Chapter 01
"I can hardly wait!"
Publius Cassius Varo leaned on the rail and stared hungrily across the bright blue water at the land ahead.
"To think," he said, "that over there is land, blessed, beautiful, solid land, that doesn't go up and down or tip you sideways or try to drown you or . . ."
The man standing respectfully behind him chuckled.
"You must admit, Master, that this last bit from Cyprus has not been too bad."
"Too bad?" Publius turned to face him. "Well, I suppose, if one compares it with the storm before we got to Cyprus, no, it hasn't been too bad. However, as far as I am concerned, Geta, I have had enough of Father Neptune's hospitality. The beds are uncomfortable, the food is mildewed and you can't keep it down and, as far as what he gives you to drink is concerned, I've swallowed enough salt water to last me for the rest of my life."
Geta shook his head. "We'll never make a sailor of you, Master."
"No, I guess that's true," Publius laughed. "Just as well I bought you, then, isn't it? At least one of us can keep his wits about him on the sea."
An hour later the blur of distant land had resolved itself into a green and pleasant scene; a line of gold marked the shore with its sand dunes, beyond them was a thicker line of olive green and beyond that again rose a range of hills, their summits bare and brown. Geta the slave approached his master, who was also his friend.
"We won't get there any faster for all your staring, Master," he said. "Why not come and eat?"
"Do you know?" Publius pushed himself away from the rail, "I actually feel as if I could eat without bringing it straight back up again. What have we got?"
"Only bread and olives, Master, plus a bit of that cheese I bought in Cyprus."
Publius pulled a wry face. "That cheese, Geta, smells like I felt until I caught sight of land. I suppose Necessity drives me to eat it, but she's a hard goddess to serve - almost as hard as Father Neptune. Bring it up on deck, there's a good fellow. I don't think I could stand another meal in that stinking cabin."
The two men sat on the deck, the food between them, and ate rapidly, washing the stale food down with gulps of wine from a leather bottle. Once Publius looked up and grinned.
"Well, at least the voyage has cured you of your reluctance to sit and eat with me, Geta."
The slave shrugged. "The sea does strange things, Master."
"Maybe, but let's keep it this way as far as possible. If ever I have that big mansion in the hills behind Rome, then you can be as servile as you please while you boss the other slaves around, but for the moment we share and share alike - danger, hardship, sleepless nights and stormy seas. You watch out for my back and I'll do the same for you."
"That won't be necessary for a while at least, Master."
Publius raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Well, not until we reach the frontier, Master."
Publius looked serious. "My friend, we shall have to keep our eyes open from the moment we step ashore. I don't know what they teach you back in Gaul about the pax Romana, but I can tell you that there is precious little of it here in Judea."
It was the slave's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean, Master?"
"Oh, I've made a few enquiries from my army friends," Publius said, tearing off another strip of bread. "We'll be all right in Caesarea and the other coastal towns where there are big garrisons, but once we get into the hill country we'll be surrounded by Jews and they are all more or less in rebellion against us."
"You mean, there is war?" Geta looked horrified.
"No, that's the nasty thing. You know where you are with a war; you're either in battle or you aren't and apart from the occasional enemy patrol or something, there is very little danger until the fighting begins. Here, however, they have these fellows called sicarii and you are in constant danger from them."
"Sicarii?" Geta queried.
"It means, 'dagger men'," Publius explained. "They dress just like everyone else, but they carry these long daggers hidden in their clothing and if they ever spot a soldier on his own, whether out in the country or wandering in the market in a city or town, it's out with the dagger and . . ." Publius drew his hand across his throat.
"Haven't they been caught and punished?" Geta demanded.
"Sure," Publius shrugged. "They crucify another one every day or so, but as fast as you get rid of one, another dozen spring up to take his place. Then there's the Zealots, who are almost as bad, only they want an open war instead of this cloak and dagger stuff. It's a mad old country and I still can't work out what Secunda sees in it."
"Secunda is the woman you are seeking, Master?"
"That's right." Publius sucked his fingers clean and leaned back against the side of the ship. "I met her sixteen years ago when she was the most beautiful girl in Triere. I made my play for her, but I'm afraid she had the bad taste to marry Saturnus, a chap from another legion entirely."
Geta grinned. "But only because he was rich and handsome, Master."
Publius looked up and returned the grin. "You've heard this before, haven't you. Yes, he was rich, handsome and respectable whereas I was . . ."
Geta finished the sentence for him, ". . . poor, handsome and very far from respectable."
Both men laughed. "Yes, I was too busy sowing my wild oats to really pay her the attention she deserved," Publius admitted. "Naturally, her father preferred the better man and so that's the one she married. I'm still not sure in my mind, however, which of us she preferred. That's why I'm making this madcap trip to Palestine, to see if she remembers me with affection."
"This Saturnus, what happened to him?" Geta wanted to know.
"As I heard it, he was killed in some skirmish with bandits out in the desert. A shame really, he was a decent enough chap. I hope that his shade will not feel too jealous of me muscling in on his wife."
"Have you had no contact with her since then?"
Publius gazed across at the approaching shore for a moment before replying.
"Yes, that's the odd thing. Not long before I bought you I finally managed to track her down to this Paneas place and sent off a message through the army channels. The gods must have been favouring me, for it was only six months before I received a reply."
"What did she say, Master?" Geta prompted when it appeared that Publius was lost in his thoughts.
"Eh?" Publius came back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. "Oh, I can't work it out. One part of the letter was friendly, making it obvious that she did indeed remember me and was not entirely displeased to hear from me; the other part talked about the problems she faced and how it would be terrible if we met again and I had to go away disappointed and how it might be best for me to forget her. As if I could forget Secunda."
"What problems, Master?"
"That's the annoying thing: she didn't say. I don't know whether old Saturnus left her poor and she's too proud to admit it or whether she has got religion and taken a vow of eternal chastity - neither of which are likely, in my opinion. Personally, I think it most likely that she doesn't want another army husband with the constant moving around and the uncertainty each morning of whether she will see him again in the evening."
"Well, may the gods favour your wooing, Master."
"Thanks, Geta. I shall sacrifice to Eros at the first temple we come to and make a vow in his honour when we get to Paneas." Publius stood up and smiled broadly. "Come on, we're nearly at the harbour mouth, let's get ready to land."
Geta hastily packed away the remains of the meal and then disappeared below to fetch up their luggage. Compared to some, they travelled light, for a soldier is used to moving and to discarding any unnecessary impedimentia. Even so, Geta had to make two trips to bring up their bedding and Publius' weapons and armour. He piled it neatly on the deck beside his master and then joined him at the rail.
"What city is this, Master?"
"Caesarea," Publius replied. "Caesarea Martitima - unless that fool of a captain has lost his way completely, in which case it could be anywhere."
"It's a grand city," Geta gazed along the shoreline, which was crowded with gleaming white stone buildings. "Isn't that a hippodrome over there?"
"Yes," Publius said. "I believe old Herod was fond of his racing. It's said to be the hippodrome with the best view in the world: so long as you get on the right side, you can watch the sea in between races, with ships sailing to and from Egypt or Asia or just about every port in the world."
"It looks a rich city, Master."
"Looks may be deceiving, though. Herod was rich enough but he just about beggared his kingdom building places like this for show. In fact, the high taxes he imposed to pay for it all have gone a long way towards keeping the dagger-men in business. Still, if you think this is wonderful, you ought to see the temple he built in Jerusalem. I'm told that it really is a wonder of the world, even though it isn't finished yet."
"Maybe you ought to go there to make a vow, Master? Is it far out of our way? What god is worshipped there?"
Publius laughed. "You have a lot to learn, Geta. Me? A gentile? The Jews wouldn't even let me near the place, let alone allow me to offer a sacrifice there. They think that anyone who isn't a Jew is unclean and we certainly wouldn't be allowed to pollute their holy temple."
Geta looked surprised. "But surely, Master, the more pilgrims that go to a place, the more the god is worshipped and the more pleased he is?"
"You'd think so," Publius nodded. "But these Jews have other ideas. Their god isn't like other gods at all; why, even his name is unknown. I'm told that not even their priests know the name of the god, which seems a bit ridiculous to me, but there you are."
"Is he like Zeus?" Geta persisted.
"No, nothing like any of our gods. You'll hear people tell you that the Jews worship an ass or at least a god with the head of an ass. I suspect that's just a tale told to mock them. According to what I've heard, when Pompey the Great captured Jerusalem he actually dared to go into the innermost sanctuary of the old temple and found it totally empty and bare."
"So the Jews worship nothing?" Geta looked puzzled.
Publius shrugged. "Most likely the priests had enough time to hide the sacred image before Pompey got there, but we'll never know. Certainly it is true that Jews won't allow any sort of image near their synagogues and Pilate the Procurator provoked a most tremendous riot when he was first appointed by getting his bodyguard to bring their standards into Jerusalem with them."
"But why would the Jews object to that?" Geta looked puzzled.
"Because of the statues on them," Publius laughed. "You know, the eagles, the statues of the divine Caesar, the images of the legion's gods and so on."
The conversation stopped as the ship approached the harbour mouth and threaded its way between the pillared pavilions on either side. Sailors dashed around, untieing the sail, coiling ropes and all the rest of the business of berthing. Despite Publius' calling him a fool, the captain clearly knew his business because he held his course almost up to the quayside, then dropped the sail and turned the steering oars hard over so that the ship glided gently into position beside the slaves who were waiting to catch the ropes that the sailors threw to them. Within minutes the ship was tightly fastened to the quay and Publius and Geta were able to make their way down the couple of planks that spanned the gap between ship and shore.
Publius staggered as he stepped onto the stone quay and then recovered himself and threw out his arms. "Ye gods!" he exclaimed. "Oh the blessing of stillness. Father Neptune, I give you thanks for your hospitality, but I'm afraid that there is no question but that I prefer good, solid Earth, the best god for me."
He reached out and caught Geta as he too staggered as he stepped off the gangplank.
"Leave it here, Geta. I'll keep an eye on it while you get the rest of the stuff, then it's off to the customs house and no more sailing for years and years. I swear it."
A minute later, their arms full of bags and bundles, both men strode along the quay towards the gate that led into the city. As they went Publius eyed the other ships curiously; there were a couple of naval biremes and a trireme and he muttered thanks to the gods that he had never had to fight at sea, where the perils of sword and arrow were the least of your worries. Most of the ships, however, were fat-bellied merchantmen with lines of heavily laden slaves either loading or unloading them. Although he was no sailor, Publius felt the romance of it all and wondered where all these ships had come from and what exotic cargoes they were carrying.
Despite his interest, however, Publius was glad to step into the shade of the customs house and rest his eyes from the glare of the sea and the white limestone buildings of the city.
"Publius Cassius Varo," he told the clerk who sat, pen poised, over a roll of papyrus. "Centurion, Sixth Victria Legion, but on secondment to the other Sixth Legion, the Ferrata, in northern Syria to learn a bit about warfare on our eastern frontier."
"You're a bit out of your way here then, sir," the clerk said as he jotted down the details. "Ship blown off course?"
"No, I'm on leave for a couple of weeks. I'm making a pilgrimage to Paneas."
Publius heard Geta choke behind him, but the slave covered his laughter with a most energetic cough.
"I wish you safety on the way, sir." The clerk dipped his pen in the ink and wrote the final few letters. "You'll be staying with the garrison tonight?"
"Yes, if you can tell us how to get there. Also, what's the best place to get a couple of horses?"
"Good quality or any old nag, sir?"
"Depends how much they cost," Publius answered promptly.
"Well, the best horses are ex-cavalry ones, sir. Androcles the Greek down by the theatre has the monopoly on them, but I'm afraid prices are a bit high at the moment, sir, what with the recent troop movements and so on. If you're after a cheap horse you're probably best going to Ephraim out by the north gate. He'll ask at least double what a beast is worth, so be warned, sir."
"Thanks," Publius nodded. "Ephraim? That's a Jewish name, isn't it?"
"That's right sir." The clerk grinned. "Lot of them about, sir. Comes of being so close to Judea, you know."
