Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “The stability of this province is constantly on the edge of a knife,” Pilate continued. “The Jews, Samaritans, and other races of this region are in a constant state of tension.”

  “Tensions could be eased if the emperor would simply crack down on Jewish monotheism,” Abenader lamented. Though a Roman citizen, he was ethnically a Samaritan and carried the same inborn bias and racism. “Seventy-million in the empire from every nation, ethnicity, and culture in the known world, and yet this one insignificant sect is alone given an exemption when it comes to paying homage to the Roman pantheon.”

  “You forget, Tiberius is a close personal friend of the Jewish king’s nephew, Herod Agrippa,” Pilate explained. “Agrippa was raised in the imperial household and was like a brother to the emperor’s son, Drusus Caesar. Even with Drusus gone, Tiberius still views Agrippa like a son. It would not surprise me if he is eventually installed as a client king of the entire province.”

  “And because of Agrippa, Tiberius feels compelled to allow the Jews to openly worship their lone deity,” the centurion observed. “What should have been viewed as a show of clemency has instead given rise to sedition and arrogance amongst the Jews.”

  “I’m not arguing the volatility of the Jewish people,” Pilate said. “However, neither you nor I can convince the emperor to alter his policy towards them. It is already too late. Most peoples within the empire are able to contentedly worship their own gods and pay respect to those of Rome simultaneously. Not the Jews. They are truly monotheistic, and if Tiberius were to make any attempt at forcing the statues of our gods upon them now, there would be open rebellion. Let us not forget that he would not even allow me to carry his own image through the streets, as it offended the people.”

  “They should be exterminated like we did to Carthage,” Abenader growled.

  Pilate’s face twitched at the thought. Carthage was Rome’s arch nemesis for hundreds of years before its final destruction. That had been two-hundred years prior, when the Roman Republic was still going through its expansion and quest for supremacy in the Mediterranean.

  “Hardly a fitting comparison,” he retorted, “comparing a tiny province of zealous theocrats to the most powerful nation Rome ever faced. Whatever your personal feelings are towards the Jews, we have an obligation to extend the rule of Rome, enforcing justice through stern temperance. Your auxiliaries are the first line of that enforcement within the most populous city of the entire region, and in the concept of order and justice they have failed. They need the influence of professional soldiers who will lead by their example. It is time Judea was placed under the discipline of the legions.”

  Pilate sat and brooded after he dismissed Abenader. Despite all the research and preparations he’d made before even coming to Judea, the province had proven far more difficult to govern than he’d imagined. A previous governor named Rufus, who’d held the posting a decade prior to Pilate, had warned him that he’d be understaffed, underfunded, and that the quality of the troops under his command would be deplorable even under ideal conditions. In all of these Rufus had proven correct. The number of clerks, administrators, and other officials needed to effectively run the province was substantially greater than the allotment given to him to fund these positions. Pilate’s own salary was quite substantial, perhaps as a means of pacifying him. And while he’d hoped to fill his coffers even further during his tenure, he had wisely elected to use some of his own funds to shore up some of his critical staffing shortages. He had also taken on numerous tasks himself that would normally be delegated to subordinates. As such, the stress of governance took its toll on him far more than if he’d been given one of the far larger provinces such as Gaul or Hispania. However, given that he was an equite, there were very few postings he could take; the large, well-funded provisional governorships reserved for those of the senatorial class.

  What had been particularly maddening was the lack of staff personnel who had experience within Judea. It was impossible for Pilate to learn all there was to know about the people he was to govern within the few months between when he was notified of his assignment until he arrived to relieve his predecessor, Valerius Gratus. Though Pilate had spent time in Syria with the Twelfth Legion, he had never been to neighboring Judea and, in fact, had never dealt with the Jews at all during his previous time in the east. Most of the experienced bureaucrats had departed with Gratus, leaving his successor with an untrained staff ignorant of the customs and intricacies of the Jews.

  During his eleven-year prefecture, Gratus had kept the Jewish opposition disorganized by making frequent changes as to who held the high priesthood. It was an unusual cultural crossover, with the most influential man within the Judaic hierarchy appointed by the pagan Roman magistrate. As such, those within the Sanhedrin were forced to placate both their people as well as their hated Roman overlords if they wished to advance politically. No less than five men had held the posting during Gratus’ tenure; the last, a man named Joseph Caiaphas, being the only one to last more than a year. Pilate’s rapport with Caiaphas was tenuous at best. Over the past five years the two had quarreled more often than not, yet Pilate did not dare replace him, as any viable candidates within the Sanhedrin were even more volatile than Caiaphas. Pilate made a mental note to himself that the next time the two met, he needed to make certain his Jewish high priest was reminded as to who really controlled the province.

  The flames of the funeral pyre bit into the damp wood, causing billowing clouds of black smoke. Artorius had made certain that proper respects were made for his fallen soldier, though he lamented that given the extremely short tenure the young man had served in the ranks, most would scarcely remember his name. The body was slowly being fully consumed by the now roaring flames, the stench of burning flesh nearly causing Artorius to retch. Those who spoke of the nobility of a valiant man’s funeral pyre had never dealt with the pungent smell of a burning corpse. The oratory had been conducted prior to the burning, with Artorius calling the slain legionary’s name three times, in a tradition that went back further than any could recall. Satisfied that all had been done to honor the fallen, he turned to face his men, who were stoically standing in a large column, decanii on their right, the signifier in front, and Optio Praxus in the back.

  “Century!” he shouted. “Dismissed!” As he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, he saw a young legionary approaching him. Though he did not know the soldier’s name, he knew he was from Dominus’ century, and surmised that he was acting as the cohort commander’s aide that week.

  “Sir,” the legionary said with a sharp salute. “Centurion Dominus sends for you.”

  Artorius did not bother returning to the barracks to remove his armor, instead making his way a few buildings over to where the Third Cohort’s First Century was billeted. Daily operations were often conducted by the optio and principal officers, as the centurion was also in command of the entire cohort. Artorius removed his helmet and stepped into the outer office, the signifier, who was doing administrative tasks at his desk, standing as he came in.

  “Sir,” the man said with a nod. There was little he could say.

  All knew about the Second Century’s skirmish with the raiders, and the smell of smoke from the funeral pyre clung to the centurion. Artorius returned the nod, gave a single knock on the door to Dominus’ office and let himself in.

  Centurion Pilus Prior Dominus was an able enough cohort commander, even though he did not hold the same level of respect that his legendary predecessor, Marcus Vitruvius had. Vitruvius, who had long been Artorius’ mentor, was killed at the Battle of Braduhenna three years prior while attempting to break through the lines of the enemy force that had them surrounded. Before his death, he’d never been so much as scratched in battle.

  “Artorius,” he said as his fellow centurion closed the door behind him. “I am sorry for your loss, but know that the information you gathered from the raid will prove invaluable.”

  “I a
gree,” Artorius replied. “I’ve had the prisoners taken to the stockade to await interrogation. I expect the torture experts will verify what we already suspect.”

  “Yes,” Dominus said while looking over a scroll he held. He then looked up once more at his centurion. “Well, I have no doubt that the legate will order a punitive expedition across the Rhine. Pity that you will not be with us.” Before Artorius could question him further, Dominus handed him the scroll that bore the imperial seal.

  Chapter III: The Emperor’s Hand

  The Imperial Estates of Villa Jovis, Isle of Capri

  ***

  Storms of winter’s death throes always wrecked havoc on the Mediterranean. Tiberius watched as the Roman warship heaved in the deep rolling waves, a brave group of men dropping into a small rowboat to make their way to the Emperor’s private dock. Though there were public docks at the busy port, correspondence from Sejanus came via this small alcove that few knew existed.

  For even in self-imposed exile on the Isle of Capri, from these treacherous waters Tiberius controlled the vastness that was the Roman Empire. One such boat had been smashed to pieces in the surf the week before, though as a stroke of good fortune a couple of the bodies had washed ashore, one of which still had the satchel bearing the imperial correspondence. The men of this particular venture had better luck. Their boat slammed hard into the dock but stayed afloat. Men were waiting on the pier, ready to tie off the ropes that would secure the boat in place. Satisfied that there would be no further mishaps, the emperor retired to his study to await the messengers.

  Tiberius Julius Caesar was now seventy-two years of age and had ruled the Roman Empire for seventeen of those. For him it was a hateful existence. Never had he desired to take the reins of ultimate power once Augustus passed into eternity. In truth, he would have rather met his fate in battle years ago in places he conquered like Pannonia or Dalmatia. He despised politics and felt that the only true calling for a Roman noble was leading her armies into battle. He detested those pompous fools in the senate who took it upon themselves to decide the fate of citizens in far off regions such as Syria and Judea, when they themselves had never left the soft comforts of their own estates. It was regarding Judea that the man who he referred to as ‘the partner in my labors’ wished to address.

  “Messages from the Consul Lucius Aelius Sejanus to his Imperial Highness, Tiberius Julius Caesar,” the messenger stated with a sharp salute which the emperor returned.

  A clerk then took the satchel of scrolls and started to hand them to Tiberius, who silently read through each in turn.

  The messenger was a young man in his early twenties who was visiting Capri for the first time. He appeared to be extremely nervous in the presence of the master of Rome. Despite his advanced age, the emperor still emulated power. Yet there was an ever-growing paradox regarding the man who had once been one of Rome’s greatest generals.

  Doubtless the messenger had been listening to all the gossips for years, about how Tiberius was growing ever more tyrannical and living in despondency with a fetish for young boys. Such abominable stories were pure fabrication, as he would soon see. The residents of the isle consisted of praetorian guardsmen, philosophers, scholars, freedmen clerks, and slaves. A number of prostitutes also resided there, though these were predominantly for the entertainment of the praetorians. The emperor had his personal favorites that he liked to indulge in on occasion. However, most of his days were spent with men of learning who were in some cases older than he. Though he appreciated their company, there was no affection, no friendship there. Despite being surrounded by hundreds on a daily basis, Emperor Tiberius Caesar was the loneliest man in the empire.

  “Pontius Pilate is once again asking for a legion,” the emperor observed out loud.

  The freedman clerk snorted in reply. “He’s been asking for legionaries since he took over Judea.”

  “Yes, but this time he seems to have finally convinced Sejanus to throw his support behind the notion.” Tiberius handed the scroll to the clerk. It read:

  To the Emperor Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus, greetings,

  While I know this subject has been broached on numerous occasions regarding the repeated requests by our Judean Procurator, Pontius Pilate, regarding the supplementation of his garrison with legionaries, it is after much contemplation that I think we should partially cede to his request. I must be candid and state that despite your eminence’s affections for the Judean prince, Herod Agrippa, the land of the Jews is, and always will be, one of extreme volatility. While I mean no disrespect towards the Syrian Legate, Lamia; his assertion that he can put down any potential troubles with his eastern legions leaves open the possibility that the entire Judean province could be overrun by insurrectionists before his forces have time to mobilize. Doubtless the inexhaustible number of Jewish zealots are aware of this. Were they ever able to mass their numbers, they could overrun Jerusalem as well as our capital at Caesarea in the hopes of suing for peace soon after. They must never be given the opportunity to entertain such thoughts.

  The other issue at hand is the very troops Pilate has at his disposal. As the Judeans are an extremely arrogant people who, as a whole, would never stoop to working for the Roman government, the few who have volunteered are from the lowest dregs of society; hate-filled men whose loyalty is measured in coin and drink. He has, therefore, had to rely heavily on Samaritan auxiliaries. As you are well aware, the animosity between Jew and Samaritan goes back millennia. The only people the Judeans hate more than us are the Samaritans, and the feeling is reciprocated. The auxiliaries are unorganized, undisciplined, and have ruled through brutality and terror.

  Their officers are little better and have, on more than one occasion, outright ignored Pilate’s orders. Their commander, an auxilia Centurion named Abenader, means well enough, but he is largely ineffective at keeping his subordinates in line. Case in point, the protests that began after Pilate used temple funds for the new aqueduct. Pilate specifically ordered his men to use clubs only to disperse the crowd. As noted in the complaint sent from the Sanhedrin, the auxiliaries used their swords to scatter the crowd, killing dozens. Yet with the shortage of suitable men to serve as officers, Pilate could do little but verbally chastise those responsible. I am confident that had his men been legionaries they could have handled the mob efficiently and without needless bloodshed.

  Therefore, in the interest of maintaining good order in the province, as well as empowering the procurator to better enforce our will, I recommend we grant Pilate a legion. I understand this is technically illegal in that as an equite Pilate is ineligible to command a legion; therefore, I suggest we place the legion under Legate Lamia and operationally attach it to Judea under Pilate. This should clear up any legal ramifications.

  Your humble colleague,

  Lucius Aelius Sejanus

  It was no small irony that as an equite himself, Sejanus’ appointment as joint consul with Tiberius was also technically illegal. He was of the lesser nobility, commander of the praetorian guard, and now sharing in power with the emperor himself. Had the senate showed any stomach and stood up to Tiberius when he made the appointment, he would have withdrawn it. As it was, the senate was mostly spineless old men who were more afraid of gaining the emperor’s displeasure than they were of enforcing Roman law. There were exceptions; an up and coming legate named Vitellius being one. Tiberius tried to make certain that those whose appointments to governorships he approved were not only capable of independent rule, but also courageous enough to let the emperor know when they felt he was wrong. Though Vitellius had not gone as far as to oppose Sejanus’ appointment as consul; doubtless he would be outraged to have an equite in command of a legion.

  “Mmm, so what will you tell Sejanus?” The voice of Gaius Caligula startled the emperor.

  “I told you never to read over my shoulder like that!” Tiberius snapped, causing Caligula to bow low.

  “Apologies, uncle,” he replied. “Merely concerned o
ver the welfare of our dear eastern provinces.”

  “Yes,” Tiberius snorted. “I forgot you spent a lot of time there in your youth.”

  “Oh yes,” his great-nephew replied with a grin. “Delicious place, the east; I was practically raised there. Such a fitting jewel in the crown of our beloved empire.”

  Tiberius was at times uncertain as to why he kept Gaius Caligula so close to him on Capri. Personally, he found him to be utterly repulsive; nothing at all like his revered father, the late Germanicus Caesar. His two older brothers had been convicted of plotting against the emperor, as was their mother, Agrippina. Along with Gaius, only his sisters, Julia Drusilla and Julia Livilla, remained unscathed by the family scandals. All three were kept on Capri, and in many circles viewed as little more than prisoners of the emperor.

  That Tiberius may be planning on grooming Caligula as a potential heir scarcely entered anyone’s minds. Tiberius was, after all, only Rome’s second emperor, and there was little precedent when it came to naming a successor. If the empire had, in fact, evolved into a type of hereditary monarchy, then the only viable candidates were Tiberius’ twelve-year old grandson, Gemellus, and Gaius Caligula. There were factions who pressed for the recognizing of Tiberius’ nephew, Claudius, as a potential heir. Though the brother of Germanicus, the fact that he was a stuttering invalid made Tiberius dismiss him completely.

  “So tell me, uncle,” Caligula persisted, “What will you tell Sejanus about lovely Judea?”

  “I’ll not place a legion under the command of an equite,” Tiberius replied.