“Alright,” Artorius said, giving a short sigh of relief. “If that’s all it is, his broken heart will mend. Take him to the brothels this week.”
“Not sure if he’s feeling up to it…” the squad leader began.
“That wasn’t a request, sergeant,” Artorius scowled. “I’ll do worse than lash him with a corded whip if he isn’t balls deep in the most debauched whore in the province.”
The decanus laughed and nodded. “Don’t worry, sir. He’s a good soldier; it won’t take that much to convince him to clear his mind and his groin.”
Though he could have left any time he wished, Artorius elected to stay at least through the first guard shift. The sixteen legionaries and their decanii spread out in a semicircle in front of the crosses. They placed a handful of torches to give them at least enough light to spot anyone who might come and try and rescue the condemned. Behind the crosses, the legionaries for the other shifts laid down to try and catch some sleep.
An hour had passed and Artorius sat on a rock, his head bowed. He did not realize he had started to doze off when he heard a commotion coming from the guards.
“Here!” a legionary shouted. “Stop right there!”
Artorius bolted upright and saw two of his men dragging a young woman into the torchlight. The slumbering legionaries were also alerted.
“It’s alright, go back to sleep,” he told his men, who lay back down. He walked over to the soldiers who threw the woman down at his feet. Her body was trembling in fear, and she sobbed uncontrollably.
“Come to rescue the damned,” one of the legionaries said.
“Don’t be fucking daft!” his decanus snapped. “One little girl is going to cut these men down? I think not. Keep your eyes front and make sure she doesn’t have friends hiding in the dark.”
“I’m alone, I promise,” the woman managed to say through her tears.
Artorius walked over and gazed down at her in realization.
“I know you…” he started to say.
“Rebekkah!” one of the prisoners cried from above. It was the first sound any of them had made since they had been strung up. “Don’t hurt her! Let her go!”
“Shut up, you!” the decanus with the whip shouted, lashing him hard across the torso with a loud slap, leaving a fearful bleeding gash.
Artorius knelt down and lifted the woman’s chin up. Her face was flushed, her eyes swollen and filled with tears, which stained her cheeks. He could tell she wished to pull away from him, yet her abject fear paralyzed her.
“Your brother,” he said, motioning with his head towards the man who had cried out.
She nodded nervously.
He then looked over at his legionaries. “Leave her be. We have punished the guilty; the least we can do is show a little mercy.”
The soldiers nodded and walked away from the sobbing woman. Artorius had heard that one of the prisoners was the brother of Cornelius’ lover, though with all he’d dealt with over the past few months, he’d forgotten.
“Dearest brother, what have they done to you?” Rebekkah sobbed as she ran her fingers over Jotham’s leg.
His feet and legs were stained with dried blood from the grisly wounds the spikes had left.
“You still call me brother,” he said quietly. His mouth was parched and it hurt to speak.
“We heard rumors, but we never paid them any mind,” Rebekkah said. “I could not bear to think that my only brother had become a…no, it was better to think that you were dead.”
“You’re right,” Jotham replied with a raspy voice. He then broke into a coughing fit, spewing bile and blood that told of unseen internal injuries from the beatings he’d suffered at the hands of his Roman captors. “Leave me, Rebekkah. Your brother died long ago.”
Her despair was total, and she could not fathom the abject horror of his fate. Artorius and his legionaries stood out of the way as the young woman walked away. Her hand was over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her sobbing. She did not even notice the soldiers as she stumbled out into the darkness. One of the legionaries walked over to Artorius and shook his head as he watched her disappear.
“Sir, was that Centurion Cornelius’ woman?”
“It was,” Artorius replied. “Not a word to him.”
“I hope we’ve done our last crucifixion in this gods’ forsaken country,” the soldier said quietly.
“So do I,” Artorius replied. “If these insane bastards would just quit giving us reason to!”
“I swear the heat must fry their brains,” Valens mused as he joined them. He was wiping a rag over his mouth, having gone off and vomited once they finished hammering the last spike home. He and Artorius walked away from the circle of torches and could just make out Rebekkah meeting another cloaked figure who carried an oil lamp. “So are you going to tell Cornelius about our little visitor?”
“No,” Artorius said. “What is between them is not our concern. We’ve done our duty here, and now we have to make certain order is maintained through the Jewish Passover.”
“Hmm,” Valens mumbled. “You know, I heard that Nazarene teacher arrived in Jerusalem while we were thrashing those buggers who attacked the fortress.”
Artorius cocked a smile. “We should invite him to the palace. Pilate’s been wanting to meet him for some time.”
Chapter XXVIII: Unholy Hatred
There was a warm night breeze wafting through the mostly quiet streets. For Sergeant Cicero, it came as a reprieve. Whenever the cohort came to Jerusalem, he spent most of his days in the sweltering heat of the forge and the armory, training and supervising the auxiliary armorers. They were still amateurish when compared to those of the legions, but at least they no longer needlessly broke weapons they were trying to repair, and they understood how to keep the arms and kit of their men serviceable. Cicero was also a decanus, and as such he felt that all his time in the armories caused him to neglect his duties as a squad leader. So he was grateful when Felix, his tesserarius, granted his request to place him and his squad on two weeks of night patrol. Cicero figured that would save them from the insanity that was the Passover celebrations.
With the plethora of pilgrims who made their way to Jerusalem every spring, the population of the city nearly doubled and with only so many inns and residents willing to take in guests, there were many who simply slept on the streets. The legionaries marched down the center of the road, so as to avoid stepping on the countless pilgrims who slumbered in heaps along the edges and in every doorway.
“Such a relief they put us on night patrol,” a legionary said as they rounded a corner that took them towards the temple and the Antonia Fortress.
“I know,” one of his companions replied. “Imagine what these streets are like during the daytime!”
The sounds of shouting alerted Cicero and his men.
“What the bloody hell is that?” the first legionary asked.
“Sounds like a damn riot,” another responded. As they started to move towards the commotion, a group of men on horseback rode past them.
“Samaritan auxiliaries,” the first legionary observed.
“Then this is more than just a minor disturbance,” Cicero responded. “Let’s go!”
The decanus rightly feared that a minor situation could become volatile quickly, given the abject hatred that existed between the Judeans and the Samaritans.
The squad of legionaries jogged up the block and arrived just as the horsemen dismounted and started shouting in Aramaic to the crowd that had gathered just outside the meeting hall. Cicero halted his men and formed them into a column, which marched calmly but deliberately towards the commotion. The crowd of Jews, which appeared to be all men of the Sanhedrin given their more elaborate dress, immediately ceased in their shouting as the legionaries advanced. As they forced their way into the hall, Cicero saw a Judean standing before what looked like a judiciary tribunal. His hands were bound in front of him, his face swollen and bruised. Off to the side he recognized Caiaphas, who was arguing with an auxilia decurion.