James Mace
Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea
Catch a dream and you don’t know what it means
Give up your life, live for the King
Preface
The year is 31 A.D. It is five years into the Judean governorship of Pontius Pilate and the province ever stands on the edge of a knife. The Jewish religious leaders, the Sanhedrin, use their patronage with the Emperor to vent the slightest grievance, and the people themselves burn with a hatred for Rome. Pilate’s only military forces are Samaritan auxiliaries, little more than an undisciplined mob that abuse and torment the populace.
The Emperor Tiberius finally relents and assigns to Judea a single cohort of legionaries to restore order. Pilate tasks his old friend, Centurion Artorius, to command the First Italic Cohort. Though sad to leave the Rhine and the Twentieth Legion after sixteen years, Artorius relishes the chance for adventure in the East. With him will be some old friends, Magnus, Praxus, Valens, and Justus Longinus. In the scorching desert they will encounter bandits, a mad king, his evil seductress stepdaughter, numerous messianic prophets, and unreliable allies, all underscored by the beginnings of a zealot rebellion.
Prolog: The Passing of Livia
The Imperial Palace, Rome
September, 29 A.D.
Livia is dying.
The loud banging on the door to his house had startled Claudius. Though he hated being woken in the middle of the night, he knew that it could only mean something dire for his slumber to be disturbed. As he rubbed his hand over his sleepy eyes, his instincts told him it must have something to do with his grandmother, Livia, the empress dowager. Though viewed as a stuttering imbecile by many, as Livia’s only surviving grandson and with his uncle away, he would be the first notified if there were any drastic changes in her health.
His perpetual limp made progress slow, and it was his wife, Aelia, who read the one-line note that was handed to her by an imperial messenger. Without a word, she handed the parchment to her husband. As he read, the words struck Claudius hard. Though he had spent most of his life living in fear of his grandmother, during the last four years they had grown surprisingly close. Her absent son, Emperor Tiberius, now lived in self-imposed isolation on the Isle of Capri. In truth, he had been estranged from his mother years before his departure. Seven years earlier, when Livia had fallen ill, Tiberius put aside his personal animosity and immediately rushed to her side. This time there would be no return of her wayward son.
In some small way, Livia managed to find solace in the company of the lone surviving grandson that Tiberius denied her. Her younger son, Drusus Nero, who was Claudius’ father, had passed into the afterlife nearly forty years before, when Claudius was an infant.
“The m…mother of our empire is dying,” he said quietly to himself. He had been around the Empress dowager his entire life, yet it was only when Livia’s time had grown so late did the two finally understand each other. It had been over dinner with just the two of them. A few goblets of wine brought Claudius’ guard down and his grandmother realized her suspicion. Though his afflictions were real, all his life he’d exaggerated his stutter and limp so that he’d be thought a fool and left alone.
“Go to her,” Aelia insisted. “Her son will not come, and it would not be fitting for an empress to die alone.”
Claudius nodded and quickly made for the door, almost forgetting to throw a tunic on as a slave hurried after him with some clothes. A pair of praetorian guardsmen awaited him.
“We’re here to escort you to the palace, sir,” one of the men spoke. He was an optio by the name of Cornelius. Many of the guardsmen viewed Claudius with contempt; Cornelius was one of the few who recognized him for his strength of mind and character. “There’s a litter waiting for you.”
“M…much obliged,” Claudius replied as limped towards the curtained litter, borne by a dozen slaves.
The praetorian optio walked alongside, and he sought to take Claudius’ mind off his grandmother’s failing health with conversation. “I served under your brother,” he stated.
Claudius’ brother was the late great general, Germanicus Caesar. “Yes,” Claudius acknowledged. In truth, it pained him to talk about his brother, who’d been murdered ten years earlier while serving in the east.
“I was fortunate to have been with the praetorian cohorts that fought beside him at both Idistaviso, as well as the siege of Angrivarii,” the optio continued, unaware of the vexation this brought to Claudius, whose face was hidden in the dark behind the partially drawn curtain of the litter. “He led the assault on the stronghold without donning his helmet, that way all the lads could see him. By Mars, he was the bravest of us all!”
“That he was,” Claudius said quietly, allowing himself a brief smile at more pleasant memories. Germanicus and Claudius were so completely different in both physical appearance and demeanor that one could scarcely believe they were brothers. Germanicus had been a physical specimen, devoid of any of his younger brother’s deficiencies. He was well-spoken, highly intelligent with a natural apt for military prowess. Trained in the art of war under Tiberius, he’d shared the same distinction in that in his years of command he not once lost a major battle.
Oddly enough, Claudius had never envied Germanicus, even when the latter was awarded the first Triumph in a generation for destroying the Germanic Alliance and avenging the disaster of Teutoburger Wald. Germanicus had been one of the few to recognize his brother’s true qualities and, in fact, he was one of the few people Claudius had never stammered around. But now he was gone.
Premature deaths seemed to haunt the imperial household, as Claudius’ cousin and the emperor’s only son, Drusus, had died of a mysterious illness just a few years later. And Claudius’ own son had been just a boy of four when he choked to death. Such thoughts made him fear greatly for his unborn child. He had only just found out that Aelia was pregnant, and unpleasant reckonings plagued him as the litter made its way through the night, despite the well-intentioned banter of Cornelius.
“Here we are, sir,” the praetorian said as the slaves bearing the litter came to a sudden halt, jolting Claudius awake. Cornelius extended a hand and helped him from the litter.
Claudius then took a deep breath and sighed as he ascended the steps leading into the imperial palace.
It should have come as no surprise that Livia Augusta was breathing her last. At her extremely advanced age she had seen more than most would in ten lifetimes. Most had forgotten that she had been married to Tiberius Claudius Nero, who despite having served as Quaestor to Julius Caesar, sided with his assassins, the Optimates, in their civil war against Caesar’s nephew, Octavian. Livia had been forced to flee with her husband and infant son in wake of Octavian’s onslaught against the Optimates. As fugitives, they had journeyed all throughout what was still known as The Roman Republic. Their exploits, now forgotten, would have been worthy of Homer!
After the warring factions reconciled, Livia and her husband returned to Rome. Even after all these years she could still remember the charming young man who had so recently been their enemy and the reason for their exile. What was intriguing was that Octavian was completely enamored with her, despite the fact that she was six months pregnant with her second child. Octavian’s own wife, Scribonia, was about to give birth to his daughter, Julia. Through much intrigue, her husband had been compelled by Octavian to divorce her. Their separation was amicable, even friendly. Nero even gave Livia away at her wedding to Octavian, which happened just three days after their son, Drusus, was born. During this time, Livia never imagined that the young man she had married would in just a few years become master of the known world.