Emperor of Rome Read online

  Hormus waved his hand, trying to listen closely. ‘I think it’s Yosef, master; all the others are now shouting at him, accusing him of leading them into this disaster and then showing no honour at the end.’

  ‘Well, I’d say they have the measure of the man.’

  ‘He’s now saying that if they are wary of coming out fighting and risking being captured and if they are unwilling to throw themselves at your mercy, the only option left is killing themselves. But, he says, suicide is a sin in their god’s eyes.’

  Vespasian shook his head. ‘These people never fail to amaze me.’

  ‘He’s saying that they should take it in turns to kill one of their number and then only the last one alive will risk their god’s wrath by killing himself.’

  ‘Ahh! This Yosef is a cunning bastard,’ Vespasian said. ‘We’re just about to see how good his arithmetic is.’

  Magnus frowned and tugged his dogs away from a lump of flesh of dubious provenance. ‘What’s arithmetic got to do with it?’

  Vespasian held up his finger, quietening him, so that Hormus could carry on listening.

  ‘He says that there are twenty-three of them. Yosef has given the sword to the man two places away on his right, the third man and he will kill the man two away from him, the fifth man. The sixth man will then kill the man two away from him, the eighth man, and so on. They’ve agreed.’

  Vespasian did a quick mental calculation. ‘I’m beginning to have a grudging respect for this Yosef. He’s worked it so that he’s going to be one of the last two left alive along with the tenth man.’

  ‘How can you respect someone who’s so obviously a coward?’ Titus asked. ‘And a dishonourable coward at that, seeing as he’s deceiving comrades with whom he’s fought shoulder to shoulder for the last month and a half.’

  ‘Let’s just wait and see what he has to say for himself when he comes out, before we make any such judgements about him, shall we?’ Vespasian said as the sound of the first body slumping to the floor, amidst the muttering of many prayers, emanated from the cistern.

  ‘Toss me down a rope,’ a voice called from within the cistern. ‘I wish to throw myself at the mercy of Titus Flavius Vespasianus.’

  ‘And you are?’ Vespasian asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer would be.

  ‘I am Yosef ben Matthias, priest of the first rank and the Jewish Governor of Galilee.’

  ‘What a surprise,’ Vespasian muttered before shouting back down, ‘And what about the tenth man?’

  There was a pause. ‘The tenth man?’

  ‘Yes, the one who would survive with the way you set it up; very clever, I thought.’

  ‘We made a pact and he too lives.’

  Vespasian nodded to a waiting legionary to throw down a rope. ‘Then you had both better come up.’ He turned to Titus. ‘Bring Yosef to me back in the camp. I’ll see him in public in the principia; I want the men to witness what this Jew has to say for himself.’

  It was a bitter and bedraggled column of more than a thousand wailing prisoners that filed into the compound built to house them until they could be assessed, categorised and then sold to the many slave-dealers that followed the army along with the merchants and whores. Most of the women were naked having been stripped during their defilement; as they could not, therefore, rend their garments they had torn at their skin with their nails and wrenched out clumps of their hair before they could be manacled to stop them from reducing their worth. A couple had managed to strangle their children to prevent them from suffering a life of slavery, so now the women had been separated from their offspring as a precaution against such unnecessary financial loss.

  Vespasian stood with Magnus, contemplating the scene, calculating how much the entire batch would be worth and what percentage he could expect to get from it. ‘They’re not going to fetch much,’ he complained. ‘There’s hardly any flesh on any of them after such a long siege.’

  ‘You’ve only got yourself to blame,’ Magnus pointed out. ‘Seeing as you was in command.’

  Vespasian looked askance at his friend. ‘Are you being serious?’

  ‘Of course. You can’t go moaning about the state of the captives if you allow them all that time to get out of condition. Next time, I suggest that you bring things to a speedier conclusion. Although, I would say that with the way things are going, your inability to conclude a quick siege may be a good thing.’

  Vespasian shook his head in disbelief. ‘You really are turning into a cantankerous old man, Magnus. Nothing ever seems to be quite right for you, lately.’

  ‘Yeah, well; can you blame me when I’m being dragged around this armpit of the Empire with fuck all to do?’

  ‘Well, no one asked you to come.’

  ‘And no one’s asked me to leave.’

  Vespasian squared up to Magnus. ‘Is that what you want then? Me asking you to go?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m just saying that I’m bored and when I get bored I get crabby. I don’t mean nothing by it. But you have to admit that I do have a point: if you want the captives to be in a better condition, you should capture them before they’ve had time to go to seed. And, after all, it may well be that you will be needing money soon; a lot of money and quite soon.’ Magnus’ good eye took on a shrewd aspect. ‘And don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know you, sir, and I know that you’ve always been obsessed by all these omens that have beset you throughout your life: the signs at your birth that no one will tell you about; the Oracle of Amphiaraos; Thrasyllus’ prediction that should a senator witness the Phoenix in Egypt then he would go on to be the founder of the next dynasty of emperors, and I was there with you in Siwa when you saw the bird’s rebirth and Siwa may not be part of our province of Egypt but it used to be a part of the Kingdom of Egypt. All that stuff, even Antonia bequeathing you her father’s sword after her suicide when it was well known that she would give it to the grandson who she thought would make the best Emperor, has made you think that maybe, just maybe, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘Well, of course with the way things seem to be going in the West, it would be foolish of me not to consider my options. Although Caenis hasn’t heard any more about Vindex’s or Galba’s intentions, there is certainly evidence of discontent with the current regime growing and then, well, who knows?’

  ‘I know, sir. I know that you would be foolish to relinquish your army with the rumours that we’re getting from the West. That’s why I say that perhaps it’s a good thing that this is taking longer than you hoped.’

  Vespasian considered his friend’s words. ‘It has crossed my mind a few times in recent days; the trouble is that the longer the rebellion is allowed to rage unquashed, the worse it will get and then the longer it will take to defeat to the extent it might prevent me from doing anything else with this army, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I most certainly do, sir. So, my advice would be to stop complaining about the state of the captives and just make sure that you get more of them and eke out the whole campaign. No one should be in a hurry to give up an army.’

  ‘You sound like Malichus. He’s also very happy to have this thing last as long as possible so that he can achieve maximum profit out of it.’

  ‘Then he’s a sensible man, sir.’

  ‘Yes, well, I suppose it’s some consolation to make money out of a bad situation.’ Vespasian caught sight of the last two prisoners being led into the compound. ‘And there’s the man who started the whole thing. This could be an interesting interview; I shall dress for it.’

  Legionaries jostled one another to get a view of the man who had caused them so much hardship over the last forty-seven days, and beyond. Indeed, it had been Yosef who had instigated the destruction of Herod’s palace at Tiberias, which had been the act of violence that had catapulted Galilee into joining the rebellion that had, until then, been mainly confined to Judaea and centred upon Jerusalem.

  Tall and proud, despite his fetters, Yosef ben Matthia
s walked through the jeering crowd. He cast his eyes around and showed nothing but disdain for their derision, even as a good many of them called for his death.

  Vespasian sat on a curule chair that had been set up on a dais in the centre of the principia, the main meeting place of the camp, on one side of which was the praetorium. With all the dignity of his rank, togate and wearing the Triumphal Insignia he had won in Britannia, he watched his prisoner approach. All hushed as Yosef reached the foot of the dais steps and then knelt in supplication before them; yet he did not grovel. Rather, he held himself proud upon his knees, his eyes looking directly into Vespasian’s, the image of a brave man defeated in fair and open combat.

  Vespasian contemplated the leader of the Jews in his leg-irons and manacles, kneeling before him, and was reminded of the way Caratacus, the rebel King of Britannia, had comported himself when he had been brought before Claudius; there were, he reflected, many similarities between the two men: not least the dignity with which they suffered defeat. ‘So, Yosef ben Matthias, we meet again in very different circumstances,’ Vespasian said after a few moments of thought. ‘Circumstances that do not seem to be at all to your advantage; circumstances that have been brought about by your own actions. I would be curious as to how you would justify those actions.’

  Yosef drew a long breath. ‘Titus Flavius Vespasianus, I have done no more than any man who valued his liberty would. Now that I have lost that liberty I do not mourn it for I did not give it up without fighting to the utmost limits of my strength. In the end it was the failure of the priests in Jerusalem to support me that led to my downfall; I spit upon them.’

  These words set a stir around the watching legionaries as they understood well the martial sentiment behind them and had witnessed the determination with which Yosef had fought. Murmurs of appreciation could be discerned and the mood against the rebel prisoner began to soften.

  Vespasian recognised the change in atmosphere and, indeed felt it within himself: who would not resist subjugation? ‘What do you expect me to do with you, Yosef ben Matthias?’

  ‘What I expect is Roman justice, seeing as I have given myself up to Rome.’

  Vespasian had to refrain from smiling; it was a clever answer, he had to admit. Roman justice in this case could mean one of two things: summary execution on his orders or being sent to Rome to appear before the Emperor, and Vespasian could guess what Yosef was asking for. He looked around the faces of his men, which were now all turned to him, awaiting his decision; he could see what they wished for. ‘Very well, Yosef ben Matthias, Roman justice is what you shall have; I will send you to Rome for Caesar to decide your fate.’

  The legionaries broke into rapturous cheers that grew as news of the pronouncement filtered back through the crowd. Vespasian stood, favouring his good leg, and extended an arm to the crowd as they hailed him. For longer than he would have normally deemed safe he allowed his men to continue the applause and he noticed Titus raise a quizzical furrow in his brow at the length of the Ovation. However, he had, he felt, earned this praise and it was a few score more heartbeats before he brought the men to order. ‘You may take him away and keep him in close confinement,’ he told Yosef’s guards.

  ‘Before you lock me up, Titus Flavius Vespasianus,’ Yosef said as he got to his feet, ‘may I request the privilege of a private audience?’

  Vespasian looked at the Jew who had with such accuracy prophesied the fall of Jotapata, and his curiosity as to how that had come about got the better of him; and anyway, what had he to lose? ‘Very well.’

  ‘Whatever you have to say,’ Vespasian said, reading the expression on Yosef’s face as he looked at Caenis, Titus and Magnus, sitting with Vespasian in his private quarters, ‘you can say in front of these three people. Not that you have any choice, I would remind you, seeing as you are my prisoner.’

  Yosef tilted his head in acquiescence and then, again, looked Vespasian straight in the eye as if dealing with an equal. ‘You may suppose, general, that in capturing me you have merely secured a prisoner, but I come as a messenger of the greatness that awaits you. I come from God himself. I know the Jewish law and I know how a defeated Jewish general should die; but I fixed things in that cistern so that I would not. You say that you would send me to Caesar; how so, when I see him before me?’

  Vespasian’s hands gripped the arms of his chair; Yosef had his full attention.

  ‘Do you think,’ Yosef continued, ‘that Nero will remain in power for long? Do you think that the few who will follow him before your turn comes will reign more than months? You, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, are Caesar and Emperor, you and your son here. You are the one who was foretold: the messiah to come out of the East and save the world.’

  This was too much for Vespasian. ‘Messiah! Me? Bollocks! Now it’s obvious that you just saying all this to try to save your life.’

  ‘Then clap me in your heaviest chains and keep me for yourself and see what comes to pass, for I tell you: you are master of land and sea and of the whole human race – and then kill me if you find that I’m taking the name of God in vain.’

  Vespasian thought for a few moments as within him his heart raced. ‘How did you know that Jotapata would fall on the forty-seventh day?’

  ‘Who told you I said that? I only made that prediction in a letter.’

  ‘We intercepted that letter.’

  ‘Ah, of course you did.’

  Vespasian leant forward in his chair. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I can do these things. I can see.’

  ‘Then why did you go into Jotapata,’ Titus asked, ‘if you could see that it would fall and that you would be captured?’

  ‘I always said that it would fall after forty-seven days and I also said that I would be taken alive and now I say that you will be emperor.’

  ‘Centurion!’ Vespasian called towards the entrance.

  ‘Sir! Yes, sir!’ Plancius shouted, coming into the room and saluting.

  ‘Take this man away and keep him in close confinement.’

  ‘Sir! Close confinement. Yes, sir!’

  ‘But he’s to be treated well; do you understand me?’

  ‘Sir! Well treated. Yes, sir!’

  ‘Good, you may go.’

  With military precision, Plancius marched forward and then, taking Yosef’s arm, turned him and marched him from the room calling out the steps.

  ‘Well, what do you make of that, Father?’ Titus asked once Plancius was a sufficient distance away to make conversation possible once again.

  Vespasian was dismissive. ‘I think he’s a clever man who can see what’s happening in the Empire and who is trying to gain favour with me by making a wild guess.’

  ‘But you were implying exactly the same thing to me this morning.’

  ‘Yes,’ Magnus put in, ‘and you know perfectly well, sir, that this idea has been growing in you for a while.’

  ‘But I’m not certain,’ Vespasian argued. ‘At least, not like Yosef seems to be.’

  Caenis put a hand on Vespasian’s arm. ‘Then, my love, perhaps it’s time that you became certain. When the inevitable happens and Nero is deposed, all the evidence, both prophetic but mainly practical as in who is in the best position, points to you.’

  Vespasian took a large intake of air and exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if unable to comprehend a concept. ‘I can’t believe it; I can’t be certain. Surely it doesn’t all point to me becoming the … the …’ But just like his late uncle, Gaius Vespasius Pollo, all those years ago when Vespasian was sharing his suspicions with him, he could not quite bring himself to say the word.

  PART II

  JUDAEA, JULY AD 68 TO JULY AD 69

  CHAPTER VII

  ‘OUR ESTIMATION IS that there are about fifteen thousand of them,’ Tribune Placidus reported to Vespasian as he stood on the walls of Jericho gazing east, towards the Jordan River, just six miles away. Between the river and the town was a mass of people, a smudge on the well-irrigated lan
dscape that had been trampled and ruined by their flight.

  Vespasian studied the herd of humanity as it was driven towards the river by four alae of auxiliary cavalry and six cohorts of foot, both legionary and auxiliary, in what he hoped would be the final subjugation of the rebellion outside Jerusalem.

  It had been a year since Jotapata had fallen and every day of that year had seen bitter fighting. His men, hardened now to the fanaticism and excesses of the rebel Jews, killed without compunction or mercy; it was now difficult to get them to spare even the peaceful villagers who were caught up in the conflict through no fault of their own, for many a rebel had masqueraded as such and used the cover to perpetrate murder on their captors. No Jew could be trusted in Roman eyes and the brutality with which Vespasian and his legions were prosecuting the war only added to its ferociousness.

  After the relatively easy capture of Tiberias it had been one long list of sieges: Gishala, where Yohanan ben Levi had been cornered, had fallen to Titus who had made the mistake of agreeing not to enter the town on the Jewish Sabbath, in the hope that this concession would be seen throughout the land as an indication that Rome was considerate of Jewish sensibilities. Yohanan had taken advantage of Titus’ goodwill gesture and slipped away in the night with hundreds of his followers; the mistake was never made again. Tarichaea, Gamala, Gadara, the list went on as Vespasian had subdued first Galilee then Peraea and then Idumaea in the south and now, finally, Judaea. Now, once these fugitives from Gadara had been dealt with, just Jerusalem remained.

  Just Jerusalem.

  And this is what had been playing on Vespasian’s mind of late as he had waded through the laborious and distasteful process of killing or enslaving all who would not willingly submit to Rome, more than a quarter of a million people, by his reckoning: Jerusalem. What to do about Jerusalem?

  Jerusalem. After Yohanan ben Levi had escaped from Gishala he had made directly for the city of the Jews and here he had proceeded to do what Vespasian and Titus had hoped he would: cause division within the populace. In fact, so successful had he been in causing division that one of Titus’ agents estimated that over half of the population had been killed. He had joined forces with other radicals and called upon the people of Idumaea, the Jewish kingdom to the south of Judaea, to come to their aid. Twenty thousand answered the call and swarmed into the city, treating the local population as hostile, looting, raping and murdering; with savage brutality the Zealot and Idumaean alliance fought its way through the city and on up into the Temple itself, leaving the complex awash with blood.