Valerius was sure he knew where the arsonists would strike next. He was on the scene at the granary before the fire bells could clamor.
He’d posted men at several other possible targets for arson, but the city’s granary was the most likely one. It was on the outskirts of the city, an exposed building with a round tower. Its grain was dry and flammable, and very important to the lives of Jerusalem’s people.
Just before dawn, sitting on a hill overlooking the granary, Valerius smelled smoke, and hoped it wasn’t too late.
He gave a hand signal, which was returned from the nearby bushes by the leader of the bucket brigade whose dozen men were waiting. Valerius’ plan was for the bucket brigade to put out the fires while Valerius arrested the arsonists.
Flavius and eight legionaries ran down to the granary building. Valerius followed and slipped inside the darkened doorway. He saw the flickering light of torches.
Maneuvering into the anteroom of the tower, he peered into the darkness. A voice said, “Here!” and he wheeled in its direction. Emerging from the shadows, carrying a torch, was Flavius.
“I believe this is all of them,” he grinned, nodding over his shoulder.
Behind Flavius were his soldiers with firm grips on four men in rough black tunics, their heads shaved, their faces smeared with soot.
At the garrison’s dungeon, Valerius questioned the men. None of them would speak except for one, apparently their leader, a man with a pointed nose and not much chin. He identified himself as Ravid.
“We are the Irgun,” he said. “Hear our name and tremble. You devil Romans can never withstand our righteousness. We are legion. None of you will remain standing against our Hebrew wrath.”
“Nice speech, Ravid,” said Valerius. “Would you rather die here now, or at the hands of your boss?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you don’t admit who you really are, I’ll turn you over to him. He wouldn’t like to see you under those circumstances, would he?”
Valerius pointed to a tattoo on Ravid’s shoulder. “That’s the goddess Manat, isn’t it? Goddess of an Arab cult. You’re no Hebrew, are you? And neither are your men. You shave your heads because that’s the custom for those who worship Manat. You’re mercenaries. You fight for money, not for a country or a cause.”
The grimy man threw quick looks at his crew, and Valerius saw a tremor of panic cross their faces at the mention of the goddess Manat.
“And your boss isn’t a Hebrew, either. He’s some other kind of enemy of Rome. Who is he? An Arab? A Syrian? An Egyptian?”
It was pitiful to Valerius that men trembled in fear at the thought of their objects of worship. Sacred Manat. Or was it their financial benefactor that they were so afraid of?
Ravid blurted out, “We’ve met with him several times, but we don’t know his name. All we know is that he’s very arrogant, has plenty of money and has many soldiers of his own. If he learned that we told you anything, he’d kill us all without a thought.”
Valerius shrugged. “I wouldn’t object.”
“Look, Roman. We’re not stupid. For me to be willing to tell you anything, you’d have to give us safe passage to a land far away.”
Valerius, feeling relieved that Samara was in no way involved, was more open than he usually would have been in coming up with a plan that would get these men far away and out of his hair. He’d find other ways to punish the real perpetrators of this outrage.
Valerius was surprised when Ravid revealed they were to get paid by this man that same afternoon in a very public place: one of the city’s butcheries. “He won’t pay us for a job we didn’t complete, but he’ll want to see us. He might offer us another job.”
“Or he might murder you.”
“That’s why you have to promise to come along and have your soldiers on the ready.”
The butcheries served all of Jerusalem’s people except for the Hebrews, who wouldn’t eat meat from animals who were slain in the ordinary way. The Hebrews had their own slaughterhouses, saying that ordinary ones lacked respect and compassion.
Valerius wondered why this butchery was such a low-ceilinged place without windows or much ventilation. It was one of the rankest places he’d ever set foot in.
Ravid and two of his fellows sat on a low bench just inside the door, waiting. Valerius watched outside in stillness, along with a squad of ten men.
A hooded man emerged from the rear of the building and approached Ravid. Valerius could see the forms of several other men behind him. “You didn’t do your job,” the hooded figure said.
“The grain was too wet,” Ravid replied. True, thought Valerius, but only because our bucket brigade spoiled the game.
“You can take on another job for no pay,” the man said, “or you can lose your lives here and now.”
“Another job! Of course,” said Ravid. At that moment a little white dog came darting out of the butchery’s entrance into the sunlight.
“Aspergus’ lapdog!” exclaimed Valerius. The patrol raced into the butchery and seized Aspergus and the men he’d brought with him – Romans with long knives.
Those knives reminded him of the ones reputed to have killed Caesar: those long blades wielded by Romans who saw themselves as above the law.
In the dungeon, awaiting Valerius’ attention, were the men, dozens of them, whom he’d ordered detained as suspects in the temple fire. They were often unsavory, but nonetheless innocent, at least of this particular crime. He made the rounds of the cells, personally freeing each of them, even offering his apologies to some.
He told Samara, “The entire rebellion was the fictional product of Romans. The plot was to make it look necessary for Rome to station a huge number of new troops in Judea.”
Samara asked, “Do you Romans do this sort of thing often? Attack your own people so you can blame it on others?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I hope it doesn’t prove to be a sign of the times. Do you understand why I had to do what I did to you? Lock you up?”
“It just shows me that you have to learn to trust and believe in me more, Sir Roman. You’ll have plenty of time to do that on our voyage to Africa.” She drew nearer to him and spoke close to his face.
“You know now that your Vice-Legate Carolus is going to have nothing to fear from my people, don’t you? I’ve asked as many of the radicals as I could reach to stop harassing you Romans, because I believe you actually do mean well, at least for the time being. At any rate, I won’t be here to hire anyone to taunt your people.”
“You mean, if you were staying, you’d continue to harass the Romans here?”
“It would depend on how they behaved.”
“Samara, haven’t I proven to you that Hebrews should trust Romans a little more? I’ve thwarted many local predators – Aspergus is only the latest. I’ve blocked the corporations from continuing to destroy Hebrew homes and shops. And if you prosper in Africa, you can return here, can’t you? And do good things for your people, yes?”
“And you can come back with me, and together we can do even better things for them.”
“It’s a wild dream, yet I believe it’s possible.”
“But what’s going to happen to Tullius and Aspergus?”
“Well, dear Senator Tullius shall have to live with the fact that he’s been somewhat exposed. Of course, as a Senator, he’s insulated from punishment. Yet if there are any more so-called insurgencies here, the trail is going to lead back to him, and there could be consequences. His backers may lose confidence in him as a bungler. As for Aspergus, he’s lower down the chain, and he’ll be exiled. I don’t mean to some nice house in Rome. More like hard labor in the north of Britannia. Pitiful winters there.”
She put her hand to her heart and sighed. Should she remind him that her one-time beloved Caleb was exiled in Britannia too?
Maybe Valerius would free him one day