Chapter 02


A couple of hours later Publius was relaxing in the comfort of the officers' mess in the headquarters building. A pottery jar of beer in his hand, he sat in a window seat and looked out over the city to the darkening sea beyond. The man sitting opposite him lifted his jar of beer and sipped at it.

"So, is there anything else we can do for you?"

"No," Publius shook his head. "Thanks very much. I hope I've changed enough money and if someone can guide me to Ephraim the horse dealer tomorrow, I'll be on my way."

"You know about the sicarii?"

"I think so. Keep away from lonely places or crowds of Jews, don't camp overnight in the open or stay in a village and so on."

"Well, just don't take them lightly, that's all." The other man frowned. "We lost a good chap just last week, name of Quintus. Didn't know him very well myself, he was from the Jerusalem garrison, down here on his way back to Rome on leave. Goodness only knows why, but he went out on his own one afternoon and never came back. We found his body by the roadside the following morning."

"Sicarii?" Publius asked.

"Oh yes, no doubt about it. A single dagger thrust to the heart from behind. Absolutely clean. He never stood a chance."

"Why do they hate us so much?" Publius put his jar down and stared at his companion.

"I've thought about it a lot," the man said. "I don't know whether you know it, but there is a lot that is admirable in their religion - no images, only one god, an emphasis on cleanliness, strict morals like we used to have in Rome in the old days, all that sort of thing. I've looked into it quite a bit and, well, I go along with most of it. I'm what is called 'a god-fearer'. That means that I'm just about a Jew but haven't actually been circumcised."

"The unkindest cut," Publius joked.

"Yes, well." The man frowned. "The writings of their prophets contain a lot of profound stuff and I can't say that I understand it all myself, but it's certainly worth reading if you're religiously inclined. Anyway, the point is that the ancient prophets predicted that the Jews would rule the earth under a king they call 'Messiah' and I guess it rather sticks in the throat that it is we who are ruling the earth, not they."

"Is this something to do with that rumour one hears from time to time that a great world ruler will arise in the east?" Publius asked, his eyebrows raised. "I've come across it once or twice myself, but I always just thought it was forum gossip."

"Well, I don't know exactly what you have heard, but there certainly is such a rumour. You go up to Jerusalem and you're sure to hear someone mention it. The Jews, of course, think that this ruler will be a Jew, the Syrians think he'll be a Syrian, the Nabateans - well, I don't know exactly, but probably they think he'll be a Nabatean. There's always some charlatan coming along and stirring up a crowd by claiming that he is the promised ruler, and then we have to go out and massacre a few of them and crucify a few more and clear the mess up."

"Usual," Publius grunted. "If the politicians make a mess of things, it's the poor ruddy legionary who has to sort it all out."

"Exactly," the other man nodded. "I hear you are going off to Paneas; pilgrimage?"

"That's what I've been telling people," Publius agreed. "Actually, it's not a god I'm seeking but a goddess."

The other man raised his eyebrows. "You won't find a goddess up there," he said. "Now if you were to go ..."

Publius lifted a finger. "A different sort of goddess. A girl I used to know years ago. She married someone else and now I hear that he's dead so I'm going up to try my luck."

"Right!" the other man laughed. "Well, I wish you God's blessing. I don't know anyone up that way, otherwise I'd try and arrange some introductions for you, but if you call in at Tiberias, look up a chap called Fortunatus, a philosopher at the palace. He knows everybody around there and if he doesn't know this girl of yours himself, he'll be sure to know someone who does. Decent chap. Tell him I sent you."

"Thank you very much," Publius said, sensing that the conversation was over and rising to his feet. "The only thing is, I don't know your name."

"Centurion Cornelius," the other man said. "I'm with the Italian band. Been out here so long that we're all in danger of going native, as you've probaby gathered. God go with you."

Publius strolled down to the barracks and found Geta in the cubicle they had been given for the night. His things were neatly stowed on the bunk and Geta was busily rubbing his master's armour with a piece of sacking, wiping away the salt and a few patches of incipient rust. He looked up as Publius entered.

"I've been asking around, Master. The men who normally occupy this room are out on exercises and won't be back until tomorrow, so we should have a quiet night."

"Good, good." Publius looked around approvingly at the cubicle, its familiar layout reassuring and friendly. "Let's go and find somewhere to eat," he said. "It seems a shame to have arrived in the exotic east and then sit down to standard legionary fare."

"There's a tavern just down the street, Master. One of the other slaves told me that it is cheap but the food is good."

"Sounds ideal," Publius said. "Let's go. Finish the armour later."

"I've been asking about this Ephraim, Master," Geta said a few minutes later when they were seated at a stone table in the busy tavern, plates of food in front of them. "He's supposed to be pretty honest and never asks more than double what his horses are worth."

Publis laughed. "Well, I suppose that is one definition of honesty."

Geta laughed with him, "Apparently, Master, most Jews believe that they have a right to cheat and steal from anyone who isn't a Jew. It's part of their religion, so I was told. The only time they won't do it is if they think they might be found out."

"Like everyone else," Publius grunted.

"Well, no, Master. They aren't worried about being found out in case they are punished. At least, not here in Judea. All the judges are on their side and would never convict them of trying to cheat a foreigner. Apparently what they are afraid of is that it might look bad for their God."

Publius tapped the side of his head. "Mad, Geta. I tell you, they're all mad."

Geta grinned. "I heard about one of their teachers - they call them 'rabbis' - who was walking along a road when he saw a branch heavy with fruit overhanging the wall. He actually sent his servant to find out whether the owner of the tree was a Jew or not."

"What difference would that make?" Publius asked. "Anyone can pick a bit of fruit, surely?"

"Yes, Master, but he wanted to pick the lot and offer the fruit for sale and he wouldn't do that to a fellow Jew, only to a gentile."

Publius shook his head. "What a strange god they must worship! The odd thing is that back in the headquarters I was chatting to a chap called Cornelius, a centurion like me. He reckons that there is so much good in the Jews' religion that he is just about a Jew himself. Actually recommended that I should look into it myself."

"I hope you won't, Master."

"Why not?" Publius raised his eyebrows. "Might be a good idea. You know, the more gods one worships, the more favours one can claim from heaven."

Geta ostentatiously crossed his legs. "I'm told, Master, that if you were to become a Jew, you would have to be circumcised yourself - and you would have to circumcise all your male slaves as well."

Publius bellowed with laughter. "Feeling nervous, eh, Geta? Well, don't worry. I'm not too keen on such nonsense myself. There are limits to what the gods can demand of me, I can tell you, and having bits chopped off me is pretty close to those limits. Might as well worship the Great Mother and have the whole thing off and be done with it."

Geta laughed as well. "I can't see you in a dress, Master. It wouldn't suit you."

Publius shook his head. "No. I must admit that I can't understand those who worship Cybele, but there you are. She must be a powerful goddess to inspire her worshippers like that." He put the last piece of food in his mouth. "Come on, let's get some sleep. It will be wonderful to lie on a bed that doesn't go up and down - and anyway, we need an early start tomorrow."