Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (25 page)

“There have also been
some more thefts from a couple of the central armories,” Pilate added. “These are normally heavily guarded, so I suspect there is someone working on the inside to allow smugglers access. Should we capture one of the ringleaders alive, we can provide vital intelligence to those conducting the investigation, which would be a huge political benefit to us.”

“Do we have any possible leads?” Artorius asked.

“There is one. His name is Jesus bar Abbas, though most just refer to him as
Barabbas
. He’s a petty thief who somehow managed to escape after being caught stealing horses from an Arabian merchant over a year ago. He’s certainly a risk taker, and it would not surprise me if he’s moved on to stealing arms and selling them to the zealots. He may even be a zealot himself. I want him found, tortured, and after he’s given us the names of his suppliers, crucified.”

As summer slowly changed into fall, t
he rest of the year passed uneventfully enough. Justus’ week-long mission of following Jesus of Nazareth, as well as any other prophets who Pilate felt needed watching, had become his full-time occupation. Two so-called ‘messiahs’ had been arrested for inciting sedition and were summarily crucified, although nothing could be found of fault with the teacher from Nazareth, despite the constant protestations of the Sanhedrin. Pilate had further restricted what the Jewish authorities could and could not do regarding the dealing with crime and punishment, therefore preventing them from dealing with the Nazarene directly.

As the one-year anniversary approached of the fall of Sejanus,
Pilate would immediately break into a cold sweat every time correspondence came from Rome. He would then be relieved once he saw that it was mostly administrative details and not once was the ordeal with Sejanus ever mentioned. Pilate had wisely heeded the advice given by Artorius and his staff and remained silent about his former benefactor. It was almost as if Sejanus had never existed. Indeed, a decree of
Damnatio Memoriae
, meaning “condemnation of memory”, had been passed on both Sejanus and Livilla.

Correspondence from the
emperor was becoming harder to gauge. Just before Saturnalia, Pilate received a pair of messages from Tiberius. The first berated him severely for his iron-handed tactics when dealing with the people, and if rebellion did ever come to Judea, the emperor would hold him fully responsible for it. The very next day, Pilate, now fearing the worst, received a second message from the emperor, asking about his health and that of his wife, and further wishing him a joyous Saturnalia.

“It was very kind of him to wish us so,” Claudia observed over dinner.

They had invited Artorius and Diana to dine with them, and all lay on couches around a series of small, ornate tables.

“I never know what he’s going to say anymore,” Pilate said with exasperation. “As much as it pains me to say this, our dear
emperor has become a neurotic shell of what he once was.”

“It started when his son died,” Claudia conjectured. “He was never the same after that.”

“You served under his command in Germania,” Artorius observed. “Surely he was not the paranoid, delusional wreck he’s become.”

“In all honesty,” Pilate replied, “I find it difficult to believe that those two entities are the same person. The Tiberius who led us on the Rhine I would have followed into hell itself. You know Augustus once said that despite his differences with his stepson and heir, he felt Tiberius was one of the greatest generals Rome ever had, even better than the divine Julius Caesar, if you can believe that.”

“Well, let us not worry ourselves to death over the emperor’s state of mind,” Diana spoke up. “Saturnalia will be upon us soon, and this is supposed to be the greatest time of celebration. Whatever his gloomy demeanor, perhaps the spirit of Saturnalia has even had an effect on Tiberius, if his last letter is any indication.”

“Tell me,” Claudia said, looking over at Artorius, “Will your friends be joining us again? Their performance last year was a delight!”

“I hope so,” Artorius replied, “Especially for Magnus’ sake. I swear he’s in love with that Syrian archer, Achillia!” This brought a laugh from the assembled friends. As the evening wore on, Diana raised her cup in toast.

“Io, Saturnalia!” she said.

“Io, Saturnalia!”

“Master!”
Nathaniel’s voice started them as he quickly rushed into the room and bowed before Artorius’ couch. “Forgive my intrusion, but I have discovered vital news regarding an arms smuggler in Caesarea. He may be the one who provided arms for the men who attacked you.”

“Who is it?” Pilate said, sitting upright quickly.

“His name is Barabbas.”

Chapter XX
III: Before the Pain

***

“Are you sure about this?” Felix asked, peering out from beneath the hood of his cloak. Though it was the middle of the night, the street was alive with activity with numerous torches and oil lamps casting their glow about. The merchant quarter of the city never slept, with supply wagons bearing goods for sale from across the Empire and beyond clattering over the cobblestones. During the daytime the streets were crowded with citizens and patrons, therefore the only time to move massed amounts of cargo was at night.
And with Saturnalia but a few days away, preparations for the celebrations went on during both day and night.

“Not even a little bit,” Artorius replied with a dark chuckle. “Still, Nathaniel was certain this would be the time and place of the transfer.”

“And what happens if we’re wrong?” the tesserarius persisted.

“Nothing will happen to you or to any of our men,” Artorius replied. “I, however, will count myself lucky to escape with only a formal reprimand from the
procurator, as no doubt this will cause yet another incident between us and our Judean subjects. However, that is a risk I am willing to take. If we are correct, then that wagon is full of stolen Roman arms, meant for the Twelfth Legion in Syria.”

They watched for a couple minutes as a pair of men dismounted from the wagon and spoke quickly with another man who started to swing open the large wooden door of the warehouse. Artorius
deduced one of the men from the wagon had to be Barabbas. A third man jumped down from the wagon and guided the pair of mules into the dimly-lit building, the wheels of the cart creaking loudly as they turned on the paving stones.

“Sir, if I may ask,” Felix began. “What would happen to your servant, should this prove to be a ruse? He is a Jew, after all.”

“You cannot throw all Jews into the same lot,” the centurion said. “With all their varying sects, many of them hate each other even more than us. Which is why those damned zealots have not been able to do more than the occasional raid or ambush. But to answer your question, if this is a ruse, then he will be fortunate if he escapes with a mere flogging. And, trust me, he is aware of this.” Artorius may have been rather fond of Nathaniel, but he was a slave nonetheless, and as such, Artorius would not hesitate to use the most severe of punishments at the slightest show of disloyalty.

In less than a minute, the cart was rolled into the warehouse and the door started to swing shut.

“Let’s hope the auxiliaries don’t botch this one for us,” Felix grunted as Artorius rose to his feet and signaled to the squad of legionaries that accompanied him. All had kept themselves hidden in the shadows, their cloaks covering their faces as well as their armor. Helmets and shields would have been too conspicuous, so all each man carried was his gladius.

Artorius bounded across the street, knocking aside several passersby and jumping past a slow-moving wagon. The man closing the warehouse door did not notice him until the
centurion’s fist smashed into his face, sending him sprawling back into the warehouse. Artorius and Felix heaved the door open as eight legionaries sprinted past them, throwing off their cloaks and drawing their swords. There were half a dozen men inside the warehouse, all in a state of shock at having their place of business stormed by legionaries. Two of the men rushed for the small door at the back of the warehouse. As the cross brace was pulled aside, the door was kicked in, knocking the man down as several auxiliaries, along with their decurion, spilled into the large room.

“What is the meaning of this?”
one of the men yelled, face red with anger. “How dare you barge in and assail us like this!”

Artorius ignored the man as he pulled back his cloak. As he wore his legionary plate armor, minus his decorations harness, the only thing distinguishing him from his men was his brass
centurion’s belt, which was devoid of the hanging leather straps seen on legionaries. His demeanor alone told the men that he was in charge, and he shoved the man who shouted at them aside as he strode with purpose over to the cart.

“And what have we here?” he asked, throwing back the large tarp. Underneath was a pile of logs.

“Lumber,” the man replied with a smirk. “We ship lumber in from Galilee. Is this what you assault merchants for in the middle of the night?”

“Which of you is Jesus Barabbas?” Artorius asked, ignoring the man’s tirade.

“Piss on you, Roman!” one of the men who rode in on the cart spat.

Artorius then noted the scar above his left eye that Nathaniel had spoken of. He calmly walked over to the man, who was seething in rage. The
centurion noticed, that despite it being a cool evening, the man was sweating profusely. Clearly he was nervous, and not just at the sight of Roman soldiers.

His expression unchanged, Artorius swung his fist and caught the man he knew to be Barabbas behind the ear, dropping him to his knees. He then walked to the wagon and climbed into the back. He glanced over at the first man who had verbally assaulted them and saw him swallow hard. Artorius grabbed the first log and threw it from the cart. The Judeans were startled by his brutal strength as he threw the first few logs which echoed loudly as they crashed into the warehouse floor. He
saw the long crates underneath, still bearing the imperial seal. Artorius glared at the men, who were now in a state of abject terror. All except Barabbas, who simply stared at the ground. One of the men panicked and sprinted for the back door, trying to force his way past the auxiliaries. The decurion had his gladius drawn, which he plunged into the man’s stomach. The smuggler’s eyes grew wide in pain and horror, though the only sound he made was a pathetic whimper as he slumped to the ground. The auxilia officer, remembering his training, had angled his sword up and plunged the weapon through his victim’s intestines and into his heart. Deep crimson covered the blade as he withdrew it, allowing the dying man to collapse to the ground, blood spilling from the wound and forming a pool beneath his twitching body.

“Murderer!” the first man shouted.

Felix grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head down, slamming his knee into the man’s face. A crowd of onlookers was starting to form outside the still-open warehouse door, all talking quickly in whispered voiced. Artorius snapped and pointed his fingers towards the gathering crowd. The decurion nodded and shouted some orders out the back door. More than twenty auxiliaries, who had been waiting behind the building to catch any smugglers attempting to escape, quickly converged on the front the building, forcing the curious onlookers back. The first man was now on his knees, spewing curses in Hebrew at the Romans. Felix stomped him hard on the back of the head, his hobnailed sandals tearing open a nasty gash.

“Open the crates,” Artorius ordered the auxiliaries, who immediately scrambled onto the wagon.

It took two to three of them to throw off each log, whereas the maddeningly strong centurion had been able to handle them alone. Felix and the legionaries started to bind the hands of the smugglers and the warehouse owner behind their backs. The man whose building it was now wept openly as Felix pulled him to his feet. There was a loud crashing as auxiliaries smashed open one of the crates.

“Sir,” one of the men said, holding aloft a Roman gladius and scabbard, which he tossed to the
centurion.

“Roman weapons,” Artorius observed as he flipped the gladius over in his hand, “
Made for Roman soldiers.”

“Please,” the warehouse owner pleaded, “I did not know. I swear, they said they were transporting lumber! I did not know…”

“Shut up!” Felix snapped, cuffing the man across the gash on his head, where blood was starting to coagulate in his hair.

One of the smugglers began to scream uncontrollably, thrashing about in the grip of his legionary handlers.
A soldier then proceeded to smash the pommel of his gladius repeatedly into the screaming man’s face and head, tearing numerous gashes and breaking the man’s nose until he was finally knocked senseless.

All the while, the man Artorius knew to be Barabbas stood quietly, his hands bound behind his back. His gaze was fixed on the floor, unwilling to look at the Roman
centurion who now stood before him, holding the scabbarded weapon accusingly.

“Someone must be offering you a hefty price, if you are willing to risk death to steal military weapons,” Artorius accused.
“Or are they for your own usage?”

Barabbas finally looked up at him, his face twisted in defiance. His head tilted back slightly, as he made ready to spit in the
centurion’s face. Before he could do so, Artorius drove his knee into Barabbas’ groin, dropping him to the floor. His eyes were wide, and he broke into a coughing fit as he lay on his side. Artorius drew the gladius from its scabbard and placed the point on his neck.

“Who are you selling to, Barabbas?”

“Kill me and be done!” he spat in between gasps. This elicited a hard kick to the stomach from the centurion.

“No,” Artorius replied calmly. “I have something better in mind for you.”

“Despite the rather vehement protestations of Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, I have elected to have the men tried in Roman court,” Pilate explained when Artorius made his report the next morning. “As you recall, after the incident with the prostitute, I had to revoke the authority of the Judean local governments from trying capital cases.”

“T
he theft and selling of Roman military arms most certainly falls within this category,” Artorius noted. As he answered directly to the procurator, he almost forgot at times the number of bureaucrats and various administrators that populated Pilate’s staff. Several of the men served as judiciaries, along with the procurator, whenever a case came before Roman jurisdiction.

“Had they gotten all the way to Jerusalem, I don’t think we ever would have found them,” Pilate observed. “Your men are to be commended.”

“It certainly would have created a far more harrowing scene in Jerusalem,” Artorius added. “As Caesarea is the commercial hub of this region, I doubt that even half the crowd that witnessed the raid were Jews.”

“And those that were could have cared less what happened to one of their competition,” Pilate added.
“Right now all they care about is making certain nothing goes wrong with the upcoming Saturnalia celebrations.”

“So what will you do with them?” Artorius asked. “Clearly they are guilty; the trial is little more than a formality.”

“Barabbas will be put to death,” Pilate answered. “We’ve tried to ascertain who the arms were meant for, but that bastard is stubborn. Either the torturers I have are rank amateurs, or perhaps he’s telling the truth when he said they were not meant for any particular buyer.”

“That is plausible,” Artorius added. “There are many factions of zealots and various militant groups in the region. Lucky for us, they are usually too busy fighting each other. Barabbas would have made a fortune off the sale of those arms.
And, perhaps, they were meant for himself and whoever his followers are.”

“But instead he’s bought himself the crucifix,” Pilate replied with a sinister grin. “How many weapons did you say you confiscated?”

“One hundred and fifty gladii,” the centurion answered. “And the same number of pilum. Given what zealots would pay for Roman-quality arms, Barabbas could have lived like a king for the rest of his life. What of the others?”

“If I execute Barabbas, I can show at least some clemency towards the others,” the Procurator replied. “The other smugglers will each get ten years. A decade in one of our prisons will break them of any desire to steal arms from Rome ever again. The only real trial will be that of the warehouse owner.”

“How so?”

“I have had several reputable persons within the community come forward to vouch for him,” Pilate replied. “While his proclaimed ignorance may have been the natural reaction in the face of being mauled by Roman soldiers, I have to ascertain if there is in fact some truth to his statement. If he is clearly guilty, then he will be given the same sentence as the others, as well as having his warehouse and all its goods confiscated. If, on the other hand, there is some truth to his words, or at least enough to give a general perception thereof, then I will have something to ponder.”