To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II) (40 page)

“My name is Matiyahu Ben Yosef,” he continued
a second later, which I translated as Matthias, son of Joseph.  “Is it true that you… do things for people?”

“It depends on what you mean by ‘do’,” Santino answered with a shudder.

“I have also heard that you are honorable men,” Matthias rebuked, standing from his chair angrily.  “Men who value human life above all else.  If not…”

I held out a hand and indicated he should retake his seat.

“We
are
honorable,” I reassured.  “Please excuse my friend.  He is as loyal as a dog, but unfortunately not much brighter.”

Matthias looked back down at Santino, probably wondering why the smiling idiot wasn’t enraged by my insult.  He slowly retook his seat, probably figu
ring Santino had a child’s mind in a man’s body.

“Fine,” he said, resettling in his chair.  “If you are indeed men of honor
, as you so claim, I wish to purchase your services.  From the stories I’ve heard, you are capable of a great many things.”

“We do what we can,” Santino said cheerfully.

I kicked him beneath the table.  We didn’t need him pissing this guy off with his stupid ass antics.

“What would you have us do?”  I asked.

Waiting for him to reply, I took a second to scan the plaza, checking for foul play.  I caught Bordeaux’s eye, only to receive a shake of his head in return.  Helena must have noticed my shift in attention because she sent an all clear double click over the radio as well.  Looks like this guy was playing ball.  We’d told him through a number of intermediaries to come alone and during the middle of the day, ostensibly for his own protection, but really just because we didn’t trust anyone.

We knew he was the head of the local Zealot movement, and
that his rhetoric and speeches had been fueling the rebellious spirit of the city for months.  We hadn’t known his name, just that he was looking for a way to topple Agrippina’s stranglehold on Judea and establish Herod as the legitimate sovereign of the territory.

“There is a war coming,” he answered.  “Rome is unfit to govern the Jewish people.  We are followers of Yahweh, the one true God.  Our people did not endure years of slavery in Egypt and the perils of reaching the Holy Land, here, only to find ourselves as no less
of slaves now as we were then.”

I nodded.

Twenty five years from now, many in this area felt that their customs, religious views, and culture were constricted by Roman government to the point where they were losing their identity.  This simply would not do for a sect of humanity like them.

That said, the Jewish population was close, but not quite ready for war.  It could take another
two years or so before the rebellion began if left to its own devices.  We couldn’t wait that long, and it seemed young Matthias couldn’t either…

I paused

Matthias…

Ben Joseph?

“Before we continue, I have a small personal question,” I interrupted, waiting for his nod before continuing.  “Tell me, do you have a son?”

Matthias tilted his head back in surprise.  “Yes, in fact I do.  A young boy, f
ive years of age.  His name is Joseph, after my own father.”

I
smacked my thigh beneath the table.  I knew his name sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until he clarified he had a son named Joseph, that it clicked.

Joseph Ben Matthias.

Known as Titus Flavius Josephus later in his life, or simply Josephus, he was the pinnacle source of information concerning the war between Roman and Jew in 66 A.D.  He’d fought for the Jews, only to become a client to Vespasian, hence the addition of Titus Flavius to his name after he was captured.  Historians either loved him or hated him.  Most admitted he was an invaluable contemporary historian, but others felt he was overly biased towards his Roman protectorates.  I now know I couldn’t blame the guy.  Living in Rome was a perilous affair, and if Josephus wanted to survive, he knew better than to piss of those who retained him to record the events.

Either way, the thought was just plain cool.  We’d met some pretty interesting and influential Romans over the years between Caligula, Claudius, Galba,
and even Agrippina.  While Joseph was still just a boy, the fact that we were very possibly interacting with his father was fascinating.  It was almost as though fate, and I hated that goddamned word, was driving us towards as many historical figures as it can.

“Why?”  Matthias pressed.

I recovered well, pointing my finger at him.  “You speak of war, yet you have a son.  If you are instigating something of such magnitude, maybe you should be thinking of him more than us.”

“I
am
thinking about him,” Matthias countered angrily.  “It is for his very future that Roman rule must be questioned and dealt with.  We are nothing but pawns in their political games.  They care little of our values and practices, and desire only our servitude.  They conscript our young men into their legions, over tax us with little thought to our survival, deny us the freedom to practice our religious ceremonies, and of all the cultures in their vaunted empire, despise, humiliate and degrade ours more than any other.”

I heard the vehemence and power in
his voice as if he were orating upon a
rostrum
even now, espousing his views with his fellow Jews.  Not only did I hear his words, but I felt his emotions as they bubbled to the surface, realizing just how feverishly he believed in his ideals.

The only thing I wondered is if he felt the same way twenty five years from now, in the original timeline, when things were quite different. 

“If you are
Vani
,” he continued, “defenders of the weak and champions for liberty, then you must understand our plight.”

He made no indication that we should feel obligated to help h
im or that because of these supposed ideals, for us to not help them, would make us hypocrites in our own eyes.  He knew he was dealing with powerful people and made no assumptions otherwise.  He’d pleaded his case well, and knew without saying, that if we were who we say we are, we had no choice but to help him.

I glanced at Santino
before back at him.

“What would you have us do?”  I asked.

“When the time comes.  Stand with us.  Help us defeat the Romans.”

I forced myself from sighing in self-disgust.

And here’s where I have to lie.

“We will help you, Matthias Ben Joseph.  Contact us when you have further information.”

Matthias showed no emotion, no suspicion, or even a smile in celebration.  He merely stood, nodded and left.  Santino and I’d been sitting at this table at the same time, every day for a week now, and he knew we’d be here tomorrow.

Now that
he was gone, I allowed myself the slow sigh of personal abhorrence I had been letting in for too long.

This war was going to happen with or without our help
, I tried to reason as I attempted to soothe my conscience.  One way or another, Romans and Jews were going to fight each other.  Many on both sides were going to die.  We were merely accelerating its beginning to serve our needs, but we had no intention of helping the Jews win.  All we needed was for them to draw Agrippina away from Germany.  We planned to fight with them until that happened, but once she arrived, we needed to take action, and that meant abandoning those we promised to help win their freedom.

I tried to reassure myself by remembering that despite our abilities, we were still a very small drop in the ocean that is the Roman war machine.  They’ll have little trouble putting down this rebellion with or without our help.

Fate, as it was, would get what it wanted.

“So?”  Santino asked, his skilled eyes tracking Matthias’ departure.  “Now what?”

He already knew the answer.

“Now,” I replied, letting out another sigh as I got to my feet, “we go play the other side.”

***

I glanced at my watch.  0130.  Eight hours after our meeting with Matthias.

Santino and I were sneaking through the side streets of Caesarea, making our way to the home of the Roman procurator, Cuspius Fadus.  Like foreign embassies in the 21st century, Roman’s kept little bastions of itself tucked away in the provinces they controlled where provincial administrators and their families would operate and live in small compounds, tucked away and secure behind twenty foot walls and a local force of urban cohorts.

Nothing we couldn’t handle. 
Infiltrating a Roman administrative complex was child’s play next to sneaking into a legionary barracks.

Our intel confirmed lazy guards, gaps in their perimeter, and a complete lack of patrols, whether on rooftop or within the courtyards.  We assumed there would be guard patrols within the halls of the buildings, but
I wasn’t expecting much.  There was a fair chance that once inside, we’d encounter very little, if any, resistance.

Bordeaux, Wang and Titus were
on overwatch, tracking us with the UAV.  They waited nearby, having gone to ground in defensive positions along bordering rooftops to provide cover fire should we need it.  Helena, as always, was situated about three hundred yards away, playing the pivotal role of guardian angel.  The past four years had instilled in me an inherent trust, along with a need, to know she was there.  The rest of the guys were appreciated reinforcements, but without her doing what she did best, I wouldn’t be so confident.

Finally, Vincent and Madrina were on bail out duty.  Madrina had the wagon we’d brought with us from Gaul loaded and ready to go, while Vincent controlled t
he rest of the team’s horses.  Should we need to get the hell out of Caesarea, it would be a quick matter of linking up with them and bugging out.

I lowered my arm and glanced at Santino, just in time to stop myself
from bumping into him.  He’d stopped at a corner and was peaking around, scanning for potential threats.  His hand signal indicated all was clear, and he led the two of us into a small alleyway, dead ending with the halls of the embassy to our right, and other residential homes to the left and in front of us.

Using the shadows for cover, Santino reached into his locally made bag and extracted his grapping hook and rope.  After performing a quick
inspection of his equipment, an assortment of expletives spewed from his mouth when he discovered the rope had found a way to tangle itself in his poorly designed pack, a problem that wouldn’t have happened had the mission called for our night ops combat fatigues, but tonight, we were going in native.

Madrina was not only a
logistical genius, a great cook and a pretty face, but a fine seamstress as well.  Being pretty handy with a needle and thread myself, she and I crafted a few sets of clothing that very closely resembled what Agrippina’s Praetorian ninjas wore.  The outfits weren’t overly difficult, the material consisting of some kind of ancient denim/corduroy hybrid, and the end result was close enough to fool just about anyone who’d encountered the troublesome foe before.

Santino dropped another expletive when he
had to backtrack his untangling and attack the rope from another direction.

“Ever get the feeling we overuse this plot device?”  He asked, frustrated.

“You mean the grappling hook?”  I asked back.  “Nah, grappling hooks are way cool.  Every good movie has them.”

“Name one.”

“Uh, ninja and pirate movies?”

I didn’t have much to offer.  It had been four years since I’d last seen a movie, and my once extensive
vault of pop culture knowledge was quickly fading.

“Good enough for me,” he said, finally deciding on the best route to untangle his mess.  “Speaking of movies, put any thought into what y
ou’re going to do first when we get home?”

I actually hadn’t thought
much about it.  Camp gossip had, as of late, been rife with little else but thoughts of home, but I tried not to allow myself the luxury of a, still as of yet, distant hope.

“Probably take a two hour long shower
I guess,” I answered, not really needing to think about it much.  “There’s dirt on me that’s been with me ever since our time in the
Primigenia
’s camp.”

Santino ceased what he was doing completely to look at me. 
“Will Helena…”

“Shut it.”

“And after that?”  He asked, not missing a beat, already back at work on the rope.

I sighed.  “I’m not sure.  Since we were talking about movies, maybe I’ll watch one.  Helena has promised to sit through all the Bond movies with me, maybe we’ll start…”

“Do you two ever stop talking?”  Helena asked from three hundred yards away.

“Sorry, mom
my,” Santino said, finally getting the rope under control.

I sent him a thumbs up, more for the mom quip than his successful defeat of the stubborn rope, and backed up to give him room to throw it over the wall.  Tossing it over, he pulled it taught and ascended into the little piece of Rome away from Rome.