Greek Leander, blond and affable, cosmopolitan and knowledgeable, had quickly become a part of Valerius’ household, and Valerius could tell that Rufus was none too happy about it.
Leander had the job as Valerius’ secretary and translator, managing the ponderous correspondence that came to the Legate’s office every day, along with the equally large amount of legal documents. The problems with Rufus arose when Leander offered to take over Valerius’ appointment calendar, scheduling meetings with knights and merchants, tribunes and generals and all the others – a task that Rufus had always managed.
When Valerius turned down Leander’s offer, Rufus was not so much grateful as he was resentful of Leander for even suggesting such a thing. Unfazed, Leander nonchalantly settled into his established secretarial job.
“Here’s a letter from Senator Gaius Metellus,” said Leander to Valerius. “He’s your friend, yes?”
“Yes. Open it. What does he say?”
Chunks of thick red wax scattered on the marble floor as Leander broke the Senate seal and scanned the scroll.
“Senator Metellus is letting you know about the newest plans on the part of Tarquin’s Council to send corporation demolition workers and mercenary soldiers to Judea, tasked with camping in Jerusalem to tear down more Hebrew houses. Then they’ll be building apartments for new laborers and slaves to be brought in from the provinces by the businessmen of the Council.”
“No. They won’t want to do that again. Take a letter to Metellus. Say that I suspect Senator Tullius of being the chief mover behind all this. Tell Metellus I’m going to tax the corporations at the highest rate I can for any new structures they build in Judea. He should let the other Senators know of my intention. It’s going to mean extreme loss of profit for the corporations who are considering coming here, and for the men who run them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leander, I do have the authority to tax them senseless, and I’ll start to do it to keep them out of my province.”
“Good for you, sir.”
As Valerius stood in his palace library staring out the wide windows at the streets below, he saw soldiers marching three abreast on patrol. They were a weighty reminder of his duty to the Empire and to his brother. This place would have been totally plundered by rich Romans if it weren’t for him. He couldn’t imagine walking away from his duty to help a radical Hebrew go to Africa.
Yet he had begun to feel that he would do anything for Samara.
How beautiful she was. He could no longer even begin to shake her out of his mind.
The feeling exhilarated him, no matter how troubling it was, no matter how chaotic and disruptive it may prove to his life.
He started to form a plan, a way he could be with this woman.
Flavius had reported to him that morning about the Amicii Veri, the private force of legionaries that Valerius pulled together to protect himself. He knew he could count on Flavius to activate them whenever and wherever Valerius required. His idea was to take some of them with him and escort Samara to Africa.
If the African country she sought proved to be a source of trade, he would help her establish commercial relations with them, as she desired. Then he could quickly take her back to her homeland with new wealth for both Judea and Rome.
She could persuade the Hebrews to sign a pact with Rome, and he would convince Emperor Antoninus finally to install a Hebrew King, who of course would report to Rome. “That way,” he would tell Samara, “the Zealots would lose their influence, and your people could become wealthy and unified. The Hebrews would owe their unity and prosperity to Rome’s assistance, and Rome would owe me for finally bringing peace to Judea. The Emperor would then certainly reward me by making me Prefect of the Capitol City. Then you could come with me to the Capitol and become my official wife, not my mistress.”
Oh, it was a perfectly insane plan. Each step of it was fraught with doubt. Yet he was ready to charge ahead with it. He loved it, and felt his commitment to it swelling up in his heart and solar plexus, seizing his motivations and making him determined to carry it out.
First, there were a number of issues he had to take care of. Temporarily vacating his post as Legate of Judea, for example. That would not be taken lightly.
From his vantage point at the windows of his library, he saw several more patrols tramp past in the avenue below, and behind them a bizarre and motley group in bright costumes. Some were in Roman togas with colored borders much wider than the normal hems that designated standing and rank. Some wore large paper-mache heads representing the gods and goddesses.
He had forgotten that this was Saturnalias, the holiday season when slaves could speak without restraint, and Valerius wondered what flamboyant approach Rufus would take this year.
No sooner had he finished the thought than Rufus pounced into the room, in a silk toga and with a gold laurel wreath about his ears.
“It’s that day again, master. Behold Rufus in the guise of a free Roman.”
Valerius laughed. “Rufus, you’re nothing if not persistent. However, as I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not going to free you until I don’t need you anymore.”
“Dear master Valerius, the ancient and honorable Roman practice of manumission, by which a master frees his slave, is so thick in the air here in Judea, so frequently done, that I gag on it – gag because of desiring it so keenly.”
“Must you bring this up so frequently, Rufus?”
“Master, were I to mention it each time it comes to my mind, I’d be speaking of it every moment. Tell me honestly, if you were a slave, would you not constantly be thinking of how you might become otherwise?”
Rufus was right. He felt Rufus’ frustration at being so intelligent and skilled while still not being his own man.
“Rufus, I’m planning something. I cannot tell you what, yet I’ll require your help to make it work.”
“Aha. So you need me for something that your Greek cannot do.”
“Your resentment of Leander is getting stale. Nonetheless, it’s true that there are many things you can do for me that he can’t.”
“Then free me, and I’ll work as your chief steward for a wonderful salary.”
“I may do that, Rufus, once I know that you’ll carry out my orders even if you were no longer my property. Were you a free man, you’d likely become rich soon from your culinary skills, and how could I give you orders then?”
Rufus laughed. “You flatter me, sir. Yet your point is taken. This ‘something’ you plan: does it by any chance involve your gaining the heart of the Hebrew lady? Because if so, I’ll be most happy to plot and dissemble, howsoever your romance may require. Give me devious tasks, sir!”