6

Florus decided to stay on at the palace. Not only was it an ideal base from which to provoke the civilian population, it was a convenient point from which to manage the wealth and property he had extorted from the men he had scourged.

Among his officers who were closest to him, tied to him as co-conspirator and sharing in the spoils of his crimes was a Tribune, Marcus Severus. Marcus was not only second in command to Florus, he was a trusted confidant.

The day after the scourging, the procurator and the Tribune were discussing how to sell a piece of valuable property in Rome when Neopolitanus, who was officer of the day, entered the room and after saluting reported “Excellency, Queen Berenice has entered the city and is approaching the palace”. Berenice, the daughter of King Agrippa I, would when visiting Jerusalem expect to stay at the Hasmonaean Palace, built by her grandfather Herod the Great.

Florus acknowledged the report and sat thinking. The Queen’s authority didn’t concern him in the least, but her brother did, for he was King Agrippa II and had been appointed client King by the Romans for Upper Galilee, part of Jordan, and Chalcis. He also had responsibilities in Jerusalem and the use of his grandfather’s palace when he visited the city.

But, thought Florus, first things first. “Why had she come to Jerusalem?” Marcus voiced the same question.

Florus answered thoughtfully, “Good question. She and her brother are Jews. I suspect she had come to perform a Nazarite vow”.

“I thought”, said Marcus, “she had come to celebrate Passover”.

“Maybe”, said Florus, “but spies tell me that having got away with incest in Caesarea, they have scandalised the good people of Chalcis. I have a feeling the lady has left town to let things cool down”.

The burly Tribune laughed “Jews stone women for adultery. What’s their remedy for diddling with your brother?”

The procurator shrugged. “You may well have the opportunity to see for yourself at first hand, if the news of the lady’s proclivity reaches the High Priest. Your original question is the only one that matters to us. Why is she here?”

The procurator received his royal visitor with an outward display of warmth. “Your Highness, forgive me for not calling on you but we had no warning of your arrival. Had we known you intended visiting Jerusalem, for your safety we would have sent an escort to meet you”.

Berenice, tall to the point of being statuesque, crossed the room with a sinuous grace and sat down opposite the procurator. As Florus waited for a response, he was struck as much by that feline quality as by her beauty. She had a delicate heart shaped face, its pointed chin giving it an elfin quality. Her widely spaced hazel eyes were tilted slightly, reinforcing the cat like impression. Lips slightly turned up at the corners gave her a mischievous look, which was her natural nature, betrayed by a cheeky smile whose whiteness contrasted with a café au lait skin, the creamy texture of which was a perfect foil for the lustrous dense black hair, arranged in the Alexandrian fashion.

She was also dressed in the Alexandrian mode - a style that showed off her figure to perfection, with its firm high breasts, narrow waist, sensually rounded hips and long shapely legs. The fingers and toes of her small finely boned hands and feet were decorated with jewelled rings, the nails painted a brilliant green. Even in repose she had a calm, naturally authoritative manner.

When she replied to Florus it was in a voice that was surprisingly deep and slightly husky.

Every man on hearing it for the first time became instantly aware of its owner. “Excellency, having suffered no personal harm during the recent unrest we are pleased to see you.”

She would have continued but Florus interrupted her. “Nevertheless lady, we should have been advised of your proposal to travel. Nationalists are urging the people to rebel against Rome. Towns and villages are being attacked by both sides, often by opportunist bandits. Even”, he continued, “in Jerusalem riots are commonplace. My men are hard pressed to keep the peace”.

Berenice smiled. “Perhaps my arrival in the city will act as a moderating influence.”

Florus, with a wintery smile, extended his hand indicating that she should be seated, at the same time introducing his second in command. “I do hope so lady. In the meantime allow me to present my second in command Tribune Marcus Severus, who will be personally responsible for your safety while you are in the city”.

Severus saluted and got a short nod in return. “Thank you your Excellency, but I have my own bodyguard. I also travelled with a cohort of infantry and a troop of my own cavalry. With so much trouble on your hands”, she concluded dryly, “you will have need of your tribune”.

“Very well”, replied Florus, unperturbed by the refusal. “We will make arrangements for your troops and cavalry to be rested and your personal escorts and slaves escorted to the Marriam. In the meantime, is there anything in particular we can assist you with? We are entirely at your service.”

Berenice inclined her head in acknowledgement of this offer. “My brother King Agrippa II has arrived from Rome and is in Alexandria. He comes from Caesar, who has rewarded his faithful service to the empire with the addition of the cities of Tiberias and Taricheae in Galilee and Julias in Perea, with their dependant towns and villages, to his dominion”.

Florus was stunned at this reply. Bile burned at the back of his throat, and he coughed to hide his discomfort.

With a slight smile and a lowering of her eyelids, her thick lashes shielding a glint of satisfaction, Berenice continued smoothly “I have come to Jerusalem to perform a Nazarite vow. This requires I be in the Holy City thirty days”.

The Procurator shifted in his chair and studded the nails of his left hand. “The city is dangerous lady. Passions are running high. Terrorists commit murder daily. Honest citizens as well as Roman soldiers are assassinated to foster insecurity. In the name of nationalism riots are created. Thousands are being killed in disturbances which occur almost daily.” The Procurator paused, but getting no response ended abruptly “You would do well to return to your brother while it is still safe to do so”.

Berenice looked up and held the procurator’s gaze, her face taught with anger at the veiled insult. Getting no reply the Procurator continued smugly “I will provide you with a cohort of heavy infantry and a squadron of cavalry to augment your forces. They will escort you as far as the border with Galilee whence no doubt” he concluded sarcastically “your brother can provide for your safety against the thieving Jewish scum that roams the country, killing and burning in the name of freedom”.

A dish of plums stood on the low alabaster table. Berenice selected one and with a tiny jewelled dagger taken from her sleeve, proceeded to peel it. Without looking at the procurator, she replied with studied casualness. “I will return to Chalcis under the protection of King Agrippa, for we agreed I would await his arrival in his palace”.

There was a slight emphasis on his palace, which caused Florus to tighten his lips. But he remained silent.

“The king arrives directly. However, he has Caesar’s business to conduct before we return, so we will remain in the city until this has been concluded and I have completed my vows.” Before the procurator could say anything she continued “I have sent messengers to the King at Alexandria to acquaint him of the situation.” Again Florus would have interrupted but an upraised hand indicated that she had not finished. “When the King comes, Excellency, it will be at the head of an army”.

The Procurator leaped to his feet, his face flushed with anger. “You have no authority to invite a foreign army to enter my province, particularly the Holy City. You will leave at once for your brother’s kingdom and advise him to keep his troops at home.”

Berenice stood up. “You forget yourself Procurator. I can only assume it is the result of the strain you are under.” Florus would have interrupted her but she ground on relentlessly. “My brother the King has duties and responsibilities in this city, both as a Jew and the servant of Caesar. It is not by my authority or your leave, that he will come here, but Caesar’s”.

Without waiting for a reply Berenice rose and marched out of the room. As she reached the door war she stopped “It is the custom of the King to stay in his own palace when he visits Jerusalem on the Emperor’s business. We would be grateful if you would vacate it as soon as possible so that all may be made ready to receive him”.

Florus was incandescent with rage but he dared not ignore the demand that he quit the palace. In a filthy temper he moved into the Hippicus fortress, where huge crowds gathered daily, shrieking and lamenting, complaining bitterly about the Procurator’s behaviour. For a time he ignored them while he pondered his next move. It was Marcus who persuaded him to act.

The pair was alone in Florus’ private apartments sharing a flagon of wine. The tribune, voicing his concerns, said “The crowds are becoming bolder in their complaints. Their slanders might reach the ears of Rome. The bastard nationalists egg them on. They take inactivity to mean weakness”.

Florus glared at the Tribune. “The damned bitch needs spaying”.

Marcus was delighted at his master’s anger but didn’t take the request against Berenice seriously. “I would love to let her feel what a real man’s like. A bit different to being diddled by her pansy brother”.

“The whole army can fuck her for all I care”, Florus grated, “but she mustn’t leave this city alive.”

Marcus licked his lips. He and his men enjoyed gang rape. The more well-bred the victim, the greater the pleasure in her humiliation. He wasn’t, however, reckless. He had survived too many hard and often brutal wars to simply charge in without regard to consequences. “Agrippa is well in with Caesar and his army is a force to be reckoned with”.

The Procurator tapped the side of his nose and with a conspiratorial smile said “We shall send him her body with full military honours. I will personally lead the column and express my condolences on her death. Murdered by the mob, who were angered at her presence in the city on account of her love for her brother”.

Marcus grinned happy that the blame could so easily be shifted to the Jews.

Florus stood and stretched and said jovially “Get your fat arse in gear and give that fucking mob what for. A few swift, short actions. A few thousand dead will stir things up. Burn some streets down, loot their shops and screw some of their women”. Marcus nodded, agreeing enthusiastically.

“If we stick it to them hard, fast and very nastily, the bitch will complain and” said Florus “to do that she will have to leave the palace”.

“We can gaff her like a hooked fish”, concluded Marcus.

“Wrong”, snapped the Procurator. “She will die trampled to death by the mob as you and your men fight to save her”.

During the next three days, Marcus harried the citizens of Jerusalem. Craftily he didn’t confront the large crowd that gathered in the city’s main square, but constantly sprang up where least expected to strike hard and fast. Day and night made no difference to the German. A district or a street would suddenly be surrounded and cordoned off, and trumpets blown as a signal for his men to explode into action. Cavalry and heavy infantry would charge down streets killing everything in their path. Doors were smashed down and before the terrified occupants could flee, they were hacked to pieces. Possessions were scattered in a search for valuables that were hastily snatched up, before a torch was hurled into the building.

Berenice responded to this savagery by repeatedly sending in her own small cavalry troop. Often they arrived too late to do any good and when they weren’t, they suffered heavy losses.

At the end of day two of the terror, she had taken ten per cent losses. Her officers grew anxious about their continuing ability to protect her, which was their first duty.

Sick at heart at the butchery she appealed to the High Priest and the city’s leading citizens to discuss the situation. Among them was Menahem Ben Judas, a wealthy and influential Galilean, who was also a fanatical nationalist and secret leader of the Sicarii,. Not that they needed any persuasion to come. It was decided they would present themselves to the Procurator as penitents. They would beg mercy for the people, they would appeal to Florus for Caesar’s mercy, for a return to normality. To achieve this end, it was agreed amongst themselves that they would accept any reasonable conditions.

The next day, the crowds, subdued and weeping, made their way towards the Hippicus fortress. The senior priests tore their vestments and led the slowly moving mass of people. They rolled like lava across the city. Pouring ash into their hair, the priests begged the people to avoid violence, no matter what the provocation. Ananus personally pleaded with them not to be goaded into some intemperate response.

With his head covered in ashes that smeared his face and fouled his beard, his magnificent ceremonially robes ritually torn, Ananus beseeched the solemn silent crowd that had swollen to thousands. “Do not provoke the Procurator to commit some unpardonable outrage”.

He dared not say more, but Berenice did. With her head shaved and smeared with ash, wearing a simple shift of coarse wool and going barefoot as was the custom of those who took a Nazarite vow, she climbed onto a low wall and addressed the crowd. “Brothers and sisters listen to your High Priest, for his advice stands between you and death. Be patient. King Agrippa will soon be with you. Petition him, for he is one of you and loves you”.

A low rumble of assent greeted this remark. “He finds favour with Caesar and has Caesar’s ear. Be not provoked but let us go to the Procurator in peace”. She paused and raised her hand in the direction of Ananus, eyes flushing with passion. “Your High Priest asks for Caesar’s mercy for all of us. Let us hope the Procurator will hear our cry and these unhappy disputes are laid to rest”.

With Berenice and Ananus leading the way, the principal citizens and city counsellors and the huge crowd surged towards the Hippicus where Florus awaited them.

The cessation of violence annoyed the procurator, who was reaping handsome profits from it. He had hoped that it could be nurtured into a full scale revolt, which would make him even richer, so when Berenice approached the judgement seat he glanced coldly at the barefooted figure who knelt before him. “Excellency the people prostrate themselves before you. They pledge their loyalty to Caesar, to the Empire, and they acknowledge your sovereignty over them, as the Emperor’s appointed representative. The people beg to return to your favour. They beg your forgiveness for any unintentional wrong. They humbly ask for your pardon and beg that peace be restored between us”.

“Madam, I await your brother so that I can present him with the bill for the outrages your people have committed - though what price I should set for loyal Roman soldiers, who were murdered defending the city against assassins, I don’t know.” He raised his eyes to stare coldly at the silent crowd. “Ungrateful Jews”, he continued, “who spit on Roman peace, who fret and chafe at the Empire’s just laws, who reject her gods and murder her soldiers, who kill each other in your lunatic sectarian squabbles, who dare demand peace without any consideration of reparations”. He smiled without warmth and continued “Perhaps the officials and priests with you would care to name a figure”.

Berenice swallowed hard to contain her anger. Ananus, seeing her discomfiture, approached the dais and dropping to his knees, head bowed, said “Excellency, reparations will be made to assuage any hurt that has been done, but tell us what we must do to find favour in your heart. We are truly sorry that events have conspired to turn your heart against us. Let us prove our loyalty. Tell us what we must do to return to your favour”.

With feigned reluctance Florus said “Very well. Tomorrow two cohorts arrive from Caesarea. Let the people go out to meet them and welcome them to the city with flowers and greetings. Let the people lead them into the city as friends and protectors, as fellow subjects of Rome. Let them pledge their loyalty to Rome, to the empire, and her soldiers”.

In spite of Berenice’s protestations, for she was suspicious of the sudden change of heart, the High Priest agreed and said he would organise the reception.

At the back of the crowd Menahem listened to these affirmations of loyalty from the Jews with a satisfaction he didn’t bother to conceal. Signalling to a number of his followers who were mingling with the crowd, he whispered instructions. “Call a meeting for tonight”.

Marcus, who had been somewhat perplexed by the Procurator’s sudden generosity of spirit, was reassured when he received his orders in private. “Take half a dozen men and your best horses. Rendezvous tonight with the commander of the approaching cohorts. You’ll carry orders that every man is to be instructed not to return the greetings of the Jews. These orders warn them that the Jews are only pretending to offer them a welcome. They are not to allow any Jew to approach them. They will be walking into a Jewish trap, for concealed amongst them are Sicarii. If they are insulted or provoked in any way, they are to defend themselves”.

Marcus assured the Procurator, that if any insult was offered to Roman soldiers, the perpetrators would be punished without mercy. With an anticipatory gleam in his eyes, the tribune hurried away to pick the men who would ride with him within the hour.

In Jerusalem a handful of men slipped through the dusk to an inn, where in a back room the red headed figure of Menahem Ben Judas and his most trusted followers were waiting for them. Menahem’s red hair signalled a fiery and impetuous nature, prone to act on an impulse without too much regard for the consequences.

Nevertheless, the men who gathered round the table to share a simple meal had been with him a long time, trusting him implicitly. Many were related and shared ties of blood. His second in command, Eleazor Ben Jair, was his nephew.

The low roofed upstairs room ran the whole length of the building. Approached by a narrow staircase, it was guarded by a man sitting on an upturned box nursing a cup of wine. A cord, concealed by the staircase’s handrail, ran from the bottom of the stair to the top, passing through a hole drilled into the door, terminating in a tiny bell. The cord at the bottom of the stairs was within six inches of the watcher’s hand. It could be used to signal the conspirators, with nobody in the downstairs part of the building being any the wiser. Menahem Ben Judas rose from his chair and the chattering group became silent. “Brethren, the time has come. We attack Masada in ten days’ time”.

These men had waited a long time for this moment. Many like their leader were Galilean; all of them shared a burning hatred of the Romans. A satisfied murmur rumbled around the room. Menahem continued “We have sworn members of our organisation in key positions in the fortress. They know what they have to do. They are patiently awaiting the order to strike. My nephew Eleazor Ben Jair, will take that order tomorrow morning, when he delivers supplies.” The moment was at hand. In the lamp light, eyes gleamed with satisfaction. These were hard men, who had sacrificed a lot to become freedom fighters. Many of them had suffered personally under Roman rule. Not just the imposition of taxes. In the struggle for freedom, they had lost family members, had their homes confiscated, their sons and daughters sold into slavery.

It had taken years of careful planning to infiltrate the civilian population who worked at the fortress. Many were slaves, who actually stayed in the fortress overnight. Other civilians were admitted to the fortress from time to time to deliver supplies. The Sicarii now had enough men inside the fortress who were not only sympathetic to their cause, they had been recruited into their organisation and acknowledged Menahem as their leader.

“With Masada taken, we divide our forces. Eleazor Ben Jair will assume command of the fortress and from there, will attack every town and village within a fifty miles radius”. He paused to sip from his goblet. “In Judaea all Roman garrisons are to be destroyed. Where the people fail to support us, their villages will be burnt to the ground; their inhabitants put to death”.

This last brought an uneasy shuffling of feet. They were used to assassinating fellow Jews for political purposes. Murder and torture were their everyday stock in trade. But putting whole Jewish communities to the sword?

Menahem pressed on relentlessly. “A Jew who supports Rome is as much your enemy as any Roman. Either can cause your death. Both keep you in poverty. Our fellow Jews are either for us or against us - there is no middle ground. My enemy’s enemy is my friend”.

Along the length of the table fists pounded the table in agreement. Few doubted that some of them would die in the coming assault, but they were resolved. Freedom or death. They met their leader’s eye; clenched fists were raised in salute. A slightly built rabbi, a young man who had spent his entire life as a scholar, asked the question which had formed in others’ minds. “What follows Masada?”

“It will take time for the news to reach Rome and for Rome to respond”, was the answer. “In the meantime the Roman forces garrisoned throughout Palestine will hole up and keep to their barracks”.

Before Menahem could continue another voice was heard, “What about the legions in Syria, and the client Kings in the north who have sworn allegiance to Rome?”

Other excited voices joined in the questioning. Nazarius, a Judean who was a Levite in the Temple, ground out “What about fucking Florus, and that bastard Cestius? Both command many men and they are well armed and”, he added viciously, “what about the turncoat Agrippa and his cunt of a sister?”

Menahem laughed at the storm of questioning that had broken out, and banged on the table to bring them to order. “Within Masada is Herod’s armoury, a vast collection of weapons. Enough to equip an army of thousands”. A thoughtful silence settled on the room. They had forgotten about this priceless cache. “I will arm those citizens of Jerusalem who will swear loyalty to our cause, and attack the city from within. We will lay siege to the Roman garrison the Antonia and kill every Jew who will not fight for his freedom”.

Joseph Ben Levi, an older man who had lost his entire family in the recent Roman action, intervened. “Hundreds of thousands of foreign Jews and their families are in the city for Passover. How will we care for them if we start a rebellion within the Holy City?”

“We won’t” said Menahem. “Now is the time to sort the wheat from the chaff. Those who will take up a sword and fight for their freedom are martyrs for God. Those who won’t are servants of Satan and must die”.

At this death sentence on fellow Jews, many of the men looked down at their plates, unsure of whether they should intervene or not. Menahem, knowing better than anybody what was to come, said. “We will take the Holy City and, with Masada, hold it. Our action will cause other nationalist groups to strike. John, the son of Levi of Gischala, will attack in Galilee, though more” he added knowingly “for his own benefit than the cause of Jewish freedom. However, he will kill Romans and we can kill him when it suits us”.

“Then there is Eleazar son of Ananias, leader of the Zealots,” interrupted Joseph Ben Levi. “He and his followers will fight to control the Temple and ultimately the Holy City, for they know this is where the nation’s centre of power and wealth lies”.

Menahem nodded in agreement. “Eleazar and his Zealots are a problem. Initially we will offer an alliance. When this has served its purpose the Zealots, along with the Sadduccean priesthood, must die. We will rule the Temple, the City and Israel”.

Loud cheers greeted this, but a few cooler heads wondered who precisely would rule and how. Did Menahem see himself as both priest and king?