Once Domitus had finished skinning the carcass he quartered the animal and then he and I searched for wood to make a fire. By the time Byrd and Malik returned to us later that afternoon the fire was raging and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Alas their news was not good.
They informed us that Aaron had indeed visited the house where his beloved lived in the northeast part of the town, but had been spotted and reported to the Roman authorities and duly arrested. He was currently being held in the town’s jail before his execution.
‘His execution!’ I was horrified.
‘The Romans are eager to rid Judea of any opponents to their rule, that is why most of us who are opposed to them live in the hills and other places away from the towns,’ said Alexander. ‘Aaron would have been on a list of political enemies to be apprehended. When is his execution?’
‘Tomorrow,’ replied Byrd, tucking into his portion of meat. ‘He condemned by Romani council.’
Alexander explained that after its occupation by the Romans Judea was divided into five administrative districts called synhedroi, the headquarters of one of them being Jericho. All those arrested for political crimes were brought before each district’s Roman council rather than the local Jewish religious court.
‘I speak to Romani soldier outside courthouse,’ said Byrd, ‘he say Aaron denounced Rome as the mother of harlots, an abomination drunk with the blood of saints.’
‘Well, that’s him done for,’ said Domitus with relish. ‘They’ll lop off his head tomorrow in the jailhouse and then dump his body on the rubbish heap.’
‘The punishment for political crimes is crucifixion,’ said Alexander, staring unblinkingly at Domitus.
‘So?’
‘So,’ replied Alexander, ‘the condemned are put to death outside the town’s walls.
‘Alas for Aaron,’ said Malik.
‘But perhaps not,’ I mused, looking at Alexander. ‘Crucifixions are held outside the town, you say?’
He nodded. ‘That is correct. On a small hill a short distance to the east of the town. The Romans like to put on display the corpses of all those who dare to defy their rule as a warning to others.’
‘What time are crucifixions?’ I asked.
‘Two hours after dawn.’
Domitus wore a worried expression. ‘Please tell me you are not thinking what I suspect is going through your mind,’ he said to me.
‘No man deserves to be nailed to a cross for the crime of seeing his sweetheart. Tomorrow, my friends, I intend to rescue Aaron and see him brought safely back to Dura. I hope I can count on your assistance.’
Domitus spent the next hour trying to dissuade me, giving me a score of excellent reasons why the whole idea was folly and that we should leave Aaron to his fate and return home. But I would not change my mind and Surena and Malik pledged their support, while Byrd merely shrugged and said he cared little either way. Thus was Domitus outmanoeuvred and outnumbered and forced to accept defeat. Alexander also wanted to come along but I politely refused his offer. For one thing I did not know if he was a warrior — he certainly did not look like one — and for another he had no horse. I intended to strike hard and fast and leave even quicker.
We broke camp two hours before dawn and walked our horses for the first hour. Alexander sent Levi and Ananus sprinting ahead to ensure the road was free of any Roman patrols. Alexander had told us that the Roman garrison in Jericho numbered no more than a century, probably less — under eighty men. The main concentrations of Roman soldiers were at Jerusalem — a cohort — and Caesarea, the provincial capital, which held a further two cohorts. There were in addition numerous auxiliary units raised from locals spread throughout Judea. Alexander reported that there were a hundred such soldiers in Alexandreum, a town twenty miles to the north of Jericho. They were too far away to trouble us.
We rode along the shore of the Salt Sea and then headed northwest to Jericho, crossing the River Jordan via a ford. Alexander, Levi and Ananus stayed behind at the river to ensure our escape route stayed open. Byrd led Aaron’s horse as we rode the last five miles to Jericho. It was well past dawn when I saw the walls of Jericho for the first time, a stone circuit that encompassed the town and was broken only on the eastern side — the town’s sole gate. In the distance, beyond the town to the west, were mountains that looked down on the fertile plain in which Jericho was situated. Alexander told me that the fields around the town grew spices and flowers for perfumes but the main product was dates. Indeed, Jericho was nicknamed ‘town of palm trees’. As we approached the town gates I saw wooden poles planted in the ground on top of a small hill just off the road, some of them with crossbeams attached from which hung skeletons with grinning skulls. The Romans had planted their own unique crops in the area as well.
There was already traffic on the road, haggard-looking men leading donkeys and camels laden with wares going towards the open gates and passing others exiting the town. I halted our small contingent adjacent to the hill where the crucifixions were carried out. Giant crows were already perched on some of the crossbeams, eagerly awaiting the next batch of unfortunates who would be nailed to crosses. It could take up to five days to die on the cross and in that time the ravens would feast on the bodies of the condemned, pecking out their eyes first and then gorging themselves on their flesh.
‘Domitus and Malik,’ I ordered, ‘stay here. When Surena and I begin to kill the escort that will be your signal to free Aaron. Byrd, you stay with Aaron’s horse back up the road. When you see that he has been freed, make haste and get it to him. Then ride with him back to the ford as quickly as you can. Everyone understand?’
They all nodded and I nudged Remus forward with Surena behind me as Byrd retreated two hundred paces or so back up the road. As Remus walked towards the town there was a commotion at the gates and then a party of Roman legionaries appeared, twelve men in two files flanking a stooping figure with a heavy crossbeam across his shoulders — Aaron. His pace was slow and he shuffled his feet as he trudged towards his place of execution.
‘Surena, ride on the left-hand side of the road and I will take the right-hand side. Wait for my command before you begin shooting.’
‘Yes, lord,’ he replied.
I saw a centurion at the head of the column with his telltale transverse crest atop his helmet. The legionaries behind him were equipped with mail shirts, shields and helmets. They carried short spears rather than javelins, no doubt for crowd control should there be any trouble. That appeared distinctly unlikely for behind the soldiers trooped a small number of civilians led by what looked like a priest in blue and white robes. He sported a black beard whose ends were fashioned into coils. He seemed to be chanting some sort of prayer. Behind him came two ashen-faced women, one of them middle aged supporting the other, younger one who was sobbing uncontrollably. Aaron’s beloved I assumed.
Both Surena and I had our head cloths covering our faces as we ambled past the centurion at the head of the column and the legionaries filed past us one by one. I glanced at Aaron; his eyes cast down, and saw blood around his shoulders. The Romans had already scourged him, as was their custom, to further increase his torment once he was fixed to the cross. His arms were also spread along the crossbeam and held in place by leather straps. They made it impossible for him to struggle while hammering nails through his wrists. The Romans were above all a practical people in such matters.
Behind the wailing woman and her older friend came the usual chaff that accompanied public executions: the bloodthirsty, the sanctimonious, the curious and those whose lives were so wretched that they could only be made bearable by being witness to suffering greater than their own. These people I did not concern myself with. They would disappear faster than the crows perched on the crucifixion posts when the violence began.