Chapter 04
"At last!" Publius exclaimed as they rode out of the north gate of the city and saw the paved Via Maritima before them. "I thought we'd never get through that gate."
"I'm just glad we're going in this direction," Geta said, eyeing the long line of carts, animals and pedestrians queueing up to enter the city. "I wonder where they're all going?"
Publius shrugged. "Farmers carrying food to the market, merchants taking their wares to the market or down to the harbour, travellers hoping to catch a ship to somewhere or other. All the world meets at a busy port." He breathed in deeply. "Ahhh, even the air smells better outside a city. There's nothing quite like a clean sea breeze." He waved his hand to the left where, through the arches of an aqueduct, they could see the blue of the sea shading into green waves that crashed down onto miles of white sand. "Beautiful, eh?"
"I wonder what's up in those hills?" Geta asked, pointing off to the right where the coastal plain sloped up to a range of low hills.
"Oh, probably grim bands of sicarii," Publius laughed. "Don't worry, we're not going up into them. There's a shortcut somewhere along here that Cornelius warned me about. It would cut a couple of hours off our journey but it can be lonely at times and there have been reports of hostiles up there. He said that the army never uses it except in groups of at least half a century."
He fell silent as they rode under the arches of the huge aqueduct as it turned sharply inland, heading, no doubt, for a spring in the distant hills.
"How long will it take us to get to this Paneas, Master?" Geta asked as he urged his horse up beside Publius again.
Publius shrugged. "I hope no more than three days. It depends on whether there are any holdups along the way."
"Where will we stop tonight?" Geta wanted to know.
"I would like to get to a place called Tiberias," Publius said. "It's a long way - nearly sixty miles according to Cornelius, so let's keep moving."
Geta turned in his saddle and squinted up at the sun, which was high overhead. "I doubt if we will make it, Master. It might have been possible if we left earlier ..."
Publius shrugged. "Well, if we don't, there are doubtless inns along the way - and don't begrudge an offering to the gods, my friend. Better a slow journey with their blessing than a swift one without it."
A few minutes later they caught up with a group of men in civilian clothes with garlands on their heads, but striding along at the regulation legionary pace. They were laughing and singing raucously.
"I wonder where they are going?" Publius said when they were safely past the group.
"They're probably heading for Maiumas, Master," Geta replied. "It's up in the hills over there and according to one of the cooks it's well worth a visit. There's a theatre and baths and all sorts up there - and the girls are really something. Cheap and ready for anything, so he said."
"You keep your mind on the road," Publius growled in mock anger and the two men exchanged grins. "As you know, normally I wouldn't mind a bit of relaxation after the journey we've had, but not today. I'm afraid. I couldn't possibly relax until I've tried my fate with Secunda."
Geta shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Master. These places are always a disappointment. A theatre is only a theatre, baths are just water, and girls - well, women are the same wherever you go."
"You should be a Stoic," Publius chuckled. "Nothing is either good or bad but thinking makes it so, eh?"
The sun climbed higher into the sky and the number of travellers decreased as the day grew hotter - a squad of soldiers marching stolidly along, the occasional lone messenger mounted on a good horse, several mule or donkey trains, and every so often a farm cart jogging along from field to farm house or back again. All the while the hills on the right grew steadily nearer until they became a high range running across their path.
Geta glanced up at the sun, then manoeuvred his horse up beside Publius and asked, "Shall we eat now, Master? It's well past noon."
Publius looked around. "I suppose we might as well. The place looks deserted enough to be safe, but let's not make too much of the meal. We'll eat standing and if any Jews come near us we can be back on our horses and away."
"Are they really so dangerous, Master?" Geta asked as he unslung a bag from his saddle and pulled out bread, olives and a haunch of meat. "Everyone we've met so far has seemed friendly enough," Geta handed Publius a chunk of bread and took out his knife to attack the meat.
"True," Publius nodded. "But they've been travellers like ourselves - Romans, Greeks, Syrians, what have you."
"But surely the people working in the fields were Jews," Geta protested. "They seemed peaceful enough."
"Oh, most of them are peaceful enough," Publius spat out an olive stone and bit off another piece of bread. "I don't say that they love us, mind, because they don't, but they are smart enough to keep quiet and get on with life. The trouble is that you can't tell which of them is going to suddenly produce a dagger - or maybe they all would, given the right opportunity. So long as you're well armed, well mounted and alert, you're all right. Drop your guard, let your horse go lame or venture out after dark, and the same people who smile at you in the daylight might be stalking you with murder in mind."
The two men ate hastily, then remounted and set off again. Geta shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted into the glare from the sea and sand.
"I thought you said we weren't going up into the mountains, Master" he said.
"We're not," Publius replied. "We passed the turnoff to the shortcut hours ago, not long after we rode under that aqueduct."
"Well, it looks as if we are going to have to climb part way up that one at least," Geta said, pointing to the mountain that barred their way. "It comes right down to the sea ahead."
"It looks like it," Publius agreed. "However if that's Mount Carmel then, according to Cornelius, there's nearly a stadium of flat land between the end of the mountain and the sea. Don't worry, though. There's enough travellers on the road, so we should be safe."
"I'll keep a sharp lookout anyway," Geta observed, frowning. "I don't like narrow places."
"Nor I," Publius said. "However isn't that a caravan ahead of us? If we hurry we'll catch up with them before the mountain and a company of merchants should keep us safe."
"Unless the donkey drivers are Jews," Geta muttered.
An hour later the two men rounded the tip of Mount Carmel, the mingled hoofbeats of horses and donkeys echoing off the cliff. Publius whistled and pointed ahead to the wide bay that opened out before them.
"That's some view!" he exclaimed. "It reminds me a bit of Napoli - the bay and everything. No islands," he added after half-turning to scan the sea.
"Are we going to the town, Master?" Geta asked, pointing to the white houses that clustered on the beach ahead of them. A couple of large ships tossing offshore indicated that the place served as a harbour. "We would at least be safe if we stayed there."
Publius hesitated and then shook his head. "No, better not. My leave is only so long and I don't want to spend it all travelling. Somewhere along here there's a road going off to the right to Tiberias. That's the one we want. "
"What's at Tiberias?" Geta asked. "Is it worth risking our lives for?"
Publius chuckled. "It's the headquarters for one of Herod's sons - Antipas, I think - so there's all the safety you could want."
"Yes, but how far is it?" Geta insisted.
"By my reckoning we've another thirty-five miles to go, so come on. Let's not waste time."
Publius shook his reins and urged his horse on. Geta said nothing, but the way he kept glancing over his shoulder as they rode spoke volumes.
Another quarter of an hour went by and they were almost up to the town when Publius exclaimed and pointed off to the right where a hazy line of carts, wagons and laden donkeys appeared to be wading through the knee-high crops growing on the plain. "There! I'll bet that's the road we want."
"And this may be a shortcut across to it," Geta said as a rough dirt track came into view, cutting across the fields towards the line of the invisible road.
"Let's go!"
Publius tugged on his reins and the two men trotted along the path through the fields to where a narrow stone-paved road led directly inland.
"Hah!" Publius exclaimed as they turned onto the road. "That's saved us at least a mile."
For another hour they rode inland, the heights of Mount Carmel towering above them on their right. The sun beat down relentlessly and within a short time they were out of reach of the cooling sea breeze. Publius glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his slave.
"Warm enough for you, Geta?"
"By all the gods, Master, I wish I was back in Gaul," Geta said fervently.
"I know what you mean," Publius said. "There's not even a scrap of shade here. Have you got the wineskin?"
"Here, Master."
Geta kicked the flanks of his horse and rode up beside Publius, holding the wineskin out to him. Publius took it and drank deeply, squirting the red liquid out in a steady jet so that the skin never touched his lips. He handed it back to his slave.
"Drink plenty," he said. "I don't want you dropping dead of thirst."
Geta drank in the same way and then tied the thong round the neck of the skin and hung it back over the crupper of his saddle. He straightened up and looked around.
"Hey, that's a funny looking hill," he cried.
"What's wrong with it?" Publius enquired, staring up at the heights above them.
"No, this one down here," Geta said, pointing to a high mound only a short distance in front of them. "Look, it's flat on top."
"Odd," Publius commented. "Just goes to show that the gods have a sense of humour, I suppose."
The two men stared curiously at the hill, the only object of interest in the landscape, and as they came round its flank it was Publius' turn to straighten up and point.
"See the road coming down from the hills?" he asked. "I'll bet that's where we would have come out if we had taken that short-cut Cornelius told me about."
"I wonder if that flat hill is some sort of a fort?" Geta asked. "We've got forts like that back in Gaul and you must admit, it would be a good place for a fort down here at the end of the pass."
Publius shivered. "That pass looks spooky," he said. "I'll bet it's just stuffed with sicarii, all gnashing their teeth at watching us ride by out of their reach."
The sun was low in the sky when Publius pointed ahead to a peculiar rounded mountain rising from the plain ahead. "See that hill all by itself? That's got to be Mount Tabor. Cornelius told me to look out for it. From there it's only another ten or twelve miles to Tiberias."
"It's still a long way, Master," Geta said. "Is there nowhere else we could stay?"
"There's a legionary fort up in the hills behind Mount Tabor," Publius said. "A little place called Naz-something or other. Those white houses you can see up there are probably part of it."
Without warning his horse stumbled and Publius had to clutch frantically at its neck to save himself from falling. "What?" he exclaimed, recovering himself, but no further comment was necessary, for at the next step the horse took it baulked as its right forefoot touched the ground."
"That's all we need," Publius groaned as the two men dismounted and Geta lifted the horse's foreleg to inspect the hoof.
Geta reached down and tugged at something in the hoof and the horse shook his leg and nearly knocked him over. "Steady, girl, steady," Geta spoke reassuringly.
"Here, let me hold it," Publius offered, coming forward. He took the horse's leg and held it firmly braced between hands and legs. "What is it?"
"A stone, Master," Geta said. He hooked his finger and inserted it into the hoof only to be dislodged as the horse struggled. "It's stuck tight; I'll have to find something to get it out with."
He walked round to the other side of the horse, unhooked one of the saddlebags and rummaged in it for a moment before grunting with satisfaction and coming back with piece of bronze. He showed it briefly to Publius.
"The hook for the cauldron," he said. "Now, hold tight and I'll see if I can work it out."
Both men were sweating and dishevelled by the time Geta straightened up and held out a sharp piece of flint streaked with blood. "It went in deep, Master," he said. "She'll be lame, I'm certain."
Publius let the horse's foot drop and watched as she took a step, limping badly as the foot touched the ground.
"I'm afraid you're right," Publius said, his brow furrowed in a worried frown. "Now what are we going to do? I can't possibly ride her."
"You can ride mine, Master," Geta offered promptly.
"And what will you do?" Publius asked scornfully.
"I'll come behind with yours, Master."
"Carrying the saddlebags?" Publius demanded as the horse took another step and nearly fell as its foreleg failed to take its weight. "I suppose you'll offer to carry the horse as well?"
Both men stood and watched in silence as the injured horse took another limping step and bent its head to snatch a mouthful of dry grass from the roadside. A fly buzzed past and settled on Publius' sweaty neck.
"We could always ask at a farm," Publius sounded dubious. "Mind you, in the first place we don't know the language and in the second place it would be just our luck to hit a nest of these dagger-men. Normally I wouldn't hesitate to demand a soldier's rights - you know, carry our baggage, give us food and all the rest of it, but when there's just the two of us I think I'd rather not stir up the countryside against us."
"I don't know what else we can do, Master," Geta said. "You could always ride ahead and I'll take my chances with the dagger men. Perhaps they only hate Romans and a Gaulish slave will be exempt."
Publius shook his head. "From all I've heard, they hate all foreigners. They're mad, I tell you. No, we stick together and watch each other's backs. I'll get my sword out and you get that long knife of yours and we'll just go on and trust to the gods."
"To Tiberias?" Geta asked, glancing first at the sky and then at the distant bulk of Mount Tabor.
"No," Publius said. "To that Naz place. They might be able to give us remounts or at the very least the legion horse doctor can have a look at this one for us. Mind you, if we can find an inn before then we'll stop overnight."
They took the saddlebags off the injured horse and transferred them to the other and then both men set off walking and leading the horses. It was slow going, for Publius' horse stumbled and snorted at every step.
"Come on, girl," Publius crooned. "I'm sorry to drag you along like this but you don't want those Jews getting hold of you. They'd probably kill you for being a Roman horse, eh?"
An hour later the western sky was turning red and Mount Tabor seemed no nearer.
"Now may Hades fly away with all innkeepers," Publius growled as his horse stopped for the thousandeth time and shook its head. "Why can't one of them set up shop here? There's no inn for miles so surely business would be good?"
"There's no houses either," Geta said. "That one over there is the first we've seen since your horse went lame."
"Where?" Publius peered into the gathering gloom.
"Over there, Master," Geta stepped up beside him and pointed off the road to where a thin column of gray smoke was rising over a low shanty.
"You mean that place?" Publius grunted. "I thought you'd seen a civilised farm with a villa. That'll be a Jewish place as sure as the sun rises in the east. Stuffed to the rafters with daggermen and zealots and what-have-you."
"Yes, but think, Master," Geta lowered his voice. "It's a long way off the road and there are no other houses near. A little place like that would only have the farmer and his family - a couple of slaves at most. You and I are armed. We could catch them by surprise and so long as one of us kept watch all the time - we'd take it in turns - they could neither attack us nor send for reinforcements."
Publius turned and stared behind him at the sun, which was only a couple of finger-widths above the horizon. "It's a thought, Geta." He rubbed his chin slowly. "Tell you what, let's do it. I don't suppose we'll be in any more danger than we will be wandering these hills in the dark and at least we'll have something in our bellies. Come on, quietly now."
The two men turned off the road and picked their way carefully in the fading light across the fields towards the tumble-down hut. The ground was rough underfoot and Publius' horse limped worse than ever. They were only a hundred paces from the hut when the horse suddenly stumbled and whinnied. Publius snatched at its head but almost at once the door of the shanty opened and a figure stepped out and stood staring at them. Publius put his hand on his sword and then thought better of it.
"Shalom," the man said as they approached.
