Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (23 page)

As they reached the open gates leading into the palace grounds, a well-dressed man stepped through to greet them. Though clearly Jewish, he wore a resplendent Roman style toga, kept his naturally curly hair cut short, and was clean shaven. When he spoke, his Latin was perfect, and like the man with the fishermen Metellus had seen, there was no trace of a foreign accent in his voice.

“Welcome, most noble warriors!” he said with much enthusiasm.

“You must be Herod Agrippa,” Artorius replied as he dismounted his horse.

“That is what most know me by,” the man said with a short bow, “Although my actual name is Marcus Julius Agrippa. It was my grandfather who named me after the great Roman admiral who defeated Marc Antony and later sent me to be raised and educated in the imperial household in Rome.”

“Your name precedes you,” Artorius replied, placing his fist over his chest and giving a nod of respect.

“And I was sent by my uncle to greet our noble visitors.”

“I don’t know if you could call any of us ‘noble’,” Valens remarked as he dismounted and joined them.

“This is Optio Tiberius Valens,” Artorius said in way of introduction. “And I am Centurion Titus Artorius Justus. I bring gifts for your uncle, the king, as well as a message of friendship from our noble Procurator Pontius Pilate.”

“And for that, my uncle bids you welcome,” Agrippa emphasized. “Come, we have a quarters arranged for your men. You and your officers will be my personal guests at the palace. Will you and your
optio dine with me this evening?”

“We would be delighted,” Artorius replied. He was puzzled that a nobleman with the status of Herod Agrippa, one who was more Roman than Jew and who’d been best friends with the
emperor’s son, would wish to share his dinner with a mere centurion from the ranks. Still, he knew better than to refuse his hospitality, tired though he was.

It was well into the night by the time the legionaries were settled in and Artorius and Valens joined Herod Agrippa in his personal dining room in one of the wings. The room was fairly small and the design was grand, though less so than in Roman palaces. The columns were stone, painted a dark red on the lower half, and a dirty white on the upper. The flooring was mostly earth-tone tile. What Artorius noticed immediately was that in the living suites for Agrippa, the décor was mostly Roman. Despite Jewish laws against idolatry, there were a number of statues depicting Roman noblemen and women, as well as a larger-than-life, full bodied statue of the emperor standing in full armor, a laurel crown upon his head and right arm extended in a salute.

The oaken table was polished to a high sheen and was lined with a number of Roman couches.
As the three men lounged at the long table, Artorius recognized that most of the pottery was ancient Etruscan. The large wine jug and goblets were painted black, with gold motifs of animals and humans.

“Gifts from my dear friend, Claudius,” Agrippa explained as servants began to bring them their first courses, while filling their wine cups. “He has such a fascination with Etruscan history and art.”

“I confess, I am a bit surprised that you would even invite us to share your supper with you,” Artorius admitted.

“Bah,” Agrippa said, waving his hand while filling his wine once more. “You men are the first decent Romans I have seen in a long while. Besides, you come as emissaries of Pontius Pilate, and I know that as a
centurion pilus prior you will be elevated into the equites when you decide to leave the legions. Who knows, perhaps a governorship or tribune’s posting awaits you.”

“Perhaps,” Artorius ag
reed with a shrug. In reality, he’d never even considered a political career after his time in the army was done. He was a soldier of Rome, and that was enough for him. He noted with a trace of concern that Agrippa was now on his third cup of wine. It was a potent brew, not watered down like what one usually drank with their dinner.

He had to admit that the food was excellent. Agrippa’s servants brought them an assortment of various meats, cheeses, and fresh vegetables, along with local fruit. Artorius and Valens mostly ate in silence, unsure what to think of their host. As he quaffed his fourth cup of wine, Agrippa seemed inclined to talk more about his friends in Rome.

“Ah, dear Claudius,” he said with a reminiscing laugh. It was clear that although a nobleman and possible heir to Herod Antipas’ throne, Agrippa was a lonely man who appeared content to speak with anyone who happened to be Roman. “The trouble he, Drusus, and I used to get into when we were young! And there was Posthumous Agrippa; the last surviving son of my namesake, and only remaining grandson of Augustus, who later banished him. We were all close in age and became like brothers. And Claudius’ brother, Germanicus, looked after all of us. But sadly, Claudius and I are all who remain. Our other friends all murdered well before they turned forty.”

There was an awkward silence that followed, and the two soldiers continued to eat, while Agrippa mostly drank. Artorius was not surprised by this, given the reputation he’d had when he would cavort with Drusus Caesar. There were also rumors regarding Agrippa’s indebtedness, and that he was not in the best of standings with his uncle. Still, the
centurion kept these thoughts to himself. Instead, it was Valens who changed the subject to confirm a rumor they had heard during Passover in the spring.

“What is this about a prophet who
m your uncle put to death?” the optio asked.

“Oh
, that,” Agrippa said, rubbing his temple as if his thoughts were elsewhere. “Yes, beastly affair that was.”

“We heard he was put to death because your uncle feared he could lead a rebellion against both his rule and ours,” Artorius stated.

“Hardly!” Agrippa said with a halting laugh before taking another long pull of wine and letting out a loud belch.

“So who was he?” Valens persisted.

“His name was Yohanan ha-mmatbil,” Agrippa explained. “He was otherwise known as John the Baptist. He claimed to be a messenger from God…well, that’s hardly surprising in this part of the world. I meet people on the street every day who claim to speak with the Almighty! He was a fool, but a harmless one. His only ‘crime’, if you will, was insulting my uncle for divorcing his wife and marrying the wife of his brother. Personally, I found his criticism to be quite appropriate and would have commended him for it. It was
she
who brought about his death.”

“Who?” Valens asked.

“Salome, my cousin, or niece depending on how you look at it. She is the stepdaughter of my uncle. A vile creature she is, takes after her mother, my sister. When asked to dance for Herod, she put on such a display for the lecherous old bastard that he offered her anything she wanted, to include half his kingdom! Instead, she asks for the head of Yohanan on a silver platter.”

“That
is
vile,” Artorius remarked.

“I know,” Valens added. “I mean, I’ve had women ask me for some pretty twisted things, but that tops them all.”

“Personally, I think her mother had a hand in it,” Agrippa continued. “I was there, though I could not overhear all that was said; it was loud with all the music. Still, that she would ask for a man’s execution…”

“Are you still going on about that, dear cousin?” The woman’s voice startled the two Romans, although Agrippa seemed unconcerned.
Salome strode into the room, her demeanor one of deviant defiance. She was strikingly beautiful with smooth olive skin, long hair that was carefully placed over her shoulders, with a thin, yet properly curved figure barely hidden beneath a dancer’s dress. She was also very young, certainly under twenty.

“Do you call me
cousin
or
uncle
today?” Agrippa asked venomously.

“Will you not introduce me to our guests?”
Salome asked, ignoring his biting words.

“I did not know they were your guests to be introduced to,” Agrippa retorted, his speech now slightly slurred from drink.

“You forget whose palace this is,” Salome replied, her countenance unchanged. Valens found he could not take his eyes from her, and she smiled knowingly at his staring.

“Very well,” Agrippa sighed. “This is Centurion Artorius and Optio Valens. They come as emissaries from Pontius Pilate.”

“Mmm, so Pilate sends his mighty conquerors,” Salome said seductively as she laid herself on the couch next to Valens. She took an olive from the nearest plate and flicked it into her mouth with her tongue.

Artorius cringed as Valens nearly choked on his wine, knowing what his
optio was contemplating. That this woman had so casually demanded a man’s death with the same demeanor one would ask for an extra cup of wine, would not stop Valens from wishing to do unspeakable things to her.

“When will I hav
e my audience with the king?” Artorius asked Agrippa, who was starting to look glassy-eyed from all the wine he’d consumed.

“Tomorrow or the next day,” Agrippa said absently. “I hear you ran into a spot of trouble on your journey.”

“You heard about that. How?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” Agrippa chuckled. Though his face drooped and he slurred when he talked, Artorius
suspected he was not as incoherent as he appeared. “I knew the same day that you had left Caesarea, and when you arrived in Nazareth. I know more about what goes on in this kingdom than my idiot uncle ever will.”

Artorius was not at all surprised that Agrippa had spies all over the region
. After all, Judea was not that large, and he reasoned anyone within the royal house had their own network of informers. What did catch him off guard was his insult towards Herod Antipas. And yet, either Salome was paying him no mind, did not hear him, or quite probably Agrippa did not care what she heard or told her stepfather. Salome continued her hushed talk with Valens, who seemed enraptured by her, though after a few minutes she excused herself and bid them all goodnight.

“Twisted viper,” Agrippa said as soon as she left the room.

The
optio continued to stare at the entrance she’d left through.

“Valens…” Artorius said chastising.

“What? Don’t worry, I’ve broken far more dangerous creatures than that one.”

The next morning, Artorius decided to take a stroll through the palace grounds as well as take in the legendary hot springs of the area.
It would be another day before Herod Antipas bade the Roman emissaries to come see him. His delay was a subtle way of showing that even though he was but a client king under the Roman Empire that these lands were still his. In fact, his kingdom was but a portion of the province; split into two regions, he ruled the lands of Galilee and Perea. The lands to the east were ruled by his half-brother, Philip the Tetrarch. Though granted a substantial measure of autonomy, there were ever the gentle reminders that they both fell under Roman rule, and were therefore subservient to Pontius Pilate. They did have a substantial amount of influence, though, such as when they compelled Pilate to remove the votive shields displayed at the Antonia Fortress, as it greatly offended the people’s views of idolatry.

Just off the palace grounds was one of many Roman-influenced bathhouses. This one was especially large, with the steaming water piped in from the subterranean hot springs, therefore requiring no manmade heating. A small number of legionaries were gathered on the steps gambling and playing dice games. They all quickly stood as Artorius walked up the steps.

“Centurion, sir,” one of the soldiers said.

“At ease, men,” Artorius replied. “How are the waters?”

“Fantastic!” another legionary spoke up. “I don’t know what it is that permeates from the springs here, but it gets out the perpetual grime of this place.” These soldiers were from the grassy plains and forested regions of Gaul and Belgica, so it was no surprise that they viewed the more arid east as ‘dirty’.

Inside, a slave took his clothes and the
centurion stepped into a steam room for a few minutes before deciding to take in the famous hot baths. No sooner had Artorius plunged into the heated waters than a man he recognized as Herod’s chamberlain entered abruptly. As he was the only person within that was clothed, the centurion guessed that he was not there to enjoy the steaming mineral waters.