by James Mace
“Hey, look what I found!” a decanus said with glee as he strolled over to his centurion, carrying a corded whip, which he snapped against the ship’s deck. “I could have some fun with this.”
“Do what you have to, to keep those bastards rowing,” Magnus directed.
At the stairs leading into the rowing decks, a squad of legionaries was shackling the prisoners together. The decanus with the whip bounded across the deck, swinging the whip in a long arc which slapped hard across the back of one of the pirates, leaving a deep, bleeding gash. The man fell to his knees, screeching in pain as the soldier laughed boisterously.
“Yes, this’ll do nicely,” the decanus said. He then addressed the prisoners. “There will be a lot more of those for any of you bastards who slack off on the oars!”
The prisoners were quickly hustled down the stairs as the decanus let the whip crack once more across the back of a hapless pirate.
“Your man instills abject terror into the prisoners,” Hansi observed as Magnus joined him near the back of the ship.
A number of sailors stood by with thick ropes tied to grappling hooks, which they would use to secure the two ships together. Their own vessel was being turned by what oarsmen remained aboard, and was now facing the rear of the captured ship.
“Pirates are bloody cowards,” Magnus noted as he watched his brother’s men throw their grappling hooks in high arcs across the narrowing chasm between the two ships. Sailors on the other side were taking the long ropes and tying them off. “We instill terror in them now, and it makes them think only of the moment; forgetting that they are all dead men anyway.”
“I’d rather we didn’t hand them over for trial and execution when we get to Caesarea,” Hansi said, his arms folded across his chest.
“Oh?”
“I know a few slave traders in Caesarea,” Hansi explained. “A couple of whom deal specifically in gladiators, as well as other fodder for the arenas. We won’t get too much for this lot, but it will still be better than nothing. Besides, I think it is far more sporting to watch scum such as these torn apart by wild beasts, rather than the far more boring strangulation or crucifixion.”
At the back of the towed ship, Artorius and Diana leaned against the outer wall of the raised cabin, watching as the sun slowly set in the west. Artorius placed his hand around his wife’s shoulder, and she in turn wrapped both arms around his waist. As they were the same height, she had to lean into him slightly in order to do so.
“I was very proud of you today,” Artorius said as he gently caressed her shoulder.
“I did what needed to be done,” Diana replied. “After what happened in Gaul all those years ago, I swore that I would never be left helpless again. Those creatures were vile beasts from hell, they deserved their fate.”
“This is true,” Artorius concurred. “And I am glad you remembered what you learned when using a gladius. You know the lads practically worship you. After you cared for so many of our wounded after Braduhenna, they called you the Goddess of the Twentieth. And after today, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them start calling you the Goddess of Vengeance.”
“Let us hope it will be for the last time,” Diana said as she kissed her husband on the cheek. The sun glowed red and seemed to sink in the sea as the two ships lurched slowly towards their new home in Caesarea.
It was early evening and Pilate was glad to finally be sitting down to a hot meal. He had dealt with yet another deputation from the Sanhedrin, complaining about abuses by the Jerusalem garrison. There was also the matter of soldiers carrying the images of the emperor through the city. This was viewed as a direct insult against the Jewish laws regarding idolatry, and what further surprised the procurator was that Tiberius had, in fact, sided with the Sanhedrin. This had caused some embarrassment for Pilate, though he had to admit that given the extreme religious sensibilities of the populace, the removal of the emperor’s image from public settings had saved him from further riots or worse.
Claudia was entertaining the wives of numerous Roman delegates and wealthy merchants in the region and, as such, Pilate had elected to dine alone this evening. A servant had just set down a plate of roast peacock when there was a loud banging on the door. Pilate let out a sigh.
“Come!” he shouted.
The door was opened and a young legionary briskly walked in and saluted. Pilate surmised the lad was on duty, as he was in full armor, though he carried his helmet tucked under his arm.
“A message from the commander of the watch,” the soldier said.
“Well, what is it?” Pilate asked impatiently.
“He says to inform you that a ship is approaching the harbor, sir,” the legionary said.
“Dozens of ships come into this port every day,” Pilate replied with a bored sigh. “What is so special about this one that the commander of the watch feels I must be disturbed during my dinner?”
“Well, sir, it appears to be towing a Roman warship.”
The commander of the watch had ordered the ballistae manned. Fires were stoked nearby in preparation for the order to fire flaming shot. Archers lined the walls, and as the ranking centurion, Justus Longinus had rallied the cohort’s legionaries, staging them back from the docks. Auxiliaries cleared the crowds away from the docks, and people scattered in all directions.
“Damned pirates,” Pilate swore under his breath as he stood on the wall that was lined with archers awaiting his orders.
“A single ship towing one of our vessels,” Justus observed.
“What does it mean?” a soldier asked.
“As there are no other military vessels operating in these waters that I’m aware of, I would say our friends’ ship has been taken,” Pilate scowled. “And if not a raid, then they are most likely looking for ransom. They will get none from me!”
“But if Artorius and his men are on that ship…” Justus began.
“I said they will get none from me!” Pilate snapped. He turned and glared at the centurion. “If I allow one pirate ship to garner ransom it will only encourage more brigands to unleash terror on the sea.”
He was glad Claudia was entertaining guests this evening and was, therefore, oblivious to the situation. Pilate cringed at what it would do to his poor wife to think that her dear sister was held captive by the scourge of the seas.
“They’re almost in range,” a crewman behind an onager observed.
“Hold your fire until we know their intentions,” Pilate ordered.
They watched nervously as the ships slowly coasted into a vacant dock. At length they stopped with a loud groan of the hull grinding on the dock and the splash of oars withdrawn from the water. The gangplank was lowered and Pilate let out a boisterous laugh when he saw the first man debark.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Magnus asked as he followed Artorius, who’d come down the other gangplank. “I thought you said this was one of the busiest ports in the world.”
“It’s supposed to be,” Artorius replied, “Even at night.” He looked around and was shocked to see the docks completely deserted. Boxes of cargo were scattered everywhere, as if the whole population of Caesarea that worked in the harbor had suddenly disappeared.
“Son of a bitch!” a voice shouted from across the way.
The two centurions looked over to see Justus Longinus leading the rest of the cohort towards them.
“Hey Justus!” Artorius shouted back. “Nice to see you, too, you dirty whore!”
“Warm reception,” Commander Stoppello observed as he walked up behind the men. He looked back at the ship and calmly said, “I can see why we caused them such vexation.”
“What?” Artorius asked, looking over his shoulder. He then realized what the captain was looking at.
“We used the damn pirate ship to tow ours in,” Stoppello explained.
“Well, I’ll be buggered!” Magnus replied as he burst into laughter. “That was probably the dumbest thing we’ve done in a while.”
“You�
�ve got that right!” Justus barked as he walked briskly over to them. He shook his head, though he was still grinning. “You realize you almost got baked by a dozen onagers and ballistae loaded with flaming shot!”
“Hey, it’s been a long trip,” Artorius remarked as he gruffly embraced his old friend. He noticed Pontius Pilate walking towards them and quickly stepped back and saluted the procurator. “First Italic Cohort reporting for duty!”
“You’re late,” Pilate replied, clasping his hand. “Still, it’s good to see you made it safe. What of this ship?”
“It’s a long story,” Artorius replied.
“You can tell me over dinner,” Pilate replied as he left the men to oversee the offloading of the ships. “Come to the palace once you’re settled. I’ll see if my cooks have any more of that roast peacock left.”
“Sounds delightful,” Artorius replied. He then turned to his wife. “Why don’t you go with Pilate? Your sister will be elated to see you. I’ll be along as soon as my men are settled.”
Diana smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and walked quickly to catch up with her brother-in-law and his escorts.
“I’ll go over to the merchant’s guild in the morning and see about fetching a price for the ship,” Stoppello said. “I know some fellows here who will pay a good price for her.”
“My brother knows of some good slave dealers in this city who will pay a few sesterces for the prisoners,” Magnus added.
By the time the legionaries and crewmen had disembarked from the ships, the pier was alive with activity once more. Hanging lamps were lit and merchant cargo continued to move on and off the ships. Few paid any mind to the two centuries of legionaries who marched through the dockyard.
“The barracks are this way,” Justus said, pointing towards a walled compound a half mile from the docks and about three blocks from the governor’s palace. A pair of sentries stood guard outside the open gate, saluting the centurions as they led their men into the complex.
“Welcome home, lads,” one of the men said to the passing legionaries who marched by them, carrying their bulging packs.
The layout was similar to most standard Roman forts, although on a much smaller scale, as this was only meant to house a single cohort. There were six long buildings with stucco walls and tiled roofs that served as the billets for the legionaries. Like all other Roman barracks, there were ten bays, one for each squad of legionaries and partitioned off into two rooms. One room was for storage of arms and equipment, the other was their living space. The tesserarius and signifier shared a small room, with the optio and centurion each having their own private quarters.
“The barracks were completed just four weeks ago,” Justus noted. “You cannot see it in the dark, but on the far side they are still working on the small principia, complete with administrative offices. We’re still waiting for the roof to go on the service building, but at least it has the sewage lines already run.”
Service building was a euphemistic term that described the communal latrines. Privacy was unknown to most, and legionaries were no exception. The service building primarily consisted of long stone benches with holes cut out for them to sit on. A constant flow of running water kept waste from lingering. Numerous buckets carrying sponges on sticks were dispersed throughout, which soldiers would use to clean themselves once they were finished. A narrow sluice of water ran in front of where they sat to relieve themselves, and this would be used to wash off their sponges. While not the most pleasant feature of the barracks, it was still far more preferable, not to mention sanitary, than how most dealt with human waste.
While soldiers noisily settled themselves into their barracks rooms, Artorius opened the door leading to the centurion’s quarters. Aside from a small desk and a bed, it was devoid of furnishings. The bed had no blankets and did not look the least bit inviting despite Artorius’ fatigue. He sighed and set his helmet on the desk and began the tedious task of removing his armor and all that came with it. Normally, Nathaniel was there to help him out of his kit. However, the Judean slave was with the rest of the baggage train and had probably not even made it through Macedonia and Thrace yet.
With no rack to hang is armor and decorations on, he unceremoniously tossed the lot onto his bunk before strapping back on his centurion’s belt, as well as his gladius. Though he was completely drained from the long journey, he was also very hungry, and was suddenly glad of Pilate’s offer to share a late supper with him at the palace. He stepped into the dark hallway, which glowed faintly with torchlight coming from the squad bays down the narrow corridor. Across from his own room, an open door led into the optio’s quarters, where Valens’ common-law wife, Svetlana, was helping him out of his armor and accoutrements.
“There’s no damned blankets on the bed,” Valens grunted as he spotted his centurion. “To hell with it, I think we’re going to find ourselves a bit of refreshment and a more ‘comfortable’ place to lay our heads tonight.”
“Care to join us?” Svetlana asked.
“Normally, I would love to,” Artorius replied. “However, Pilate has asked me to dine with him, and it would be rude of me to refuse, especially on our first night in the province.”
“Suit yourself,” Valens remarked. “What are your orders for tomorrow?”
“Get the men acquainted with the city or at least the area surrounding the barracks. I’ll task Justus with providing a few escorts. They’ve been here a couple months, so they should know their way around. We need to make sure all the bunks have mattresses and blankets, and we need to speak with the local quartermaster about where to procure rations.”
“Works for me,” Valens acknowledged. “Cicero is in our century, but as he will most likely be our chief armorer, we need to make sure he’s got a suitable shop to work in, along with all the tools he’ll need.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Artorius said, feeling the full weight of every small, yet crucial detail required for an independent cohort to operate. All of which were his direct responsibility. Though he would most certainly be delegating the authority over many of the tasks to his subordinate officers, the one thing he could never delegate was responsibility. Whatever happened within the cohort, for good or ill, accountability fell upon him alone.
Chapter XIV: Friends Old and New
***
That their journey had at last come to an end seemed surreal to Artorius. Pilate had interrupted Claudia’s dinner party to introduce Diana to the assembled guests. The two sisters had embraced affectionately and even shed a few tears. Pilate left the women and returned to his study, where a servant had had the good sense to heat up his dinner.
“There will be one more joining me,” the procurator said. “Find him something suitable.”
The slave bowed and left through a side door. As Pilate sat and started into his meal once more, the double doors were opened and Artorius was ushered in.
“I apologize for not having time to bathe,” the centurion said as he strode across the large room and took a seat across from his brother-in-law. “I also won’t have any more suitable attire until our baggage arrives.”
“You are always welcome in my house,” Pilate asserted. “And my private baths are at your disposal. In fact, why don’t you and Diana stay here? There are plenty of guest rooms, and as you saw, we are but a few blocks from the barracks. I cannot imagine that you would prefer to live there.”
“You are correct,” Artorius replied as a slave walked in with a tray bearing a pitcher of wine and an extra goblet. The centurion took the cup and drank thirstily.
“I have the cooks preparing you some dinner,” Pilate added as he consumed another chunk of roasted peacock. “It probably won’t be anything exotic, but I assure you all the food in my household is more than palatable.”
“Right now I’d be happy with some of Magnus’ spitted boar,” Artorius said with a laugh. “And I am grateful for your hospitality. It has been a long journey, coming all the way from Germania. This will certai
nly be a completely different experience for most of my men.”
“That it will,” Pilate concurred. Two servants entered, one bearing a plate of steaming strips of meat, the other with a large bowl filled with fresh vegetables. Pilate continued as his friend ate hungrily. “I’ll give you a week to get assimilated and to get the cohort fully operational. Justus has done some of the work already, as you saw with his oversight of the barracks. But I also know there are many tasks which will require your direct input. After you’re established, I’m going to send you to Jerusalem for a few weeks to see if you can instill some order and discipline into the ranks of the auxiliary garrison.”
“That’s why you sent for me,” Artorius said between mouthfuls of food.
“Justus is, thankfully, familiar with most of the people and customs that frequent this part of the world. I am thankful that you two are friends, even though…” His voice trailed off and an awkward pause followed as both men continued to eat.
“Has he said anything about what happened to his son?” Artorius asked at last, unable to take the silence any longer.
“We’ve talked,” Pilate replied. “He doesn’t wish to blame you for Gaius’ death. However, I know you both subscribe to the notion that a centurion is ultimately responsible for the lives of his soldiers, regardless of circumstance.”
“A responsibility I readily accepted when I rose to the centurionate,” Artorius said. “And that is why, even if I live to be a hundred, I will always be haunted by what happened in Braduhenna.”
“Still, like I said, Justus does not want to place the blame squarely on you. He knows your caliber as a soldier and leader of fighting men. What he wants is the truth. He wants to know exactly how his son died.”
“I will speak with him,” Artorius replied. “I owe him that much. Valens, my optio, was Gaius’ squad leader at Braduhenna. He was with him when he fell and can tell Justus the total truth far better than I can. I will take care of this before we head to Jerusalem.”
