T. Belman. Joseph Shellim is the person who approached me to help get his screen play Holy War produced as a movie in Jerusalem. We are working on it.
This is the first chapter of the book it is based on. Joseph has spent a great deal of time researching the subject because he wants it to be as historical as possible.
It makes for fascinating reading I urge you to buy the book
- Historical-Drama of the First 100 years after Jesus Christ [37-137 CE], Based on the Roman, Greek & Hebrew Writings.
- A Movie Edition based on this book and titled as “Holy-War” is in development.
- The Book is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble’s, and ITunes.
PROLOGUE
[Xi] LONDONIUM – 40 AD/CE
In the streaming clouds a distant lone black dot is approaching. Nearing, enlarging, soaring; the most powerful of all birds dominates the heavens alone. To Rome, the majestic eagle was the appropriate emblem of dominion. Above Londonium, a city conquered and Romanized with an adapted ancient Celtic name, the hovering eagle turns its head south; a dark plume of fiery smoke is ascending.
On the ground, a war carriage is enveloped in flames, horses are screaming to be freed from their harnesses, and Roman soldiers are fiercely engaged in retrieving their Commander caught within the flaming carriage amidst a raging battle. From beyond the hills, fiery arrows are hurtling. The soldiers pull and tug at their Commander’s flaming body in a desperate bid to retrieve him, but the fire is overwhelming and all retreat the raging furnace.
Then one soldier throws himself into the flames, into the carriage cavity, his body igniting instantaneously, yet he manages to throw off his Commander from the burning carriage. A trembling charred hand from the flames reaches out to his Commander, whose life he saved by forfeiting his own.
“Promise me, swear by Rome you will protect my son, my only son. Pledge to me by sacred Jupiteres…”
“You have my oath, Matarian.” His Commander rests his right hand on his chest, eyes welling. “By sacred Jovis Diespiter, before our comrades I swear it – with my life will I protect your son. You Matarian, magnificent son of Rome – go in praise of Jupiteres.”
The trembling hand wavers, succumbing to the fires. Commander Vespasian turns to his soldiers.
“Erase Londonium. Burn them all as they have our comrade. Heed not for age or sex of these savages.”164
***
In the dawn of the next day, amidst the fiery embers, a Briton still yet alive stirs in the heap of burning dead bodies; he crawls out smoldering and bleeding. He confronts naked women on crosses, their breasts cut off and plastered into their mouths; smashed up men are nailed on crosses upside down and decapitated children are strewn about in a great destruction. The young Briton, in his 20’s, bushy red beard, tooth ear-rings and tattoos, drops to his knees, screaming in an agony of the horror he confronts.
Vespasian, returning to his Roman base with his triumphant II Augusta Legion, is accounting his comrade’s self sacrifice that allowed him to live. A man of humble beginnings and superstition, Vespasian has the fear of the Roman gods scorched in his mind, and Roman valor seared in his heart. He will retire now from war, he decides, and he will keep his pledge to Matarian. Vespasian yet never saw the significance of his triumph of Londonium’s Isle of Wight stronghold, that it would change his life forever; that it would change history forever. Great plumes of fires ascend above Londonium. The eagle in the streaming clouds soars eastward.
[Xii] A ROMAN WAR SCHOOL – 60 AD/CE
Outside the Roman Metropolis, a hewn stone structure stands in an open field. In the elite war school academy, the War Master pans the fresh faces of his new fourteen year old students. He stands silent and still as a chiselled marble statue, in iron studded sleeveless vest, muscle sculptured arms folded, waiting. There is a table at his side embossed with a Roman eagle; upon it sits a glittering golden sword. Gradually, the students stop shuffling and shifting; a pin drop silence develops. The War Master addresses his new students.
“A Roman soldier knows – woe to the conquered. A Roman soldier knows – no glory without the death of the enemy.”
The War Master has not altered his statuesque posture, unflinching as three slaves – a man, woman and their terror struck daughter, bound in chains, are hurdled before the class of young war students. He measures the youths’ wide eyed reactions of the slaves thrust before them.
“Fear or hesitance before the enemy will see no glory – it is not Roman. Which one of you may achieve this glory… will be decided here and now.” He lifts the sword, holding it in both hands before the lads as if it was a sacred item:
“Who thirsts – for GLORY!?”
The slave girl screams, slumping to the floor, burying her face in her mother’s protective torso. The students appear agape in shock and fumbling, the golden sword glittering before them; the young girl heaving in terror and slumped on the floor, clasping her mother’s feet. The War Master searches the lads’ faces, the golden sword held in both folded hands, waiting. None stir.
In the rear of the classroom one robust student is jostling his way to the front of the class.
“I… I want it… the glory.”
“Your name?”
“Titus. Son of Commander Vespasian. House of Flavian.”
The War Master nods, nudging the sword forward. The young lad looks around at the students who are frozen still; the slave girl’s screams now filling the hall. The lad Titus grasps the sword handed him by his master, grappling with its weight; then he bites his lip nervously and advances to his victims. The eagle hovering in the skies screeches wildly…
***
Four years have passed. There is a large figure kneeling on the floor of a balcony, in a mode of fervent beseeching to his gods in the streaming clouds. He rises and bows in devotion, right hand on his heart. Now the fourteen year old lad Titus is transformed into a grown up formidable warrior with a golden sword clutched in his hand, the same awarded him in his youth by Rome’s elitist war academy as the most promising student.
He ponders his destiny now, panning the heavens, wincing and searching the streaming clouds: Wherefrom will the path to his glory open? Now he hears the winds echoing, then a chanting… voices are emerging in his head. The warrior’s suspicious eyes become focused and squinting. The people of Rome are hailing him; a great mass of people are calling out to him:
“Ti-tus! Ti-tus! Ti-tus!” A crazed smirk; his eyes bulge in astonishment as the voices in his head grow stronger. He nods now, waving at his imagined crowds below his balcony.
“They know me… oh great Jupiteres, they know me!?” He is waving at the people, acknowledging the hailing crowds in an empty avenue below.
A thundering boom of lightning emits from the Roman skies. Titus turns from the crowds to the heavens again; ghostly images are hovering above. Now Rome’s Divine Emperors appear within the churning clouds; they are calling out to him. Titus is mesmerized of the voices in his mind addressing him from above. Rome’s divine emperors now appear in the clouds above his balcony, their hands outstretched from the heavens and inclined to him; they chant in unison.
Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius are chanting:
“Glory! The Glory! Glory for Rome! Glorrreee!?
Titus falls on his knees, his right hand pressed to his heart, tears welling. There is a screeching sound behind him; he turns to see a large, powerful eagle with ferocious red eyes perched on his balcony, its mighty talons gripping the iron rim. Titus retreats frozen and awed; an intense eye to eye with the eagle is exchanged. Now, slowly, he begins to understand the message given him from the heavenly abode of the Roman Gods. He nods solemnly at the omen sent to him; accepting; engaging the mighty bird’s fastidious gaze into him. Now he understands. Titus imparts a sacred quest to the eagle perched on his balcony:
“The glory. I want it. Tell it to the Gods.”
The eagle flaps its mighty wings, ascending, soaring, gliding into the heavens, as if obeying a command. Rome’s ghostly divine emperors are prodding the mighty eagle to soar higher… higher into the realm of the Roman Gods; they chant in unison, hands outstretched to the great bird:
“GLORY! THE GLORY! GLORY FOR ROME! GLORRREEE…!?”
Titus’ palm grips his golden sword firmly. A menacing warrior’s glint emerges in the killer blue eyes.
[Xiii] A ROMAN LIBRARY – 75 AD/CE.
The lone man seated in an austere library lays down his feathered quill on the table. He has finished his writing; he rises from his chair, massaging his weary fingers. He is surrounded by an array of scrolls neatly assembled in rows of cylindrical cubicles on the walls. The piercing eyes on the bearded tortured face gaze out the large window of the library hall. His thoughts appear distant now, contemplating in far and deep ponderings. The persona signifies an elite stature and wisdom; the oratory a Shakespeare of his time:
“WHEREAS… the war which the Jews made with the Romans have been the greatest of all wars, not only in our times, but, in a manner, of those even that were ever heard of before. Both where cities have fought against cities or nations against nations…”
He holds up a long drop of scrolls in his hands as an offering of his testimony:
“I have submitted, for the sake of the Romans, to translate my books into the Greek tongue, which I formerly composed in the language of my own country. I, Joseph, the son of Matthias, by birth a Hebrew, a priest also, and one who at first fought against the Romans myself, and was forced to be present at what was done afterwards…”
He tosses the scroll on the table:
“I am Flavius Josephus.”
In askance; defensively:
“I am the author of the writings of
‘The Roman War with the Jews’…” [70]
[Chapter 1] THE COLISEUM – 73 AD/CE.
No century in recorded history incurred greater paradigm altering impacts on history. Century # 1 marks the hinge point between the modern world and the end of the Hebrew biblical period. It is a time when the seedling of Christianity was yet not a religion, and when Rome’s divine emperors had a Jewish problem. The advent of the ‘Holy War’ evolved with the ancient interaction of the Jews and the nations, its impacts pervasive and unceasing. Here, even simple questions hide layers of cadence.
Why was Mighty Rome so obsessed over its most miniscule conquered province, one too small to class as a state? How badly were the Jews behaving compared to Rome’s other conquered nations; were they poised to invade other lands of the Empire, commit robberies and lawlessness, incite every nation to worship their Hebrew God; or, worst crime of all, did they refuse to pay the correct taxes decreed by Rome? None of these applied. Yet here, two polarize beliefs, irreconcilable as the lion and the lamb, of the unstoppable confronting the immovable, became inevitably engulfed in an existential battle – when Monotheism, a Greek coined term of a ‘One God’ Hebrew belief, became an affront to Rome’s divine emperors; and therein the Hebrew laws became Rome’s Jewish problem.
For the Jews, this was a well played drama throughout their history, from Canaan to Egypt, then with Babylon, with the previous Greek Empire, and now with Mighty Rome in the first century. In the year 37, Caligula, the young newly ascended fiery Roman Emperor accuses a Hebrew delegation standing before him:
“So you are the only people who challenge my divinity!”
Rome’s most notorious emperor issued a decree to the Jews; his statue of gold must be housed in the temples of all conquered nations and be worshipped with daily sacrifices. The Jews became the only people of the Empire who refused Caligula’s commands, as they did historically with all divine emperor nations and saw great suffering in return. The Jews sent their highest delegates to Caligula, beseeching pardon from the edict, as did the great Caesar grant the Jews. To no avail with this emperor:
“You Jews will worship me in your Temple – in like manner as you do your invisible Hebrew God. My image will be made of your finest gold – else your Temple will become ash and dust. I swear it!”7
The Jews moaned: “The one thing that would destroy us became the only demand acceptable to the Romans.”
In Judea the Jewish groups were already immersed in domestic battles resultant from Roman appointed priests in their Holy Temple. It was Rome’s stratagem of brutal intolerance of the Jews who followed disruptive and disdained laws, wore strange attire, observed restrictive diets and spoke a language no other nation did. The Jews in turn responded to Rome’s flaunting of their laws with fastidious measures of fundamentalist religiosity, and Rome increased her brutality tenfold; this arid land soon ran out of trees as Rome’s traditional crucifixions became commonplace throughout Judea.
Elsewhere in this most controversial of the empire’s conquered lands, amidst the confrontation with Rome, groups of Ebionites and Nazarenes were spellbound by the teachings of their Rabbi Joshua – they continued a brave following even when they faced dire opposition from their own kinfolk over differing beliefs, and after he is crucified by the hands of the Romans. For the Jews, their battle with Rome was not new; they became a problem with all nations they interacted from ancient times. One particular factor marked this people from all others.
The Source. It began two thousand years before Mighty Rome’s Colosseum stood. In the ancient city of Ur in Mesopotamia [later Iraq], its capital the famed Babylon, older than Egypt and considered by many as the cradle of civilization, a radical new thought was sprouting. Here, a disturbing, disorienting and evocative new premise was rearing that will overturn the status quo of both humanity and history. In the ancient city of Ur emerged a man compelled by strange new thoughts swirling in his mind, as he watched his people’s dutiful rituals of nature and emperor worship, even as the most devout worshippers offered human sacrifices of their most cherished child as offerings.
This man pondered long; then he concluded that the sun and the stars worshipped by his people were not Gods, neither were the winds or the oceans, nor the thunder and lightning, and nor was his nation’s emperor divine. Such thoughts were decreed as a blasphemy in the ancient world, when freedom of speech and belief were as yet far away from the divine emperor realm. Thus did one Abraham become a wanted man meriting Capital punishment by the earliest and all-powerful divine king Nimrod, the great-grandson of Noah.
Abraham became a man pursued, a heretical rebel and subject to the death penalty in his homeland. The book of Genesis says this Abraham was then confronted by a God who affirmed his new premise with a provocative revelation, declaring He was the God of all, even of the sun and the stars; even declaring that only He is God and that there is no other God, thereby sweeping away all other Gods in a single stroke. His newfound God directs the fugitive Abraham to flee his country to a new land:
“Now the Lord said unto Abram: ‘Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house, unto the land that I will show thee.” [Gen. 12:1]
Thereby, pursued for the ‘thought-crime’ of Monotheism, Abraham fled his homeland and became the first exiled Hi-Biru [‘One who left’].160
The source point of the war against Monotheism began here in the ancient city of Ur, two thousand years before Rome paraded the spoils of Jerusalem in the Coliseum. Four hundred years later, in the Sinai desert of Arabia, the Hebrew God will again affirm Monotheism as a foremost holy law in the second of The Ten Commandments:
“Thou shall have no other Gods before me”.
The bondage of Abraham’s seed will thus be aligned with the new mandated law of monotheism; one that will incur the wrath of the ancient world’s divine emperors. Also, it is the earliest negation of human sacrifice, then rampant in this realm. Monotheism and forbiddance of human sacrifice will be affirmed in the Hebrew bible as mandated laws four hundred years later via Moses in the deserts of Sinai.
Abraham’s One God premise of monotheism was destined to become a game changer of history and humanity, the E=MC2 of its times and one far from being a retrospectively designated obvious outcome four thousand years ago. This embolden new thought became a bigger controversy than Galileo’s telescope that changed the centralized and stationary position of a flat Earth. In the ancient world, monotheism was a premise that contradicted and overturned all of the prevailing belief stabilities; it will cause new reasons for wars, division and conflicts, and the faculties of new early sciences, the judiciary and religions will emerge from it.
Mount Moriah 40. Canaan means lowland, especially relative to its surrounding hilly terrains. In Abraham’s newfound land, in the ancient Canaanite city of Urusalim, the earliest known name of Jerusalem, a radical new belief was planted on the site of a hilltop known as Mount Moriah. Here, a covenant was consummated between a man and his God that will impact humanity as no other. Throughout ancient history, divine emperors never liked beliefs that opposed their own divinity, especially the unworldly concept of a God that can never be seen. It was deemed as sorcery and the enemy of mankind; Abraham’s monotheism was viewed as barbaric, haughty, unacceptable and guilty of disrespect of all other Gods and beliefs; it became the primal cause of the bondage assured to the seed of Abraham.
In the land of Canaan, a vassal state of small kingdoms controlled by the divine Pharaohs of Egypt, the unseen Hebrew God forewarned and prophesized it to Abraham in holy writ, when his offspring of Ishmael and Isaac were yet not born, before the arrival of any Hebrews, Israel, Israelites or the Jews:
“Know for a surety thy seed shall be in bondage.”136
True: two thousand years later, in the great Colosseum, Rome is celebrating her triumph over Abraham’s seed and his invisible Hebrew God. Retrospectively, ‘The Roman War with the Jews’ – the writings of the historical scribe Flavius Josephus, can appropriately be called ‘The Roman War with Monotheism’. Mighty Rome was mightily obsessed with one miniscule province overturning the status quo of all her conquered nations, for the matter of one unseen God began to corrupt many in the Empire. This was a diabolical new enemy, and the sorcery of such a heretical new thought was now igniting the angst of Rome’s divine emperors.
Cassius Dio, a renowned Roman historian, wrote of its impact:
“The whole earth, one might say, was being stirred over the matter.”99
Welcome to the Arena.
The eagle hovering in the streaming clouds tilts its head south. The eagle begins swooping down in a vertical trajectory, descending towards an egg shaped elliptical structure the size of two large football fields. The Roman Coliseum is packed to its 50,000 capacity on four levels; the massive structure is partly incomplete, sections of its walls stop rising abruptly. The Coliseum was completed in the year 80; its first name, initiated by and honoring the Emperor Vespasian of the Flavian family dynasty, was Amphitheatrum Flavium.
In the year 73 CE, this massive iconic structure opens with the triumphant marking of a nation’s destruction and the anointing of a Roman king as divine. The victory of Mighty Rome was never more glorious or richer; the triumph of the Roman Gods was absolute; such was held by all with no redeeming qualifications.
The huge arena is surrounded by the coliseum’s curved walls, the new iconic design poignantly contrasting other monuments in the Roman metropolis, constructed by Rome’s foremost enemies, the Jews of Judea shipped to Rome as the select few of the world’s most skilled builders 86. Perhaps the Jews learned such skills from the Phoenicians and Egyptians; Rome brought the Jewish builders after destroying the Jerusalem Temple, then the greatest monument on earth. Any skills possessed by the conquered Jews became the only saving grace of their lives; their conquerors being adept in measuring the benefits from war spoils prudently. Mighty Rome’s Metropolis became a city of marble instead of stone, a mark of grandeur designated by the great Julius Caesar; legend says he became awestruck by the Jerusalem Temple of marble and gold embellishments.
A big band of thundering Roman trumpets, cymbals and drums is graduating to a great din; a reveling hedonistic circus atmosphere prevails. There is a hum of excitement; the people are privileged to attend Rome’s triumphant victory celebrations. Masked Romans are blowing on toy horns, barely naked harlots are soliciting, a senator’s wife complains of food drippings from the upper levels.
This day Rome will mark her triumph over the smallest and most controversial province in her vast conquered empire: Judea – a Latinized Judah, and formerly Israel, the ancient kingdom of the Israelites. Center staged is the Master of Ceremony; the robust carnival attired Speaker Bassus; he welcomes us with shrill, gregarious pride and honor:
”Cari fratelli e sorelle – Rome will not disappoint her people this day!” He dares his audience, smirking in history turning passion. “This day Rome speaks to the whole world… even unto history!” The Speaker Bassus spreads his arms as he declares open the sacred event of Rome’s victory celebrations and its emperor’s inauguration of divinity. “Welcome…” Palms flap inviting. “Welcome to the arena!”
He bows repeatedly, worshipping, pointing raised hands of devotion towards the Royal Chamber on the second level.
“This day Rome anoints our emperor with the crown of divinity – this day we worship Vespasian!” A din of chanting erupts. “And this day we give glory to Vespasian’s son with the crown of victory – we bow before mighty Titus!”
The Emperor Vespasian waves a slight hand palm in response; his ascended Flavian dynasty, immediately adjacent of the royal chamber, rises, waving. The peoples’ chanting is unceasing; they roar in unison. Bassus is flapping his palms, inviting his audience to witness Rome’s richest victory celebrations and to account the glory of Rome’s war spoils measure for measure, bout by bout.
This then is a ringside view that unfolds one of history’s most pivotal wars, one incurred by history’s mightiest super power against a small province harbouring a new world premise and a most disdained one of the ancient world for two thousand years: ‘Mono-theism’. For Rome’s Emperors it was the sorcery devised by the Jews, the enemies of the Gods. In our retrospective ringside view, there is Mighty Rome in the red corner and Judea in the blue corner. Yet such a depiction has less to do with either of the contestants; indeed it is destined to loom larger than both. As we traverse this history, the events will depict monotheism as a bad career move in ancient times. The Speaker Bassus assures the massive gathering of the great triumphs and blessings bestowed by the Roman Gods:
”My fellow Romans, what you are about to see has never been seen before! Blood rubies! Sacred sapphires! Gold that makes the eyes to shine! From the ancient kingdom of the Israelites! It is a day foretold by the Gods of Rome!” The raised finger proclaims Rome’s justification… “AND by the fallen Hebrew God! Hail Mars! Hail Jupiteres!”
The crowds chant in unison of affirmation.
***
At one of the Arena’s twenty gates, two men and a woman, primitive animal-skin attired foreigners from Rome’s most distant conquered island of Briton, are deliberating with the guard to be allowed to enter. The guard examines a parchment with a Roman seal presented by the three foreigners at the gate.
As the Speaker Bassus completes his bowing formalities before Rome’s divine Emperor, he turns to address the people; he excites them with wonders never seen in Rome.
“This day you are all witness to the end of a nation, one which stood two thousand years… one even older than Rome!?” Hushes and hisses resound from the crowds.
“Gratis! Gratis! First – a reward from Titus to the most beautiful women of all – Roman! For you, the finest jewels your eyes have ever seen! Hear you are! Here..!”
The women compete in hair pulling fights for the gem stones flung at them. The Speaker Bassus stretches both arms at the Coliseum’s tightly packed gathering of spectators, the largest assembly in Rome’s history, ushering a display of war spoils entering the arena.
“Citizens! The seal of Alexander the Great! And the famed Queen Bathsheba’s crown!”
The people hail the great display of treasures, chanting:
“Glory to Rome! Hail Jupiteres!”
Seated diagonally across from the royal chamber, two Senators in richly Roman toga dress discuss their new emperor.
“He appears not happy. Even in his greatest hour.” Senator Marcellus is smirking.[33]
“Word is…” His colleague, Senator Alienus, responds covertly. “The stiff-necks perished without the surrender word.” His hand covers his mouth.
For those who served the previous Julio-Claudian Emperor dynasty, this day is not a celebratory event; Nero, the last of the Clauians, committed suicide, to which the Romans responded with joyous satisfaction. This day, Vespasian represents the new Flavians, the less elite Commander of war who ascended the Roman throne after a chaotic period of assassinated candidates that followed Nero’s demise. The Flavians now held control of the war legions and the riches of Rome’s new conquered wealth from the vast treasury of the Jews; no Roman Emperor held such power and wealth. There is disdain on the faces of the Claudian Senators.
A blast of trumpets prompts the people. The Speaker Bassus directs the peoples’ attention as Hebrew slaves hoisting the war spoils appear.
“It is before your eyes! The throne of King Solomon, made from the finest gold and ivory. But Oh! This wondrous throne is empty. No king!?” He empties his palms in the air; hails of laughter from the people resound.
***
The three foreign Britons at the gate are led by guards to the lower darkened basements of caged slaves. One of the Britons pauses; his gaze is affixed on the tightly packed slaves, his eyes searing in terror. Flashes of Londonium appear before him as he recollects the fires of his homeland and the Roman destruction of his kin; his face in angst recalls the burning bodies and decapitated women flaring up before him. The guard pushes the three Britons forward. The parading of war spoils continues.
In the Royal Chamber, Titus presents the Queen Bernice with a jeweled broach [‘Priestly Diadem’]. A Golden Eagle stands atop the Queen’s provocative crown, its beak and shining eyes made of ruby red gems pointing to the heavens. The Menorah, symbol of the Jerusalem temple, is clasped as prey under the eagle’s feet, clutched by its powerful claws. The Queen Bernice’s face dangles droplets of jewels attached to her eye brows; her gown fronts a U-neckline plunging below her navel, exposing swirling coils of gold painted mock pubic tattooing. The queen displays Titus’ gift with sensual desire, loving it within her breasts in the sight of Rome.
A din of chanting and woof’s from the Roman men hail the seductive Romanized Hebrew queen; she is voted the star of the day by their wailings; she excites Rome’s lusting excesses more than any other. For the Romans, the Hebrew Queen is a gift from their gods; the din of their wailing is insuppressible.
“So that is the harlot Hebrew Queen.” Senator Marcellus seethes. “Dare he bring such a woman on this day as his royal escort… even after she was mistress with his own father, the King we now divine!?” [44]
“Hah! First with her brother Agrippa, then with the king we worship this day!” Senator Alienus responds covertly, his face bent. “And now she is seated with his son as a queen before Rome!? The Flavians insult us – we are as lower than the Jews!”
The Hebrew King Agrippa, seated a row behind the royal chamber, gazes in askance at Titus fondling the broach on his sister’s breasts; his hidden fist stirs in a suppressed rage.
“It is said no man can resist her vile.” Senator Alienus sways his beer mug, lusting at the brazenly costumed queen. “Ever see a more desirous cunnus – she dishonors Rome so magnificently…”
Titus focuses on the Senators, his menacing eyes peer from behind a jug of wine in his hand; a warrior’s smirk understands the Senators’ intents. There is suspicion and dark foreboding submerged in the celebrations; four candidates to the throne were assassinated before Vespasian ascended the throne. Titus must protect his father to assure his own ascension and glory, one that was prophesized by the Gods. And above all, Titus was manically jealous and protective of his Goddess. He lifts Bernice on his shoulders, pointing her to the king; he moves awkwardly, his left hand appears dysfunctional 61.
Bernice caresses the beak of the eagle on her crown seductively, then she extends her open palm at Titus’ father, blowing the emperor a hand kiss. Hailing and woofs resound.
“Does he imagine Rome will allow an incestuous Jewess to the throne?” Senator Marcellus is dismayed by the Flavian politics that harbor Rome’s enemy so openly this historic day. “The Gods forgive us – we have yet not recovered the depravity of our last emperors. Now this!?”
“That crown comes from her grandfather King Herod, a true friend of Rome.” Senator Alienus confers whispering. “He left her great wealth – mounds of gold, many palaces and security garrisons. Why else will father and son bow before this Hebrew harlot? Betrayers!”
A foreboding drumbeat is blasting. Below the arena grounds in the dimly lit basement of slave quarters, an iron cage is wheeled up the basement ramp, packed with twenty male slaves and paraded in the arena. Three crocodiles are released from an encircling row of cages. As the Roman gladiators direct the kill with spears and shields poised on the snapping reptiles, a bantam weight chanting erupts.
“More boring displays.” Senator Marcellus sways face condescendingly. “This is all Rome has become – savages ruled by savages.”
A Hebrew wrestles a crocodile, his powerful arms suffocating its large throat; he is cut down by a Gladiator’s sword from behind. Wounded, he continues smashing the animal with blows; the spectators roar with laughter, chanting thumbs-down “KILL! KILL!” The Gladiator pierces the slave’s back again; a crocodile jolts in a lightning speed, grasping the Hebrew’s torso in its jaws, tearing away with a mighty snapping action. A revelling of satisfaction resounds.
In the subterranean basement, a cage packed with women is dragged up the ramp; it rattles and screeches to a standstill, awaiting its turn in a ramp queue. Inside, a young emaciated maiden struggles in her agony, clasping her belly; her woman comrades in the cage are assisting her, wiping off sweat drops from her face.
The Queen Bernice wins back her desired attention from the savage sporting displays, compelling the Romans to her as she wobbles on Titus’ shoulders before the king. She jitters her face, dangling the droplets attached to her eye brows tauntingly at the howling Roman men; their faces sway back and forth from the killings to the brazenly attired queen. She taunts the crowds yelling at them in an ecstasy, tearing out the mock pubic coils from her torso and throwing it before the emperor. The Romans scramble for the glittering coils; the queen screams in her wicked pleasure.
“We’ll see about that!” – Senator Marcellus warns. “Such dishonour unto Rome cannot receive honour in return!”
Josephus, the Hebrew scribe in Roman attire and seated behind the Royal chamber, was promised rewards by the new emperor, and this was a most opportune time to collect, the results of his service on display this day. Josephus bows and proceeds towards the subterranean slave quarters.
“Anticipated Flavian treachery!” Senator Alienus angles the Hebrew in welling disdain. “Rome’s emperor gets his council from a Hebrew priest and Rome’s War Commander is ruled by a Hebrew Harlot. Victory… or mockery?”
The Speaker Bassus points to Rome’s most prized war trophy entering the arena, the giant Menorah of gold, lifted precariously by twenty Hebrews and monitored by guards with spears at their sides. 86
“My fellow Romans, behold this great wonder before you!” The people gasp as the war slaves sway and waver with the enormous weight of glittering gold they carry. “This is a most sacred treasure of their Hebrew God – it will be encircled before you seven times so its blessing shines on all Romans gathered here today.” His arms extended: “Be you all blessed!”
For Rome, the Menorah blessing was its one ton weight containing the finest gold, its solid pillars of gold highlighted with delicate filigree; it’s worth exceeding the cost of the Coliseum it is paraded in. For the Jews, the Menorah was its oldest national symbol of the Hebrew God, denoting Creation’s original light, ushered before the stars appeared in the heavens, a pre-star light, its sacredness established in a fiery desert in holy writ:
‘And thou shall make a candlestick of pure gold. Of beaten work shall the candlestick be made, even its base, and its shaft; its cups, its knops, and its flowers, shall be of one piece with it. Of a talent of pure gold shall it be made, with all these vessels’. [Ex. 25/31]
The Speaker proclaims it: “This giant Candelabrum was carved from one single piece of gold! It will never lose its lustre!” A brilliant glow flashes on the peoples’ faces as the giant Menorah with its seven arms and golden figurine tops extending to the heavens passes by them.
“Let there be light…” The Speaker’s raised arm proclaims. “Unto Rome shines the light of the world!”
In the dimly lit subterranean basement chambers beneath the arena, Josephus approaches the Captain guarding the cages of women.
“I have been promised ten slaves by the emperor. I may select one from here.”
“These are for the people’s sport 86.” The slave Captain sways his face at the Hebrew scribe. “Bring me Titus’ orders with his seal or…” He cuts his throat with his fingers, smirking.
“Mercy, mercy!” The caged women scream, extending their hands through the cage bars. “We took no part in the revolt – we are Nazarene, 41 innocent as your own mothers of the charges. Release us we pray you!?”
“You are all the same Hebrew enemy with new names.” The Captain negates all hope of the women’s cries. “All are guilty of Heresy – all are marked as sacrifice this day for the gods of Rome.”
In the opposite rows of cages, the Hebrew men slaves jangle their iron bars fiercely at Josephus. “Traitor! Betrayer! Roman Jew! Jewish Roman! Tfu! Tfu!”
Josephus retreats into a dark protective crevice in the corner of the basement; he crouches in terror of his kinfolk’s angst.
Outside the Coliseum, Rome’s citizens mock the slaves driven in long rows of cages via the main city avenue leading into the basement chambers.
“Jude! Jude! Roman gods need sacrifices too!” They grab their groins in mocking:
“Jude! Jude! Why you cut off your mentula for!?”
Trumpeters herald the Thanks-Giving Sacrificium. The Speaker Bassus ignites an elaborately decorated furnace with a fire torch; dark purple and red fumes rise to the skies as he announces.
“For the Thanks-Giving Sacrificium, Rome offers exotic Hebrew women for Jupiter’s blessing.”
In the arena, twenty women captives are hurtled from a cage in a bordered section before the royal chamber. Three lions are released from their cages; they growl ferociously, tormented by the smell from buckets of blood held before them. The gladiators empty the blood on the women.
The two Senators stage a walkout from the sacred ceremony in protest.
“Traitors! Savages!” Marcellus sways his closed fist at the Speaker. “Did not Nero forbid human sacrifice to Rome!?”
Titus hard stares the two Senators storming out of the ceremony; a gritting in his jaws.
“O Vespasian! O Titus!” The women slaves extend their bound hands to the royal chamber. “To the murderers of mothers and children we say… NO SURRENDER!” 116 The crowds boo; the lions jostle amidst the women’s defiant screams.
In the subterranean basement, guards are dragging the next cage of twenty women marked for sacrifice; the cage is stationed at the ramp queue awaiting its turn. Inside, a young maiden lying in the background of the cage floor emits a scream; a child is being born in the back confines of the iron cage. The young, emaciated mother’s companions shield her from the guard’s sighting; her tightly wrapped belly is torn of its cloth wrappings which till now hid her full pregnancy. In her labour travails the young maiden manages to acknowledge the defiance of the women’s chants in the arena above; her eyes glow in solidarity before her comrades as she grasps their hands.
“No surrender… no surrender!?”
In the arena above, the lions’ roars and frenzy reverberate, silencing the revelling din of the focused people. The bound Hebrew women clasp each other screaming, “No surrender” as the beasts mount and drag them down, tearing away limbs and necks; the beasts battle to protect their prey held fastidiously in their jaws.
Erotically clad Roman women dancers parade on Gladiator’s shoulders as they encircle the killing display; they mimic the slaves’ torment with explicit gestures and quivers as a mocking. A drunken Vespasian peers between fingers covering his eyes; the Queen Bernice drops her face in her palms. Titus studies the killing calmly, swallowing from his jug of wine; Rome’s great warrior appears unimpressed of an assured slaughtering.
Bassus hoists a large basin of gold coins:
“By the blessing and gift of Titus – a gold coin for every Roman citizen gathered here this day!” He hurls gold coins around the women’s torn corpses.
A great din resounds: “Titus! Titus! Titus!”
“Let it begin – the divine anointing of our beloved emperor!” The Speaker Bassus kneels with raised hands inclined at the royal chamber, then he turns to welcome their entrance: “See, the Heavenly Beings come…”
Two blonde virgins carry platters of leafy crowns, advancing in slow angelic steps toward the emperor’s raised dais. They are adorned as divine Heavenly Beings, covered only with white feathered wings attached to their shoulders, their naked bodies sprinkled with silver speckles. The shimmering blonde virgins waver through torn corpses on the ground and bound women dodging the beasts screaming ‘NO SURRENDER’. Severed limbs and torsos are strewn across the aisles before the royal chamber. The King holds his palms over his ears, as if to shut off the diminishing ‘NO SURRENDER’ screams still filtering. Vespasian is assisted to stand by the Heavenly Beings, his left leg is dragging; he groans in a drunken stupor.
“Woe, woe is me! I am being made a God, yet my soul is sickened by their no surrender defiance! These dogs barking at me this day – throw them away from me, shut their cries this day!” He keels over vomiting; maids wipe his mouth.
Now a strange face, in shadow and as yet indiscernible to Vespasian, is seated in close proximity to the emperor; the face is affixed gazing at Vespasian relentlessly. When the drunken emperor winces curiously, when he sees that the strange face starring him fixatedly is of Alexis, the son of Matarian, the offended King smashes his tub of wine on his Royal table. Vespasian gazes back at Alexis, his face wincing. The image of a charred hand extending from the fires of Londonium haunts the tortured tormented emperor:
“Swear it you will protect my son, my only son?” – The pointing hand wavers at Vespasian.
When the approaching Blonde Virgins begin placing the Crown of Divinity on his head, he pushes it away, flicking the crown to the ground 62. There is a great hush of bewilderment in the arena.
The king keels over the Blonde Virgin holding the platter; maids assist to stand him upright. The other Blonde Virgin turns to Titus, standing him opposite his father and begins to place the Crown of Victory on Titus’ head in the solemn anointing process. For the Roman masses it is an electrifying moment; but within the underbelly politics of the Flavian family, Vespasian engages his son in a royal chastising.
“You failed to protect Matarian’s son…” Vespasian is sneering in a lowly angst. “And Jewish mothers insult me with their last breaths before Rome… victory!?”
“My father commanded me for victory over the Jews and their God – to do whatever I must. I did, my father. See, Judea is no more, and the Hebrew God’s glory now rests with Rome. We live this day in glory because you trusted the words of a Hebrew priest… your leg was torn, my arm is broken, such is the price of war, my father. And I stand today before my divine emperor, it is our holy day…” Now, Titus the great warrior pauses; he winces in a stroke of pain as his palm clasps his forehead. “For all…” He steadies himself. “…All my glory is from you… for you. My father, the Gods of Rome… they have blessed us and Rome this day. I worship you.” Titus kisses his father’s hand, kneeling solemnly.
The king turns away unimpressed, focusing again on the man in the opposite chamber, his enflamed eyes addressing Alexis Matarian’s challenging gaze. Alexis begins to leave his seat. He is assisted by two guards, one under each arm, as he is hoisted and being carried off from the great ceremony. Alexis’ face is covered on one side by an iron mask which extends to his abdomen, the encased hands appearing as a leper without fingers, the legs also encased in iron castings below the knees. One eye is free of indentation; it winces at the uninhibited reveling. Each movement displays the agony of his existence.
“Alexis, Alexis!” Vespasian bellows in his torment. “My orders were first for your safety – even before my own son! Aah, Jupiteres! Be thou my witness before Matarian?!” Alexis’ helpers sway faces at the King; Alexis is unwell; he cannot stay.
Great trumpets herald. The divine anointing begins; the giant, glowing Menorah on the shoulders of twenty slaves encircles around the Arena. Four Roman Priestesses on a raised center dais proclaim a ritual liturgical blessing:
“Hail-Vespasianus-Flavius-Flavian. The Divine Anointed Emissary of Jupiteres.” A din of the peoples’ response resounds in unison:
“We worship Divine Vespasian! Glory to Jupiteres – Glory to Rome!”
The four Roman Priestesses proclaim a blessing for Titus:
“Hail-Titus-Flavius-Caesar-Vespasianus – glorified for victory unto Rome! JUDEA… CAPTA!!!” The crowds respond with the obligatory chanting:
“We bow before Mighty Titus! Glory to Mars! Glory to Neptune! Glory to Venus!”
In the slave basement cages parked in the dark subterranean ramp queue, a newborn baby’s scream mingles in the din of the chanting. A blonde Roman maiden, in Heavenly Being costume, discretely picks up a fallen crown on the arena floor amidst the great chanting.
In the cages, the maiden mother’s comrades are covertly wrapping up her newborn in torn away clothes, pressing the baby’s cheeks on the mother’s lips as a last farewell; the mother grapples and heaves in her teary angst to grasp her child again.
In the arena, a Hebrew slave stumbles, his leg quivering by the enormous weight of the golden edifice on his shoulders; the crowds mock in rage. A Gladiator pierces the fallen slave, dragging, throwing him to the lions. Menahem, the leader of the Zealots, chained hand and foot to his neck, approaches a gladiator with gestures inviting a combat; the Jews bang their chained hands together hailing him. Menahem hops on his chained feet comically in the air, drop kicks the Gladiator’s knee, mocks and dodges him in a ridiculing, taunting and screaming:
“No Surrender – No Victory!?”
As the Gladiator spins dizzy with his sword swaying aimlessly in the air, Menahem plunges himself into the Gladiator’s sword, denying him the kill and succumbing triumphantly. The chained Jews dance and sing hopping on their chained feet, banging their hand chains on the iron bars of their cages. The Romans chant boo’s in a rage; the Gladiators set upon the rest of the slaves with a vengeance from the ridicule. Two hand bound Hebrews are hoisted to the top of the Coliseum wall. They are dangled by their feet; they scream ‘NO SURRENDER!’ as they drop. A focused silence pervades the arena as the wild beast’s cages are opened again; the lions feed on the slaves. A child in a purple costume on his father’s lap starts to cry amidst the din of the growling beasts.
***
Amidst the reveling of chants, the skies above Rome sound a thunder and lightning; the crowds continue reveling undaunted. Soon foreboding dark clouds appear in the skies above the Roman metropolis, then a great explosion emits from the skies. A strong downpour of rain pelts the arena. The lions leave off their meals, fleeing into their cages and safe crevices, crouching to hide themselves from the blasts, as if they see what the crowds do not. The downpour washes away debris; the people stumble from their seats in disarray and soon their feet are submerged in gushing torrents – they continue reveling drunken and joyous. Poles supporting the Royal chamber collapse; women and children are whipped and flung from their seats in the gathering power of the torrents. A crocodile emerges from the swelling waters and grasps a Roman child in a purple costume in its jaws. Now a stampede develops for the gates.
“Sisters…” The maiden mother struggles in a slave cages. “This seed I bear is of the house of Hur… may God grant him life… may Israel be returned as God swore unto our fathers.”
The blasting rains now pour into the subterranean tunnels, swaying the cage so it is wobbling afloat. The maiden then turns away detached and dreamlike. A vision from the past appears before her; her eyes light up. The vision of a hand from a young Roman on his horse extends to her, calling and beseeching her; his eyes searing as he waits on her. The maiden’s tears well up in a delirious smile of her recalling. The women in the swaying cage crowd closely around her face.
“Sisters!” The maiden mother grasps at her comrades. “Now be you of good courage, be not afraid anymore… for Rome, not Israel, is tested by our God. I see it… I see it.. I..?” They sway embracing each other.
In the arena, Titus gapes in pained rage at the people running for their lives; he turns to the skies as if challenging the heavens. His right hand grasps his sword, the left hand sagging awkwardly, as he stumbles over corpses toward the arena’s centre. He grins menacingly at the heavens, as a gladiator confronting an opponent, challenging the rains blasting his face, his head gear flying away. His sword aimed at the howling skies, the warrior bellows manically in a powerful rage.
“I am Titus! I triumphed before all! This glory is mine! NOT YOURS!?”
“The rains…” The maiden mother grasps her comrades. “The heavens are shouting! It is for freedom, a light given us from the God of all Gods. Sisters, it is our light in the darkness. I see it now… it is shining on you…and you… and… all of you…”
Titus raises both hands at the skies, bellowing in a manic scream.
“No such thing as an invisible God! No such thing!?”
The women covertly tear the umbilical by hand as the mother’s child is cut asunder; the maiden gasps her final words.
“My son’s name… Alexis… ben Hur. My light in the darkness…”
The women conceal the baby in a pile of garment, setting it outside the back cage floor through its bars; they murmur prayers. The women hold hands over the covered mother and declare their pledge.
“For freedom – our light in the darkness!”
In the waters swelling the arena, wooden vats once holding jewels and a throne bop up floating around Titus; he calls on the fleeing people.
“Fear not! I, Titus, conquered the Jews and their God. I am Rome – your protector. I am Titus – I am your savior!?”
On the floor corner of a cage holding slaves, a baby’s hand is protruding from under the folds of a bundle of garment; the mother’s index finger is entwined within her newborn baby’s palm. Josephus discretely covers up the baby’s hand and carries off the small bundle.
Now the swelling waters flood into the slave basements in raging torrents, whipping the Roman guards against the walls and sealing the faith of the captive slaves and the animals held in the subterranean cages.
In the arena, the slaves hoisting the giant Menorah are wavering by its weight, swaying and staggering.
Titus drops on his knees; he appears struck by an aching. He squats on the ground, pulling at his hair, as if nursing a piercing pain throbbing in his head. He is soaking in the heavy downpour; the menacing warrior’s eyes turn challenging at the heavens.110
Except for the howling rains storming the Roman Metropolis, there is a prolonged silence, contrasting the great din of the victory celebrations. A blanket of night descends upon Rome.
[2]. THE ROMAN SENATE.
An official report is being proclaimed by the Senate to the House The Hebrew scribe sits at the rear writing in a scroll; three royal guards stand behind his desk, serving and protecting the Romanized Hebrew. ‘All Roads Lead to Rome’ is bannered on the hall’s opulent arch72.
“My distinguished Senators of Rome know it well… the empire faces great challenges from rebel nations.” The House Speaker Betto is addressing the Senators gathered to hear an official war report of Rome’s most celebrated triumph over Judea.
“And of this little Judea… none more treacherous! Little it was, yes, but this was a war like no other. Terrible! Glorious! Holy!?”
The three Britons are brought in and hurdled in a corner of the famed hall of world power. The Ambassadors of Briton have travelled from afar, over many seas and lands to arrive here; they come with their granted permission to address the Roman assembly once every three years. The House Speaker Betto continues.
“So Rome did what Rome had to do. And Rome is made mightier for it – a 2,000 year treasury the envy of every nation! And good slaves – with skills. Our great Coliseum is being built by the very hands of the Jews… and their wealth.7 Rome is made rich! Esteemed senators, you are all made rich! By the order of Titus, a hundred gold coins to each Senator of Rome!”
“Hail Glorious Titus!” The Senators hail ecstatically.
“But be not confused…” The House Speaker becomes forebodingly official. “The Jews despised all that Rome stood for. They disdained and insulted our emperors even when great forbearance was given them to worship their God. This heretic nation must never rise again! Rome forbids a Roman to marry a Jew. Roman law, my comrades?” 34
“Will the law apply to all Romans…“ The Senator Marcellus raises his index finger before his face. “Titus too?”
“If you refer to Titus’ royal escort, the Queen, she is a Roman citizen of royal line.” The House Speaker Betto assures him.
Senator Marcellus persists; the House now silent and not complicit of his daring.
“Oh? Then she is not an incestuous Hebrew harlot, from brother and father to son… Rome is not put to shame by her presence here?” Hushes and whispers of alarm resound.
“Dare you! Dare you speak such treachery of one who glorified Rome!?” A stray voice booms from the hall in response to Senator Justus’ provocative words. “Hail our mighty, glorious Titus!”
The two Senators rise up hoisting their fists in the air defiantly. They stage a walk out, leaving in disdain, as they did in the emperor’s sacred anointing ceremony.
“The council will address a petition now.” The Speaker nods to the guards standing before the chained Britons: “Bring forward the party of the Britons.”
***
“Great rulers of Rome…” The Briton Ambassador bows before the elite Roman assembly. “We appeal to your mighty Roman hearts. Londonium is destroyed by Rome’s fires, 80,000 of our people slaughtered, our youth are taken away as mercenaries… and our daughters made as concubines. We are sent to plead of you – restore our rights, end the brutality, else we all will perish?”
“Nay, my good Senators, nay!” The House Speaker Betto is dismissive of the charges. “This people, with their most hideous warrior queen – Jupiter’s curse upon that wretch, consulted their gods by means of human entrails, preferring to worship the stomachs and arses of the dead than the glory of Rome!?”181
The House responds with a burst of laughter.
“Vespasian did with Jerusalem, a far greater city, the same as was done with Londonium – both were heretics, both were cleansed by fires. Esteemed Senators, there can be only one true divine king in the empire. And Rome has only one living god. Long live Vespasian!”
A hailing and clapping by the assembly; the British delegation is hoisted away.
“And now Honorary Senators, a full war accounting, so you all will see this was Rome’s richest… most glorious… most holy victory of all!”
The Speaker pauses as Alexis arrives; his helper lifting him in a chair and settling him beside the royal scribe in the far back end chamber of the hall. Alexis removes the metal covering part of his face, revealing shriveled pinkish skin; onlookers wince. Alexis’ unbroken eye is fixed on the scribe making notations.
The Speaker continues, reading from a scroll in triumphant passion.
“Gold Shekels – One Million Talents! [# Est. as $50 Billion today]. Silver Shekels – Five Million Talents! [# Est. as $50B today]. Olive oil and vats of Herbs – two hundred shiploads!”87
Hisses and whispers arise from the assembly of the astonishing counts; Josephus writes into a scroll as the accounting continues.
[3] A ROMAN BATH HOUSE.
In an opulent steamy bath-house, two maidens are massaging the naked bodies of the two Senators Marcellus and Alienus; the same who murmured and sneered throughout the arena festival against Rome’s divine Emperor. Erotic and decadent statues adorn a magnificent spa bath, engraved with the words:
‘IT IS ROMAN TO DELIGHT IN THE GIFTS OF THE GODS’. 26
“Rome must know why we walked out of the Flavian camel dung pouring out of the mouth of Betto.” Senator Marcellus assures, flat on his stomach as the maiden rubs scented oils on his shoulders. “We know why Titus looted the temple of the Jews. The nations also know – they sent delegates to Judea as witnesses.”
“Blame Nero for diminishing Rome. Vespasian was following the orders given him by Nero.” Oily hands tend the thighs of Alienus.
“Be not fooled. His son was following Vespasian’s orders, not Nero’s. We did good letting them know we know of their treachery.”
“Some carry strange rumors…” Alienus whispers it. “A Hebrew sorcerer turned the head of Vespasian. A stranger thing I never imagined.”
The maidens see Titus entering. His calm smirk belies the warrior’s deathly agenda.
“We are now under savages and traitors sitting on Rome’s thrones, holding the purse and the legions in their hands – what can be stranger?”
“And what can be more threatening for us, let us work with caution?”
***
The Flavian family ascent to the throne followed a period of chaos that was engulfing Rome. A civil war erupted; the city was set alight; some said Nero initiated the fires as a deflection of an impending bankruptcy and many pursued him. Then came Nero’s sudden demise – he commits suicide, to the widespread joy of the Romans, leaving as his most remembered legacy, ‘Nero fiddled as Rome burned’.124
The sudden vacancy on the throne resulted in a succession of four hastily ascended and short lived emperors, with the Flavian family earning the royal throne in the merit of a contrived war with Judea and bringing to Rome the vast riches of the Hebrew kingdom. The Flavians now faced many Senators with differing loyalties; they would see to it Vespasian would meet the same faith of the four short lived emperors. But Vespasian and Titus had their own war acquired plans to thwart and beguile such political ambitions.
Alienus gestures Marcellus ears closer to him, away from the maiden’s hearing.
“The Flavian plans could not precede while the Jews spread their vile primitive beliefs against Rome’s divine kings… both father and son understood this.”
Titus, finger tapping his lips, gestures the maidens remain silent as he sits on a far seat; the maidens, in heaving breaths understand he is not come for a spa bath. Marcellus clarifies further: “Meaning this was not of Nero, but a Flavian father and son conspiracy – a savage breed designed for the battle field, not the throne…”
Titus nods with a thumb down. From behind a penis designed pillar, two sets of mighty hands replace the maiden’s tender oily fingers – the maidens back away shaking. The hands grab the throats of the two Senators sprawled on their stomachs, twisting the Senator’s arms across their bent knees. They immerse the Senator’s heads into the bath, holding them fastidiously submerged.
The maidens witnessing the assassinations are kneeling head to the ground trembling before Titus. He reclines calmly in a lounge chair, tearing open a red pomegranate and chomping into it with a relish as the two senators wriggle and splash in the spa. Titus explains his position to the pleasure maidens kneeling on the marble floor, his mouth full with redness and dripping.
“Here me, lovely damsels. Did Rome become a mighty empire by allowing treachery to go unpunished?” Titus throws the maidens two gold coins; the submerged Senators battle for their lives in the bath. “Good Romans must glorify their savior.” A killer’s nodding: “Remember it, hmm?”
When the two Senators cease wriggling fully, Titus accounts his timing calmly, his eyes fixed on the two floating bodies. Finally he nods at his executioners and throws two full pouches at them. They examine a large gold coin curiously; one of the assassins is confused.
“Royal Master, these are… Hebrew coins!?” He displays the coin – it shows Hebrew markings.
“You never held a finer piece of gold. Turn it.”
The coin’s reverse side shows Latin markings: “Judea Capta”. The assassin bows.
“Jupiter’s glory upon my mighty and generous Master.”
“They are now Roman gold coins.” Titus nods. “Leave us.”
Titus focuses on the two maidens kneeling before him. He grasps both by their manes, dragging them before him on their knees.
“Glorify your savior.”
The two Senators’ corpses surface limp in the opulent marble bath.
***
In the Sennett hall, the war spoils accounting continues. In the rear of the hall, Josephus is writing into his scroll. The Speaker Betto accounts with hand swaying enthusiasm.
“Gemstones – Rubies, Sapphires and Persian Stones: 600 Basins.
Giant Candelabra: 1 piece.
Thrones, Seats and Tables of Gold: 120 pieces.”
Alexis is affixed on the Hebrew scribe.
“Hebrew slaves brought To Rome – 97,500; 2,500 as circus sport, the rest to serve as skilled laborers. Concubines – 12,000.” 86
When the accounting is concluded, the Senators are greatly impressed; they are leaving the hall each a hundred gold coins richer, a political stratagem of Titus, the victor who controls the spoils.
The Council Chamber is now emptied, except for Alexis and Josephus who alone have remained. Alexis’ gaze is relentless on the Hebrew scribe assembling his scrolls and pouches. Alexis leans forward in his seat awkwardly towards Josephus; he addresses the great scribe in a raspy, labored voice.
“Strange destiny, is it not, a Hebrew scribe appointed to write of Rome’s victory… and his own nation’s destruction?” Alexis smirks at his own irony. There is no response. Alexis leans closer, his questioning becoming more poignant. “Why do Rome’s victors throw down their crowns before the people… will the Hebrew scribe’s writings tell us?”
Josephus pauses from his writing, swaying his face at Alexis’ broken condition and his determined enquiry. He looks around at the emptied hall, then he folds his palms on his chest, engaging the battered figure before him.
“Perhaps an honorable warrior does not account victory against women and children – even that it had to happen? And you Alexis, you were diverted to the east to oversee the road works… you were in that fiery hell… you surely remember it?”
Alexis maneuvers to stand precariously. He grasps the scribe’s tunic; the metal covered hand shudders. “You did the accounting. What became of her? Tell me – I have not much time?”
“But you must remember it – how can you not? Shall I help you? It was Vespasian, whose life your honorable father Matarian saved in the fires of Londonium… he appointed you Architect of the Road Works. Vespasian gave you Tahrah. You remember Tahrah – the magnificent one?”
“Tahrah!?” The unspoiled eye now searches the clouds churning between the pillars of the balcony, as if a picture is forming. “Yes… Tahrah!?” A faint familiar ethnic melody is emerging in his mind. He appears entranced.
“You Alexis were swept to another road, one very different from the road you made for Rome. You remember… you remember? The scribe’s piercing eyes nods pointedly.
[4] JUDEA – 66 AD/CE.
Alexis remembers. Six years into the past, he is now a young Roman. He rides in abandon and exhilaration on the highway extending from the coastal town of Caesarea on Tahrah, a noble Arabian mere, an unusual blonde skinned horse that glows against the searing hot sun. The terrain is markedly different from the modern Roman Metropolis; palm trees, domestic animals and the Judean hills dot the scene. Alexis rides in joyous abandon on his magnificent Tahrah, a gift from Vespasian marking Alexis’ chosen appointment as the Roman Roads Architect of Judea.
There is a construction site in progress on the Megiddo plains, inclined North-West of Jerusalem and stretching towards the Mediterranean coast. Roman and Arabian workers are constructing Judea’s gravel roads into a new tarred highway; it is Rome’s vast undertaking in the modern world with the discovery volcanic ash solidifies into stone; it is also a stratagem that ensures all roads will lead to Rome more efficiently, transporting Rome’s slave labor, taxes and the exotic produce of other lands. [72]
Now the Roman road works become interrupted by a procession of Jews chanting a joyful, gregarious melody as they pass on their journey. The Jews sing in their strange ancient tongue none else can speak, yet there is an attractive rhythm, one discernible before the Roman chagrin and their disdain of the Hebrew tongue none in the empire understood. And these Jews are dressed in provocative attire; the Roman workers stare at the men’s tassels dangling at their waists apprehensively, they sneer at the men’s coils of hair locks dropping lower than their ears.
The Jews are oblivious of the Romans, chanting in their Hebrew psalms with a display of joyous gestures and stomping. When their threading spoils newly laid soft tar, the soldiers cut down several of the Jews, surrounding them in a closed Roman battle formation of raised spears.
A ceremoniously attired man leading the Hebrew procession is stopped with a spear pressed against his chest. The Jews jolt; they stiffen by the razor edged spears held against them. A young maiden from the group attempts to sway the soldier’s spear now fixed at the Hebrew’s chest; but she is flung aside and thrust to the ground. Florian, a large man who appears ever ready and accustomed to slayings, demands of the Jew.
“Your name and destination?”
“I am Hillel, a humble teacher, these are my students. We travel to a teaching house.”
“Then teach me, teacher.” Florian twirls his spear on the Jew’s chest. “Teach me of your holy books standing on one foot… if you wish to live?”
“What is hateful to you, do not unto others.” Hillel totters on one foot. “This is the whole message.” The soldier ponders the rapid response, swaying the spear in his hand.
The young maiden rises from her fallen position; she pushes the spear off the teacher’s chest with a daring, fronting up against the Roman soldier in a challenging stance. With her arms bent aback, she stands in front of the teacher, shielding him with her body protectively. In a flash Florian sways the point of his spear; it now rests on the Hebrew maiden’s heart, swaying in anticipation of a strike mode. She winces aback, then she returns determined and pressed on the sword.
“Have you no respect who stands before you!?” The young maiden demands, undaunted by the spear poised on her chest. Florian smirks; she spits off at him as the Roman grips his spear, swaying it assuredly. She dares him. The spear wavers in the air; the Jews jolt against spears held before them. A tension reigns. Then a hand lowers Florian’s spear to the ground.
“Withdraw soldier, let the Hebrews pass. And what… what is the name of the brave one?” There is a stark silence as Alexis pans the Jewess; her arms still bent aback protecting her teacher. Alexis appears transfixed on the maiden; her defiant eyes measuring his next move. She focuses on the spear lowered safely to the ground by Alexis’ hand.
“I am Deborah. House of Hur. Megiddo.” She responds defiantly.
“Rome will not do what is hateful to one with such valor.” Alexis dips his head, appearing friendly. “I am Alexander…” She engages him a beat of that name. “House of Matarian. To friends I am Alexis.”
The start silence is broken by Hillel. “There is wisdom and righteousness in all nations.”
The gaze of the Roman Road builder remains fastidiously impressed on the Hebrew maiden. The maiden displays disdain of the Romans, pointedly at Florian, as the procession of the Jews begins to withdraw and continue their journey. Alexis’ lingering glances remain on the cautiously retreating, sneering maiden.
The departing Jews engage in heated discourse among themselves.
Benjamin: “They made bath houses in Caesarea where men and women go in together with no covering!?”
Hillel focuses on Deborah, questioningly.
Dan: “The same will come to our holy places. We cannot be silent, can we Teacher?”
Young, fiery Boaz, barely 13: “I won’t be silent! I will join with the Sicarii!” He hurls his sling stone soaring into the horizon.
“I had the best chance to act.” Deborah responds to Hillel’s fixed gaze. “The men had spears before them. None on me because I fell to the floor.”
Hillel sways his face in negation. “But you did have a spear fixed on your heart – and we live now only by a Roman’s hand. A strange thing.”
“But Deborah saved us and our teacher!” The lad Boaz hurls another sling shot in the air. “That Roman made evil eyes on her – I’ll show him!”
***
At the Roman construction site, Alexis picks up a soft leather pouch fallen on the ground; he retreats to a private spot. He finds a parchment with Hebrew markings inside and a rose, pressed and still moist. He appears inspired and moved by this encounter, gripping her purse in his palm, inhaling the rose scent, focusing on the ancient writings. A strange thought comes to Alexis as he wonders who gave the rose to this maiden; now he gazes at his workers questioning. The soldiers are swaying their faces in disdain of Alexis. Florian appears insulted by his Master – he plunges his spear in the earth; it sways to and fro.
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