Although these legions might have seemed a massive force, every single soldier in them would be needed. The job confronting father and son was huge. There were many towns and villages to bring into line throughout the province of Judaea, and, according to Josephus’s exaggerated figures, each had a population of at least 15,000. Furthermore, the Jews’ military tactics of guerrilla warfare were not ones that the Roman legions were best equipped and trained for. Finally, should the Jews retreat to hill-top forts, the Roman forces would face long, demoralising sieges. In taking on these challenges, the relationship between Vespasian and Titus was less that of father and son than a partnership. The two men agreed that the command of forces in Judaea was something in which they could not afford to fail. Through plunder and the selling of prisoners into slavery, there was much money to be made. Success in bringing an end to the rebellion would also bring great glory and acclaim to their name.
While Vespasian organized his army in Syria during the winter of AD 66–7, the commander in charge of the Jewish resistance in Galilee was also making preparations. Josephus took charge of building defences in the towns of Galilee, north of Judaea; he also got to grips with the task of equipping and training the Jewish army. He claimed later to have followed the model of the Roman army, aiming to instil discipline and obedience in his troops, drilling them in the practice of arms, and establishing a clearly organized chain of command. However, the task was proving a miserable, uphill struggle. The aristocratic young scholar found himself in charge of the homeless, of angry peasants and of villagers who had never been to the Holy City. And yet here they were, being asked by an aristocrat, an outsider, to unite behind him and fight a war that was Jerusalem’s. Staking his authority over his army would prove a challenge in its own right. Despite these significant difficulties, Josephus’s job in Galilee was about to get a lot more complicated.
A local radical called John ben Levi, also known as John of Gischala, his Galilean home town, came and found Josephus. He offered his and his followers’ services, which Josephus gratefully accepted. When John energetically organized the rebuilding of Gischala’s walls, Josephus was impressed by the man’s energy. However, that good impression was not to last. In his account of the war preparations in Galilee, written with hindsight, Josephus’s praise quickly turns to venom. John was a ‘liar’, ‘the most unprincipled trickster that ever won ill fame by such vicious habits’ and a would-be power-monger who had surrounded himself with a four-hundred-strong private army of thuggish bandits who were prepared to murder for money.19 Reading between the lines of Josephus’s subjective view, John was simply an opportunist with popular instincts, who in the war against foreign oppression was prepared to go to far greater extremes than the well-to-do priest. There was nothing John would not do, no money he would not take, to win power and take the fight to Rome. His presence in Galilee was about to make life hellish for the sensible, moderate commander. More than this, the quarrels between extremist and moderate would give the Romans an unexpected advantage even before they had set foot in Judaea.
When, for example, Josephus gave John permission to provide the Jews in Syria with kosher oil so that they would not have to break their religious code and use foreign-produced olive oil, John seized the opportunity to corner the market in Galilee oil and created a racket. Reselling the produce at eight times the price, he made a fortune for the war effort and, according to Josephus, for himself. Using the profits, he paid for his band of followers to carry out raiding parties on the rich in Galilee. As the havoc increased, so too did the hostility between Josephus and John. Relations soon became so poisonous that the commander believed that John secretly intended to kill him. A scenario ran round and round in Josephus’s mind: John wanted to draw Josephus into policing his raids so that, in the fracas, Josephus could be ambushed and killed, and John could seize power. Indeed, Josephus was right to be paranoid. It was not long before John began plotting against his life.
On the pretence of being ill, John gained leave from Josephus to go to the baths in the Galilean town of Tiberias to rest and recover. His actual intention, however, was to stir up a revolt against Josephus through deceptions, lies and bribes. Alerted to the danger by his delegate in Tiberias, Josephus showed the courage for which Hanan had perhaps appointed him commander. Without hesitation, he rushed to the town, gathered the people together and spoke to them forcefully, thus reasserting his authority. John, however, did not give up. Some of his private army made their way through the crowds and, drawing their swords, approached Josephus from behind. People in the crowd shouted to Josephus to watch out, and, with a sharp blade just inches from his throat, he made a narrow escape. He jumped down from the platform on which he had been speaking, and, with the aid of his bodyguard, got away in a boat moored near by.20
The episode was enough to swing popular opinion back in Josephus’s favour and away from John. The conspirators were rounded up, but John was too quick. He had fled the town and set his sights on rallying followers elsewhere in Galilee. However, it would not be the last time the lives of the two men would cross. Their clash was symbolic of a conflict simmering away throughout the province. Up and down Judaea and Galilee the tensions between the priests’ moderate leadership in Jerusalem and the bands of revolutionaries in the country grew steadily worse. In the build-up to war with Rome, others more ideological than John were taking advantage of the chaos and confusion. In the town of Acrabata a peasant leader called Simon ben Gioras had raised his own gang of revolutionaries and was operating independently of the war effort organized in Jerusalem by Hanan and the Temple authorities. The worse the tensions between the Jewish factions, and the more divided the war effort, the easier the anticipated task of Rome would become. However, both revolutionary and moderate alike knew that by the spring of AD 67, the time to pursue their struggles for power had elapsed. The Romans were coming.
Vespasian’s three legions amassed at Ptolemais. They were reinforced by a mixture of auxiliary and regular cohorts from Caesarea and Syria, and also with allied forces contributed by the pro-Roman kings in the region – Agrippa, Antiochus and Soaemus. With an army at least 60,000 strong thus deployed, Vespasian and Titus decided on the strategy for war. Some of the commander’s officers advised that the cleanest and simplest way to end the rebellion was to go for the jugular and crush resistance in Jerusalem. Vespasian disagreed. He knew that there was one pivotal reason why Cestius Gallus had not been able to take the Holy City: Jerusalem was virtually impregnable.
Built on a rocky plateau with steep and deep ravines on the south, east and west sides, the city was a natural fortress. Adding to its strength were three mighty concentric walls. Even if the city had been built on flat land, Jerusalem would still be impenetrable.21 To attempt to take the city, went Vespasian’s line of reasoning, was a huge gamble and would result not just in a collapse of soldier morale, but also in a massive loss of Roman life. The only safe way to crush the rebellion centred on Jerusalem was first to take control of the territories around it. The rebels in the towns, villages and guerrilla strongholds of Judaea and Galilee must all be brought into line. However, Vespasian also knew that the manner in which Rome won back the outlying territories was critical.
To win a psychological advantage over the Jewish rebels, Vespasian and Titus decided on a war of terror, a standard Roman tactic. The key principle was to show no mercy: to kill everyone fit to bear arms, and enslave those who could not resist; to plunder and ravage all that came into the Roman army’s path. In short, the plan was to terrorize Jerusalem into submission.22 The sight of the column alone was daunting. Light-armed auxiliaries and bowmen were followed by heavy-armed infantry, some with the responsibility of marking out camps. Then came the road-makers, laden with their tools for levelling surfaces and straightening bends obstructing the path. A cavalry force and body of spearmen protected the personal baggage of the high command. After them could be seen the train of mules carrying the mass of artillery, the battering rams and missile engines. Then came the group comprising Vespasian, Titus and the senior officers with their bodyguard. Appropriately, the military standards, surrounding the symbol of the eagle – ‘the king of birds and most fearless of all’ – divided the generals from the main body of soldiers, while servants and camp followers brought up the rear.