Scourge of Rome

XXVIII

The next morning Valerius sent a message to Serpentius to join him with Titus on the western flank of the city. He waited while Vespasian’s son said his farewells to Berenice, their heads close together and hands lingering a little too long. Tabitha stood in the background, a demure handmaiden with a look of innocence that belied Valerius’s memories of the previous night.

When they parted her logic had been simple. Josephus would stay close to Titus, and wherever Titus was, Berenice would be. ‘Just stay alive for me, Valerius, and we will be together.’

By the time they left, dust clouds already filled the air to the west, marking the positions where Titus’s legions, long on the march, were making their way to their new positions. Valerius rode at Titus’s side, the toga he’d worn the previous evening covered by a nondescript cloak. The young general wore full armour, his gilded breastplate gleaming and his crested helmet glittering in the sun. Every man could see him for what he was – Valerius smiled at the memory – a prince of Rome. Aides clustered around him and couriers fluttered back and forth between the legions and their commander for all the world like bees supplying a hive.

Their route took them across a slope about a mile from the city walls on the north side of a steep valley. Titus’s guards were taking no chances of another Judaean sortie of the kind that almost trapped their commander the previous day. The Tenth legion remained on the Mount of Olives, sweating as they constructed the massive siege machines that could save so many lives in the weeks to come. The Fifth and Fifteenth marched on the slope below in full battle order so their might could best be appreciated by the defenders. Each man carried his shield on his back and a pair of pila javelins in his right hand. Even so, squadrons of auxiliary cavalry wheeled and demonstrated on the flank of the formations, making patterns like smoke swirling in the breeze. The legions’ tents, personal baggage and supplies followed them, along with the field artillery and dismantled siege catapults. Clemens’ Twelfth Fulminata had taken a different route, for their destination was to the south-west of the city.

The slope provided Titus and his headquarters staff with a fine view of the walls. They could see the thousands watching warily from the parapets and the many towers that dominated this sector. Beyond the walls the roofs of scattered buildings were visible. Normally this was the least populated section of Jerusalem, but the sea of tents erected to shelter the Passover pilgrims trapped by Titus’s edict could clearly be seen.

‘That will be our first objective.’ Titus made his decision as they circled a group of anonymous tombs and crossed the main road leading north. ‘Josephus styles it Bezetha, the New City.’ He turned in the saddle towards the Great Temple. ‘Its time will come, but the New City will be the first part of Jerusalem returned to Rome’s rule.’

They followed the course of the wall until they reached an area of cleared ground between two rocky spurs. Three thousand legionaries of the leading unit were already preparing a camp large enough to accommodate two legions. Men hacked ditches from the rocky soil, while others shovelled the residue into a passable bank. Engineers marked out the tent lines and the area set aside for the headquarters, the cavalry lines and the hospital. Later they’d set up the armoury and the workshops where the siege engines would be constructed.

It required an enormous effort, both in men and material, but they’d completed it a thousand times before and it came as second nature to them. Valerius didn’t envy them their task, for the western flank of Jerusalem didn’t have the advantages of the east. Unlike their comrades in the Tenth, these men would have to scour the countryside for sufficient timber to create three or four siege towers for each legion.

While Titus conferred with his staff, Valerius dismounted and studied his surroundings. The city wall to his front curved in an arc from the northern spur, where it followed a diagonal line down the flank of the southern. There, it joined a second, much older wall, presumably built to protect the more populated area of the city it embraced. Among the countless towers crowning the wall, one, built of white marble and the height of at least a dozen men, stood out because of its surpassing beauty.

A bulky figure dressed in eastern robes rode up the slope. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Josephus patted his horse’s neck to quiet her. ‘The world’s greatest hope or the world’s end, depending on the point of view of the man who stands here and witnesses it.’

‘Just stone walls,’ Valerius replied. ‘And stone walls cannot stand against Rome. I’d have thought you’d have learned that by now.’

‘Not stone walls.’ Josephus ignored the provocation and slipped from the saddle to stand by Valerius’s side. ‘What you see before you is a nation, a people, a pride.’

‘Are you saying Titus would be better to walk away?’

‘Not at all. I have business inside those walls.’

Valerius was reminded of his promise to Titus, and Berenice’s tirade against the Judaean the previous night. ‘Business?’ He tried unsuccessfully to keep the suspicion from his tone.

‘We are not all soldiers.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Valerius agreed. ‘But anyone who enters those walls had better be prepared to fight like one.’

‘Soldiers are only interested in the here and now,’ Josephus continued as if Valerius hadn’t spoken. ‘Some of us must consider the future.’

‘So. Josephus the prophet?’

‘No.’ The Judaean’s eyes turned bleak. ‘Josephus the realist. I know what must befall my people when these walls fall. I have seen it at Gamala and Jotapata. Rome will prevail, and when Rome prevails she will impose order and discipline on those who have been unwilling to accept it in the past. That is inevitable, and I welcome it.’ A frown of concentration creased his features and his gaze focused on a single area of the city. Valerius followed it to the Great Temple. ‘What I would not welcome is the imposition of Rome’s gods.’ Valerius opened his mouth to protest, but Josephus silenced him with a wave of his hand. ‘Very well, I accept that Rome does not impose its gods on the conquered, let us say then the assimilation of its gods.’ He turned to Valerius and the Roman saw again the messianic zeal he’d witnessed previously. ‘My people’s religion is what defines them as a people. It must survive, or once again they will become a nation of slaves destined to be passed from master to master throughout the ages. But to survive it must adapt. Never again can it be allowed to divide us. Instead it must become the single factor that unites and strengthens us.’

‘As I understand it,’ Valerius said, ‘the laws of your religion were laid down by your god a thousand years ago. Even if you challenge them, only your god has the power to alter them.’

‘Not only God,’ Josephus’s brown eyes shone brighter still as they locked on the temple again, ‘but the words of God.’

As they walked their horses back towards Titus’s headquarters group, Valerius felt the Judaean’s gaze on him. ‘Titus tells me you are to be my watchdog. I suppose I should feel honoured that a person of such rank and lineage has accepted the task.’

‘Let us not say watchdog,’ Valerius responded to the baseless flattery with a dry smile. ‘Perhaps companion would be more appropriate, and there will be two, though the other merits the description wolf rather than dog.’

‘Very well, my companion.’ Josephus’s smile was like a piece of sea ice. ‘We Judaeans have a passage in our sacred texts that speaks of walking the valley of the shadow of death. Many of my people believe it refers to the Valley of Hinnom yonder, whose stink fills your nostrils. It is where the unwanted dead were once left and where the abominations of the old gods were carried out. I am not so certain. I think it may be that the valley of the shadow of death is that place inside us that must be confronted when we knowingly place ourselves in peril.’

‘I don’t know your books,’ Valerius said evenly. ‘But that sounds a reasonable proposition.’

‘Well, I hope you and this wolf of yours are prepared to walk in the shadow, for that is where Joseph Ben Mahtityahu intends to lead you.’ As he said the words he glanced significantly back towards the city. Valerius saw his mouth drop open. ‘What is that?’ The question emerged as a strangled gasp.

Valerius followed his gaze and found it difficult to believe what his eyes were telling him. ‘The temple is burning.’