“Where will you go then?”
“Rome,” Agrippa said without hesitation. “My true friends are there, what remains of them. Even the emperor will most likely welcome my return. Knowing now that Drusus was murdered, Tiberius no longer blames me for his death.”
Their conversation was cut short as they neared a flight of steps just off the large open air entrance to the palace. Sounds of maniacal laughter echoed down the stairs, along with the rapid sound of running feet. They were almost knocked over by Valens, who was rushing down the stairs while trying to cinch up his belt.
“Damn it, Valens!” Artorius snapped. “Where the hell have you been?”
The optio’s eyes were glassy, though he did not smell of alcohol. He grabbed his centurion by the shoulder guards of his armor. “Artorius, you would not believe what I’ve been doing! That Salome is a freak! She does this thing with her finger…” He paused as he noticed Agrippa. “No offense intended towards your cousin-niece.” He broke into a fit of laughter at his own last remark.
“Please, feel free to insult her all you want. I know what she is.”
“And save it for later,” Artorius added, grabbing Valens and guiding him towards the exit. “For right now, we are leaving.”
“Leaving?” Valens asked. “But why? I thought we were off-loading all that pungent crap that Pilate had us deliver to make that ass, Herod, smell a little better.” His voice was loud and carried further than made his centurion feel comfortable.
“Already been done,” Artorius explained. “Seems he wanted it a little early. And what is with you?” He was exacerbated by his optio’s constant giggling and complete indifference to everything inappropriate that he was saying loudly.
“Must have been whatever that crap was she was burning upstairs,” he reasoned. “I don’t know what it was, but it stunk terribly! I told her she needed some new incense, that whatever she had was rotten. That sultry bitch laughed and told me to just inhale deeply. So I did, and that’s when things got weird.”
Artorius could not help but break into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of his friend’s remark. “Valens, when you of all people say that something has gotten weird, I probably don’t even want to know what that entails.”
“Probably not,” the optio replied with his brow furrowed. “In fact, I’m not sure I even want to know.”
Chapter XX II: Disciples of Love and Hate
Two of the prisoners died on the way to Caesarea, and due to their slow rate of march, even with cavalry lances in their backs, they still only arrived a day before Artorius and his contingent returned. Centurion Taurus sent a rider ahead, and so when they reached the outskirts of Caesarea that evening, Magnus and two dozen legionaries were there to greet them.
“We’ll take charge of your prisoners, sir,” the Norseman said as he saluted.
“Much obliged,” Taurus replied. “I will make my report to Pilate in the morning. I sent some of my men back to see about Artorius, and he’s on his way back. They’re camped about ten miles from here, so they should return by late morning.”
Magnus nodded and then waved his men forward. Legionaries fell upon the hapless prisoners, berating them and prodding them towards several caged wagons that were waiting for them. As they were being manhandled into each cage, Cornelius and Rebekkah came walking from the other direction, unaware of what was transpiring. As they got closer, one of the prisoners stopped just before the edge of the cart, his eyes growing wide. Rebekkah gave a short cry and placed her hand over her mouth. She then rushed over to the man, startling both Magnus and his legionaries.
“Jotham!” she cried morosely as she placed both hands on his face, which was devoid of emotion. “Dear God, what have they done to you?” She was now sobbing openly, though her pleas were cut short by a legionary who forced his way between them.
“Here, you can’t be doing that! Off with you now!”
As Cornelius ran over and grabbed Rebekkah by the shoulders, Magnus snapped at him, “Damn it, Cornelius, keep control of your ‘friend’!”
“I’ve got this handled, Magnus,” the centurion replied curtly before leading Rebekkah away, who was, for a minute, unable to speak through her sobbing.
“Into the cage, filthy bastard!” the legionary snapped at Jotham, cuffing him hard across the back of the head.
“What was that all about?” Cornelius said with exacerbation as soon as they were away from the scene where the last of the prisoners were now being loaded into the carts and led away. “You created a scene and made me look like an ass in front of one of my peers and his men!”
“I’m sorry,” Rebekkah said with shuddering breath as she tried to regain control of herself. “It’s just that…that was my brother.”
“Your brother,” Cornelius acknowledged coldly, releasing her.
“Please,” Rebekkah pleaded. “You must help him. They’ll surely crucify him!”
“And rightfully so,” he replied with contempt. “Damn it all, Rebekkah! We keep the peace in this province, for if we did not the insane factions of your tribes would rip each other apart. I have even given much of my own coin in assisting your people’s orphaned children, while fat priests in their vast temples ignore their plight. And for all that, your brother has taken up arms against Rome!”
“I swear I didn’t know,” Rebekkah replied, wiping her hand over her tear-stained eyes. “He disappeared over a year ago. We heard no word from him, and for all we knew he was killed by robbers. I am sorry, my love, please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Cornelius replied gently, taking her in his arms once more.
“I’m frightened for him.”
“The brother you knew is already dead,” Cornelius emphasized. He regretted his biting words to this woman he’d grown to love deeply over the past year, yet all he could do at that moment was just hold her as she let her built up tears of sorrow fall.
Artorius rode straight to the palace after arriving in Caesarea the next morning. A servant took his horse, and he removed his helmet while heading into the palace and up the stairs to Pilate’s study. When he arrived, the procurator was in a heated argument with the Jewish High Priest, Joseph Caiaphas. A pair of freedmen scribes were furiously trying to scribble down all that was said between the two.
“I have no issue with your people policing after themselves,” Pilate emphasized as Artorius quietly let himself in. “However, this time the mobs have gone too far!”
“The woman was a prostitute and an abomination before God,” the priest retorted. “Her crime is punishable by death under our laws.”
“Your laws,” Pilate replied, “not Rome’s. Roman law supersedes that of the Jews, and whether you like it or not, prostitution is not a crime under Roman law, let alone punishable by death. Therefore, your complaint against the rabbi who stopped the mob from stoning the poor woman to death is invalid. What was his name again?”
“Yehosua,” Caiaphas replied, trying to keep his temper under control. “In Latin his name would be pronounced Jesus. And I must correct you, procurator, for he is no rabbi.”
“Well, teacher, then,” Pilate remarked. “Whatever he is, he saved that woman’s life. And it would seem he has quite the influence over your people.”
“He is the son of a carpenter from Nazareth, though his manner of speaking does not sound like anyone from our region. And you are correct, he does have a profound influence on our people who listen to his teachings. And that is why I tell you he is dangerous. He speaks of love and forgiveness, but he’s already started to undermine our authority over the Jews. How long, then, do you think before he starts trying to undermine yours?”
“Thank you, Caiaphas,” Pilate said, ending their discussion. “I appreciate your concern about the strength of Roman rule over your people and will look into the matter.”