Iudaea Novel

When I arrived on the training grounds Metellus had the men lined up.  I recognized most of them on sight.  Good soldiers were known by everyone.  They were known either by their own boasts or through their commander’s boasts about them.  Most of what a man was in the legion was based on his exploits.  The rest was based on how well he told the story of his exploits.

Three of the men were decurions.  I couldn’t imagine what they thought about being selected for a special unit led by someone they knew as a duplicarius.  Our unit was arguably the best in the ala and I had easily five or ten years experience over any of these men, but I worried how they would take orders from someone who this morning was their inferior.  I went down the line with Metellus and tried to act like I knew what I was doing.

The first four were Syrian archers, Adar, Narses, Habib, and Khalil. They were the most agile and accurate horse archers in the ala.  Adar and Narses were brothers, and I had patrolled with them many times.  Adar smiled and nodded when I walked by.  His always dour brother remained expressionless.  The next five were native Brits: Plinius, Lucanus, Surus, Cimber, and Gratian.  They were ruddy men with light hair and long faces, all of them good, loyal soldiers. The next was Kleitos who I had only met once.  Metellus told me he was a Greek from Anatolia who knew a handful of languages including Hebrew, Samaritan, Aramaic, and Greek.  The next three were Narsica, Varus, and Ibrahim, Samaritans who had recently come from the province of Iudaea.  Merula was next.  He was a Spaniard and the best swordsman I knew.  With a spartha in one hand and a pugio in the other, I saw him level a line of men without being touched.  Then there was Catalus.  He was an enormous Brit who chose to use a hammer-ax instead of the standard spartha.  He reminded me of the axe-wielding Celt from the day before.  Finally, there was Strabo, an excellent spearman and a Gaul like his cousin Speratus.

Kleitos and the Samaritans were the only men that I didn’t know much about.  I didn’t know why Severus and Metellus included them. Kleitos was not known for his fighting ability and the Samaritans had barely been in the province long enough to know a brigand from a sack of oats.  I didn’t see how they were going to be much help in scouring the countryside for an old man and his books.

I turned to face all of the men, “As of now we are a unit.  Your loyalty as always lies with Rome but from now on you serve this unit.  You are not sixteen individuals but a single cohesive weapon.  Merula, you will act as my duplicarius, Plinius, my sesquiplicarius, and Adar you will be the signifier.  All of you need to start assembling your gear and moving it to the fifth barracks.  We will train as a unit tomorrow morning and set out at noon. Are there any questions?”

Catalus spoke up, “Sir, can you tell us where we are going?”

“Later this evening after you’ve moved into the barracks, I will go over everything you need to know for tomorrow.”  This gave me time to find out where we were going. “Now get moving, I want everyone in the new barracks by dusk.”

The men dispersed and I walked back to Metellus, “Well?” I asked.

“You did fine.  They’re good men.  I don’t think they will give you a problem but tell me, why did you pick Merula to be duplicarius?”

“He is the most independent, and I’m hoping by giving him some responsibility he will be less likely to act on his own,” I said.

“So maybe you have learned something after all these years,” he said slapping me on the back. “Now get me a list of the equipment you need plus a list of slaves and stable hands.  No more than two each.  The governor wants to keep the unit as small as possible.”

I told Metellus I’d get him the lists, but I needed to gather some information first.  I headed to the stockade where the three Brigante prisoners were being kept.

__________________________________________

Speratus arrived before me and was already interrogating the prisoners.  I found the heap of a man in the first cell.  His hands were tied behind his back and streaks of blood ran down his face and onto his now crimson tunic.  Speratus was with the next prisoner.

“Where were you planning to meet them?” Speratus said.

All I heard was a heavy cough.

“Where!” Speratus demanded.

“Up your mother’s ass,” was the response.

I looked in the room in time to see Speratus kneeing the man in the lower back.  The prisoner was kneeling in the center of the room, his arms tied out to either side of the cell.  He winced from the blow but said nothing. He just snorted the blood in his nose into his throat and spit it on the floor.

Speratus walked around the man toward me, “I left the kid for you.  I doubt he will tell me anything.”

I nodded and went to the next cell.  The boy was crouched at the back of the cell, his back against the wall, elbows on his knees, and hands over his ears.  He glared at me like a belligerent ox.

“Do you understand Latin?” I said.

He didn’t move.

“Get up, let’s go,” I said opening the door to the cell.

He looked up apprehensively and slowly got up.  His hands and feet were shackled.  He took small steps toward the door.  I motioned another guard to follow us, and we walked out of the stockade to the training stables.

We sat down on a bench outside the corral where a young filly was being trained.  I let the boy watch for awhile.

In Celtic I said, “What was your father’s name?”

Looking straight ahead he said, “Dunham.”

“You can believe it or not but I do feel badly about your father. Nevertheless your people are playing a dangerous game challenging Rome.”

“You are the trespassers. For four generations we have fought Rome.  It is time for you to go home,” he said like he was reading a list.  There was no conviction in his voice.

“This place has become my home.  I’ve lived here for twenty-nine years.  All the soldiers you see are not responsible for this conflict any more than your parents or even their parents,” I continued in my broken Celtic.

He said nothing.

“Do you have a mother or siblings?”

“No. My mother died when I was born.” he said.

“Do you know what is going to happen to you now?” I said in Latin.

“I don’t care,” he said back to me in Celtic. It was the stubborn response of youth.

“If you don’t cause much trouble you will become a slave, probably in Gaul or another part of the empire.  If you are obedient you may even have an opportunity to join the legion and have a chance at citizenship.”

“Why would I want to become a Roman citizen?” he continued in Latin.

“It is your only chance at freedom.  Rome has been around for more generations than you or I can imagine and we are not going away.  You can remain a slave and never come back to your homeland or you can help us and have a chance to make your own choices.”

He sat motionless staring at the horses.

I continued, “Do you remember the old man who your father got the amulet from?”

For the first time, he looked at me.  I assumed he finally understood where I was going.

“What of him?”

“Do you know where he is?  Is he still alive?”

“Why would I tell you?  So, you can kill more of my people?”

“I’m only interested in the old man.”

“The old man is crazy,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It was his idea that we kidnap him.  I think he figured we were going to kill him, and he did it to save his skin.” he said.

“Why haven’t your people asked for a ransom yet?”

“They think the old man is valuable for what he knows.  Plus, he tells a good story.”

“If you tell me where he is at I can make sure you do not spend the rest of your life in the mines or cleaning latrines,” I said.

“Why should I believe you and betray my own people? Do you really think that I’m that stupid?”

I stood up and faced the boy, “Do you remember the man who killed your father?”

He looked up at me with menace in his eyes.

“His unit and mine have been tasked with finding the old man.  One of us will find him.  Would you rather he does it?  Do you think he will take any mercy on your people?  Do you think he’ll offer to look out for you?  You can take me at my word or not.  It is your choice.”

“Some fucking choice,” he said.

There was innocence in his rage, but I needed to make clear the consequences of not helping me.

“Alright then, back to the stockade.  I was hoping we could help each other out.”  I grabbed him under the arm to lift him up.

He resisted, “Wait, what happens to me now?”

“It is not my concern,” I said.

“Wait, can I watch the horses some more?”

“What for?”

“I have no idea where they are now but I know where we were going to meet,” he said.

I let him go.

“In two days we will gather for the summer solstice.  The old man was actually looking forward to it,” he said.

“Where is the meeting place?”

“I don’t know exactly.  I’ve never been to that grove.”

“You know roughly where it is at?”

“All I know is that it is somewhere between the two forts north of here.”

I’d scouted the area many times.  It would be easy to find out if the boy was telling the truth.  I asked him about the strength of the group and how they guarded Elijah, but he was vague or said he didn’t know.  I let him watch the horses until dinner then I took him back to his cell.  Speratus was still there talking to the guards.

“What did you find out?” I said walking up to him.

His knuckles were red and the edge of his hairline was matted with sweat.  “It sounds like they are taking the old man to the coast to sail farther west.  What did the kid tell you?”

“He said they would be meeting for the solstice up between Blatobulgium and Castra Exploratorum.”

“I don’t think they would stay around the forts, especially if they plan to ransom the old Jew,” Speratus said.

“That may be but I doubt they know we are on to them yet.”

“Don’t be naive Coran, there are spies everywhere.  I bet that they’ve already fled, probably slit the old man’s throat and left him for dead someplace.”

After seventeen years, Speratus’s pessimism and paranoia almost amused me.

“Very well then, you check the coast and I’ll go north,” I said.

Always with the last word, Speratus added, “Just what I was thinking.”