Athene's Prophecy (Gaius Claudius Scaevola Trilogy) (32 page)

A huge collection of Jewish property was assembled.

Gaius then visited the Temple and addressed the priests. He told them of the recovered goods, and asked their assistance to ensure that belongings were returned to their rightful owners. The priests promised that all would be reminded of the consequences of false claims, and that they would record what went where. Thousands of Jews reported to the warehouses to receive their property. Some never found their treasures, but many others thanked Gaius profusely.

It was at the end, when Gaius was supervising the cleaning up of his largest warehouse, that the older priest approached him.

"You have my thanks," he said. "Most in your position would have kept some of the gold for himself."

"I'm not a thief," Gaius smiled.

"You're better than that," the priest nodded. "You could have turned your back and ignored our plight. You are a man of honour. Can we thank you?"

"If any of your people wanted to purchase Roman made wine," Gaius added, "my family has vineyards nearby."

The priest nodded, and said, "I shall mention that. In the meantime, I have something else for you." He handed Gaius a sheet with strange writing on it.

"What's this?" Gaius asked curiously.

"It says, you are an honourable man," the priest said. "If you are ever in Jewish territory and you need help, show this to a Jew who can read."

"Thank you very much," Gaius nodded appreciatively. "I value that."

It was later that day that Gaius received a second message, this time from the Centurion.

"I was ordered to give you this if certain outcomes were reached," Bassus smiled.

Gaius opened the message bearing the seal of the
Princeps
and his heart soared.

"Gaius Claudius Scaevola, for acting for Rome and declining personal benefit, by the orders of Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus,
Princeps
, and of the Senate of the People of Rome, you are to proceed to Damascus and report to Lucius Vitellius, Governor of Syria, to be placed in Legio XII,
Fulminata
, as
Tribunus Laticlavius
."

"You are pleased, sir?" the Centurion asked.

"It's everything I wanted!" Gaius almost yelled with pride. Then he looked at the Centurion and asked, "You know what this is?"

"Yes, sir." the Centurion nodded. "I have orders too, to arrange an escort for your journey."

"Then we'd better get ourselves organized, hadn't we?"

"Yes sir," the Centurion replied. He was ready to march now, the troops that he would order to march would be ready as soon as supplies were arranged, or else, but the Tribune could set out exactly when he wanted to. It was good that he wanted to set out quickly.

Gaius was puzzled, for this was the outcome predicted by Athene, including the matter of the chalice, which up until now he had forgotten. How did she know this would happen? Was she really a Goddess? Perhaps he should use logic. Assume she knew this would happen, either she could predict the future, or . . . Or what? If she could predict the future, then the future had to be set, but if the future was set, why did she need him? Why the prophecy, for if the future was set, it would happen, prophecy or no prophecy? Yet he was convinced Athene needed him; she had seemed desperate. But if the future was not set, how could she predict it? Perhaps she was not a goddess and it was the 'or what?' that was critical. But what was she, and what was the 'or what?'

Chapter 27

Damascus, embedded deeply within such ancient and battle-scarred lands, claimed to be a centre of stable civilization. It was certainly a centre of power, because it was also the headquarters of legions from the most powerful empire in the world. Damascus also claimed to be the oldest city in the world. It may well have been, and it could certainly lay a claim to being the most conquered city in the world. Very few powers had not conquered it, yet it continued on, immune to conquerors, of which Rome was the latest. Rome was going to make a difference, or so Rome thought, and with commendable energy, massive rebuilding was going on. But it made no difference to the essence of Damascus.

A different, and perhaps better description, Gaius thought, was that Damascus was a flea-ridden centre of thuggery, theft, vice, and all that was bad when enough people were brought together in the vicinity of wealth. A thin veneer of civilization covered the richer upper-class areas, in that safety was ensured by the power of the legions, but the upper-class inhabitants, on the whole, appeared to be merely the more successful of the criminals.

Damascus was also a centre for trade, and to some extent this trade was an attraction for the thieves. To the north were the fertile lands, which stretched from Phoenicia across to the headwaters of the Euphrates, and thence down to the ancient lands of Babylon. The west contained the great cedar forests most of the way to the Mediterranean coast, while the land to the east and south-east was harsh desert, apart from the occasional oasis. Damascus was on the eastern side of quite high mountains and their shade meant the rainfall was slight, but the Barada River supplied plentiful water.

Damascus was also a centre for craftsmen. The forests provided plentiful charcoal for smelting ores, and as a consequence of the continual fighting, the production of swords had provided guaranteed incomes from time immemorial. The ores near Damascus seemed to be superior to other sources of iron, hence some of the finest swords in the world came from Damascus. Since the steelworkers were extremely skilled, Gaius realized that some of them might be able to make other items of interest to him. Shortly, he would make their acquaintance.

People had been fighting over these ancient lands for thousands of years. Where water was available, this land permitted truly luscious greenery, while in the north, away from the rivers, rains provided winter greenery. Further to the south, however, the mountains cut out the rain, and a truly harsh desert developed. In between the desert and the northern river regions, a light green was the best that could be managed following the occasional winter rain. Once the effects of the rain had dried out, however, the land varied from having a cover of brown straw to ground with a little dried up thorny vegetation, barely food for a goat. Much of the other ground was barren, rocky, some of it volcanic with ancient cinder cones, in short, in the absence of water, it was valueless. Perhaps that was why they had been fighting; possession of the water gave one power over vast tracts of terrain. That power enabled the wielders to draw the very life-blood from those who actually produced something. Riches came from ownership of land, from taking from others, with the peasants as resource of frequent resort.

It was only many years later that Gaius realized that Rome operated on a similar principle, for Rome imported huge amounts and exported significantly less. In Rome's eyes, Rome sold law and order, and civilization. In this region, Rome might just have to earn its tributes.

From what he had heard, the region remained unstable, particularly in the south. The Jewish tetrarch, Herod Antipas had finally arranged a peace treaty of sorts with the Parthians, but thanks to his earlier divorce, the Nabateans were making threatening noises towards the Jews, while the Jews themselves were divided. In particular, a group of religious fanatics called the Zealots were seemingly always making noises that could be interpreted as the seeds of revolt. All of which spelt trouble! Still, Gaius thought to himself, fighting was a good means of launching a military career, as long as one was successful. An ominous chill ran down his back as he recalled that fighting in this part of the world was also a good way of terminating a military career, as Marcus Licinius Crassus had discovered.

"So," Vitellius stared at him, when he reported. "A friend of the
Princeps
, eh?"

"I think that may be an exaggeration, sir," Gaius said quietly.

"He informed me that you were the first to recognize him as
Princeps
," Vitellius said, his face completely devoid of expression. From his point of view, a friend of the
Princeps
could be anything. An experienced sycophant was the last thing a Legion needed. His problem was that the Claudians were the most dangerous family in Rome. This was one of those many situations where even a Governor did not want to come out on the wrong side.

"I may have had that honour, but I was merely repeating Tiberius' comments."

"Which, Caesar informed me, really meant anything but how you interpreted them."

"Then I'm pleased to have been so lucky."

"Well, young Claudius, you can't be too lucky in this part of the world." He paused, then when Gaius did not respond, he asked, "I understand you've had some teaching in tactics, strategy, and so on?"

"Yes, Governor."

"So you think you're a gift from the Gods to the legions?"

"I doubt that," Gaius muttered.

"So do I," Vitellius sighed. He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Tell me, have you met your Legate?"

"Actually, no," Gaius admitted.

"And why not? Isn't that the first thing you should have done?"

"I tried to," Gaius replied, now somewhat embarrassed.

"I tried to . . ." Vitellius taunted. "You want to conquer the world, no doubt, and you can't find your own commander in your own camp?"

Gaius stiffened under the rebuke. His career might be over before it started, but he would defend his ability. "I reported to his tent several times," he said firmly, staring Vitellius in the eye, "but I was refused admission by the guards. The guards had orders from a superior of mine, so they had to stand. I tried to meet him when he made his rounds this morning, but somehow I missed him, and I tried to intercept him last night when he went into the city, but . . well, he . . ."

"He evaded you. Do you know why you missed his morning inspection?"

"I presume he had altered his route and I was in the wrong place."

"There was no right place," Vitellius spat. "From what I gather, he was drunk in his cot. So, what do you think about that?"

"It is not my place to comment on a superior," Gaius said stiffly.

"It's your place to follow the direct order of the highest superior." Vitellius said, his expressionless eyes seemingly boring into Gaius' very soul.

"Then," Gaius said, again very formally, "it appears you may have a problem also."

"You think so, do you," Vitellius nodded. "That man, if he could be so called, is a descendent of the great Scipio Africanus. He's nothing but a blot on that great house." He paused, thought for a moment, then began to smile as he made a dramatic change of subject. "Now, what do you think about religion?" His eyes again stared into the young Tribune.

"Well . . I . . ."

"Typical Roman response!" Vitellius grinned widely. "You don't believe, but you don't want to say so in case you're wrong!"

"There is a bit to that," Gaius admitted, now wondering where this was taking him.

"More'n a bit," Vitellius snorted. "It's a fair enough attitude, but not one that's widely held in this part of the world."

"I don't quite see what you're saying, sir?"

"Don't worry, young Claudius," Vitellius continued to grin at Gaius' discomfort. "I'm not sending you on temple duties." He paused, then leaned forward and said, "Now listen. If you take nothing else on board from me, remember this. You're in a hotbed of religious fervour. Religion's the only thing that matters here. You could raze their crops, kill their animals, rape their women, burn down their houses, and they'd stare sullenly at you, but scoff at their temple or their priests, and you will start a revolt. And, young Claudius, I really don't need a revolt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, and no."

"Well, which is it?" Vitellius growled.

"I understand the need to avoid a revolt," Gaius replied evenly, "but I don't understand why a religious slight is worse than getting your house burned down."

"Nobody understands their religious fervour!" Vitellius laughed. "And, I'll be honest with you, nobody really knows how to avoid insulting the Jews. They take offence at the strangest things." He paused, then asked, with a face totally devoid of expression, "Tell me, what do you know about
Cristus
?"

"Nothing, sir," Gaius admitted. "Who or what is or was
Cristus
?" He was becoming a little worried. Everything he said seemed to count against him, but there was no point in lying.

"He was a religious teacher," Vitellius shrugged. "He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, proclaiming himself king of the Jews."

"A donkey?" Gaius asked in disbelief, then after a few moments had passed in which nothing happened, he realized he should be showing more interest in the military aspects of this problem, so he asked, "How many troops?"

"In the sense you mean, none," Vitellius smiled. "There were no arms anywhere, and from what I can figure out, he was preaching peace on Earth."

"I suppose that's not the worst he could do," Gaius said with a puzzled expression. Where was this going?

"It wasn't," Vitellius grinned even wider at the obvious discomfort on the young face before him. "He told the Jews they should pay Caesar's taxes."

"I don't quite see why that's a problem."

"The priests accused him of treason, for claiming to be the Jewish Messiah, the son of God who would save the Jews."

"That's a bit more seditious," Gaius nodded. "I assume he didn't make much headway." He paused again, then as he realized there was another question he should have asked, he continued, "What was the evidence?"

"You miss the point," Vitellius replied. "There's been something like a hundred claimants to be Messiah, and they usually end up dead because apparently if you want to fulfil the prophecy about the Messiah, you have to be killed."

"Unattractive prophecy," Gaius remarked. "If you have to be killed to fit the part, why so many takers?"