sacrificing something – or someone – unworthy.”

  Yosef looked like he'd been slapped. “Tell the widow I'm sorry for her loss.” With that he turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Asher watched the general's retreating back. “I don't understand. Most men in his position would be obsessed with glory, with dying a legendary death.”

  “Oh, he is,” said Judah. “But he's too afraid.”

  “Of death?”

  “Of a meaningless death. He doesn't understand that no death is meaningless.” He paused, then said, “So.”

  “So,” agreed Asher. “We'll likely die, you know.”

  “As long as you're dying with me,” said Judah, smiling. “After all, you got me into this.”

  “With you I should love to live, with you be ready to die.”

  Judah banged his head repeatedly with his fists. “Asher, this is no time for poetry!”

  Grinning, Asher countered with another line from Horace. “Many brave men lived before Agamemnon; but all are overwhelmed in eternal night, unwept, unknown, because they lack a sacred poet.”

  “Better that than remembered in bad verse.”

  They were silent for a time. Then Asher said, “We shouldn't go back tonight. They might divine our intent.”

  “Agreed. And we need to discuss what exactly it is we hope to achieve. If we're to live in poems, we have to do something noteworthy. Otherwise it'll be Phannius telling everyone how stupidly we died.”

  They both laughed at that. Then Asher pursed his lips. “I do hope some writer eulogizes Eleazar, son of Samas, called Atlas, the giant of Jotapata.”

  In answer, Judah stopped walking. Standing still, he looked skyward and began reciting e-l malei rachamim, a prayer for the dead, adding the three lines that signified that Eleazar sacrificed his life for his country.

  “O God, full of mercy, Who dwells on high,

  Grant proper rest on the wings of the Divine Presence,

  In the lofty levels of the Holy and the Pure ones,

  Who shine like the glow of the Firmament,

  For the soul of Eleazar, son of Samas,

  Who gave up his life

  For the Sanctification of the Name

  And the Conquest of the Land,

  Because, without making a vow,

  I will contribute to charity in remembrance of his soul.

  May his resting place be in the Garden of Eden.

  Therefore may the Master of Mercy

  Shelter him in the shelter of His wings for Eternity,

  And may He bind his soul in the Bond of Life.

  Hashem is his heritage,

  And may he repose in Peace on his resting place.

  Amen.”

  “Amen,” echoed Asher.

  “See?” said Judah. “He'll be remembered without a poet.”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  LEVI CAME INTO the billet for Zamaris' century. He found Phannius and drew him aside. “Where's Judah?”

  “Likely at the celebrations. Did I hear the Romans sent wine?”

  “They're tasting it now. Quick, come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To find Judah. I have news for you both.”

  But try as they might, they could not find either twin that night.

  XXIX

  Jotapata, Galilee

  14 Julius, 67 AD – 40th Day of Siege

  TELLING NO ONE their intent, Asher and Judah spent the whole night preparing. They collected what they needed, discussing what would be most useful in the few moments they would have. Judah's final act was to pen a note to Phannius, asking him when he found Deborah to give her Judah's love. “Not that he will.”

  “It's the last request of a dead man,” said Asher. “He has to.”

  Judah nodded. Dead men. That's what they were. But every man owed the Lord a death, and it was up to each man to make it a good one.

  Sending the note off with a guard just finishing his patrol, the twins made sure they were unobserved, then dropped from the wall. It was the small hours of the night, and they used the dangling ropes from the sacks to slither down from the battlements. Judah paused a moment before dropping. Letting go was the point of no return.

  Asher hadn't let go either. “Changing your mind?”

  “No.” Judah released his grip and dropped ten feet to the dirt below.

  Asher followed, and moments later they were crouched in a wrecked building between the walls and the Roman camp. Naked but for loincloths and firm sandals, they carried unlit torches and little clay pitchers of oil, with bandoliers of more oil across their chests.

  “Should've brought a blanket,” said Judah, shivering.

  “Not long now.” Asher grinned. “They'll certainly see us coming.”

  “The key is speed,” advised Judah. “Close the gap to the archers before they can shoot.”

  “Wish I wasn't so thirsty.”

  “Maybe we should ask the Romans for a drink before we start.”

  “Ha! Can you imagine that? 'Pardon us, we're here to burn your camp. May we have some water, please?'”

  “Quiet. If they hear us, our blaze of glory will be very short.”

  Falling silent, they waited for the dawn.

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  AS YOSEF PREDICTED, sunrise found a new head attached to Big Julius. The ram again departed the Roman camp, rolling slowly towards Jotapata to offer its punishing rhythm of blows.

  Vespasian watched the advance of the ram from the height of a knoll. In this damnable heat, his gout was acting up. Seated in a straight-backed chair, his swollen right foot up on a stool, he sorted the latest post from Rome. Among the letters was a missive from Caenis, which Vespasian chose to read before the official dispatches. Knowing her, it would have more reliable information.

  Aware he might have to show this letter to other men, Caenis had refrained from loving superlatives. Still, she would have betrayed her sex had she not started with the most scandalous of her news:

  Caesar is still in Greece, celebrating the games at Olympia. But it is not his athletic aspirations that have brought a smile to every Roman face. No, rather the city is atwitter with what is quickly becoming known as the Scandal of Nero's Wives. While on his honeymoon, Nero has married again! Without divorcing his poor young Statilia Messalina, I might add. But bigamy is the least of it. Nero Caesar's new wife is really his dead wife, reincarnated in the person of a rather lovely Greek boy. The details are only just arriving, but all of Rome is already weeping with laughter.

  Vespasian choked. Jupiter! What would Nero do next? “Titus! Listen to this!”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  JUDAH STOOD. “It's time. Asher, if you live, tell Deborah…”

  Asher held up a hand. “If I'm alive, you will be too.” Both knew how unlikely that was. “Ready?”

  “Right. Let's go. Remember – speed.”

  Lighting their torches, they exited the hovel and began to run.

  Due to the uneventful night, the Arabian and Syrian archers had begun to doze. The twins' lit torches were hardly noticeable against the rising sun. Sandaled feet silent on the trampled earth, Judah and Asher were among the archers before the first bowstring could be drawn.

  They'd decided their goal was not Roman deaths – they would never slay enough legionaries to make a difference. But if they could burn the catapults, rams, and larger weapons they could delay the Romans, lift a little of the siege, and spare some lives within the walls.

  Swinging his torch to ward off defenders, Judah tossed his first clay pitcher of oil against a Roman scorpion, launcher of huge bolts. Waving his torch over the spot, he felt the heat as the fire leapt from his weapon to the machine.

  Beside hi
m, Asher threw his vessel of oil onto a second scorpion and set it alight with his torch. Judah was already plucking another oil-filled pot from the bandolier on his chest and running to the next siege weapon down the line. Engineers rushed forward to defend their precious machines, but Judah doused those in front with oil and waved his torch, and they retreated, screaming.

  “The Dioscouri!” To the superstitious engineers not on fire, these two fearsome warriors looked like the Greek gods Castor and Pollux. “The Dioscouri! The Dioscouri are fighting for the Jews!”

  Asher heard their cries with astonishment. Romans believed that the twins Castor and Pollux always came to turn the tide of a war, usually in Rome's favour. If the Romans think their gods are abandoning them… Calling out in Latin, Asher bellowed, “Castor, remember when we stole the cattle of Idas and Lynceus! They tried to kill us, too! But Jupiter Best and Greatest gave us immortal life!”

  Judah scowled. “What are you..?”

  “We fought with the Argonauts! We rescued Helen from Theseus! We saved Rome at Lake Regillus! Now these foolish Romans repay us with steel?”

  Already an entire row of catapults and scorpions was ablaze. The first legionaries were warily approaching. Were these gods, or just clever Jews?

  Pitching his last pot of oil, Judah called out in their native tongue, “Stop spouting poetry and get a sword!” Judah transferred his torch to his off hand and snatched a sword from a burned, writhing engineer. It scalded his hand, but he ignored the pain. He'd just spied a particularly large catapult in the next row of siege machines. Fending legionaries off with torch and sword, he raced for it. “Come on!”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  “WHO'S THAT?” demanded Netir, pushing his way to the rampart for a better view of the burning Roman siege machines.

  “It's Judah and Asher!” squeaked Philip. “Those bastards are going it alone!”

  “Didn't they think we'd come?” said Deuel.

  “It's not too late!” shouted Gareb. “Come on!”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  “More heroics,” observed Vespasian atop his command hill.

  “Looks like they caught the Tenth napping,” observed Titus, still grinning over the story of Nero's new wife.

  “Get down there and sort them out. Then have the Tenth's centurions disciplined and the optios flogged.”

  “Yes, general.” Titus leapt onto his horse and galloped off, leaving the general to continue perusing the latest news from Rome, relayed as only Caenis could:

  Hispania and Britannia are both quiet – a shock, I know. There were some minor rumblings among the Germanic tribe called Chatti, but it came to nothing. Thus you need not fear the Judean war being eclipsed. Provided Jotapata falls before the season ends, there is little doubt that your command will be prorogued into next year.

  That is not to say the Senate is entirely pleased. They all want the job for themselves. Your decision to avoid Jerusalem this year is alternately hailed and reviled, with the worst words coming from the professional couch-generals.

  These rumblings will come to nothing. As you know, I have renewed old acquaintances, and can now boast of being hostess to all the wives of the most important men in Rome – save, of course, Nero's wives. (Though I would love to meet the reborn Poppaea!) Having the ears of so many senatorial wives, I am filling them with praise for the family Flavius. While you are a trifle old for a second consulship, my machinations will certainly assist your sons, as well as your nephew, Sabinus. He is nothing like his father, and calls on me frequently. And he is beloved of Apollo. He traveled to Delphi last fall after escorting your young Domitian to Nero. Rumour is he was summoned by the Pythia herself. He has been tight-lipped about what she told him. But she did say that Jerusalem would fall, and to his family. But not – brace yourself my love – for three years. I know, Titus Flavius. But she predicts incredible honour for the whole family.

  As the Pythian prophecy shows her favour, I have promised Sabinus that he will be a legate in three years, when Jerusalem falls.

  Three more years? What on earth did that mean? How could this war drag on so long? And how could Nero possibly leave him in command if he dragged his feet taking Jerusalem? It made no sense!

  Yet every Roman carried a kind of nameless dread and awe of such prophecies. At least this one wasn't dire. In fact it was almost heartening, if galling. Jerusalem would fall, but not for three years. Caenis was correct, the promise of a legateship was small price to pay for such knowledge. It allowed Vespasian to make plans accordingly.

  He returned to the letter:

  Most important between then and now is the advancement of your sons. I have several eligible young women interested in marriage. Could you arrange for Titus to fight in some grand-sounding engagements? Truly, Titus Flavius, I do not tell you how to conduct your war! I mean only that a military reputation for Titus would go a long way to assuring he is elected quaestor in his year. And the right wife would help as well.

  Vespasian snorted. I would love to arrange another match for Titus, if he could tear himself away from his Hebrew enchantress!

  Glancing down at the field below, Vespasian saw the two Judeans were still alive, and his favourite catapult was burning. “Damn these Judeans, one and all!”

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  “DAMN ASHER!” exclaimed Yosef breathlessly, having run to the top of the watchtower. “What's the fool doing?”

  Levi said, “He and Judah are being heroes.”

  Phannius shook his head in mingled anger and admiration. “The fool. You didn't tell him—?”

  “I never found him. Clearly because he was preparing for this.”

  “Damn damn damn!” Exasperated, Yosef struck the air. “If everyone plays hero, there will be no one left to defend the walls! See!” He pointed below, where dozens more men were leaping to rush to the aid of the twins. Their entire century led the way, and even young Chalafta was venturing out to fight. “Battle in daylight? They're bent on self-destruction, Levi, a meaningless sacrifice!”

  But the bodyguard had gone, leaping from the wall below, Phannius right behind him.

  Yosef fumed. I am the leader! These fools are following the wrong men!

  Realizing he would soon be alone upon the ramparts, Yosef himself dropped down and ran into the fray.

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  RUNNING OUT OF the camp in the company of his legate, Barbarus viewed the naked twins with grim pleasure. Someone had taken up the giant's standard! Fitting that it was two men – Atlas was worth at least that many.

  But what men these were! Armourless, they looked like Olympian athletes. Their naked muscles were those of Hercules. Taller than the average Roman, they looked like Greek sculptures come to life. One of them was particularly skilled, skipping through the swords of engineers and foreigners with strength, guile, and speed.

  Let me at him, thought Barbarus. Let him try his skill against a real Roman soldier, one on one. “Permission to engage the enemy, sir?”

  Titus rode with one leg curled about the pommel for balance. “Denied, centurion! Wheel right!”

  What? Why? Bitterly disappointed, Barbarus glanced over his shoulder. Ah! Defenders were rushing from the city, clearly inspired. Casting a wistful eye on the twins, he ordered, “Ad dextram rotate!” At once his maniple turned to engage the new threat.

  Close by, Titus was tingling with excitement. Initiative, his father had said. All he had to do was hold his men back long enough to lure more Judeans out. Then these troublesome rebels would feel the full weight of Rome on their necks. We can win the siege here today!

  Glancing left, he saw the two Judeans were still alive. Good. The longer they live, the more their fellows will try to save them. In fact… “Barbarus! Slow! Slow down! Let their rescuers in!”

  I hate it when commanders get clever. The legate wanted the Judeans funneled between the Fifteenth and the Tenth. But Barbarus knew better than to question an order. “Tardate! Tardate!” he called, hoping the young pup knew what
he was doing.

  Meanwhile the Tenth Legion had formed a loose crescent around the twins. Trajan was shouting, “Don't kill them! We want prisoners, not martyrs!”

  Damn, thought Barbarus sorrowfully. That was a fight worth dying for.

  ♦ ◊ ♦

  JUDAH AND ASHER fought side by side against an angry Tenth Legion, protected by growing flames behind them and piles of dead before them. The pyre meant the twins were almost encircled, and the soldiers were funneled into narrow gap where the twins held them off. Hissing spits of oil jumped out to scald them, but better that than the tip of a Roman gladius.

  There was only one route for the Romans to come at them. A sword in each hand, Judah kept the blades in constant motion, the circular motions of his swords acting as both attack and defense. Spinning, cutting, keening his rage, he felt almost as though he was dancing.

  Asher was more methodical. Even in the midst of desperate fighting, he found himself able to think. He traded his torch for a shield, and his sword for one of the long sickles the Romans had made to cut down the wheat barriers. Close protection, and a long reach – an excellent defense.

  Asher's own mind bested him. He was thinking ahead, plotting his next moves when a Roman suddenly leapt through the flames to cut low at Asher's naked legs. Desperate, he brought down both sickle and shield, trapping the sword against the ground. The sickle chopped clean through the legionary's arm, the blade burying itself in the dirt.

  Another legionary from the Tenth stabbed and Asher used the haft of the sickle to block the blow. But his sickle refused to leave the dirt. Abandoning it, he backed away with only his shield, warding off attacks from both sides. It was only a matter of time. Blocking right, he was stabbed in his left shoulder. It wasn't bad, but he winced as the legionary twisted the blade, raking it across his pectoral. Asher hammered his attacker with the shield boss, staggering him.

  Another sword point came at him, and Asher used the flat of his free hand to slap it away. More swords as the knot of the Tenth Legion's first cohort drew tighter.