Chapter XX: Horsemen under the Bull
Caesarea, Judea
July, 32 A.D.
Spring came once more to the empire, with many feeling a sense of rebirth after the hated affair that came in the wake of Sejanus’ fall. The dark cloud had hung over Caesarea, and especially Pontius Pilate. Even the joyous celebrations of Saturnalia could not remove the pervading gloom.
The baggage train, carrying all the household goods for the officers of the First Italic Cohort had at last arrived, along with all of their servants and the twenty legionaries who had acted as their escorts. Though they had seen a substantial portion of the empire during the months it took for them to cross from Gaul into Judea by land, they had been oblivious to the fearful news from Rome, hearing only the odd rumor here and there. As the daily business of most inhabitants within the empire was unaffected by what happened in Rome, Artorius wondered if the average citizen even knew who Sejanus was and why he had been struck down.
Pontius Pilate had, at last, quit panicking whenever he received official imperial correspondence. The only real change was that instead of communicating with Sejanus, he now received his instructions directly from the emperor. Most of the provinces were considered senatorial, with their governors appointed from the senate and allowed to rule with near autonomy. Judea was one of the few imperial provinces, with an equite procurator, answering to the emperor instead of through the senate. And while rumors abounded as to Tiberius’ state of mind, what dispatches he did send to Pilate were mostly routine and almost mundane in nature.
The spring Passover had been mostly uneventful, with Pilate making his annual speeches to the assembled masses, reminding them that despite their religious autonomy, they still fell under the rule of Tiberius Caesar. I was now summer and Artorius had just returned to Caesarea, following another garrison inspection in Jerusalem.
“The training of the new recruits goes well, I take it?” Pilate asked as Artorius handed him a pair of scrolls.
“Well enough,” the centurion replied. Though molding the new auxiliaries was moving at an agonizingly slow pace, coupled with his at times strained rapport with Abenader, Artorius knew he had to instill confidence in the procurator. “These scrolls are the updated rosters for the garrison, along with the payroll that will require your authorization. It is slow going, but at least there was no violent quelling of riots this last Passover.”
“Hmm,” Pilate muttered, setting the scrolls aside. “You know that the garrison of Jerusalem is but a fraction of my responsibilities in this province. Whatever issues arise, I depend upon you to resolve, until such time as they are able to manage themselves effectively.”
“Understood,” Artorius replied.
“Was there anything else?” Pilate’s face was worn, and Artorius wondered if he slept at all anymore.
“There is,” the centurion confirmed. “I have a handle on the auxiliary infantry, but have yet to so much as see a single cavalryman since I’ve been in the province. I know they exist, I saw the manning rosters.”
“Ala I Gemina Sebastenorum, a regiment of Samaritan cavalry,” Pilate acknowledged. “They spend most of their time patrolling the major roads between Judea and the bordering provinces. Given the unbridled hatred that you are well aware of between the Jew and Samaritan, I tend to keep them out of the cities as much as possible. You should pay them a courtesy visit. Their commander is a centurion named Taurus. He’s a Roman, at least, and a sound cavalry officer.”
“I’ve likely seen him in passing,” Artorius noted. “When is he due to be in Caesarea again?”
“The day after tomorrow,” Pilate answered. “As I personally don’t care to see any of his Samaritan cavalry, I have directed him to give his monthly reports to me personally. Return around midday tomorrow, we should be finished with our meeting then.”
For Centurions Cornelius and Julius, there was more to serving the empire than simply commanding their centuries in battle. Julius was originally from Tarsus in Asian Minor and, as such, was familiar with the numerous peoples within the eastern empire, to include the eccentric Jews. As a boy he had visited Caesarea, as well as Jerusalem with his father. Therefore, he was able to view the populace not as conquered subjects but as people.
Though from Rome, Cornelius made the acquaintance of Claudia Procula’s Judean friend, Rebekkah, and the two were spending a significant amount of time together. It was midmorning when they walked past an old building, the sounds of many very young voices caught Cornelius’ attention.
“What is that?” he asked. “It sounds like it is full of children.”
“It is,” Rebekkah replied, “But that is no place of happiness.” She attempted to guide him away. He took her by the hand and quickly walked around the stone wall to the open gate. The stench was overpowering. Numerous children, many with various diseases, and all malnourished, were congregated within.
“What is this?” Cornelius asked.
“A place for orphaned or unwanted children,” Rebekkah replied sadly. “A local rabbi does what he can for them, but sadly these poor souls are mostly lost.”
“This isn’t right,” Cornelius said, shaking his head. “Surely there is something that can be done. I have seen the temple in Jerusalem and loathe the idea that a place with such wealth would allow children to starve.”
“The priests do ask us to pray for them,” Rebekkah said hopefully, though Cornelius only shook his head in disgust.
“Prayer is worthless without action.” He released her hand and walked through the courtyard, which was overgrown with weeds. He shook his head as he walked past the children who varied in age between two and fourteen years in age. There were a few older women looking after them, though they mostly hid behind their head scarves and kept their eyes averted from the centurion. Rebekkah waited for him just outside the gate as he made his way into the stucco building. He came back out after just a few minutes, his hand over his mouth as if he were gagging.
“Please, let’s leave this place,” Rebekkah pleaded. “There is nothing you can do here.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Cornelius replied as he took a small rag and wiped his brow. “They have no sewage or waste disposal. It is disgusting in there! I am going to get in touch with some contacts I have who may be able to help.”
Rebekkah stopped abruptly and was gazing at the centurion with admiration. “You really do care about our people.”
“They are my people, too,” he reasoned. “This province is part of the Roman Empire, and therefore the people within are, to a certain degree, Rome’s responsibility. But know that I curse those fat bastards at the temple who allow this to continue! The scraps they throw away from their table would be more than enough to feed these children. And if they are not given an education or any skills, what happens to those who survive? Many of the bandits and zealots in this region probably came from places such as this!”
The next day Artorius arrived back at the governor’s palace just as Taurus was finishing his report to Pilate. The cavalry centurion was aptly named, as he was rather bullish in appearance. He was broad in the shoulders and thighs, with a dark complexion and a gruff face that looked as if it required a shave twice per day.