Damascus was also a centre for craftsmen. The forests provided plentiful charcoal for smelting ores, and as a consequence of the continual fighting, the production of swords had provided guaranteed incomes from time immemorial. The ores near Damascus seemed to be superior to other sources of iron, hence some of the finest swords in the world came from Damascus. Since the steelworkers were extremely skilled, Gaius realized that some of them might be able to make other items of interest to him. Shortly, he would make their acquaintance.
People had been fighting over these ancient lands for thousands of years. Where water was available, this land permitted truly luscious greenery, while in the north, away from the rivers, rains provided winter greenery. Further to the south, however, the mountains cut out the rain, and a truly harsh desert developed. In between the desert and the northern river regions, a light green was the best that could be managed following the occasional winter rain. Once the effects of the rain had dried out, however, the land varied from having a cover of brown straw to ground with a little dried up thorny vegetation, barely food for a goat. Much of the other ground was barren, rocky, some of it volcanic with ancient cinder cones, in short, in the absence of water, it was valueless. Perhaps that was why they had been fighting; possession of the water gave one power over vast tracts of terrain. That power enabled the wielders to draw the very life-blood from those who actually produced something. Riches came from ownership of land, from taking from others, with the peasants as resource of frequent resort.
It was only many years later that Gaius realized that Rome operated on a similar principle, for Rome imported huge amounts and exported significantly less. In Rome's eyes, Rome sold law and order, and civilization. In this region, Rome might just have to earn its tributes.
From what he had heard, the region remained unstable, particularly in the south. The Jewish tetrarch, Herod Antipas had finally arranged a peace treaty of sorts with the Parthians, but thanks to his earlier divorce, the Nabateans were making threatening noises towards the Jews, while the Jews themselves were divided. In particular, a group of religious fanatics called the Zealots were seemingly always making noises that could be interpreted as the seeds of revolt. All of which spelt trouble! Still, Gaius thought to himself, fighting was a good means of launching a military career, as long as one was successful. An ominous chill ran down his back as he recalled that fighting in this part of the world was also a good way of terminating a military career, as Marcus Licinius Crassus had discovered.
"So," Vitellius stared at him, when he reported. "A friend of the Princeps, eh?"
"I think that may be an exaggeration, sir," Gaius said quietly.
"He informed me that you were the first to recognize him as Princeps," Vitellius said, his face completely devoid of expression. From his point of view, a friend of the Princeps could be anything. An experienced sycophant was the last thing a Legion needed. His problem was that the Claudians were the most dangerous family in Rome. This was one of those many situations where even a Governor did not want to come out on the wrong side.
"I may have had that honour, but I was merely repeating Tiberius' comments."
"Which, Caesar informed me, really meant anything but how you interpreted them."
"Then I'm pleased to have been so lucky."
"Well, young Claudius, you can't be too lucky in this part of the world." He paused, then when Gaius did not respond, he asked, "I understand you've had some teaching in tactics, strategy, and so on?"
"Yes, Governor."
"So you think you're a gift from the Gods to the legions?"
"I doubt that," Gaius muttered.
"So do I," Vitellius sighed. He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Tell me, have you met your Legate?"
"Actually, no," Gaius admitted.
"And why not? Isn't that the first thing you should have done?"
"I tried to," Gaius replied, now somewhat embarrassed.
"I tried to. ." Vitellius taunted. "You want to conquer the world, no doubt, and you can't find your own commander in your own camp?"
Gaius stiffened under the rebuke. His career might be over before it started, but he would defend his ability. "I reported to his tent several times," he said firmly, staring Vitellius in the eye, "but I was refused admission by the guards. The guards had orders from a superior of mine, so they had to stand. I tried to meet him when he made his rounds this morning, but somehow I missed him, and I tried to intercept him last night when he went into the city, but. well, he. ."
"He evaded you. Do you know why you missed his morning inspection?"
"I presume he had altered his route and I was in the wrong place."
"There was no right place," Vitellius spat. "From what I gather, he was drunk in his cot. So, what do you think about that?"
"It is not my place to comment on a superior," Gaius said stiffly.
"It's your place to follow the direct order of the highest superior." Vitellius said, his expressionless eyes seemingly boring into Gaius' very soul.
"Then," Gaius said, again very formally, "it appears you may have a problem also."
"You think so, do you," Vitellius nodded. "That man, if he could be so called, is a descendent of the great Scipio Africanus. He's nothing but a blot on that great house." He paused, thought for a moment, then began to smile as he made a dramatic change of subject. "Now, what do you think about religion?" His eyes again stared into the young Tribune.
"Well. I. ."
"Typical Roman response!" Vitellius grinned widely. "You don't believe, but you don't want to say so in case you're wrong!"
"There is a bit to that," Gaius admitted, now wondering where this was taking him.
"More'n a bit," Vitellius snorted. "It's a fair enough attitude, but not one that's widely held in this part of the world."
"I don't quite see what you're saying, sir?"
"Don't worry, young Claudius," Vitellius continued to grin at Gaius' discomfort. "I'm not sending you on temple duties." He paused, then leaned forward and said, "Now listen. If you take nothing else on board from me, remember this. You're in a hotbed of religious fervour. Religion's the only thing that matters here. You could raze their crops, kill their animals, rape their women, burn down their houses, and they'd stare sullenly at you, but scoff at their temple or their priests, and you will start a revolt. And, young Claudius, I really don't need a revolt. Do you understand?"
"Yes, and no."
"Well, which is it?" Vitellius growled.
"I understand the need to avoid a revolt," Gaius replied evenly, "but I don't understand why a religious slight is worse than getting your house burned down."
"Nobody understands their religious fervour!" Vitellius laughed. "And, I'll be honest with you, nobody really knows how to avoid insulting the Jews. They take offence at the strangest things." He paused, then asked, with a face totally devoid of expression, "Tell me, what do you know about Cristus?"
"Nothing, sir," Gaius admitted. "Who or what is or was Cristus?" He was becoming a little worried. Everything he said seemed to count against him, but there was no point in lying.
"He was a religious teacher," Vitellius shrugged. "He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, proclaiming himself king of the Jews."
"A donkey?" Gaius asked in disbelief, then after a few moments had passed in which nothing happened, he realized he should be showing more interest in the military aspects of this problem, so he asked, "How many troops?"
"In the sense you mean, none," Vitellius smiled. "There were no arms anywhere, and from what I can figure out, he was preaching peace on Earth."