Scourge of Rome

XXV

‘Our valiant Idumaean allies have given the new arrivals something to think about,’ suggested the shorter of the two men watching from the Antonia fortress as the attackers withdrew down the gully on the other side of the valley. The great fort where they stood was sited at the north-west corner of the Temple of Herod the Great, the tower so high they could clearly see the slope where the Romans had sited their camp. Zacharias had a beard of flaming red, an open, honest face pocked by the ravages of disease, and a mind capable of simultaneously juggling a hundred unsolvable problems. He was indispensable to the man by his side.

‘They would have done more if John had sent his men from the Water Gate against that legion’s baggage train.’ Simon bar Giora knew he sounded irritated, but how could a man not be irritated when it took two days of discussion to decide on a change of guard? ‘Do we know which legion it is yet?’

‘The Tenth, we think, newly arrived from Jericho, but we’ll know for certain when James and his Idumaeans report back. I specifically asked for any unit symbols. You can’t be surprised that John wouldn’t support them. It’s not six months since his men and James’s were cutting each other’s throats. They still would be if we weren’t able to keep them apart. Thank God for the truce.’

Simon scratched his thick beard. It wasn’t lice that made him tear at it until it hurt, but frustration and anger. If the Romans knew they were still killing each other they’d just sit back and watch. John of Gischala was as trustworthy as a cornered cobra. The truce with Simon’s Zealots had allowed him to rest his forces until they were strong enough to take on Eleazar, whose faction still held the great temple behind them. It was only because of the truce they were able to stand here, because the Antonia was held by John’s men and he would not give it up. Six months since he’d fought the newly arrived Idumaeans. Barely a month ago the slimy Galilean had used the catapults which were meant to be killing Romans to slaughter Eleazar’s supporters as they prayed at the temple. Not content, he’d tried to raid the stores Simon had gathered and ended up burning most of the two-year supply he’d built up. The thought made Simon smash his fist against the parapet and his companion gave him a look of alarm. He was a giant of a man, with broad shoulders and meaty, shovel hands that had earned him the name he bore – Simon the Strong. Though usually calm and thoughtful he could be quick to anger if people or events pushed him too far.

‘We must make them bleed,’ Simon insisted, as much to himself as the other man. ‘And be prepared to bleed in our turn.’

‘Joshua believes it may have been Titus himself at the Women’s Gate this morning,’ his companion ventured. ‘If-’

‘If God had willed it he would be ours, I know. But God did not will it.’ He shook his great lion’s head. ‘I sometimes wonder if God has abandoned his chosen people.’

‘Do not say that, Simon. If anyone heard you!’

Simon gave a great bellow of laughter that started in his substantial belly and grew into his chest. ‘You think he will strike me down before John or Eleazar? Come, walk with me, Zacharias. We will see what effect the Idumaean attack has had on your fellow citizens.’

They walked down the broad sandstone steps of the tower into the courtyard. No part of the city was better placed for defence, but Simon prayed it would never be needed, for if the Romans ever reached this far Jerusalem was lost. The thought made him shudder. He’d vowed the city would never be taken.

Four years earlier Simon bar Giora had halted the first Roman advance from the north. His forces attacked the legions from the rear when they least expected it and carried off their baggage train and the heavy weapons. Added to those taken from the Twelfth legion with their eagle, he hoped the ballistae would give the defenders something like parity in artillery.

His victory should have won him a place in the highest councils of his people, but he didn’t bargain for the priests’ distrust of a common farmer’s son. Instead, that success, and the necessity for his followers to live off the land afterwards, caused the authorities in Jerusalem to brand him a bandit. As the Romans grew stronger it seemed certain they’d destroy Simon’s force. Instead he’d fooled them by backtracking, and using the Sicarii, the shock troops of his army, to surprise and overthrow the great fortress of Masada. There he stayed, impregnable and feared, until he heard of the death of his arch-enemy Ananus, High Priest of Judaea. With Ananus out of the way he gathered support in the countryside from the disaffected who were as happy to follow a peasant as a priest. Forty thousand men came to him. Forty thousand. Despite his melancholy he smiled at the memory. The immensity of it all had given him the notion of calling himself ‘king’. His wife Mariam had laughed and dressed the children as little golden princes and princesses and made him understand how foolish he’d appear. Had it only been a year ago? It felt as if that had been the last time he’d been happy.

It had been the high point. In the months that followed, Rome’s legions had hounded and herded Simon’s forces back towards Jerusalem, and John of Gischala had become so obsessed with power he’d declared himself king and set about butchering his rivals. He was so loathed and feared that the very men who had laughed at the thought of Simon bar Giora’s leading them had opened their gates to him in the hope that he would overthrow their tormentor.

Now Simon was responsible for the welfare of more than a hundred thousand people while simultaneously fighting an enemy of overwhelming strength amid a murderous three-way power struggle. Worse, this was the fourth day of the festival of Passover and the city was crammed with worshippers. He guessed several hundred thousand were camped in the city’s streets: men, women and children from every corner of Judaea, and even as far as the distant Euphrates. Every one an innocent, but they were an encumbrance and he wanted them gone.

And always in the background the feral scent of Joseph Ben Mahtityahu. Bad enough that he had gone crawling on his belly to the oppressors and perhaps natural he should take such an interest in happenings in Jerusalem. But there was something else, and Simon thought he understood its nature, if not the reasoning behind it. He had acted to close off one threat. He’d hoped to hear word of the success of Shimon’s mission before now, but there could be many reasons why he had not … He shook his head and Zacharias turned to look at him. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said with a bleak smile. ‘I was just thinking I should have stayed on the farm.’

Zacharias stopped in mid-stride and took him by the arm. ‘Never say that, Simon,’ he said fervently. ‘I do not believe God has abandoned us. I believe he sent you to us. The people of Jerusalem know they can depend on Simon bar Giora, if no other. You are our protector and I pray that with God’s help you will be our saviour.’

Simon hung his head so his friend could not see the dampness in his eyes. When he lifted it again they contained new strength. ‘Come then.’ He smiled. ‘Let us show our people we are with them.’

In the familiar, stifling confines of the narrow streets between the fort and the lower city the tangy scents of the evening meal’s preparation fought for supremacy with the all-pervading stink of the night soil containers, the dried sweat of their owners, and the ubiquitous piss pots of the dyers and leather workers. Zacharias had been born here and had known nothing else. Simon, though more used to the clean air of the mountainous south, had discovered that the very closeness of his surroundings gave an illusion of sanctuary he found comforting. As they walked, he felt people’s eyes turning towards him and he could hear the murmur of voices that followed his passage. Soon the crowd following the two men was so numerous that the sound of their progress preceded them. Heads appeared from the windows ahead, wondering what the excitement was about.

‘I told you you needed a bodyguard,’ Zacharias muttered. ‘Why couldn’t you at least have brought Isaac? All any one of them has to do is pull out a knife and it’s finished. How do you know John’s men aren’t just waiting out there somewhere?’

‘Why would I need a bodyguard among my own people?’ Simon walked all the taller. ‘You were the one who said they loved me. In any case,’ his voice turned solemn, ‘God is looking over my shoulder, is he not?’

Zacharias emitted a sound that reminded Simon of an exasperated camel. ‘Then at least lend God your aid by keeping your eyes open for a threat. You are like a child in a sweet merchant’s.’

‘A man must appreciate life while he can, Zacharias. Do you know who taught me that?’

His companion shook his head and pushed his way through another group of admirers.

‘Mariam.’ Zacharias grimaced as Simon failed to take the hint. ‘Do you know I once thought of making myself king, like that fool John? She said she would rather see me shovelling dung in the lowest farmyard than on the throne of the greatest city in Judaea. Help your people and come back to me, she said. Plant the corn and harvest it. Grind the grain and bake the bread. And she was right.’ His voice turned wistful. ‘But she was also wrong.’ Simon met Zacharias’s eyes. ‘Because a man cannot turn back time, can he, Zacharias? All he can do is follow his own destiny. Will I ever return, do you think?’

Zacharias held his friend’s gaze for a moment, because to turn away would be a betrayal. ‘That is a question I cannot answer, Simon. It is God’s will.’

The two men emerged into an open space between the second and outer walls filled with sheepskin tents. Around them sat or lay hundreds of warriors. They looked exhausted, and many tended the wounds of their comrades. The bulk were flesh wounds and scrapes caused by their rushed descent of the gully during the retreat, but Simon could see some would not live the night. He searched the throng until he found the man he was looking for, a tall, fierce-looking soldier with wild, bushy hair and a dark beard.

James of Rehoboth, the Idumaean commander, looked up as they approached. ‘That will do,’ he told the man bandaging his injured arm. ‘We would have had them,’ he told Simon. ‘They hadn’t put out any guards and ran like rabbits when we charged from the gully. One or two of their officers made the difference. They rallied their men into a defensive circle and we couldn’t break it. When their reinforcements arrived it was we who did the running.’

‘A wise tactical retreat.’ James’s head came up and his eyes glittered with menace. He was a proud man and he would not be mocked. Fortunately, the look on Simon’s face told him otherwise. ‘We have to strike them when they least expect it,’ the Judaean continued. ‘Or fight them from behind these walls. Make them bleed for every foot of ground until they decide they have bled enough. How many did you lose?’

‘Two hundred. Some of my best. You know how it is, the bravest are always at the front. Still, it was worth it if we gave the others time to ransack the baggage train. Supplies, weapons, we are short of everything.’ Even as he said the words James sensed a stillness in the two men. ‘They did not succeed?’

‘They did not leave the city.’ Zacharias couldn’t meet his eyes.

James studied his arm where the blood was already seeping through the cotton bandage. ‘I will kill him,’ he said, the words ingrained with chilling certainty.

‘You will have to take your place among a line of willing executioners.’ Simon couldn’t conceal the bitterness in his voice. ‘How long will it take your men to recover?’

‘We will be ready when you need us. We came here to fight, and to die if necessary. Some of us are true to our word.’

Simon and Zacharias made their way back through the second wall and into the city. There was no point in delay. Simon led the way along the Street of Solomon, one of the city’s broadest thoroughfares. Like every open space in Jerusalem it was part filled with pens of skinny cattle and plaintively bleating goats that had been driven into the city before the Romans arrived. Tents, awnings and other makeshift shelters took up most of the rest, each of them occupied by a family of pilgrims. It was the same in the normally less populous Bezetha, the New City, between the second and third walls. They’d managed to keep the sanitary arrangements for the refugees at a tolerable level, but Simon knew it wouldn’t last. With the Romans here there would be limited access to the pits at Gehenna. One more reason to get them out of the city.

He stopped in front of a tent where a woman with dark, soulful eyes suckled an infant. Two other children, a boy and a girl, blank-faced and dirty, looked on. ‘Where is your husband, mother?’ Simon tried to appear as kindly as one of his stature could manage. ‘He should be here to keep you safe.’

She looked up and he noticed that the breast she offered the child had been sucked near dry. ‘Benyamin has gone to try to buy food,’ she replied. ‘But there is little to spare.’ Her eyelids drooped and though she tried to disguise it her voice was heavy with exhaustion and despair.

Simon nodded to Zacharias and the aide surreptitiously slipped a loaf of flat unleavened bread from the sack he carried. He split the loaf in two, then divided it again, handing the quarters to the older children before giving the intact half to the woman. With immense restraint she took a small bite before placing the grey semicircle behind her where it couldn’t be seen.

‘Have you come far, …?’

‘I am Judith,’ she answered his unspoken question with lowered eyes, ‘and I thank you for your kindness, though I did not ask for it. We travelled from Ephraim six days ago. It was a long journey, and hard, but by God’s grace we reached Jerusalem in time to celebrate the festival in his temple.’

Simon knew of the place, a small town in the rugged hills two days to the north. A hard journey indeed. ‘That was very brave,’ he said. ‘These are dangerous times. The Romans …’

‘Benyamin says God will strike the Romans down as he brought down the ten plagues upon Egypt and the children of Israel will prevail.’

Her voice contained not an ounce of doubt and Simon wished he had a fraction of her faith. He allowed himself a smile that acknowledged the possibility. ‘It is not unknown for armies on the march to be afflicted by such maladies. I pray daily for God’s aid, but I fear sacrifice and courage will also be required.’

Judith stiffened as a shadow fell over the little shelter. ‘My husband Benyamin.’ There was a hint of fear in her eyes at the appearance of a heavyset man with a black beard. He wore a brown smock with a carpenter’s belt at the waist. A thin boy of about thirteen stood just behind him. ‘And my son Moses. I thank you again for your kindness.’

‘You will be leaving soon?’ Simon addressed the words to the husband.

‘Not till we have completed our devotions.’ Truculence hardened the man’s words, as if he regarded every stranger as a threat to his world. ‘Moses wants to stay and fight God’s enemies, but there is the harvest to bring in.’

‘I will pray for your safe return.’ With a heavy heart Simon bowed his head and turned away. These people would face starvation and slaughter unless he did something about it. The animals that provided meat and milk seemed plentiful, but that was an illusion. He’d been horrified when his quartermasters had pointed out how quickly a population could consume its own weight in supplies. And that had been before the grain stores had burned. The memory stoked the fire growing inside him and he increased his pace so that Zacharias struggled to keep up. They crossed through an ancient gate in the first wall and beneath the bridge over the Tyropoeon valley. Now they were in the district known as the Lower City, in ancient times the city of David. A few minutes later Simon turned into the gateway to a substantial tower. He marched past a pair of guards, ignoring their protests and before Zacharias could stop him he disappeared up a narrow stairway, taking the stairs two by two. A group of hard-eyed men lounged near the top of the steps sharpening their swords.

‘Your business?’ The voice of the speaker held no welcome and Simon heard Zacharias growl as he caught up.

‘You know my business very well, Aaron son of Arinus, whose father would hardly have countenanced your delaying me, since he fought at my side at Masada.’ His voice softened. ‘He was a good man, and I mourn him.’

The young man’s head dropped, but only for a moment. ‘He was, but still I must ask you.’

‘I would talk to John of Gischala, unless he means to fight the Romans alone.’

Aaron frowned. ‘Very well.’ He hesitated. ‘You have no weapons.’

‘Do I need any?’

Aaron swivelled and looked back up the stairs behind him. When he turned back to face Simon his eyes contained a warning. ‘That must be for you to decide.’

Simon bar Giora acknowledged his thanks with a brisk nod. He stepped past the reclining men and continued up the steps till he emerged into the fading light on the battlements overlooking the Cedron gorge.

Someone had set up what looked like a throne so John of Gischala could watch the afternoon’s battle in comfort. Now he sat with his hands folded, his pale eyes contemplating his visitor and an amused half-smile on his thin lips. The Galilean commander had a high forehead and a long, narrow nose. He wore a fine robe of scarlet and gold and across his knees lay an iron sword, the blade polished to a gleaming finish. The two men stared at each other for what seemed an eternity before John spoke. ‘You should have sent word of your coming and I would have received you in a state worthy of your rank and fame.’ The smile broadened, but Simon knew it was as authentic as a hyena’s laughter and in any case he hadn’t come here to exchange pleasantries.

‘Why did you not attack as we agreed?’

‘Did we agree? I understood I was to act on my own judgement.’

‘As to the timing, yes, but not whether to attack at all.’

‘It was clear to me the Idumaeans must fail.’ The other man gave a careless shrug that sent another wave of almost untamable anger through Simon. ‘Why should I sacrifice my men to save the lives of a few desert savages?’

Simon took a step forward and the guards on either side of the throne tensed. Zacharias laid a hand on his arm, but he ignored it. ‘Not to save the lives of a few desert savages – though may I remind you they are your allies and the finest warriors in the city – but to strip the Roman baggage train of supplies, to replace those you burned.’

John of Gischala’s face reddened and the smile disappeared. ‘A people fight all the better for being hungry.’

‘A hand that wields a sword will not do so for long if its owner is starving.’

‘What is done cannot be undone.’ The man on the throne raised a placating hand. ‘We should not bicker, you and I. As you have told me so often, we have enough enemies beyond the walls without creating more inside them. Will you break bread with me?’

Simon hesitated. For all his fine words John of Gischala had never held to a bargain in his life. To refuse another’s hospitality would be ill-mannered, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down with the man. ‘I must return to my family,’ he lied, ‘a special meal. The Romans have us surrounded now and there will be no more. They will attack soon.’

‘Yes?’ John’s tone was guarded.

‘You are prepared as we discussed?’

‘Of course.’ He called a large bearded warrior across. ‘Tell him.’

‘We defend the eastern wall. If they attack they will be forced to mass in the gorge and on the slope beyond. We have catapults and siege engines ranged on the likely places and every tower and every inch of parapet will be filled with warriors. The rough ground at the base of the walls means they will have to build ramps if they are to get their siege engines close. We will slaughter them before they are completed.’

‘Good enough,’ Simon nodded. He might not be able to trust John, but this man knew his business. Something else came to him. This was an opportunity and he couldn’t let pride stand in the way. ‘There is one more thing. Do I have your support to ask the priests to send the Passover pilgrims home? Once the attack begins it will be difficult and dangerous for them to leave, even with Titus’s authority.’

‘You have it, for all the good it will do you. Phannias, that fool of a stonemason Eleazar has declared High Priest, is telling them their souls will be forfeit if they do not complete their devotions. It is only another three days.’

‘Nevertheless, three days with a swarm of locusts consuming our supplies, so we must try. I will draft an appeal to Titus asking him to provide free passage. They are innocents, harmless families with children, and this is not their war. He may be a Roman, but if our foe is an honourable man he cannot refuse.’