Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (22 page)

It always darkened Artorius’ mood to talk about Braduhenna. Though he’d fought in numerous campaigns, even the
triumphs of Germanicus were lost in the shadow of that dark place where so many Roman soldiers needlessly died. Still, there were times he needed to talk about it, as if the pressure was ever building and his soul would rupture if he did not release it. Taurus was the first man, besides Tribune Cursor, that Artorius had spoken to since then who had been a part of
The Ten-Thousand
, as they were known.

Unsure what else to say, they walked in silence until they reached the stables. Artorius was accompanying Taurus to where his cavalry regiment was cantoned just outside the city.
A groomsman brought Taurus’ horse to him, as Artorius’ servant, Nathaniel, fetched his own mount.

“How would you rate the overall quality of your men?” he asked
openly as soon as they were mounted and riding at a slow trot through the streets.

Though densely crowed, the people cleared a path for the two men, not wishing to run afoul of a pair of armored Roman soldiers.

“They’re not the men I had on the Rhine,” Taurus replied candidly. “I won’t lie to you, there are many days I would cast the whole lot of them in the abyss. For us it is not simply a matter of finding volunteers, but also men who can effectively ride a horse. Despite our proximity to Syria and Arabia, this is always hard to come by.”

“I would think Arabians would flock to the standard.”

“So did I,” Taurus replied. “And of course politics plays a substantial part, just like in all of our other affairs. The best Arabian horsemen who enlist end up attached to the legions in Syria, Egypt, and Asia Minor. It seems every time I do get a handful of troopers worth a damn, the legates snatch them away from me. That leaves me with Samaritans and those who no one else wants. Both Pilate and his predecessor, Gratus, have tried to get me some better quality men. However, as they are but equites themselves, the legates are not exactly inclined to listen to them.”

The camp of the Judean cavalry contingent consisted of numerous tents and a hastily erected crude fence for stabling their horses. The entire regiment was assembled in ten ranks with a large enough gap for the two
centurions to walk between them. They dismounted and, with Taurus’ permission, Artorius inspected random troopers’ weapons for serviceability and wear. On the surface, he could find little fault with Centurion Taurus’ cavalry contingent. The men were washed and shaved, their arms and equipment reasonably serviceable.

It was only as a courtesy amongst peers that Artorius was even allowed to inspect the men. As Taurus also came from the legions and held the billet of
cohort commander, the two men were technically the same rank. In fact, given that Artorius had only held his position for a little over a year, he reasoned there was a good chance that Taurus was senior to him based on date of rank.

“Your men look a little rough, but nothing serious,” Artorius noted to Taurus, as he returned a cavalryman’s lance back to him. The three-hundred men stood in formation, each man to the left of his horse.

“In daily duties they perform adequately,” Taurus noted. He then said a few words to one of the other centurions, who in the Samaritans’ native tongue shouted a series of orders and dismissed the formation. “Just know that there is a reason they are mostly kept from the major cities.”

“I figured as much,
” Artorius noted, raising an eyebrow.

“To be honest,” Taurus continued, seeming glad to have a fellow Roman officer he could vent to outside of his regiment, “These lot are a nightmare to keep control of under ideal circumstances.
It’s not that they won’t fight, but rather it’s getting them to cease once the engagement is decided. I sent some men out to pursue a small group of bandits we’d tracked down. I specifically told them to bring at least a couple of them to me alive for interrogation. All but one were left impaled on spikes, and the one they did bring to me, all they brought was his head.”

Artorius broke into a laugh, which Taurus could not help but do the same.
The cavalry centurion then guided him over to his personal tent, which was substantially larger than the ones that housed his troopers. It was a large Bedouin style, with a semi-permanent presence to it. A Numidian servant held the flap open as the two men entered. Inside, the large camp bed was about twice the size of a soldier’s cot and covered with thick blankets. A stand in the corner held a large clay water jug, and in the center stood a table with six chairs.

“I occasionally hold meetings with my
centurions in here,” Taurus explained. He then snapped his fingers and the same servant entered with clay goblets of wine.

“Your mission is to patrol the main roads of the province,” Artorius said, “Yet
, you are too few in number to effectively hinder bandits from harrying the populace.”

“Hence
, those who can afford it bring an armed escort with them,” the cavalry centurion replied. “The rest are left to take their chances in the wild. We cannot prevent outlaws from plying their trade, although I would like to hinder their access to weapons.”

“That is where
, perhaps, I can help you,” Artorius conjectured. “My men have been doing little except trying to train the local garrisons. They need a real mission. What do you know about the zealots and other rebels within the region?”

“Only that they are disorganized and lack central leadership,” Taurus answered.

“They are also better armed than simple bandits,” Artorius added. “Capturing some of them may lead us to where they are getting their weapons.”

“Possibly,” Taurus conceded. “However, it is not like there is only one arms supplier in the region.”

“No, but if we can eliminate one of them it may dissuade others. There have been several weapons shipments from the imperial depots that were bound for the legions and have disappeared. I know we cannot stop the flow of unlawful arms completely, but to do nothing is simply unacceptable. Especially if we are dealing with stolen legionary weapons. I have an entire cohort at my disposal. What say we conduct a joint mission, utilizing all of our assets to bait some of the better armed and more organized rebels into a brawl?”

Chapter
XXI: Punish and Enslave

***

It had taken a bit of convincing in order to get Pilate’s authorization, though in the end he reckoned hunting renegades
and arms smugglers was a better use of his legionaries than simply training the local auxilia. For this particular venture, Artorius would take a single century of legionaries on a road march to the port city of Tiberias, on the Sea of Galilee. It was the seat of the Jewish king, Herod Antipas. The publicly stated purpose was for the soldiers to bring a number of state gifts from Pontius Pilate, as well as give Herod a personal display of Roman power.

Tiberias was only a couple days’ march from Caesarea
. It would take them through rolling hills near Nazareth that were thick with woods and vegetation. Such terrain would offer much cover for any bands of renegades or zealots. It also allowed a contingent of Taurus’ cavalry to parallel the main road mostly unseen. The intent was for the legionaries to draw their foe into the open and have the cavalry cut off their escape. Artorius only took one century with him, as he felt that any larger of a force would be viewed as too formidable for a zealot band to risk attacking.

They left
one morning in early August, just as the predawn cast its glow and before the heat of day. Artorius rode at the head of the contingent, his signifier marching alongside his horse with the century’s signum held high. The cohort had a lone cornicen, who walked behind the signifier, his curved horn draped over his shoulder. Felix, the tesserarius, was at the head of the column, just in front of the first pack mule. All the logistics animals bearing the soldiers’ rations and tents, as well as some exotic spices for them to present to Herod, were in a long line. Legionaries marched in a file on either side of their supply animals. Behind the column marched two squads, led by Optio Valens, who also had a horse. His slave, Erin, walked beside him and was the only woman within the group. Taurus led a detachment of fifty cavalrymen, who in the open regions kept at least a single terrain feature behind Artorius’ men.

The first day passed uneventfully enough. Occasionally
, Artorius would have his men search the passing wagons, though there was little to be found that would arouse suspicion. As night fell, they arrived at the town of Nazareth. It was mostly a farming community, the actual urban center consisting of mostly single story buildings. Only the single inn that they could see from the outskirts had a second floor.

“We’ll bivouac outside the town,” Artorius directed his officers. “Have the men set their tents on the west side of the road. We’ll make our presence know, though we are not here to cause any undue disruptions.”

Shepherds led their flocks along the road as legionaries went about setting up their camp for the night. The men hurriedly guiding their sheep past the camp gave the armored soldiers an occasional nervous glance. Within a half hour, ten squad tents stood erected in a perfect hollow square, with separate tents for the principle officers, as well as Artorius’ private tent in the center.

“Not much in the way of entertainment in these parts,” Valens grumbled as Erin helped him out of his armor.

“There will be plenty to keep us amused in Tiberias, I’m certain,” Felix replied with a chuckle. He then looked lost in thought for a moment. “You know, I heard there’s a rather famous Jewish teacher from this area.”

“From here?” Valens asked, bemused. “I find that difficult to believe. There is little here that makes me think
of it as the home of any sort of learned person. These people are mostly shepherds and farmers.”

“I can only go by what I’ve heard,” Felix remarked. “I’ve never met the man personally. Apparently though, he often speaks out against the Sanhedrin, calling them hypocrites
who should act to help the people instead of acting all pious and praying loudly. Publicly they denounce him as a heretic, although given his popularity with many of the people, I think they are afraid of him.”

“Well
, then, I’m amazed Pilate has not invited him over for supper. It seems those two would get along famously!”

The large door flap of their tent was rolled open, and they leaned back on their cots, watching the sun slowly set behind the low hills
as the occasional legionary walked past.

“There is a certain peacefulness about this place,” Felix said after a few minutes. “I can’t quite place it, but somehow I understand why the Jews love it here.”

“They call it their promised land.”

The soldiers were gone before the people of Nazareth had roused themselves for the day. It was still another full day’s march to Tiberias, barring any unforeseen crises. As much as Artorius wanted to get his men some actual experience
, he knew it was far better if their march proved uneventful.

“Contact right!”
a soldier shouted, dashing any chance of a monotonous trek to the Sea of Galilee. Instinctively, all legionaries on the right side of the column turned in the direction of the threat, forming two battle lines, shields together. The sun was just starting to crest over the hills to the east, its orange light glaring in their faces. Two squads on the left side faced out the other way, lest they be attacked from both sides.

Artorius
, at first, thought the legionary may have simply panicked at the sight of a shepherd, but then his eyes grew wide as dozens of men rose up from behind the line of sagebrush plants, slings whirling over their heads.

“Down!” Felix shouted as a barrage of sling stones bounced off the wall of shields.

“Rear guard, hold in place!”
Artorius ordered, instinct and training taking over. After all of his years in the legions, it came reflexively to him. “
Right wing, advance! Left wing, on me!”

Without waiting for further orders, the cornicen sounded several loud notes from his horn that echoed through the valley.
As the men on the right of the column started to slowly advance, sling stones hammering their shields, Artorius led several squads of legionaries off to the left of where the enemy was engaging them. With no sign yet of their cavalry support, he feared they would simply let off a few volleys of harassment before disengaging. They were too few in number to effectively threaten his column, however, as they were unencumbered by armor and heavy weapons, he had no doubt that the zealots could outrun his men whenever they chose to break.

Rocks and grits of sand crunched under his feet as they scrambled up the short slope. As Artorius suspected, the zealots were unleashing a final volley and starting to make a run for it. It was then the
centurion noticed the glint of metal coming from behind the zealot’s hiding position. Rushing towards them were Optio Valens and his men. The zealot leader saw them and quickly shouted orders to his men, who started to flee. Though they were too fleet-footed for the pursuing legionaries, a storm of javelins from Valens’ men fell upon them. One man screamed in pain as the heavy pilum smashed into his thigh, sending him tumbling to the ground. Another was run through the back, the heavy javelin bursting out of his chest in a spray of blood and bone.

As the rebe
l leader gave a loud cry and they began to flee, columns of dust kicked up from behind the small grove of trees they ran towards. Their eyes grew wide in panic as several dozen Roman cavalrymen emerged from the woods. At their head was Centurion Taurus, wielding a long spatha sword. He shouted a series of orders, his men lowering their lances and emitting a loud battle cry as they charged. Armed only with their slings and the occasional short sword, the rebels were quickly overwhelmed, skewered by lances, with one hapless fellow having his skull split by a vicious smash of Taurus’ sword.

“Here!” Artorius shouted
, as he and his men rushed towards the fray. “I need some of them alive!”

A trooper plunged his lance into the throat of one last assailant as Taurus repeated the orders in the Samaritans’
native tongue. There were at least a dozen zealots that had been unable to escape. Their companions were being pursued by Taurus’ cavalry, and they cringed each time they heard one of their fellows scream in pain as he was cut down.

“Bind their hands,” Artorius directed his men. He then looked up at Taurus,
his face sweaty, he was breathing heavy from exertion. “Well done. Can your men escort the prisoners back to Caesarea? I’d rather not have to take them all to Tiberias and then back again.”

“We can,” Taurus replied.
“We’ll make sure at least some of them live long enough to be crucified. I can have about twenty men remain as your screen force as well. Shouldn’t be any further issues between here and Tiberias, and I doubt another band will be so brazen to try this again so quickly.”

It was dusk by the time the contingent reached Tiberias. Many were still on edge after the events of the day, though some of the legionaries lamented that aside from the first javelin storm, none of them had been able to actually engage their enemy at all.

“All we did was hide behind our shields while those bastards beat on us with rocks,” one soldier grumbled.

“And had we not done so, you’d have your face smashed in,” his
decanus chastised.

“What we did was hold them in place to allow the rest of our men to flank them,” Sergeant Cicero added. “You forget
.; We do not fight any battle alone. All of us have a part to play in every engagement. The reason why the Roman army is the most feared fighting force in the world is because of our ability to work together. Always remember that!”

The palace of the Judean client king, Herod Antipas, stood out in stark contrast against the skyline. Most buildings clustered along the coastline of the Sea of Galilee; which at thirteen miles from end to end, and a width of eight miles at its widest point, it was, in actuality, more of a large lake than a sea.

“There it is, lads,” Artorius said from atop his horse, “The city named in honor of our
emperor, and home to the King of the Jews.”

“Not much of a city, is it?” Valens asked as he rode up beside his
centurion.

“It’s only eleven years old,” Artorius noted. “I asked Nathaniel about it before we left. He said it was built on the site of an old village called Rakkat, that’s mentioned in their holy books.
”

Large palms and evergreens lined the roads, as well as many of the houses. The streets were far cleaner than Jerusalem with flowering gardens accenting most of the buildings.
The people were also better dressed, mostly in bright colors, and appeared to bathe far more regularly. Valens made note of this.

“
One thing this area is most known for is its hot springs,” Artorius explained. “The legends are that the waters have healing effects.”

“Re
gular bathing does keep one healthy,” the optio noted with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “So many of our nasty provincials might live to be older than thirty if they’d simply bother to have a wash from time to time.”

As they continued up the high street towards the palace, they noticed a different air about the people. Even though the populace was overwhelmingly Jewish, they did not appear to have the inborn hatred for Rome like their countrymen in Jerusalem.
Some even smiled and greeted the column as it marched past.