XIII
THE CENTURION
[_Being the fragment of a letter from Sulpicius Balbus, Legate of theTenth Legion, to his uncle, Lucius Piso, in his villa near Baiae, datedThe Kalends of the month of Augustus in the year 824 of Rome._]
I promised you, my dear uncle, that I would tell you anything ofinterest concerning the siege of Jerusalem; but, indeed, these peoplewhom we imagined to be unwarlike have kept us so busy that there hasbeen little time for letter-writing. We came to Judaea thinking that amere blowing of trumpets and a shout would finish the affair, andpicturing a splendid triumph in the _via sacra_ to follow, with all thegirls in Rome throwing flowers and kisses to us. Well, we may get ourtriumph, and possibly the kisses also, but I can assure you that noteven you who have seen such hard service on the Rhine can ever haveexperienced a more severe campaign than this has been. We have now wonthe town, and to-day their temple is burning, and the smoke sets mecoughing as I sit writing in my tent. But it has been a terriblebusiness, and I am sure none of us wish to see Judaea again.
In fighting the Gauls, or the Germans, you are against brave men,animated by the love of their country. This passion acts more, however,upon some than others, so that the whole army is not equally inflamed byit. These Jews, however, besides their love of country, which is verystrong, have a desperate religious fervour, which gives them a fury inbattle such as none of us have ever seen. They throw themselves with ashriek of joy upon our swords and lances, as if death were all that theydesired.
If one gets past your guard may Jove protect you, for their knives aredeadly, and if it comes to a hand-to-hand grapple they are as dangerousas wild beasts, who would claw out your eyes or your throat. You knowthat our fellows of the Tenth Legion have been, ever since Caesar's time,as rough soldiers as any with the Eagles, but I can assure you that Ihave seen them positively cowed by the fury of these fanatics. As amatter of fact we have had least to bear, for it has been our task fromthe beginning to guard the base of the peninsula upon which thisextraordinary town is built. It has steep precipices upon all the othersides, so that it is only on this one northern base that fugitives couldescape or a rescue come. Meanwhile, the fifth, fifteenth, and thetwelfth or Syrian legions have done the work, together with theauxiliaries. Poor devils! we have often pitied them, and there have beentimes when it was difficult to say whether we were attacking the town orthe town was attacking us. They broke down our tortoises with theirstones, burned our turrets with their fire, and dashed right through ourwhole camp to destroy the supplies in the rear. If any man says a Jew isnot a good soldier, you may be sure that he has never been in Judaea.
However, all this has nothing to do with what I took up my stylus totell you. No doubt it is the common gossip of the forum and of the bathshow our army, excellently handled by the princely Titus, carried oneline of wall after the other until we had only the temple before us.This, however, is--or was, for I see it burning even as I write--a verystrong fortress. Romans have no idea of the magnificence of this place.The temple of which I speak is a far finer building than any we have inRome, and so is the Palace, built by Herod or Agrippa, I really forgetwhich. This temple is two hundred paces each way, with stones so fittedthat the blade of a knife will not go between, and the soldiers saythere is gold enough within to fill the pockets of the whole army. Thisidea puts some fury into the attack, as you can believe, but with theseflames I fear a great deal of the plunder will be lost.
There was a great fight at the temple, and it was rumoured that it wouldbe carried by storm to-night, so I went out on to the rising groundwhence one sees the city best. I wonder, uncle, if in your manycampaigns you have ever smelt the smell of a large beleaguered town. Thewind was south to-night, and this terrible smell of death came straightto our nostrils. There were half a million people there, and every formof disease, starvation, decomposition, filth and horror, all pent inwithin a narrow compass. You know how the lion sheds smell behind theCircus Maximus, acid and foul. It is like that, but there is a low,deadly, subtle odour which lies beneath it and makes your very heartsink within you. Such was the smell which came up from the cityto-night.
As I stood in the darkness, wrapped in my scarlet chlamys--for theevenings here are chill--I was suddenly aware that I was not alone. Atall, silent figure was near me, looking down at the town even as I was.I could see in the moonlight that he was clad as an officer, and as Iapproached him I recognized that it was Longinus, third tribune of myown legion, and a soldier of great age and experience. He is a strange,silent man, who is respected by all, but understood by none, for hekeeps his own council and thinks rather than talks. As I approached himthe first flames burst from the temple, a high column of fire, whichcast a glow upon our faces and gleamed upon our armour. In this redlight I saw that the gaunt face of my companion was set like iron.
"At last!" said he. "At last!"
He was speaking to himself rather than to me, for he started and seemedconfused when I asked him what he meant.
"I have long thought that evil would come to the place," said he. "NowI see that it has come, and so I said 'At last!'"
"For that matter," I answered, "we have all seen that evil would come tothe place, since it has again and again defied the authority of theCaesars."
He looked keenly at me with a question in his eyes. Then he said:
"I have heard, sir, that you are one who has a full sympathy in thematter of the gods, believing that every man should worship according tohis own conscience and belief."
I answered that I was a Stoic of the school of Seneca, who held thatthis world is a small matter and that we should care little for itsfortunes, but develop within ourselves a contempt for all but thehighest.
He smiled in grim fashion at this.
"I have heard," said he, "that Seneca died the richest man in all Nero'sEmpire, so he made the best of this world in spite of his philosophy."
"What are your own beliefs?" I asked. "Are you, perhaps, one who hasfathomed the mysteries of Isis, or been admitted to the Society ofMythra?"
"Have you ever heard," he asked, "of the Christians?"
"Yes," said I. "There were some slaves and wandering men in Rome whocalled themselves such. They worshipped, so far as I could gather, someman who died over here in Judaea. He was put to death, I believe, in thetime of Tiberius."
"That is so," he answered. "It was at the time when Pilate wasprocurator--Pontius Pilate, the brother of old Lucius Pilate, who hadEgypt in the time of Augustus. Pilate was of two minds in the matter,but the mob was as wild and savage as these very men that we have beencontending with. Pilate tried to put them off with a criminal, hopingthat so long as they had blood they would be satisfied. But they chosethe other, and he was not strong enough to withstand them. Ah! it was apity--a sad pity!"
"You seem to know a good deal about it," said I.
"I was there," said the man simply, and became silent, while we bothlooked down at the huge column of flame from the burning temple. As itflared up we could see the white tents of the army and all the countryround. There was a low hill just outside the city, and my companionpointed to it.
"That was where it happened," said he. "I forget the name of the place,but in those days--it was more than thirty years ago--they put theircriminals to death there. But He was no criminal. It is always His eyesthat I think of--the look in His eyes."
"What about the eyes, then?"
"They have haunted me ever since. I see them now. All the sorrow ofearth seemed mirrored in them. Sad, sad, and yet such a deep, tenderpity! One would have said that it was He who needed pity had you seenHis poor battered, disfigured face. But He had no thought forHimself--it was the great world pity that looked out of His gentle eyes.There was a noble maniple of the legion there, and not a man among themwho did not wish to charge the howling crowd who were dragging such aman to His death."
"What were you doing there?"
"I was Junior Centurion, with the gold vine-rod fresh on my shoulders. Iwas on duty on
the hill, and never had a job that I liked less. Butdiscipline has to be observed, and Pilate had given the order. But Ithought at the time--and I was not the only one--that this man's nameand work would not be forgotten, and that there would be a curse on theplace that had done such a deed. There was an old woman there, Hismother, with her grey hair down her back. I remember how she shriekedwhen one of our fellows with his lance put Him out of his pain. And afew others, women and men, poor and ragged, stood by Him. But, you see,it has turned out as I thought. Even in Rome, as you have observed, Hisfollowers have appeared."
"I rather fancy," said I, "that I am speaking to one of them."
"At least, I have not forgotten," said he. "I have been in the wars eversince with little time for study. But my pension is overdue, and when Ihave changed the sagum for the toga, and the tent for some little farmup Como way, then I shall look more deeply into these things, if,perchance, I can find some one to instruct me."
And so I left him. I only tell you all this because I remember that youtook an interest in the man, Paulus, who was put to death for preachingthis religion. You told me that it had reached Caesar's palace, and I cantell you now that it has reached Caesar's soldiers as well. But apartfrom this matter I wish to tell you some of the adventures which we havehad recently in raiding for food among the hills, which stretch as farsouth as the river Jordan. The other day ...
[_Here the fragment is ended._]
THE END
Transcriber's Note (Significant Amendments):
p. 79, 'cacophanies' amended to _cacophonies_; p. 102, 'Pantelic' amended to _Pentelic_; p. 113, 'Septimus' amended to _Septimius_; p. 144, 'Sava' amended to _Saba_; p. 206, 'wagons' amended to _waggons_.
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