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Chapter Ten
Stopover In Tyre
It
was a long, dusty ride. To our
disappointment, much of the highway had been cut by the Roman engineers purposely
through the flat farmlands to avoid the range of hills skirting the shore. This made the highway several leagues
from the sea and it still turned out to be a bumpy, unfriendly trip. After a relatively fast pace, our
mounts were slowed by an increasing rise in the terrain. When we reached the hills of Lebanon,
there were cedars and pines, interspersed with olive and oak trees. Both the Romans and the auxilia were on
guard for local bandits, who might be lurking in the groves. At least in Galilee, where the land was
flat and open we could see the terrain around us, but the dark patchwork of
trees allowed for little visibility.
It made everyone jumpy and irritable. After an hour of riding through the forest, however, the
hills grew barren of trees, which, Caesarius explained to me, had been
deforested since ancient times. I
remember Jesus telling me about Hiram, a pagan ally of King David, who ruled
Tyre. It was essentially,
with the exception of a few stone buildings, a city of wood. The Tyrhenian economy was bolstered by
the need for lumber to build the first temple in Jerusalem. Now the hills surrounding this ancient
kingdom were almost barren of trees.
In an effort to bolster my spirits, I shared the story of King David
with Caesarius and Rufus who broke ranks a few times to ride next to us. I sensed the other men were listening
to me chatter. With the gradual
disappearance of the trees, the spirit of the men rose. Though it seemed stupid to me to
sacrifice the beauty of the land, I agreed with Decimus and Aulus that a desert
was much safer than a forest to travel through. In a relatively short period of time I was able to tell them
all I knew about David, my people’s great king, including his seduction of
Bathsheba, which interested Apollo and Ajax very much, embellishing the tale to
maintain their interest.
Caesarius, Rufus, and Vesto asked me many questions. The issue of my miraculous feat, my
cowardly follow-up later, and my falling sickness were not brought up. Decimus was in no mood for more
dissention, and everyone was travel-weary and eager to make camp at our next
stop.
“Tell
me,” piped Apollo, “how different is King David from other bad rulers?”
“He wasn’t a bad ruler,” I bristled, “he was a great
king, but he was just weak at times.
“Weak, he calls it?” Ajax laughed mockingly. “You told us that he sent his loyal
subject to his death to steal his wife.”
“Many men have done the same,” Apollo seemed to
defend David at first, “that’s not weakness. Though evil, it takes great courage to kill a man. I think it’s impressive the way he rose
up from a shepherd to become King of the Jews. The way he slew that big fellow with a sling and saved the
day is incredible. But he caused
the deaths of many men who got in his way afterwards, and yet that other king,
Saul, whom he turned against, lost his throne for showing mercy to his
enemies. Instead of punishing
David for his crimes, your god killed his newborn son!”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Vesto, “David reminds me of
that Herod, a dreadful fellow. I
like your stories Thaddeus; they’re entertaining, but your god is
mean-spirited. Those tales I heard
you telling the men after we left Sepphoris—how your god tested poor Job and
that murderous Joshua are worse than anything Jupiter or Zeus did on earth.”
“Aye,” Aulus snorted, looked back with a frown,
“your god is no better than that baby-killing Baal.”
Such candor was typical of pagans, especially
Romans, but I was unprepared for this feedback. How could I defend men like Joshua or explain why God
allowed Satan to muddle in our affairs.
Quoting a later friend, I had opened a Pandora’s box. Soon, as Aulus expanded upon his
insult, Langullus jumped into the discussion, followed by Geta, and Ibrim.
“That story you told us about Joshua slaughtering
children and women,” Langullus began thoughtfully, after breaking ranks and
trotting up to my place in line. “What was that, Thaddeus? It was all because they worshipped
different gods. And what about
that flood, huh? You’re telling
us, he destroyed the whole world because of one city of wicked men and
woman? What about the victims in
other places, the children, and all those innocent animals?” “That’s just plane
awful!” he spat.
“Hey,” Caesarius said, snapping his fingers, “that
sounded like a story a Babylonian merchant told me, only it was about a fellow
named Gilgamesh. In this case,
their gods sent a flood to drown the world, because it was too noisy and kept
them awake at night.”
Everyone broke into laughter at this nonsense. Later, of course, I would hear the
story of Gilgamesh, myself, from a sage and use it to show how capricious were
the old gods. Right now, I’m
recording what other men thought of the Jewish god. I don’t defend His methods in this volume nor do I condemn
them. After all, the Lord was
dealing with a stiff-necked people.
Nevertheless, this is hindsight.
As we approached Tyre, I found myself at a loss for words in my effort
to defend my god. Just that
moment, Ibrim was telling everything that he was more like demon, if he killed
innocent people, and they were all agreeing with him, even Caesarius. It made me feel bad, but how could I
explain the nature of God when I scarcely understood him myself?
“Listen men,” Geta, who rode next to Rufus, called
out, clapping his hands, “all this rubbish about a flood and Thaddeus’ god is
no different than the devil-gods of Syria and Egypt. I don’t believe a real god would do such things. Of course, I don’t believe in the gods,
so it doesn’t matter to me.
They’re nothing but stone or wood.
It’s rubbish. Leave poor
Thaddeus alone!”
“You don’t understand,” I blurted to Geta, turning
around in my saddle. “All of this that I told you is His effort to forge our
people into a nation. Now, I truly
believe, like my brother Jesus, that He’s a different deity—universal, the one
and only god—”
“Thaddeus,” Decimus voice rang out, galloping back
and shaking his fist, “I thought we talked about this. Enough already!” Raising his hand for silence then
pointing north and south, he called out in a hoarse voice. “Everyone get back
into formation. Ride
two-by-two. Keep the noise down!”
“He’s right,” Caesarius murmured to me, “you
should’ve kept that to yourself.”
It seemed fitting that Apollo, my greatest critic, a
man I had been most afraid of because of his devious personality, had spoken
his mind first. Perhaps, I
thought, his recent praise of my prowess as a killer of men was a form of
mockery, like the compliments of most of my newfound friends. Now, with my religion to use against me,
it seems as if they were all showing their true feelings. Decimus had warned me about talking
about my religion. Why had I
opened my big mouth? Fortunately,
my last outburst about the universal god had gone over their heads, but damage
was still done. Because of my
lapse, I found myself defending my god, in fact preaching to them, something
the optio had expressly forbidden.
I was troubled by all this conversation, especially since I had brought
it upon myself. Mostly, I
regretted making the optio angry.
Now even Caesarius was mocking me, and Decimus, Aulus, and Vesto looked
at me with contempt.
In
muted conversation, as the Decimus led our procession, the men chatted back and
forth still animated by the topic stifled by the optio. Portions of this discourse drifted back
to me. I heard my name slandered
at times and occasionally a blasphemous reference to my god by Apollo, Ajax,
Langullus, and Ibrim. Joining into
the exchange more good-naturedly were Rufus and Enrod, who glanced self-consciously
back at me as they laughed at my expense.
In the back of the procession, I heard Fronto, who had given me the
spear, admit to Aulus, that it must have been a fluke. Either I was asleep as Geta suggested
or, as Ibrim kept insisting, I had been possessed by a jinn. I remained on the verge of tears as
their discussions continued. If I
were to sum up the mood at that point, I might conclude that I was, in the
final analysis, the bunt of their jokes: that strange, “wet-behind-the-ears”
Jew-boy, who killed six men. It
had to be a fluke, Ajax and now Fronto also believed. Because of my timid actions at our last stop, the
sleep-walking theory propounded off-handedly by Geta appeared to be catching
on. I heard Abzug and him
discussing this issue, looking back disdainfully at me.
Before long, however, as we approached our
destination, the bantering ceased.
Silence once more fell over the group. Hunger and exhaustion had set in. By the salty smell and appearance of sea birds, we knew we
were close. Then quite suddenly,
after riding up and over a high hill, we looked down at the curve of the road
and saw Tyre, sitting like jewel by the sea. The sun was setting in the west, and we barely had enough
time to arrive at the imperial station on the outskirts of town before
dark. Though our destination was
not far away, we had to move slowly because of the glare of sunlight and sharp
gradient. This effect had a mixed
reaction among the men, particularly those in front. We could not focus on the road, let alone on the rider in
front. The great orange ball of
light was so brilliant, in fact, we were forced to shield our eyes. It was difficult to manage our mounts
and blot this out. How could you
guide your mount with closed eyes?
In my present state of mind it was especially unsettling, especially
after I had drank so much wine and made a mockery of my faith.
“What
a pretty sight!” cried Vesto.
“Aye,”
Decimus called back, “but blinding.
Jupiter’s ghost, that’s bright.”
“Single
file this time; follow the horse in front,” Aulus called through cupped hands.
Aulus
command caused hysterical laughter in the group. Following his instructions, which weren’t easy, conversation
once again broke out in the ranks.
Ibrim suggested this might be an evil omen. Apollo disagreed, reminding us that Egyptians once
worshipped the setting sun. This
caused Ajax to snicker sarcastically.
Vesto, Aulus, Rufus, Enrod, and Fronto also praised the spectacular
sunset, while Geta, Abzug, and Decimus, like myself, were greatly annoyed. Abzug announced that he would ride
backward to avoid the glare, which under normal circumstances should have been
a humorous sight. Balanced
precariously a moment, as he faced south, he caused the riders behind him,
except myself, to scoff at his foolishness. Until we arrived below the hill behind a stand of trees,
sunset was unbearable, even for its advocates. Good-naturedly, with the tap of his whip, Aulus ordered the
courier to face front. Everything
in front of my sensitive eyes were dark bodies against the brilliant ball of
fire. The last blaze of dusk was
the worst—a radiating flare, until deepening shadows fell over our assembly.
Out
of nowhere it seemed, trees loomed again in our path. Darkness, aided by forests of cedars and oaks on each side
of us, fell on Tyre. Stunned by
night’s appearance, the procession lapsed into silence. This was fine with me. I had enough of their ridicule. Fears of ambush and other unseen
dangers filled their superstitious minds.
I wasn’t superstitious and had played in the forests of Nazareth through
my childhood. Jesus, my oldest
brother, who often sat by the kitchen window looking out at the night, believed
it was a special time. If he was
not meditating at his favorite place in our house in the evening, he was
roaming outside in the darkness in prayer. I never saw him sleep.
These thought comforted but also troubled me. Even at that point in my life I was unsure of his
divinity. What I did have in the
way of understanding of my father’s religion was taught to me by my mother but
given inspiration by Jesus’ whose nature hikes and casual sermons were the
foundation of my faith. All the
reading I had done at school hadn’t helped me one bit to understand my
god. Knowledge was not enough nor
were clever words.
I wondered now where I would wind up if I died:
Paradise or Gehenna. Jesus
believed that when good, faithful people died, they would go straight to
heaven. I wondered how he would
interpret me killing those six men.
Since I thought I was asleep, slaying those bad men shouldn’t count,
especially since I helped save everyone’s life. Under the circumstances, my current love of wine should also
not count. Papa was a good man,
and loved the vine. If only my
childish pranks and misadventures were held against me, I should be in good
shape. I had nothing to fear. As I considered the road ahead,
however, I had a chilling feeling that trouble lie ahead…. Would I survive my
folly? Jesus had told me not
to tempt God.
As we approached the imperial way station near Tyre,
I remember Jesus’ last words to me as I bid him goodbye in Sepphoris, “Learn
the heart of the Gentiles,” and my father counseling me to accept failure if it
means I will have a foolish death.
Papa’s advice had made sound sense during my journey. After all, my objective had been to
become a scribe in order to earn a living and see the world, not risk my neck
fighting barbarians in order to reach my goal. Jesus commission therefore made less sense to me. I understood enough of Gentile
peculiarities and how they thought about the world. Most of what I learned so far about them wasn’t
pleasing. They were rude, uncouth,
unpredictable men. Although I
thought I was dreaming at the time, this business of killing six men weighed heavily
on my conscience, and yet most of them had been amused by what I did. They either explained it away as a
fluke or outright miracle or grappled with Geta’s suggestion that I had been
sleepwalking, which was actually the closest to the truth. Even now, after what happened near
Ecdippa and all my efforts to fit in, none of them, even Caesarius and my Roman
protectors, took me seriously. My
attack of the falling sickness had only increased their doubts.
The truth was I was, by definition, a coward. Why should I risk my life to live up to
a legend? Was I also a fool? I wasn’t Thaddeus, the Reaper. I, was, like it or not, Judah bar
Joseph. My parents and brother had
been against me becoming an imperial scribe. In spite of Jesus’ blessing, he was concerned that my
experience would change me and I might, as a soldier with a sword, use it on
Roman subjects, such as my own people.
He reminded me before I rode away that I had a special purpose in this
world. Knowing Jesus mind, I was
certain that it wasn’t simply to learn the Gentile’s mind. My brother was talking about a distant
future. What it was I didn’t
know. After my miracle at the
first imperial station, however, I shouldn’t worry. Perhaps it wasn’t my fate to die before my time. Seen another way, as an obedient son,
it was my duty to live. To take
any more foolish chances would, as Jesus warned, be tempting the Lord. These thoughts were like a warm blanket
pulled over me. I was also
comforted by the wine Rufus and Caesarius shared with me….What did it matter
that I was a “wet-behind-the-ears Jew?”
“Torches!”
Decimus called to Vesto. “Pull out your kit and try lighting two before we’re
plunged into Styx.”
“Aye,”
Vesto hollered, “very poetic sir.
I got four in my saddlebag, but that won’t be an easy task. I’ll have to climb off my mount and
catch up later.”
“We’ll
wait,” Decimus reined in his horse
“At ease men!” he barked. “Give him a hand Aulus. Please hurry. We don’t want to ride into the station in the dark. Just to be safe, light all four—one in
front and one in back. Give Ibrim
and me one too.”
I
couldn’t understand why Ibrim had become our scout, when Abzug had been an
imperial courier for so many years, but the Syrian was quite happy to be left
alone. Riding one horse-link in
front me, he glanced back frequently.
I was surprised to see concern on his scraggly face. Caesarius, who rode beside me, was also
concerned about my well being, as was most of our band. Despite the sympathy generated by my
sickness and breakdown, there was always one tease in the group.
“Thaddeus, this reminds me of an ambush in Galilee,”
Ajax called through cupped the hands.
“Yes,”
Enrod looked back with wide unblinking eyes, “those murdering Jews. I just hope there’s a little sunlight
left beyond those trees.”
“There’ll be no ambush,” Decimus barked, “stow that
talk. Vesto, Aulus where are those
torches?”
The two Romans walked up holding burning sticks
smeared with pitch in each hand.
Decimus reached down and gripped one and Ibrim rode up and grabbed the
other as Aulus and Vesto climbed
onto their mounts with torch in hand.
“Ibrim,” Decimus clipped, “ride ahead and warn the
imperial stationmaster that we’re coming.
Aulus you guard the rear with Vesto—always a weak point. You men stay alert. Rufus, I need your sword arm. You ride with me.”
“So, you are worried.” Rufus frowned.
“I’m just taking precautions.” The optio replied
reassuringly. “We’ll be out of this soon.”
“What about Super-Jew,” Apollo called from the rear.
“He killed six men. Let him ride
in front.”
“Aye,” hooted Ajax, “he did it in his sleep!”
“The Reaper’s fearless!” chimed Fronto.
“He kills without mercy!” Enrod looked back with a
grin.
“Zip, zap, zip!” Abzug made a flurry with his hands.
Fronto, Enrod, and Abzug might have been
half-serious, and I expected Ajax to sound off, but the Egyptian, whom I
suspected of insincerity, was back in true form.
“Don’t worry,” Caesarius said from the corner of his
mouth, “your god will protect you.
After what I’ve seen, I believe this. You have nothing to fear. Because of you, he will protect us all!”
I handed the flask back to the old veteran, unsure
whether it was the strong wine that made him say such a thing, just glad that I
still had one friend.
******
From the dark hallow of trees, we emerged during the
last glimmer of sunset, riding through fields of wheat past farm houses,
arriving onto the grounds of the imperial station on the outskirts of Tyre,
moments before the collapse of night.
The torchlight of Decimus, Aulus, and Vesto led us up to the shadowy,
unfriendly outline of the building.
The light in the window and the silhouette of a man against the lamp’s
glow indicated that he was looking out into the night, waiting for us. Ibrim was supposed to have informed the
guards on duty of our imminent arrival.
Riding out with his torch, he confirmed this fact in a loud voice.
“The optio in charge is waiting inside. He didn’t believe I’m acting as a Roman
scout, until I gave your names. He
doesn’t much care for auxilia, but he’s heard of Caesarius. They used to be friends. Because we arrived so late, he’s in a
surly mood. His attendants will
give us our provisions tonight, but said nothing about exchanging mounts. This is a small station. He’s waiting to talk to you
Decimus. He said the rest of us
could make camp in the forest. I
scouted out the area. This time
there aren’t any neighbors like that bunch at Ecdippa to contend with.”
“Good work Ibrim,” Decimus said with relief. “He’ll
be wanting to see my requisition. “Aulus,” he called out, “take the men to the
first fire ring and begin making camp.
I’ll try to find feed for the horses and mules. For right now, water and secure the
beasts, get a fire going, and arrange the tents close by as we did
before.” “We can’t loosen our
guard, men,” he added, scanning the procession. “You Vesto,” he added, “gather
up some wood for the pit. The rest
of you pick the watch and make camp.
Caesarius, Thaddeus come with me.
You can help me carry the stores.”
The optio strided ahead of us without looking back,
still holding his torch.
“I wonder who the station optio is,” Caesarius
muttered apprehensively.
“Is Decimus angry with me?” I murmured back, feeling
the veteran’s restraining arm.
“Shush,” Caesarius whispered sharply, “it’s behind
us. Don’t put thoughts into his
head.”
At first, Decimus rapped politely on the oaken
door. There was a grumbling
inside, so he called politely, while knocking, “This is Decimus, optio from the
Galilean cohort with orders from Cornelius its prefect!” When this failed, he pounded
impatiently on the oaken door, shouting irritably “Hello, I know you’re in
there. This is official imperial
business!” Finally, the door
opened, a shaft of light and shadowy hulk appeared in the doorway, and a gruff
voice replied, “Where is that scurvy Caesarius? I heard he killed himself some Jews.”
I bristled at this outburst. The optio whistled under his
breath. A giant of man lumbered
out, embraced the old man, raising him off the ground.
“Brutus!” Caesarius gasped. “I thought you were
dead. Why haven’t you retired?”
“Brutus, his name’s Brutus?” muttered Decimus.
“...I’m sorry,” he gathered his wits. “We arrived later than I planned. It has been a long ride.”
“Come inside Decimus,” he motioned with one large
hand. “You too,” he added, frowning down at me.
“This is Thaddeus Judaicus, a new recruit,” Decimus
introduced me, gripping the man’s forearm in respect.
“Humph!” Brutus grunted, glancing back at Decimus.
“Lemme see those papers. Hmm, on
your way to Antioch, are you?
Auxilia, three cashiered veterans, and—ho, ho, a wet-behind-the-ears
Jew.” “You’re not a prisoner?” He tweaked my nose gently. “Don’t worry. It’s none of my business. I got a bunch of misfits working for
me. Why, you’re nothing but a
boy.”
“He’s not a boy.” Caesarius said, giving me a nudge.
“What we witnessed back on the road—”
“Caesarius,” Decimus interrupted, “that’s
enough. Leave it be.”
“Ye-es, Caesarius,” I was taken back, “I’m surprised
at you!”
“Must be the wine,” he replied contritely, “I should
know better.”
Decimus dismissed Caesarius with a withering stair.
“Where in that document does it say he’s a Jew?” He looked squarely at Brutus.
“His name’s Thaddeus Judaicus.
That’s a Roman name.”
“Really?” he said slyly. “Pronounce it out,
friend. I may look like a rustic,
but I made the connection.
Thaddeus might be Roman, not Jew-day-icus.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Decimus glowered.
“Sir,” Caesarius said from the corner of his mouth,
“stand down. He’s twice your
size. Brutus has had too much
wine.”
“Humph!” Brutus snorted, ignoring the optio but
eying me with suspicion. “It’s none of my business. I am curious, though, as to why my friend Caesarius
and two other veterans are being transported to Antioch. Have they been cashiered?”
Decimus folded his arms and tapped his foot,
managing, with a shake of his head, to hold his tongue. Caesarius looked at me apologetically
as Brutus glanced back at the scroll then down at me. I hoped he was sincere and would really drop the
subject. I might even feel sorry
for this man. In spite of his
immense size, he looked beaten down, weary, and unhappy with his plight. He must have been as tall as Goliath, I
thought, looking up at him. Yet
his hair was white and he had mottled skin like Caesarius. Like all the veterans, he moved slowly,
hunched over—a battle hardened soldier, now a crotchety old man. Not for a moment, however, would I have
underestimated this fellow.
Judging by his silence, Decimus must have thought so too as Brutus
studied the scroll. We were at his
mercy. We were exhausted and
needed our rations, and I could see Decimus’ jaws tighten and eyes narrow to
slits as the big fellow took another long and abandoned swig.
Finally, the station optio nodded, handed the
document back, then reaching toward the small table on which a jug and several
mugs surrounding it sat, shakily gripped the neck of the jug and poured us all
a cup of wine. I still felt the
effects of Caesarius and Rufus’ wine, but I took the cup graciously with a
bow. Decimus and Caesarius seemed
also reluctant but didn’t hesitant to sip from their mugs. The wine tasted sour and resinous. Like the rations at the last station,
it was standard legionary wine.
“For your information,” Decimus explained, after
clearing his throat, “your friend Caesarius and the other two veterans in our
group are retiring. That document
says nothing about them being cashiered.
It’s not my concern why the prefect is sending them north.
“Are some of the others on this list retiring
too?” Brutus emphasized the word.
“No, they’re being reassigned like the rest of the
auxilia. Why aren’t you
retired sir?” Decimus asked as Brutus gulped down his wine. “You are fa-a-a-r
past the age of service.”
“I am retired,” he answered sourly. “You
think I can afford to live on the imperial dole?”
“I would hope so.” Decimus’ jaws tightened again.
“We need good, solid soldiers manning our outposts.”
That was another insult and yet it seemed to go over
Brutus’ head. Decimus was very
irritated at this point.
Caesarius, like me, was anxious to get our food and wine and get our
optio away from this man.
“Psst, sir, let’s get our rations and leave,” he
tried being discreet. “The men are waiting at the camp. They’re hungry and tired.”
“Oh yes, the rations,” Brutus cocked an eyebrow, “I
may be old, but I have excellent hearing.”
Reaching past Decimus, who instinctively gripped the
hilt of his sword, he ruffled Caesarius matted hair. I jumped back with a faint yelp. Decimus rolled his eyes, straightened his shoulders, and
pointed to the requisition. Our
optio had escaped death while confronting the wily Ajax, as well as those
moments when we were attacked by that band of men at the last station. Silently, I thanked God that he held
his temper in check. I also
thanked God that Brutus was a drunk.
When we entered the room, it was obvious that the station optio was in
his cups. This explained his rude
behavior, but not his suspicions.
Fortunately, he would probably continue drinking, until he fell down in
drunken stupor, but not before he gave us our supplies.
“You have read the document,” Decimus voice rose
progressively. “It was written by
our prefect. Plee-ease, my men
have to eat. We must rest up for
the journey to Antioch. Give us
our rations now!”
In a loud, uncouth voice, Brutus shouted “Uric, you
lazy German, get in here!”
“Where are the other guards?” Decimus’
eyebrow plunged. “Is that man regular army? I hope you send attendants to tend to my men.”
Brutus chuckled with amusement. “We’re short handed thanks to cutbacks
here in the north. Spread thin we
are. Everyone’s being sent to
Galilee because of those unruly Jews or to the frontier to protect Rome. Tyre has its own magistrate and
guards. For a while, I thought
they might close our station.
Truth is, I think they forgot about us. I’m surprised you men didn’t take ship from Caesarea to
reach Antioch. Fact is, aside from
that German—the best of the lot, I only have five men. One of them’s so crippled he can barely
walk.”
“What?”
Decimus mouth dropped. “That’s outrageous! A station needs protection. You’re in the forest, man. I heard the emperor was sending most of his legions west to
protect Rome against Germans, but in Galilee we’re spread thin too. An imperial station should have at
least twenty able-bodied soldiers to guard travelers. I noticed at the last station they were undermanned, but
nothing like this.”
Ulric,
a big burly redheaded fellow with a full beard, arrived with a large sack on
his shoulder. Already reeking with
a wine and garlic, the room immediately stank of body odor.
“There’s
more sir,” he said out of breath, setting down his load. “I woke Menalek and
Plato up. They’ll give us a hand
too.”
“That’s
fine, fine indeed.” The station optio clapped his shoulder. “Give’em some spirits too and some of
the Syrian cheese.
Ulric scurried back down the corridor, shouting out
the other men’s names.
“Menalek
and Plato?” grumbled Decimus. “You worry about Thaddeus’ name? That man smells like he hasn’t bathed
in weeks. What kind of station are
you running here, Brutus?”
“In answer to your question,” he snarled
down at him. “I do what I can with what I have, which isn’t much. For your information, Ulric is a
barbarian. All of them are
barbarians, except poor Prospectus.
He was retired, like me.” “Now out you go.” He made scooting
motions. “My men will bring your rations to your camp.”
Sighing
with relief, Decimus motioned us silently to follow him. When we were outside, he
light-heartedly scolded Caesarius for almost bringing up the subject Thaddeus,
the Reaper. For me, he saved the
lecture until last.
“That episode will follow Thaddeus like
a curse,” he began, with a chuckle. “I’m surprise you, of all people, Caesarius,
brought that up. I brought you
along because Ibrim said you two were friends. Ho-ho, that was a mistake! Tell me the truth, do you really know that man?”
“Well,”
sighed Caesarius, “I know him, but I’d hardly call him a friend. He was a loud mouth bully when I served
Germanicus. I was afraid of
him. Everyone was. He’s alone now, like most bully’s are
in the end.”
“Well,” Decimus’ tone softened, “I’ve been watching
you, Caesarius. You have Thaddeus’
best interests at heart. I heard
you tried to protect him a couple of times. I can’t explain the murdering rampage you and the others
went on. It just doesn’t fit in
with the cowardly old man I see now...but I appreciate you watching over the
lad. I can’t say the same for some
of those auxilia, but there’s still good in you. I saw it on the road and in camp. I hope those bastards in Antioch give you a fair deal.”
On
that note, he looked past the astonished Caesarius, directing his voice at me.
“As for you, young man,” he chided good-naturedly, “I want you to stop talking
about that god of yours. You can’t
help your reputation as Thaddeus Judaicus, the Reaper. That’s bad enough. Those men don’t understand it. I don’t understand it. But your stories about your god are
making you a laughing stock. You
have nothing to live up to, certainly not to that bloodthirsty Joshua or
David. You’re eighteen years old,
with your whole life ahead of you.
The next time that jackal Apollo or anyone else tempts you to toss a
knife or other weapon, tell them no.
Explain to them that you have much to learn. Leave it at that. Walk away, Thaddeus. That takes courage too.”
******
Upon
arriving in the camp, Decimus complimented Aulus on spurring the men on. The optio mood had changed after
parting with that obnoxious man, an amiability born of weariness. The goatskin tents were already up and,
thanks to Vesto and the men assigned to find firewood, most of which was stored
near the station, a fire had been started in preparation for the evening
meal. Aulus offered to serve the
first watch and Rufus and Ibrim also magnanimously volunteered. This didn’t prevent them from sharing
our meal. Until late into the
night, as it turned out, there was no one guarding the camp. The spirits were high, especially when,
to our delight, the eccentric, bad-tempered Brutus sent out an assortment of
dried meat, bread, dates, cheese, and a generous amount of wine.
Caesarius status had changed dramatically
tonight. Aside from Rufus and
Enrod’s attitude toward me that was often capricious, the old veteran had made
friends with me from the very beginning and had never wavered in his fatherly
defense of me when the other men taunted and teased me. Because of this, Decimus attitude had changed
toward Caesarius. I hoped Aulus
and Vesto would mellow toward him too.
After the men had sat awhile eating, drinking, and swapping tales, the
optio ambled up to the fire ring.
At first it seemed as if he might give us a serious speech.
“Listen up,” he called though cupped hands, “I’ve
something to say.”
Everyone, including myself, had begun gorging
immediately on the rations left by Ulric, Menalek, and Plato, who dumped them
out unceremoniously on the ground.
A second sack filled with flasks of wine was set down more easily yet
attacked with more gusto. Apollo,
Ajax, Fronto, and Rufus seemed to be already drunk as they sat on the logs
eating their food and listening to Decimus speech. I sat between Caesarius and Enrod who, with his arm in a
sling and balanced for hours upon his horse, was exhausted and needed special
care. Ibrim inspected his wound,
sprinkled some of his medicine on it then wound it back up. There seemed to be a sinister quality
in him, yet the Arab had shown kindness to the Gaul. Since Caesarius, Enrod, and I had been too slow to grab our
share of the wine, Rufus and Abzug unselfishly provided us with portions of
their own private stock.
When everyone was settled around the fire and had
stopped chattering back and forth, the optio held up his hands cheerfully and
began his speech. Although he
might have been light-headed after drinking wine, he didn’t sound drunk. As he took an occasional swig, there
was only a slight slur in his words, a few pauses, and a giggle or two, nothing
more. I thought he might just be
exhausted from the long journey.
“I want no more talk about Jude—I mean
Thaddeus’—feats with weapons. What
happened at the last station is beyond understanding. Ho-ho, it gives me a headache just thinking about it. So let’s put it behind us. It’s unfair to test him now. He’s only eighteen years old. I was nineteen when I joined the
legions. I was much more green
than him. On the subject of his
god, please be patient with him.
I’ve instructed him again to keep his religion to himself. He’s said many outrageous things; some
of them might be true, others are stories written by half-crazed prophets in
the desert who had too much sun...or too much wine. All Jews are passionate about their god. It makes them crazy. Ho-ho, we’ve killed enough of
them! My own dear mother was a
follower of the goddess Artemis. I
grew sick of her preaching, but I held my tongue. The statue of that goddess had eighteen teats on her chest
and was as ugly as sin, but my mother worshiped her, as did many of our
neighbors and friends. At least
Thaddeus’ god’s invisible and you don’t have to look at him. I find his stories hard to believe but
entertaining, and it’s natural for young men to carry on and try to impress
their friends. I was quite
talkative myself until I joined the legions.... Be patient men, and give him
time. He wants to be a scribe, not
a soldier. His weapon will be the
quell!”
I was quite certain Decimus had made matters worse,
and yet part of me was moved by his light-hearted effort on my behalf. I would learn from my tent-mates later
that Ibrim had given the optio spirits from his private stock, which he guzzled
down before approaching the fire.
When he was finished with an otherwise coherent speech, he let out a
belch, laughed, bowed foolishly, and told his audience a ribald joke that I
can’t repeat. In spite of an
undertone of mockery I detected in his speech, I understood the optio. I had noticed such careless behavior in
my father when he was in his cups.
It had been the first time I had seen Decimus tipsy. After all the pressure on him to
deliver this unruly band to its destination, I didn’t blame him. What did it matter was that he ridiculed
my religion and made a mockery of my feat. I won’t repeat their blasphemies about my god, but there
were different theories circulating among the men about my prowess with the
sword and spear—I had been sleep-walking, I was possessed by a jinn, it was a
fluke, but only God, himself, knew the reason for what happened at our last
camp. I thought I was beginning to
understand these rustic pagans, but they were a mystery to me. Since Jesus could not change my mind,
he wanted me to learn about the Gentiles, but only God knew the heart of men.
I had begun to seriously doubt my mission. Oh, how I wanted to be home with my
family in the sane world of Nazareth!
These were not my people.
They were strangers. I was
in a strange land. What was I
doing so far from home? Unlike
Moses, I hadn’t been commissioned by God.
A voice hadn’t come into my head, commanding me to go forth. I had no prophetic dream to interpret
as such. Only Jesus’ words, “Learn
the heart of the Gentiles,” kept me going. One day I would understand what this meant. So far in my odyssey, I had learned
many things about Gentiles, much of it wasn’t good, but I had stayed
alive. Except for Enrod’s wound,
we survived an attack, escaped angry Arabs, and avoided a mutiny in our
group. Because of me, Caesarius
believed, God watched over us.
Perhaps he was right. How
else I explain the miracle at Ecdippa?
For the time being, I thought grimly, I appeared to be safe among this
rabble, but tomorrow might bring more danger for our band. I could deal with the abuse from my
traveling companions much more than fear of unseen foes. Words, in jest or anger, could be
sloughed off, but not arrows and swords.
Though Decimus tried to be fair minded and had been
protective of me, in the end he was still a Roman, reaching middle age, who had
lost his ardor for the legions and might, in the end, fall in love with the
grape. He had little respect for
Jews and other peoples. I didn’t
take offense, of course, because he had little respect for “barbarian” auxilia
too. I noticed that, during
the right conditions, all men lapsed into drunkenness. That night, as we encamped near the
city of Tyre it appeared to be the right conditions, so I drank Rufus’ Greek
wine, a marked improvement over that legionary swell, and became thoroughly
tipsy myself. I wouldn’t have
admitted it then, but I, too, was on the road to becoming a drunk. Yet the men approved of my state of
mind that night. It was a proper
way for a soldier to act. Because
Decimus had allowed the men to continue heckling me about my religion and, due
to his inattentiveness, allowed them to tempt me to use my alleged skills, I
wondered how serious he was about protecting me from their wiles. Contrary to his speech, which, because
he was tipsy, might not count, Apollo, Ajax, and the others couldn’t help making
fun of me in my drunken state. I
remembered very little about this before I staggered to my tent and tumbled
onto my pallet. I had too much
wine this time to dream properly.
All I could recall when I awakened the next morning were leering faces,
shadowy figures around the fire, ribald humor, which included jokes about my
privates, and then, at an indeterminate point, blackness, as if I had fallen
into the dark sleep.
******
As if echoing down a long shadowy tunnel, Aulus
gruff voice was the first thing I heard.
“Thaddeus...Thaddeus Judaicus...Thaddeus Judaicus,
the Reaper,” he said playfully, giving me a shake. “Had quite a night, did
you. You’ll make a fine soldier
yet. You fight like a Roman and
now you drink like a Roman.
It’s time to muster. We’ll
be heading out within the hour.”
“Give’em some of Ibrim’s smelling salts, that’ll
wake up him up!” Decimus called good-naturedly from the distance.
“I should’ve stopped him,” Caesarius muttered with
concern. “He was having such a good time.
He wants to fit in, but all they do is tease him.”
“Yes, that’s true enough.” Aulus chuckled. “Everyone
was in their cups last night.”
I
studied their faces. A third and
fourth face loomed overhead: Decimus and Geta (one of my tent mates).
“Hmm, he doesn’t look good,” Aulus toned changed.
“Are you all right lad?” he asked, raising me up. “We must get you on your
horse.”
“How much did he drink?” The optio frowned, elbowing
between Geta and Caesarius.
“I lost track,” confessed Caesarius, “but that stuff
Rufus had in his saddle bags was pretty strong.”
“Humph!” Geta snarled. “That’s not even wine. It’s something he bought from Ibrim.”
“Well,” Decimus said with a shrug, “I drank it, and
it didn’t hurt me.”
“It’s how much that matters.” Caesarius shook his
head.
“How much of
that did you drink?” Decimus asked, as Aulus and Caesarius helped me to my
feet. “I took a few swallows and—whew—I was light-headed!”
“I-I don’t remember,” I stammered. “I mostly drank
Rufus and Abzug’s wine.”
Aulus and Geta laughed softly.
“Ho, no wonder he doesn’t remember!” hooted Langullus.
“You young fool,” Caesarius growled into my ear.
It felt as if a drum was being beaten on each side
of my head. I bent over a moment
in the throws of a dry heave.
Releasing me in disgust, Aulus let me pitch forward. The men broke into laughter as I lie on
my face. Rolling over onto my
back, I was jerked to a standing position.
“Lo, our great hero!” Apollo announced mockingly.
“Can’t hold his spirits. It’s a
wonder he didn’t wet his pants.”
“Look at him,” Ajax said with contempt, “he’s a mess!”
“You shouldn’t have given him that stuff I sold
you,” Ibrim scolded Rufus. “It’s not for children. Not even grown men can drink more than a thimble without
getting tipsy.”
Unflinchingly, Caesarius managed to clean me up after he and
Aulus sat me down on a log. Rufus,
who had been drunk himself, felt bad about giving me a flask of Ibrim’s’
spirits, but no one blamed him.
Everyone, including the old veteran, agreed that it was my own
fault. No one made me guzzle it
down.
“Make sure he eats something and makes water before
he climbs onto his horse,” instructed Decimus as he inspected the camp.
Except for the tent I slept in, the camp had been
struck. The men had eaten their
morning meal, and done their business.
The pack mules were almost loaded, and were in an orderly line behind
our mounts. I had slept almost
right until the moment of departure.
All that was left was the folding of the tent I slept in and getting me
in shape for travel. Through
bleary eyes, I could see the men as shadows in the morning shade, giggling and
pointing at me as I was tidied up.
I was ordered sharply by Aulus to get back up on my wobbly legs, this
time to make water in the bushes.
Sounds were magnified, the earth continued to reel around me, and the
very thought of suffering the bumpy ride north made me want to weep.
The last thing done for me before I was placed on my
mule was the offering of bread and figs by Caesarius, which I ate with great
effort. Rufus mumbled an apology
to me as I sat on my mule that didn’t sound very sincere. The esteem held for me by the group, if
it was ever there, had fallen since our stop at Acre. The memory of me falling down on the ground and foaming at
the mouth, added to the way I handled my spirits last night reinforced the
image of a bumbling youth. I could
hear it, and I could feel it.
After last night and the way I acted the following morning, I was
certain I done further damage to my reputation in the group. When we were finally on the road,
Caesarius road moodily beside me.
Rufus glanced back with a smirk but said nothing, as the remainder of
the procession broke into murmurs, and Aulus rode past flicking his whip.
******
Before
continuing our journey, we stopped in Tyre to buy some Greek and Roman wine in
place of the swell we had been drinking on the trip. Decimus had promised we would make this detour, but because
of the ill repute lately of Roman soldiers and auxilia in Lebanon, the optio
had decided to make our visit brief.
This didn’t prevent Rufus and the others from enjoying a tour through
the main street. There were many
pagan temples in this Gentile city, including one to Artemis, the multi-teated
goddess Decimus had told us about.
Though Decimus denied this, Apollo claimed they had naked priestesses
roaming through the shrine. The
men were forbidden to get drunk this early in the morning, but it didn’t stop
them from sampling Syrian beer and stuffing themselves on stuffed dates and
candied meats. The visitations
were made in shifts. Because I was
not feeling well, I volunteered to stay with Aulus, Caesarius, and Enrod to
watch the horses and mules. We
would get our chance, Aulus explained, when the others returned. For his part, Enrod was on the mend,
but was in no shape to keep up with his brother and the other men. Caesarius wanted to keep an eye on me,
Decimus trusted no one else but Aulus to take the first watch, and I had no
desire to explore this pagan city.
As
the other men were herded by Decimus back to their mounts, he motioned to us.
“All right, thanks for watching the animals,” he
called jovially. “It’s your turn.”
“I
just want to buy a bag of sweets,” Aulus said, patting his hoarse and handing
Rufus the reins. “Come on, let’s make it quick,” he called back to Caesarius,
Enrod, and me.
“I’ll
stay here,” replied Enrod. “Rufus brought me back some stuff.”
“Are
you all right lad,” Aulus studied him a moment.
“I’m
fine.” He waved. “The infection’s
gone, but riding my horse with one arm is tiring me out.”
Decimus
watched the other men a moment, laughing and slapping each other’s backs as
they climbed onto their mounts.
Despite his orders, all of them were obviously tipsy. Apollo and Ajax were downright drunk.
“What about you?” Aulus turned to us. “You want to
do a little shopping.” “Don’t worry, Thaddeus,” he winked. “Apollo made that up
about the temple. You can buy
Syrian beer or Greek wine.”
Caesarius shook his head. “No, I asked Geta to bring
us some wine and dates.”
“You
go on, Caesarius,” I said hoarsely. “I’ll wait here. I’ve had enough wine.
Rufus will share his dates and sweet meats with me.”
Rufus,
who had just handed Enrod a bag of treats, raised an eyebrow but said
nothing. Enrod held out the bag to
me, as his brother walked away. I
took a few dates to be polite, but refused the jar of beer Abzug brought to me.
“You’re
very kind,” I sighed, “but I’ve done enough drinking.”
Enrod
took the beer, guzzling it down quickly before I changed my mind. Caesarius slipped away quietly that
moment with Aulus, returning in barely more than an hour, with bags of candies,
each of them holding large flasks of wine in their free hands. Decimus now ordered us to water the
horses and mules and suggested that the men visit the communal cloaca before we
depart. Worried that the men might
heckle me about my circumcised member, Caesarius joined me as I stood making
water into the abyss below.
“Your
god is very cruel,” he commented, looking down at my penis, “I would never
allow anyone to do that to me. Did
it hurt?”
I
could smell beer on Caesarius’ breath, so I wasn’t surprised he was being so
rude. Apollo and Ajax were always
rude to me, and because they had disobeyed Decimus and drank beer and wine,
were especially so.
“Hey,
lemme see,” Ajax peeked over the partition. “I heard Jew men have tiny
members.”
“Stop
it.” Caesarius stomped his foot.
“Why can’t you leave him alone?”
Apollo
walked right up to me as I hastily returned it to my pants. “How much do they cut off?” he asked
with a giggle. “Oh, by the gods, it’s a monster. The mighty Reaper has a mighty shaft!”
“You
foul, disgusting pigs!” cried Caesarius.
Decimus
appeared suddenly, drawn by the commotion. “All right, you two,” he said through clinched teeth, “it’s
time to leave. Get on your mounts! That goes for you Thaddeus and
Caesarius. We must reach the next
station by dark.”
Caesarius
was more upset about Apollo and Ajax’s words than me. “What does it matter what that Egyptian and his cohort say?”
I asked, as Decimus steered us back to the group.
The rest of the men only joked with me about my
lapse in judgment last night, not my mutilated member. I took their teasing in good spirits,
even managing a bow. Caesarius,
however, was silent, as he led me to my mule. Decimus had failed to control his men again. He had been able to reason with the
veterans, but he had little control over the unruly auxilia. It seemed very stupid to me to drink
this early in the day, especially after last night, but the men were
overwhelmed by the wine shops and beer stands along the main avenue of
town. The optio himself, whom
Aulus rebuked for getting tipsy, had disobeyed his own order. According to Decimus, when he was being
scolded by Aulus, Syrian beer spoiled, which was the reason the men did not
save it and guzzled it down. Most
of them had tried to follow the optio’s instructions about the wine, too, but
it had been too tempting not to sample the spirits purchased in Tyre. Decimus had, in fact, set a bad
example, but was becoming well liked by the men. His attitude about these foreign cavalrymen had
mellowed. It would be difficult
for everyone in the saddle on the dusty road with the sun beating down upon
them, but at least we had a large store of wine, sweetmeats, and dates. Fronto lumbered over to me, in high
spirits, lifted me up, as Caesarius braced me from the other side, and sat me
in my saddle. The old veteran gave
me a crooked smile as he mounted his mule. Rufus and Enrod glanced back at me with light-hearted
grins.
I could hear Geta say whimsically to Langullus,
“cheer up, we’re half-way there.
After a long day’s ride, we got ourselves plenty of spirits. I bought us a bag of Syrian nuts and
those pomegranate chews you like.”
“You two sound like an old married couple,” Vesto
teased. “Those pomegranate chews you like,” he mimicked playfully. “I
hope you two aren’t in the same tent.”
Langullus’ reply was, “Shut your filthy mouth, you
Roman dog!”
Vesto pulled his gladius out and wicked him lightly
on the head, boasting. “If anyone
else had said that Langullus I’d run him through.”
We knew the
Roman guard had been teasing the veteran, but according to Ibrim, our
self-appointed physician, Langullus old wounds were bothering him and he was in
a bad mood. This banter brought
guffaws from everyone in the procession, including the Arab. Aulus who, as usual, positioned himself
in back of the procession, as the optio rode ahead, galloped back, flicking his
whip, and swearing an oath, as our laughter grew out of control.
“By the gods, Decimus” he cried, “We should never
have agreed to this stop. We have
many leagues ahead of us. These
men all sound like their drunk!”
“Calm down, Aulus,” Decimus called back genially, “I
watched them in town. They didn’t
drink nearly as much as last night.
They’re tired and anxious about what lies ahead. So am I. In such a state a drop of spirits can make men giddy. At the fort in Antioch some of them
will be turned away or cashiered.
Others might face discipline or be reassigned to a new outfit. Only you ,Vesto, and, I hope for his
sake, young Thaddeus will return to Galilee.” “For the rest of you,” he announced
out ruefully, “this will be a one-way trip.”
On this sobering note, the laughter ceased and
silence fell over the procession as the optio raised his arm and, pointing due
north, motioned us on. Without
further delay, we continued on our journey.
“Why couldn’t Cornelius have told us this at the
fort?” the Egyptian complained bitterly, as Vesto trotted past.
“Don’t worry, Apollo” Vesto hooted, “the imperial
cohort’s axe is sharp. It won’t
hurt much.”
“That’s quite enough,” snapped the optio. “If there’s punishment, it will be
nasty chores, extra duty, or expulsion from the legion. No one’s getting beheaded or flogged.”
“Oh I feel much better,” Apollo replied
sarcastically. “We’ll get nasty chores, be forced into banditry or starve!”
“Yes, Decimus, my friend,” Ibrim said with concern,
“this is not good news, not good at all.”
“Why didn’t the prefect punish us, himself?” Ajax
groaned. “Aurelian might make examples of us.”
“He won’t do that,” Rufus mumbled to Enrod, “...will
he?”
At this point, as Tyre faded in the distance, the
other men broke into excited discussion.
Caesarius and I listened calmly.
Though the veterans already new what was in store for them, Rufus,
Enrod, and Fronto also protested the prefect’s postponement. Abzug, I understood had merely been an
undesirable at the fort and was lumped in with the veteran’s group. Caesarius had explained to me earlier
that Geta, Langullus, and he would simply be cashiered and turned out of the
fort. Apollo, Ajax and Ibrim,
however, were uncertain about their fate.
Would they simply be disciplined and be allowed to stay in the legion,
as Decimus suggested, or would they be cashiered, too, for what they did.
“Listen up men,” Decimus spoke through cupped
hands, “stop fretting. Cornelius did his best for you. He didn’t report your actions up the
ladder but merely made recommendations.
He’s had his hands full with the governor. Gratus is unhappy about his sympathy for the Jews. Cornelius has a soft heart, and when he
considered the veterans and auxilia actions, he decided to defer judgment to
Aurelian, but the details have been left out...Had Gratus found out about the
incidents in Sepphoris, he would had all of your heads.”
After Decimus honesty, a feeling of doom fell over
riders, which the optio’s words failed to dispel. What had he meant by ‘recommendations’ and ‘details left
out?’ The unpredictable nature of
my enterprise had been left even more in doubt by his words. Like my comrades, I felt betrayed by
the prefect’s actions. In my case
it was not because he deferred judgment to Aurelian; it was because he had, out
of carelessness or stupidity, sent me ahead into the unknown. Questions swam in my head as Caesarius
chatted with me...What awaited me at the new fort? Had this all been a great waste of time? I had killed six men and was turning
into a drunk. I had suffered
abuse, blasphemy, and ridicule by many of these men. Already, the trip had tainted me as a Jew and scrambled my
thoughts. Who was I now, Jude or
Thaddeus, Judah bar Joseph or Thaddeus Judaicus, the Reaper? The longer I stayed with these men, the
less I worried about contamination and the more I cared about survival. Jesus wanted me to learn about
Gentiles. Though feeling like an
outsider, I was learning it first hand.
I had eaten unclean food, drank to excess, and not bathed in days. After this foolishness ended—if I was
still alive, I would be contaminated bodily and spiritually. I was becoming more like a Gentile each
day.
“Jude, Jude, I
was talking to you.” Caesarius was jerking my sleeve. “....You’ve got that look
on your face. Are you going to be
sick?”
“Don’t call me Jude,” I recoiled, shaking my head to
dispel my thoughts. “.…My name’s Thaddeus Judaicus. That was my old life.”
“Rubbish!” spat
Caesarius. “You might have to play their games, but you’re Judah bar
Joseph. I heard that your father’s
a fine man, and your mother’s a saint.” “One day,” he added dreamily, in almost
a whisper, “I want to meet that brother of yours. I’ve believe he gave you great powers. How else could you awaken in your dream
and kill six men?”
“I have blood on my hands,” I cried, fighting back
tears. “I can never go back!”
After my outburst, the old man fell silent. Rufus and Enrod turned in their
saddles, and Aulus studied me as he galloped past.
“Listen to me,” he said discreetly. “Pay attention, Jude. Any man in this group, including myself, would trade places with you. You have your whole life ahead of you. You must go home. This is no life for a Jew. When we arrive in Antioch, return with Decimus, Aulus, and Vesto. I wish I could go back!”
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