The Legacy of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic

by Robert Kroese

  Schwartz muttered something and turned to face the shore.

  “Focus, Creed,” said Jason. “Can you see anything up there?”

  “Not really, sir. A few fishing boats near the shore.”

  “All right. Finish up before you get a sunburn.”

  Creed extracted a backpack from one of the three airtight plastic bags that had been secured to the top of the buoy. He stuffed the spacesuit into the bag, sealed the bag, and then slung the backpack over his shoulders. The packs, acquired from Aziz, contained tunics, robes and sandals that they would put on once they reached the shore. Each pack also contained a small leather air bladder that would provide some buoyancy. The bladders would be deflated while they swam, but they could be quickly filled with air to allow them to rest without having to constantly tread water. Creed jumped into the water, disappearing for a few seconds under the swells. “Ah!” he exclaimed as his head and shoulders burst from the water. “That feels amazing!”

  “All right, Schwartz, you’re up. Creed, don’t tire yourself out. We’ve got a long swim ahead of us.”

  Schwartz pulled herself onto the buoy and stripped down while Jason and Creed clung to the handholds, looking away. A few minutes later, there was a splash as she leapt into the water. Jason climbed onto the buoy, stripped off his suit and underwear, extracted his own pack, and then stowed the suit. He pulled a small plastic bag from the pack, opened it, and pulled out an earpiece comm. He stuck the thing in his ear and tapped a button on its surface. “Olson, do you copy?”

  “Loud and clear, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s hope it works as well when I’m not standing on top of the receiver. Suits are stowed. Going radio silent while we swim to shore. Talk to you in a few hours.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  Jason put the earpiece into the pouch and slid the pouch into a hidden pocket inside the backpack. He slung the pack over his shoulders and jumped into the water. Creed was right: after baking in the sun atop the buoy, the water felt amazing. Refreshing but not cold. The salinity of the water gave them enough buoyancy that even Creed, who seemed to have no fat on his body, could stay afloat with minimal effort.

  “Follow me,” said Jason. “Stay close.” He turned and began to swim toward shore.

  Chapter Forty-six

  When General Sextus Julius Severus arrived at the port of Caesarea, it was one of the few cities in Judaea that was still under Roman control.

  Severus had arrived on one of thirty galleys, each of which carried a century of Roman troops. Over the next few weeks, the galleys would ferry most of the rest of the Roman forces: two full legions and several additional cohorts, for a total of nearly fifteen thousand men. The Ninth Legion, which was coming all the way from Northern Britain, would arrive shortly after. By that time, Severus expected to have the rebellion well in hand.

  At present he stood regarding a map of the region that took up an entire wall of a large room in the seaside fort where he and most of the troops would reside for the time being. With him were the commanders Legio X Gemina and Legio II Traiana Fortis, as well as several other officers, who had arrived in advance of their troops to plan the Roman strategy for retaking Judaea. Felix Marcus, the provincial governor and commander of the legions currently in the area, was briefing them on the current status of their attempts to contain the rebellion. The situation appeared rather dismal for the Empire: the Jews held nearly every key strategic point except for the Temple Mount itself. Much of the Roman force was bottled up at garrisons, and the latest intelligence suggested that the rebels were amassing a force large enough to crush the two legions at Aelia Capitolina. Meanwhile, the rebel headquarters at Herodium was considered unassailable. Marcus recommended immediately moving several cohorts to Aelia Capitolina in an effort to discourage such an attempt while they awaited the rest of the Roman forces.

  Severus listened patiently, seeming to consider the tribune’s plan. But when he spoke, he said, “Tell me more of this Rabbi Akiva.”

  “He is a spiritual leader, not a military officer,” said the tribune, obviously thinking the general was confused.

  “I am aware of this,” said Severus, the slight furrowing of his brow revealing his impatience.

  “Yes, well,” said the tribune. “I must confess I know little about him. He is a recent convert to the rebels’ cause. He goes from town to town, proclaiming Simon ben Kosevah as the moschiach. That is, the savior of Israel whose coming was foretold in the Jewish scriptures.”

  “And you have not apprehended him?”

  “He stays within the Jewish-controlled areas, sir.”

  “You have two legions at your disposal, do you not?”

  “But sir, we have our hands full holding onto what territory we still control! It is suicide to send men into the towns controlled by the Jews.”

  “This is why you are losing,” Severus said. “You fight for land. The Jews fight for minds. We must capture this Akiva ben Yosef.”

  “But Aelia Capitolina….”

  “The Jews cannot take Aelia Capitolina.”

  “They nearly did once before, sir. An extended siege—”

  “There will be no extended siege. We will break the spirit of the people. Then, when the full force of our army has arrived, we will take Herodium.”

  “Yes, sir. How will we do this?”

  “We will capture any other rabbis who speak publicly in favor of the revolt. They will be tortured, forced to recant, and executed. Where is Akiva now?”

  “I do not know, sir, but he makes no secret of his whereabouts.”

  “Good. Find out where he sleeps tonight. Tomorrow we will make good use of our legions.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Akiva ben Yosef was not surprised when word reached him that the Romans marched on Beneberak. The city had no strategic value and was minimally defended. There was only one possible reason for a legion to come to Beneberak.

  The attack was slow and methodical, as was the Roman way. Akiva’s wife and his students implored him to flee. The Romans had blocked the roads, but they could make use of the tunnels that led to caves in the hills.

  “No,” said Akiva. “I will not flee. I am old, and my work is done. “Let the Romans take me and subject me to their devices, that I might prove the truth of my words.”

  It was near morning when the soldiers came for him. Akiva sat on the floor of his house, so intent on his prayers that the centurion charged with apprehending him hesitated to interrupt. At last Akiva opened his eyes and smiled at the man. “May the Lord remember your patience and kindness,” he said. “I will not resist, but I would ask one more indulgence. Could you, perhaps, help an old man to his feet?”

  The centurion helped Akiva to stand and then escorted him outside, where a score of soldiers waited. Torches blazing up and down the street attested to the presence of an entire cohort, which had been dispatched in case Akiva’s neighbors offered resistance. The only resistance, though, came from Akiva’s wife, who fell at the foot of the centurion, weeping.

  “Do not demean yourself in this way, woman,” Akiva said gently. “You may as well beg a stone for mercy as ask for clemency from this one. Address your entreaties to the Lord, not to the Romans. Rather, offer Him thanks for sending Simon bar Kochba to us and giving me the opportunity to proclaim him the moschiach.”

  The centurion, who had been awed of Akiva’s composure, stiffened at the name Simon bar Kochba. “Speak not that name,” he snapped, cuffing Akiva across the cheek with the back of his hand. Akiva reeled and nearly fell. When he recovered, he said, “As long as I have breath, I will proclaim the goodness of the Lord,” he said. “And I will proclaim Simon bar Kochba the savior of Israel.”

  The centurion turned away. “Seize him,” he said to the men standing nearby. “Our task is only to get his body to Caesarea. Breaking his spirit will be left to the Emperor’s experts.”

  Akiva was carried away and never seen again by those who knew him. Years later, a ma
n who claimed to have been imprisoned in a dungeon in Caesarea along with Akiva said that the Romans had spent many months trying to force the rabbi to renounce his support for Simon bar Kochba. Even as his skin was slowly torn from his body with iron combs, Akiva refused to recant. He prayed incessantly, finally provoking the torturer to accuse him of being a sorcerer. “I am no sorcerer,” said Akiva, “but I rejoice at the opportunity now given to me to love my God ‘with all my life,’ seeing that I have hitherto been able to love Him only ‘with all my means’ and ‘with all my might.’” Rabbi Akiva’s last words were said to be “God is One.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  “My patience wears thin,” said Simon bar Kochba to the three strangers, who stood before him in his quarters. They were not bound, and they had been well-treated and well-fed over the past weeks, but they were kept under guard and not allowed to leave the fort. Some progress had been made in teaching them Aramaic; Eleazor was the only man at Herodium who spoke any Latin, and he had trouble making sense of the foreigners’ oddly accented speech. But as their facility with Aramaic grew, it became clear that the strangers either did not know anything of use to the rebels or they did not wish to reveal it. If they were messengers or prophets, they were of the most reticent variety.

  “Leave Herodium,” said the tall one, who was called Yeh-son. He did most of the speaking for the three, although he frequently sought counsel from the others, particularly the woman, Schwartz. The young man, Creed, rarely spoke. The exhortation to leave their fortress was the only message the strangers had delivered since proclaiming Simon bar Kochba the moschiach—if indeed that was what they had intended to do.

  “Why?” Simon bar Kochba asked, for perhaps the tenth time. “The Romans cannot take Herodium.”

  “Romans conquer Herodium,” said the man. “Go to Betar.”

  “I cannot orchestrate a rebellion from Betar.”

  “Romans conquer. Save people. Go to Betar.”

  “If you see what will happen, why do you not tell me how to beat the Romans? How can I take Yerusalem?”

  The man shook his head. “No take Yerusalem now. Go to Betar.”

  Simon sighed, turning to Eleazar, who stood at his side. They had had some version of this conversation with the strangers many times. It always turned out the same. “What shall I do with them?” he asked in Hebrew.

  “I do not know, Nasi. I begin to think they know nothing that can help us.”

  “Perhaps they need some encouragement.”

  “I cannot condone torture, Nasi. Think of the strangers who came to visit Lot.”

  “Then you still think the strangers are angels in disguise?”

  “I do not share the fervor of the esteemed Akiva ben Yosef, but I would not tempt the wrath of God in this way.”

  Simon appeared amused. “Tell me, Uncle. Do you even believe that I am the moschiach?”

  “I believe you are the right man for this time.”

  “An answer befitting a pharisee,” said Simon with a smirk. “The will of God is what we make of it.” He turned back to the strangers. “Tell me where you are from,” he said.

  The strangers stared at him, saying nothing. Did they not understand, or were they pretending?

  “Are you angels sent from heaven?” He pointed to the ceiling.

  The tall one nodded. He pointed to the ceiling and said something in his own language.

  “Why have you come here?” Simon asked.

  The man seemed to understand. “Save people,” he said. It was the same answer the strangers always gave to such questions.

  “Which people?” Eleazar asked. “The Jewish people?”

  The tall man nodded. “War kills all. Save people.”

  “It is always the same,” Simon said. “Take them away.”

  “Yes, Nasi,” said the guard. “Come,” he said to the strangers, and they followed him to the door.

  When they were gone, he said to Eleazar, “The Romans have arrived in force. A general named Severus has come all the way from Britain, bringing with him three legions.”

  “Yes, Nasi.”

  “We can hold the rest of Judaea for a time, but… Uncle, I confess I am uncertain of the way forward. The Romans have a seemingly endless supply of troops, and with the capture of Rabbi Akiva, the faith of our men falters.”

  “All their legions must be pulled from elsewhere in the Empire. They cannot spare them forever. If we take Yerusalem, word will spread quickly to disaffected people across the Empire, and they too will rise up—”

  “We do not have the men to take Yerusalem!” Simon roared. “Such fantasies avail us nothing!”

  “Yes, Nasi. Perhaps you are right that they need some encouragement to tell us what they know….”

  “No, it is pointless. A man under torture will say anything.”

  “But if we separate them and compare their answers….”

  “No, there is no time. We must look elsewhere for answers.”

  “Yes, Nasi.”

  “Do you think it is true? That we are in danger here in Herodium?”

  “If Herodium is unsafe, then there is no safe place for is in all Judaea.”

  Simon nodded, seeming to come to a decision. “Uncle, tomorrow we will put these angels to a test.”

  “How so, Nasi?”

  “We will ask them one last time for their counsel in taking Yerusalem.”

  “And if the answer is the same?”

  “Then they shall die.”

  *****

  “If you are truly messengers of God,” Simon bar Kochba said, “tell me how to take Yerusalem.”

  The tall man shook his head. “No take Yerusalem now. Much later.”

  “How much later?”

  The man hesitated. Simon had never gotten an answer to this question, but this time the tall man seemed to sense the direness of his situation. “Eighteen hundreds of years.”

  “Eighteen hundred years!” Simon howled. “You mock me with your prophecies.”

  The man did not respond.

  “Uncle, they mock me.”

  “Or they prophesy the truth.”

  “Do you believe this?”

  “I do not know what to believe, Nasi.”

  “You are a coward and a fool,” said Simon. He looked at the guard and spoke in Hebrew. “Take them to the yard. Cut their throats.”

  The guard nodded, betraying nothing in his expression. “As you command, Nasi.” He turned to the strangers. “Come.” They followed him out of the room.

  “You should not do this, Nasi,” Eleazar said.

  “You have become like a millstone tied to my neck, Uncle,” said Simon. “Or a nattering crow, good for nothing but picking at the flesh of better men who died for our cause.”

  “Yes, Nasi.”

  “Leave me.”

  “Yes, Nasi.” Eleazar moved toward the door. As he did so, it was flung open, and a man entered, sweating and gasping for breath.

  “Nasi!” the man cried. “The Romans march toward Herodium. We must flee!”

  “How many?”

  “At least three legions, Nasi. The first cohorts are now less than three miles from the gates of Herodium.”

  “Then it is true,” Simon murmured. “Herodium will fall.” Louder, he said, “We must retreat through the tunnels toward the west. We shall take refuge at Betar.”

  “Yes, Nasi,” said the man. “I will give the order.”

  “What of the strangers?” Eleazar asked.

  “Wait,” said Simon, as the man exited the room. “Instruct the men in the courtyard that the strangers are not to be harmed. They are to come with us to Betar.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Jason, Creed and Schwartz were held in a small room beneath the main fortress at Betar, the fiction that they were “guests” of Simon bar Kochba having evaporated. They had been allowed to live once because Jason had unwittingly referred to Simon as the “son of a star” before anyone in Judaea had thought to give hi
m that name. They had been spared a second time because he had predicted the fall of Herodium. Now, though, they had nothing more to offer their captors. Simon bar Kochba would not want to hear how the siege of Betar was going to end.

  Three weeks earlier they had marched the seven miles to the hilltop city of Betar along with Simon’s personal guard and a hundred or so of the other troops who had been at Herodium. Much of the city resembled a shanty town, with every available space between the existing buildings occupied by shacks and tents; with the advance of Severus and his legions across Judaea, thousands of refugees had fled to Betar. All considered, the spacemen’s accommodations were nothing to complain about.

  For the first few days of their imprisonment at Betar, they had been visited regularly by Simon ben Kosevah’s uncle, Eleazar, who seemed eager to for advice on how to withstand the impending siege and win the war. His visits became less frequent and then stopped altogether when it became clear that they had nothing to offer him. They no longer saw anyone but the guard who stopped by once a day with water and gruel. It began to seem as if they’d been forgotten, which was far from the worst possible outcome. They knew little of what was going on outside; from Eleazar’s questions, they knew that Severus’s legions had begun to assemble around the city. In the past few days, activity outside their window had increased, suggesting that defensive preparations had accelerated.

  Fortunately, Jason’s earpiece comm had not been discovered, and by standing a few paces from the one small window high in the cell’s western wall, he could occasionally get a signal from Freedom after the sun had set. Gleeson’s overhaul of the reactor was nearly complete; within a few days Freedom was going to be ready to launch—or at least as ready as she was ever going to be with two irreparably damaged reaction chambers. Olson, now in command of the ship, was talking about sending a rescue team after them. Jason had managed to tell Olson where they were headed when they’d left Herodium, so Olson knew they were being held somewhere in Betar, but Jason couldn’t see such a rescue attempt ending in anything but disaster. Somehow they had to get out of this cell, and they were running out of time.