Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (36 page)

Each stepped forward to protect Pilate, driving their weapons into the vitals of the men on either side of Taheb, who had stumbled forward from the momentum of his attack. Pilate sprang forward and stabbed him through the throat. The prophet’s eyes grew wide in disbelief as he fell to his knees. He choked up gouts of blood, which also gushed from his ruptured neck. Pilate spat on him as he and his centurions quickly backed away. The mob of Samaritans was momentarily stunned at the sudden slaying of their savior.

“Javelins…volley by ranks!”
Artorius shouted. He did not know if the enemy’s shock would turn to rage and was not going to give them any chance of seizing the initiative. He also knew he had to smash them quickly, in case the auxiliaries wavered. And even if they held their ground, the horde still had them substantially outnumbered.

“Front rank…throw!”
Valens shouted.

A storm of javelins sailed over the top of Pilate and the
centurions, who sprinted up the hill. Artorius immediately took his place on the extreme right of his century; Abenader and Pilate to his left. The auxilia centurion stayed close to the procurator, acting as a personal bodyguard. Decanii within the century gave subsequent orders and several more volleys of javelins rained down upon the Samaritans. On either side, the rest of the cohort was raining down its own storm of death on their hapless foe. Artorius turned around just in time to see a mob gathering around their dead prophet, wailing in sorrow and rage, cut down by the wave of death that descended upon them. Javelins tore into their flesh, their wicker shields proving all but useless against the storm of death. In his peripherals, Artorius saw the other centuries unleashing their remaining salvos of javelins.

“Gladius…draw!”

“Rah!”

It had been three
years since his men had drawn their blades in anger. The arrogance of these so-called ‘people of God’ enraged them. For a sect that claimed to be one of peace, they were quick to turn to violence.

“Charge!”

The order
was followed by a continuous shout as the legionaries stormed down the hill. They smashed into the Samaritan horde, shields bowling those closest to them over. To his right, Artorius could sense the men from Praxus’ Century crashing into their enemy. By this time the Samaritans had recovered from the assault and began to fight back against the hated Romans.

Still up on the hill, Pilate and Abenader watched the battle unfold. Pilate’s head was bowed slightly. He had come to attempt a peaceful resolution and had failed.

“Sir, look!” As Abenader pointed to his right
, Pilate saw the auxiliary cavalry riding parallel to the enemy flank.

At first he wasn’t sure if they were simply abandoning the field, but then they immediately conducted a hard left turn and charged into the Samaritan flank. He looked to his left and saw the cavalry on that wing executing a similar maneuver. The infantry had also attacked and were fighting alongside the legionaries. He then breathed a sigh of relief.

“I told you my men would remain loyal,” the centurion asserted.

“You have my gratitude, Abenader,” Pilate replied.

Below, the enemy horde was breaking. In a matter of minutes it was over. The Samaritans broke and ran. The legionary and auxiliary infantry pursued as far as the bottom of the hill. The cavalry continued and slaughtered many as they tried to flee. Abenader’s face twitched. The horsemen were so anxious to prove themselves to the Romans that they needlessly continued the killing long after the issue was decided. It was the one confounding issue Taurus had always said about his men; they would always fight, but often not know when to stop.

“We’ve taken over five hundred prisoners,” Magnus said as he joined the senior leaders
at their camp.

Several oxcarts had been brought on the journey and were now laden with arms taken from the Samaritan dead. The wailing of grieving wives and mothers echoed throughout the landscape. The Romans were camped several miles from the battlefield, and yet the cries of the grief-stricken still permeated their senses.

“Well done,” Pilate replied.

A servant handed the
centurion a goblet of wine, and the procurator proposed a toast. “Gentlemen, to the suppression of insurrection before it had a chance to begin.”

The men all drank thirstily and Pilate then addressed Centurion Taurus. “Your men proved their loyalty today, and for that I am grateful.”

“Thank you, sir,” Taurus replied.

“They probably killed a couple hundred more than necessary,” Pilate continued, “But I am not going to lose any sleep over the bodies of rebellious scum.”

“Nor should you!” a voice said boisterously.

The assembled officers were surprised to see it was Caiaphas, along with members of the Sanhedrin. He was grinning broadly, which was something Artorius had never recalled seeing.

“Caiaphas,” Pilate grumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“We received word of the troubles,” the high priest explained. “And once I heard that the rebels were routed, I wished to come congratulate you on your great victory.”

“Given how much your people and the Samaritans hate each other,” Artorius observed, “it is hardly surprising that you would celebrate their slaughter.”

“Please,” Caiaphas replied, raising his hands in resignation. “I know we’ve had our differences and doubtless will continue to. However, I am willing to admit that you have kept the peace over the past three years, and with the destruction of this rebellious army, you have maintained that
harmony.”

The continuing cries of mourning loved ones of the slain added a macabre accent to the high priest’s words.

“Then perhaps you will join us for a drink,” Pilate said, signaling a servant to offer the priest a cup of wine.

“So what will you have us do with the prisoners?” Magnus asked.

“We’ll execute the leaders and any who cause further trouble,” Pilate said without hesitation.

“Ah, now that I will drink to,” Caiaphas said with a chuckle as he held his wine cup high.

Chapter XXXI
I: Bitter Departures

***

Reports of the Battle of Mount Gerizim would take several weeks at minimum to reach Rome, and as Pilate did not foresee any ill consequences to come of it, he elected to take Claudia on a long awaited holiday.
If anything, he felt that a commendation from Vitellius, the senate, or perhaps even the emperor would be waiting for him. It was with great shock that he received different news altogether when he returned to Caesarea more than two months later.

The man’s name was Marcellus, and it was known that he was a close friend of Vitellius. He had not traveled alone, but rather brought an entire entourage of bureaucrats, freedmen, and staff. And as Marcellus had expressly forbidden Artorius or any of Pilate’s friends from breaking the news to him, his words completely took the procurator off guard.

“Pontius Pilate,” the man said. “I am here as your replacement, by order of Lucius Vitellius, on the authority of the Emperor Tiberius Caesar.”

“Replacement?” Pilate said aghast. “What is the meaning of this?”

“A number of issues,” Marcellus explained, with a certain trace of arrogance in his voice.

Claudia clutched her husband’s hand as they listened to their entire world come crashing down. “It culminated with the slaughter of the Samaritan pilgrims…”

“Now see here!” Pilate snapped. “Those ‘pilgrims’ were armed for battle. We acted in self-defense and, by doing so, suppressed a potential revolt!”

“Perhaps,” Marcellus said patronizingly. “However, it was not I who ordered your removal
. I am simply your successor. And as I was saying, Legate Vitellius was specifically informed by the emperor a number of months ago that after eleven years you were perhaps wearing out your usefulness in the province. There have been numerous complaints by the Sanhedrin over the years, as well as Herod Antipas. Granted, Vitellius took little heed of our client king’s rebukes, knowing his ulterior motives for trying to make himself legitimate king of all Judea. However, this latest slaughter of the Samaritans proved your undoing. The Council of Samaria petitioned Vitellius personally, and it is by his order that you are hereby relieved.”

“But surely
…” Pilate protested. “How could he depose me without allowing me to plead my case?”

“
As I said
,” Marcellus answered with a bored sigh, “The emperor felt your usefulness was played out in the east anyway. It is likely Vitellius would have relieved you even if he had thought your actions appropriate. And since any appeal of his decision would go through the emperor, his directive is if you take umbrage with his decision, then you need to take it up with Tiberius.”

“I understand,” Pilate said quietly, still in shock
, the gravity of what had just transpired beginning to sink in. He guided Claudia by the hand and they started to leave the office.

“Oh
, and one last thing,” Marcellus said. “Vitellius may not wish to see you, but he has demanded that the commander of the First Italic Cohort report to him at once.”

Artorius had never even met the Legate of Syria, and now he stood before him, awaiting his jud
gment on his disciplinary case. With Pilate deposed, Vitellius was the only man of sufficient rank to pass judgment on the conduct of Artorius and his legionaries. He had left Caesarea with all possible speed once Pilate had informed him of the legate’s directive. Artorius had traveled alone, knowing that Antioch, where Vitellius governed from, was a week’s ride by horse. As such, he had said his farewells to Pilate and Claudia. Their presence was no longer welcome, and they were hastening their own departure.

The
centurion was both angered and nervous. He had not been arrested, so he presumed he was not being criminally charged. By the same token, he was indignant at having to answer before a disciplinary hearing because he made a quick decision that ultimately saved the Governor of Judea’s life. As he had arrived in Antioch in the evening, he took the opportunity to try and catch a night’s rest, while thoroughly bathing and polishing up his armor for his meeting with the legate in the morning.

“Centurion Artorius reporting
, sir,” he said with a sharp salute as he stepped into the hall, his helmet tucked under his arm.

There was a long table on a short dais, yet the only person occupying it was Legate Vitellius. There were no
tribunes, senior centurions, not even a clerk. While the reason may have been simply a matter of Artorius not falling under their chain-of-command, he would have felt at least partially reassured if the tribunal contained at least one of his fellow centurions. As it was, the legate alone would decide his fate.

“Stand at ease,
centurion,” Vitellius replied.

It frustrated Artorius because he could not judge the governor’s demeanor one way or the other. On the one hand, he had dismissed Pilate by simply sending a message with his replacement, yet he had granted Artorius a hearing in person. He knew very little about Vitellius
, other than he was a former consul. The legate had only held his posting for two years and had never as much as visited Judea. Therefore Artorius could not begin to surmise where he might stand with him. All he knew was that his fate now rested in the legate’s hands.

“I’ve read the official reports,” V
itellius began, “to include your own detailed description of the action that took place on 16 November. Much to the chagrin of the Samaritan delegation, I can find nothing criminal to prosecute you with. As Pilate was the emperor’s personal appointee, I felt it right that he judge the procurator himself. As a legionary centurion pilus prior, your fate has been left to me.” He paused to let the words sink in. His demeanor still betrayed nothing.

Artorius could not fathom what Vitellius would do. Reduction in rank or dismissal from the army would require a criminal court martial, and the
legate already said he had done nothing criminally liable.

“Yes
, sir,” was all he elected to say.

He would let Vitellius lay it out before forming any sort of rebuttal.

“You must understand,” Vitellius continued, “that while the equite procurator governs independently, both Syria and Judea are ultimately my responsibility. Pilate was governor, and during Lamia’s tenure he was granted a large amount of autonomy. However, with Syria now under my governorship, it fell upon me as the emperor’s representative to act upon any crises that proved unmanageable for Pilate. Same can be said of his replacement, Marcellus. He, too, will have to answer to me, should he fail to maintain order within Judea. As for the current situation, over a thousand Samaritans lay dead, slaughtered by your men.”

Artorius’ face twitched as he fought to suppress his anger
at the perceived rebuke. He remained silent, waiting to hear what Vitellius’ disposition towards him would be.

“I understand that the mob was armed,” the
legate said, realizing Artorius would not respond just yet. “I argued this with the Samaritan delegation, and they did not bother to deny this. They flagrantly broke the law, and Pilate was right to bring his soldiers to disperse them. And since pretty much all of the Samaritans who were close enough to their leader were killed when the fighting broke out, they are unable to say for certain who struck the first blow. I have no reason to disbelieve that Taheb attacked Pontius Pilate. The procurator was right to kill the man in self defense, and I can concur with yours and Centurion Abenader’s judgment when you killed the men that were close enough to threaten Pilate. As his soldiers, your duty was to protect him.” Vitellius paused for a moment. Up to this point, everything he said would seem to vindicate the centurion. However, were this the case, he never would have summoned Artorius to Syria.

“The issue now at h
and is what happened once Taheb was dead,” Vitellius began again. For the first time his demeanor showed that all did not bode well for the centurion. “The three of you immediately started to withdraw. By your own admission the Samaritans were paralyzed with shock at the loss of their leader. You immediately escalated what had been a single man’s attack on the procurator to an all-out battle. You ordered your cohort to unleash their javelins and attack.”

“We were outnumbered,” Artorius replied, finding he could remain silent no longer. “In any tactical situation, one must
never
allow the enemy a chance to seize the initiative. I had but a moment to make a decision…”

“And make it you did,” Vitellius interrupted. “And now you must take responsibility for it.” The words struck Artorius hard, but he knew the
legate was correct. “I must say, it is a credit to the discipline and valor of your legionaries that they did not suffer a single fatality that day. However, nearly a hundred auxiliary infantry and cavalrymen were killed, with nearly three times as many wounded. I cannot fault you for the lack of discipline amongst the cavalrymen who continued to slaughter the Samaritans as they fled the field. They were not your men and therefore not your responsibility.” Vitellius then looked over some documents on his desk before continuing.

“Know that I am also taking into account your service record, which I
see is rather impressive. You’ve served the empire for twenty-two years now. You fought at Ahenobarbi, Idistaviso, and Angrivari during the Germanic Wars. I see that during the Rebellion of Sacrovir and Florus you were at Augusta Raurica Pass, where you were one of only nine to be awarded the Florian Crest, and you went on to fight at the Battle of Augustodunum. There is a special note in your record, too, stating that during the Frisian Rebellion you held the flank at the Battle of Braduhenna. Your century was singled out for valor by the emperor himself.”

Artorius’ face twitched at the memory and he realized
, thanks to the ever-efficient Roman bureaucracy, even those in the Far East knew about Braduhenna.

Vitellius continued to read.
“You have been awarded the
Silver Torque for Valor
four times; an impressive statement in and of itself. And you’ve been mentioned in dispatches for distinguished conduct on no less than eight occasions. The only other blight on your record besides what happened at Mount Gerizim is when you were court-martialed twelve years ago in the death of the centurion who you would later replace. As you were acquitted this holds no bearing on my decision.” The legate stopped reading and looked up at Artorius once more, who stood stone-faced.

“What is your judgment then, sir?” Artorius asked. It was strange for the centurion, as he had never heard anyone else spell out the cumulative results of his career in the legions; almost like an epitaph. Like all soldiers of Rome, his service record was a matter of public record that any officer in the army could review if he wished.

“You’ve had a distinguished career, Centurion
Pilus Prior Artorius,” Vitellius said after a moment. “Your service to the empire has been exemplary. That is why I take no pleasure in what I must do.” Vitellius clearly had his interpretation of how events transpired, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he had acted rashly in having his men attack when they did.

“Though no criminal charges will be filed, I still have the good order of the province to consider,” the
legate continued. “The ongoing presence of legionaries in Judea will only serve as a stark reminder of the slaughter that happened at Mount Gerizim, regardless of who is to blame. Therefore, I am disbanding the cohort.”

Artorius felt like he had been stabbed through the heart.

“Sir, whatever decisions were made that day, right or wrong, the responsibility is mine alone!” he protested. “My men should not suffer for following my orders, especially if, as you say, there was nothing criminal done!”

“Your men will not suffer,” Vitellius asserted. “They will be reassigned back to their former legions. Any promotions the men were given will still b
e honored. No one will lose any rank over this.”

Artorius breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
“Well…the Twentieth was always home for me anyway.”

Vitellius was stoic in demeanor
, which made him suddenly nervous again.

“I said your
men
will be reassigned back to their former legions,” the legate replied coldly. “Your new assignment will take you west, but not to Cologne. There will be enough upheaval as it is with your centurions and options returning to the ranks, as it now means that a handful of officers who were anticipating promotion will have to wait as those vacancies will be taken. As they were not so much charged with any wrongdoing, their transfers are simply administrative. Yours, on the other hand, is a different case. As you said, the responsibility for Mount Gerizim is yours alone.”