CHANGING
OF THE
GODS
C. Norman Noble
***
Changing of the Gods
Copyright © 2006, C. Norman Noble and Ironwood Publishing
All rights reserved
ISBN 13: 978-0-9786971-3-6
ISBN 10: 0-9786971-0-0
Smashwords Edition – 2012
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Published by Ironwood Publishing, Sun Lakes, Arizona
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E-Book Adaptations, 2012
***
The Canal at Corinth Today
The Corinth Canal intersects the Isthmus of Corinth, cutting a straight line through an uneven landmass that reaches a maximum height of 259 feet above sea level. The total length of the Canal is 6,933 yards.
Ancient writers relate that in 602 B.C., Periander, Tyrant of Corinth and one of the Seven Sages of Antiquity, was the first man to consider the possibility of opening a canal through the Isthmus. Periander gave up his plans, fearing the wrath of the gods.
In 307 B.C., Demetrios Poliorketes made up his mind to cut a naval passage through the Isthmus. He actually began excavations before he was talked out of continuing with it by Egyptian engineers who predicted that apparently different sea levels between the Corinthian and the Saronic Gulfs would inundate Aegina and nearby islands with the sea.
In Roman times—two and a half centuries after Poliorketes—Julius Caesar, in 44 B.C. and Caligula, in 37 B.C., again flirted with the idea. In 66 A.D., Nero reconsidered earlier plans and brought in teams of war prisoners from the Aegean islands and six thousand slave Jews to work on the canal. They dug out a ditch 3,300 meters in length and 40 meters wide before Nero had to rush back to Rome to quell the Galva mutiny. Subsequently, the unfinished canal fell to oblivion and was overtaken by tales of superstition and supernatural lore.
The next historic personality to be associated with the canal of Corinth was Herod of Atticus. He tried, as did the Byzantines and the Venetians—but all to no avail.
Another mammoth-scale canal project, the Suez Canal, opened its gates to naval traffic in 1869. In view of that event, the Greek government sought to proceed with their long-overlooked Corinth Canal project. The French started it for them. A Greek company finished it. And in 1893, the Corinth Canal opened, fulfilling a dream first conceived some 2,495 years before. It is quite surprising (and a historic irony) that modern engineering plans followed exactly the plans that Nero’s engineers had proposed so long ago. The 6,933 yards of canal length that Nero’s engineers had mapped out still proved to be the most feasible economic alternative.
***
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my wife DenisAnn, who presented me with good ideas when I had none and who encouraged me to write when golfing sounded better.
***
Foreword
To the best of my ability, I have preserved history in this novel as it actually unfolded. I have portrayed historical personalities and events just as my extensive research determined. Nero actually visited Corinth in 66 A.D. to commence the dig of the canal across the isthmus. The Imperial Court and the Roman army functioned as described. Food, clothing, furniture, buildings, palaces, housing, society, economy, city descriptions, schooling, marriage, worship, gods and goddesses, slaves, ships, jewelry, money, and names have been depicted accurately.
Of course, most of the characters are creations of mine. That's the nature of a novel. However, I believe my characters, had they been real, would have behaved in the ways I have portrayed.
For me, historical novels have always been special reading treats. I cut my teeth on Kenneth Roberts and F. Van Wyck Mason, who made the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Civil War become real through the lives of their characters and their faithfulness to describing actual events. I do not place myself in their company but at their feet.
C. Norman Noble
Sun Lakes, Arizona
May, 2006
***
An Introduction
to
Changing of the Gods
Major and Minor Characters:
Aemilius Calvus Lucius -– Son of Roman Legate and Jewess mother
Naomi -- Mother of Lucius
Aemilius Calvus Marcus -- Father of Lucius, Legate in charge of Korinthian Legion
Soterides -- Changed his name from Trophimus.
Herclides --Changed his name from Diodotus.
Paul -- Apostle who came to Corinth in 50 A.D. – left in 52 A.D.
Timothy --Disciple who came to Corinth in 56 A.D.
Nero -- Roman Emperor
Aulus Salvius Primus -- Best friend of Lucius
Sentia --Girl who captivates Lucius – then becomes his wife
Puer (Brennus) -- Male slave in the Calvus’ household – becomes the personal slave of Lucius
Quintus Sentius Scaevola -- The Tribunus Laticlavius, 2nd in command of the Legion, father of Sentia
Carantus -- Older brother of Lucius – killed in battle
Faustus Quinctius -- The Praefectus Castrorum, camp commandant
Messalina -- Jewess -- Wife of Belenus
Belenus – Jew, Moved from Roma with his wife Messalina
Opiter Nigidius -- Centurion who works for the Legate
Tribunus Publius Annius Sulla –- Tribune in the Legion
Artemidorus -- Man who knows Herclides’ background – becomes a partner
Caius Arrius Fortunatus -- Senator and friend of Gallio, Proconsul of Achaia, and of Sextus Afranius Burrus
Theodora -- Wife of Caius Arrius Fortunatus
Appulia -- Female slave of Theodora, wife of Fortunatus
Corsicus -- Slave in the household of Caius Arrius Fortunatus
Musculus -- Slave in the household of Caius Arrius Fortunatus
Bruttius -- Thief in Roman subura
Cnaeus Abudius -- Home where Lucius recovered from beating
Cnaeilla -- Daughter of Cnaeus Abudius
Titius Justus -- A worshipper of God
Crispus -- The chief synagogue ruler
Gallio -- Proconsul (governor) of Achaia – brother of Seneca
Erastus -- Korinthos’ Treasurer and a friend of the Apostle Paul
Seneca -- Philosopher-orator-playwright, and tutor of Nero
Sextus Afranius Burrus -- Prefect of the Praetorian Guard and advisor of Nero
Sosthenes –- Synagogue ruler
Tertius Cassianus Adventus -- Friend of Aemilius Calvus Marcus and canal investor
Vibius Talmudius Didicus -- The Lion of Thessaloniki – and investor in the canal
Amulius Papellius Dignus -- An investor in the canal project
Spurius Pomponius Gessius -- A non-investor in the canal project
Aconia Paulina --Married to Spurius Pomponius Gessius, the non-investor
Quadratus Nestorius Herenus -- An investor in the canal project
Centurion Oppius Nasennius -- He and his Century were aboard the Pollux.
Porphyrius -- Assistant to Gallio
Plocamus -- Former suitor of Sentia; threatened Lucius
Patroclos -- Shop owner in the Agora
Parmenides -- Ruffian; friend of Plocamus
Amandio -- Chamberlain in Lucius’ home
Dexippus -- Slave replaced Amandio as Chamberlain
Mithridates -- The banker who took the money from Soterides
Theodotus -- A banker who didn’t take the money
Parmenion -- Banker in Marathon
Tarautas -- Banker in Argos
Nicoteles -- Banker in Korinthos
Numerius Duronius -- A disliked schoolmate of Lucius
Periander -- Ruler and tyrant of Korinthos who proposed digging a canal across the Isthmus in 600 B.C. Instead, he constructed the Diolkos (towpath).
Demetrios Poliorketes -- A Greek who warned that digging the canal would cause flooding because the sea levels were different on either side of the Isthmus.
Quintius -- Legionnaire who killed Annius
Arria -- Wife of Puer (Brennus)
***
Glossary
Days of the Week
Solis (Sunday) – Sun
Lunae (Monday) – Moon
Martis (Tuesday) – Mars
Mercurii (Wednesday) – Mercury
Jovis (Thursday) – Jupiter
Veneris (Friday) – Venus
Saturni (Saturday) – Saturn
Roman Months of the Year
Janus, Roman god of doors, beginnings, sunset and sunrise, had one face looking forward and one backward. (January)
Februarius, Latin to purify. On February 15, the Romans celebrated the festival of forgiveness for sins. (February)
Martius, Mars was the Roman god of war. (March)
Aprilis, perhaps derived from aperire, (Latin to open, as in opening buds and blossoms) or perhaps from Aphrodite, original Greek name of Venus. (April)
Maius, Roman goddess Maia was mother of Mercury by Jupiter and daughter of Atlas. (May)
Junius, named after Juno, queen of the gods. (June)
Julius, renamed for Julius Caesar in 44 BC, who was born this month.
Quintilis, Latin for fifth month, was the former name—the Roman year began in March rather than January. (July)
Augustus, formerly Sextilis (sixth month in the Roman calendar), re-named in 8 BC for Caesar Augustus. (August)
Septem, Latin for seven—the seventh month in the Julian or Roman calendar, established in the reign of Julius Caesar. (September)
Octo, Latin for eight—eighth month in the Julian calendar. The Gregorian calendar instituted by Pope Gregory XIII established January as the first month of the year. (October)
Novem, Latin for nine—ninth Roman month. (November)
Decem, Latin for tenth month. (December)
Some of the Roman Gods and Goddesses
The Romans inherited and assimilated their gods and goddesses from the Ancient Greeks.
Apollo was the god of the arts, especially poetry and music.
Bacchus (Dionysos) was the god of wine and mysteries.
Diana (Artemis) was the goddess of the hunt and protector of children.
Juno (Hera) was the goddess of marriage; consort of Jupiter.
Jupiter (Zeus) was the god of the sky; ruler of the Roman pantheon.
Mars (Ares) was the god of war.
Mercury (Hermes) was the god of merchants; messenger of the gods; god of travel.
Minerva (Athena) was the goddess of wisdom, war, and crafts.
Neptune (Poseidon) was the god of the sea and earthquakes.
Venus (Aphrodite) was the goddess of love and beauty.
Vulcan (Hephaistos) was the god of smiths and metalworkers.
Latin/Greek Words and Places
Korinthos = Corinth.
Roma = Rome.
Lechæum = Port on western shore of Korinthos Isthmus – about 3 km from Corinth.
Cenchreæ = Port on eastern shore of Saronic Gulf – about 6.5 miles from Corinth.
Peloponnese = Peninsula where Korinthos is located.
Mare Nostrum = Mediterranean Sea.
Aegaeum Mare = Aegean Sea.
Scutum = Long curved rectangular shield carried by Roman soldiers
Testudo = A massive human shield which provided armored protection with good coverage for soldiers.
Gladius = Short, double-edged thrusting sword.
Pilum = A standard weapon of legionnaires. It had an iron head connected by a long, thin neck to an iron socket into which the wooden shaft was fitted. The head of the pilum penetrated the enemy shield and the soft neck bent over the shield, making the shield useless.
Diolkos = A marble roadway (towpath) constructed so that ships could be unloaded onto wheeled barges and towed from the eastern port of Cenchreae, in the Saronic gulf, to the western port of Lechæum, in the Corinthian gulf.
Akrokorinthos = the imposing mountain that framed the city of Korinthos, standing sentinel to invaders from the south.
Lumen totius Graeciae -- the light of all Greece = what Korinthos was called by the Greeks.
Popina = a tavern.
Carcer = prison.
Roman Money
2 unciae = 1 sextan
6 sextantes = 1 as
2 asses = 1 dupondius
2 dupondii = 1 sestertius
4 sestertii = 1 denarius
25 denarii = 1 aureus (plural = aurei)
***
Prologue
In The Twelfth Year Of Nero
The bustling, cosmopolitan city of Korinthos, five times the size of Athens, was one hundred years young, unprejudiced by any single, dominant religious or intellectual tradition. The city was populated with a mix of displaced persons, generally without strong ethnic identities, all seeking to discard their former low stations in life by achieving social honor and material success.
In the heart of the city was the Forum, filled with temples and shrines venerating the Emperor, Nero, and various members of his family, built alongside statues and temples dedicated to the older Greek gods; along with a pantheon built by the a former Roman Emperor, Tiberius, to please all gods, lest any be offended.
“I enjoy Korinthos now, Primus,” Aemilius Calvus Lucius said to his best friend as they walked away from their tutor’s home into the city. “When we moved here from Roma three years ago, I thought my father was being punished by the Emperor. Roma is the capital of the world; I felt that Korinthos was no better than an outpost. But then I was only fourteen years old—and I thought like a fourteen year old.”
“Had you read nothing about Korinthos?”
“I knew that the Roman Consul Mummius leveled the city, looted and burned it two hundred years ago. I knew that he killed the men and sold the women and children into slavery. And I knew that one hundred years ago, Julius Caesar ordered its reconstruction. I knew there was a Roman Legion stationed here, but I did not expect the city to be so modern.”
“Lucius, as the son of the Legate, the supreme commander of the Korinthian Legion, didn’t you think that your life here in the outpost, as you called it, would be pleasant?”
“To be honest, I gave it no thought. All I knew was that I didn’t want to leave Roma.”
Primus scoffed and shook his head. “I guess being fourteen is an excuse, but it is not the best I have heard.”
“As my best friend, you are supposed to encourage me, not mock me.” Lucius tried his best to look fierce, succeeding only in making a funny face.
“No, my job is to challenge you to do your best through all available means. It is not my fault that you give me opportunities like this one. However, I will give you this; today you are older and wiser than you were three years ago. You are no longer doing and thinking childish things. For example, you have excelled in your studies, proving that you are smart and dedicated. In three months, we will leave school and become Roman citizens. We have unlimited opportunities ahead of us. So what plans have you made for your future?” Primus chewed on a leaf he had plucked from a tree as he walked alongside his friend.
Lucius fell silent for a moment, and then answered, “I have none. I thought I would do nothing for a time—just enjoy having no responsibilities.”
“I see,” said Primus, who didn’t.
“What about you, Primus? Do you have plans?” Lucius was anxious to turn the attention away from himself.
A smile crossed Primus’ face. “I plan to prepare for the games. I want to compete in the pentathlon—running, discus, long jump, javelin, and wrestling. It is something I have always wanted to do.” Turning to Lucius with an idea that had just occurred to him, he said, “Why don’t you compete in wrestling? You are very good. I think you could win a medal.”
“Thank you, no. Right now, that is more work than I wish to do.”
He shook his head. “Lucius, you will have to come up with some plan. I expect your father will pick something for you if you don’t.”
Lucius pondered the suggestion, biting his lower lip. “That is something I do not want. Father wants me to follow his example. He wants me to be a soldier like he is, like my brother was.” His eyes were distant as he shook his head. “I am proud of my father, and I want him to be proud of me . . . but not because I am in his Legion.” He made a face. “I want him to be proud of me because I have accomplished things on my own.”
As they rounded a corner of the Temple of Apollo and headed for the Agora, a nemesis from earlier school days, Numerius Duronius, rapidly approached them. “There you are, Lucius. I have been looking for you.” His voice was loud, his manner pushy.
Lucius stiffened and was not overly gracious in his response. “Why?” He faced Duronius with a sense of dread that he couldn’t explain.
“You took something of mine today . . .”—his lips curled menacingly—“and I want it back.” His face was fat, his olive skin burnished with a reddish glow from long exposure to the warm Korinthian sun.
“Duronius, the suggestion that I would have taken something of yours is ridiculous. There is absolutely nothing of yours that I would ever want. As for taking something today, that, too, is ridiculous. Ask Primus.” He looked toward his friend with a puzzled look. “He and I have been together since early this morning.”
“That’s true, Duronius.” Primus nodded his head in agreement. “We have been with our tutor studying military tactics and rhetoric.”
“It was at your tutor’s home that you stole it.”
“And what was that?”
“His daughter.”
“His daughter? That mousy little girl? You think I stole her from you?” Lucius laughed. “I did not steal this child from you. I have barely noticed her, except to know that she has no appeal to me.”
“Perhaps.”
“There is no perhaps about it. I have no interest in her. To think otherwise is to foolishly exercise your imagination. You are dim-witted, Duronius. That’s something you can’t help, and that’s a burden you will bear the rest of your life. As for the girl, she is a burden I gladly give to you.”
Duronius’s mouth moved, but at first no sound came out. Then he said through compressed teeth, “You call me dim-witted. I do not take your insults lightly.” He squeezed his fists together threateningly.
Lucius’ eyes bore into those of his accuser. “Before you clench your fists, be certain you know your opponent.” He studied his adversary for a moment before continuing, wanting to produce the greatest impact. Then, drawing out his words, he said in a steely tone, “You have proven, Duronius, without room for doubt, that a person can overcome being born ugly. You are dismal, hairy, meaty-lipped, with an appearance that frightens children. Yet here you are, pretending strength you don’t possess.” He stared at him. “I commend you.”
Duronius’ mouth dropped open. He had been insulted before, but never so successfully. “You will regret saying that, Lucius.” He backed away, thinking that flight might be in his best interest.
“My only regret,” sneered Lucius, “is that I have waited this long to let you know what I think.” He stomped his right foot on the ground and moved aggressively toward Duronius, who turned and began running into the Agora.
“That felt good,” Lucius said as he watched his adversary disappear behind a meat stall.
“Shame on you, Lucius. You’re supposed to be even-tempered.”
“Really? Well, it felt good, anyway.” He grinned.
"Duronius is an idiot,” Primus observed. “He thinks he is smart, but he is an idiot. He wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped him in the face. He has no concept of what is true and what isn’t. I remember one time he accidentally stumbled over a truth. As good fortune would have it, he was able to pick himself up and hurry on as if nothing had taken place."
Lucius exploded in laughter.
***
Chapter 1
De Minimis Non Curat Lex
(The law takes no
account of trifles)
Diodotus crouched above the wet floor, staring at the wall. “We die tomorrow, Trophimus. They will shove us into the arena and we will die.” Tears formed, although it was difficult to see them in the near darkness of the dungeon. “I don’t want to die, Trophimus.” He looked at his co-conspirator and fellow prisoner with a look of despair. “It’s your fault. I didn’t want to be involved in your scheme.” It was almost a whimper. “I was content with stealing from ordinary merchants. You said we should think bigger. And look what it did to us. Instead of simple punishment where the law takes little account of what we do, we are condemned to die.”
“Get a hold of yourself, Diodotus.” The swarthy Greek moved closer, sloshing through ankle-deep water. It was dank and musty and smelled like wet dirt. He whispered, “You are not going to die, because we are escaping from this prison tonight.”
“How?” There was scorn in the frightened man’s voice. “How? The walls of this pit are solid stone. The guards have weapons. If we escape, they will be killed. That’s the law of the Legion. They will fight to the death to keep us here.”
“Others will help us to escape.”
Hicesius limped closer as he overheard Trophimus and his brother arguing, “And why will they do that?” he muttered, mockingly.
“Because they are fools. And because they will have no idea what is happening.”
“You need to explain.” The two others spoke almost in unison.
“Just follow my lead. We are going to start a fight. Not just a fight, a brawl. We are going to hit every man within reach. Not just one, every man,” he emphasized. “Every prisoner in here is going to be fighting before we are finished. Sooner or later, the guards will come in to stop it. When they do, that is when we will make our escape—while they are distracted.”
“But where will we go when we get out?” Hicesius asked. “We are rather well known in Piraeus.”
“You are right, Hicesius. Not here in Piraeus, that is for certain. We must go where we will not be recognized, preferably to large cities where we can get lost in the crowds. To be safe, we need to split up, at least for a few months. Then we can get back together. I have thought about this for a while. I plan to go to Thessaloniki. It’s far enough away that I can vanish. I think you should go to Cappadocia, Diodotus.”
“I am not going all the way to Cappadocia. That’s too far, and I know nothing about the culture there.”
“All right, where would you like to go?”
“Korinthos. I was there once and liked the city. The people come from everywhere—Greek, Roman, Thracian—everywhere. Besides, I like Korinthos’ reputation.”
“Which is?”
“It’s a city where anything goes, including sacred prostitutes in the temple of Aphrodite on the Akrokorinthos.”
“Then that’s where you should go.” He nodded as if confirming his own thought on the subject.
“As for you, Hicesius, you should go to Delphi. It isn’t too far, yet it’s far enough away from hereto make me doubt that anyone would look for you there.”
“You say it is not far, but it is over one hundred miles. With my bad leg, it will take a long time.” His voice whined, as it frequently did.
“No one said you had to walk. Steal a horse. Find someone who will take you in their wagon.” Trophimus frowned at his brother’s constantly negative attitude. “The point is, you must go where you will not be recognized.” Then he added, “After three months, we will all meet in Korinthos. That sounds like the perfect place to begin our new venture.”
“And that would be?” Diodotus asked.
“I have no idea. It will come to me. Now, let us look after the business at hand.”
The tiny room held thirty prisoners, all of whom had been condemned to death, some by strangulation, some by starvation, and some in the arena. The low ceiling held in the horrible, vile smells caused by men confined for days. It wouldn’t be difficult to begin a riot under these conditions.
Trophimus struck the first blow, hitting a man who was standing next to him. Diodotus did the same to the man next to him. Hicesius quickly followed suit. As others crowded around to watch the fights, it was easy to involve them all. Soon, everyone was fighting everyone. Without knowing the reason for the fight, the action became vicious, then frighteningly cruel. Eyes were poked, ears were bitten and torn. Some were having life squeezed out of them. Trophimus experienced almost sadistic joy in the battle, while Diodotus tasted bile in his throat. Hicesius cowered on the outskirts of the battle, fearing for his life.
The heavy iron door creaked open and four well-armed Roman legionnaires charged down the steps, all of them swinging their swords indiscriminately. Screams, more penetrating than before, erupted as blades tore into flesh. Within moments, the fight became a scene of carnage as ill-equipped prisoners fought with battle-trained legionnaires.
Trophimus yelled at Diodotus and Hicesius, “Now.” With his signal, the three of them raced for the doorway and the narrow staircase that led away from the chaos, away from the darkness and stench of their prison. One legionnaire stood at the top of the stairs, peering down at the melee below. With one blow to the throat, Trophimus dispatched this guardian and the escape was complete.
Once outside, Diodotus felt a temporary exhilaration of the escape, knowing that death would not come the next morning. Trophimus was jubilant as he turned and looked back toward the prison. Suddenly, he said, “Where’s Hicesius?”
“I don’t know,” Diodotus said. “He was right behind me as we ran for the stairs.”
“Well, he’s not out here. He must be back in the prison.”
Diodotus’ face showed panic. “I’m going back,” he said. “I can’t leave him there.”
“You go back and you will stay. If Hicesius is not with us, he didn’t make it up the stairs.”
“But he’s your brother.”
“And he is dead.”
Reality then set in. There was little time left to complete their getaway. There would be time for remorse later. In the meantime, the living must care for the living.
Pledging to meet in Korinthos after three months, as arranged, they parted and melted into the dark night, Diodotus heading for the Letionea Gate, Trophimus toward the Astikos Pylon and Gate.
***
Chapter 2
The month of Junius, 66 A.D.
It had been a strange and stormy spring, just as it had each year for three years in a row. The harsh weather had all but abolished foot traffic between Athens and Korinthos. Even now, a month after the weather had turned sunny and bright, passage was difficult as rocks and boulders littered the roadway. Small hills were studded with both small and huge boulders; some half-buried, some exposed in the soil. Olive groves and grapevines appeared everywhere.
For the third time that day, he stumbled, falling onto the stone-strewn trail. Sharp rocks again scraped his knees, causing broken skin and bleeding even through the tunic that dropped to his ankles. He vowed to watch the pathway more closely instead of gazing across the bay toward Korinthos. The sun was high in the sky, and if he did not cripple himself from falling he felt certain he could reach the city before the next nightfall.
“Are you all right?” his companion asked.
“My pride is hurt. Everything else is repairable. It has been a long walk from Athens.” He brushed himself off. “I must be tired, else I would pay better attention.”
He stooped to pick up his staff before resuming the walk. The Grecian sun was hot. The air was humid, and sweat rolled down his forehead, mixing with the dust that clung to his skin. If it were not for the delicate scent of the many citrus trees in bloom, the day would have been almost unbearable.
Above, a tiny bird sat on a nearby branch warbling a happy tune. “What kind of bird is that?” Timothy asked.
“I have no idea. I know it is neither a vulture, nor an eagle. Does that help?” His companion grinned. “I am afraid I am no expert on birds. They chirp. I barely listen.”
“You are missing much. They bring joy to the listener.”
“Perhaps. I just make certain that I am not looking up when they are passing overhead. I do not consider what they have to share as joy.”
Timothy smiled and fell silent, concentrating once again on the trail.
Perhaps thirty minutes later, his companion broke the silence. “I am making this long journey to Korinthos to make a new start, but you never told me why you are going there. Do you go to meet family?’
“No family.” His dark brown eyes looked intently at the man who strode beside him. “I know but two people there.” He pressed his fingers against his cropped hair.
“Why do you make the journey?” The Greek named Herclides returned the gaze, marveling that someone so bowlegged would even venture the torturous eighty miles along the coast. To be certain, this little man looked strong, but his legs were not meant for hiking over such rough terrain.
“God has asked that I come.”
“Which god?” Herclides wanted to know. “Mercury, the god of travel?”
“The only true God,” was the reply.
“Jupiter? The supreme god Jupiter asked you to come?”
Nearby, sheep grazed peacefully in a pasture under the watchful care of a shepherd. The man slowed his pace, placing his hand upon Herclides’ shoulder. “No, my friend; Elohim, God of the universe, directs my path. Like that shepherd there,” he said, pointing up the hill. “God watches over us, seeking nothing but our best. In ancient writings, it says that the Lord is our shepherd and we will want for nothing.”
“I have never heard of Elohim. What is his Greek name?”
“He has none, but some call Him Jehovah. The man I follow, Paul, told me to look for an altar in Athens that is dedicated to Him—the unknown god. Four years ago, Paul met with the Areopagus at Mars Hill and told this council about Him. The altar was where he said it was. Nothing had changed; there was just the acknowledgement that an unknown god existed. I think Greeks are afraid of offending a god they are not aware of.”
Herclides smiled. “Tell me about this Jehovah.” The two stopped their travel and sought refuge under a nearby olive tree. The cool grass was welcome. The shade was merciful.
Once settled on the ground, Timothy began. “I will tell you what Paul told the council. Jehovah is the lord of heaven and earth. He made the world and everything that is in it. There are no other gods before Him.”
“You cannot be serious,” Herclides interrupted. “Besides Jupiter and Mercury, there are Juno and Neptune and Saturn and Minerva and Mars and Venus.” He motioned toward the sky with his arms. “How can you say there are no other gods but Jehovah?”
“Because the names you just mentioned are parts of legends that have been passed down from generation to generation. They are not real. My God is not only real, I have proof. I have seen His miracles. I have felt His presence. His Spirit guides me.”
Herclides made a face and scoffed at the suggestion. “Surely, you don’t believe that Adonis, Apollo, Poseidon and Atlas are illusions of the mind? What about Artemis, Zeus, Aphrodite and Pegasus? Do you think they are fantasies?”
“They are all false. There is no other God.”
“You say you have proof. Show me your proof.”
The man drew the symbol of a fish in the dirt. “Look at this,” he said. “This is the sign of a Christian.”
“You draw a fish—Icthus—in the dirt? What can this possibly mean?”
“Icthus represents five words: Jesus, Christ, God’s, Son, Savior—the first letter of each word in Greek—which spells Icthus.”
“I have seen this symbol before.”
“You will see it more often. Many people are coming to believe that Jesus is God’s Son and that He lived and died and was resurrected to live again.”
“No man can die and live again.”
“No, no man. But God’s Son can . . . and did.”
“You believe this nonsense?”
The man carefully smoothed his tunic as if giving himself time to collect his thoughts. Then he said, “Let me tell you my story.”
“I come from Lystra in Lycaonia. My mother is a Jewess. My father is Greek. Several years ago, this man who I now follow came to Lystra and told us about God’s Son and proclaimed that He is the Messiah—the anointed one whom we have been expecting for centuries. Paul told us how he had met Jesus and came to believe. He told us how Jesus had healed the sick, made the lame to walk, cast out demons, and given sight to the blind. He told us that he had been crucified by the Romans in Jerusalem.”
“What was his crime?” Herclides’ interest grew.
“He claimed to be the Son of God.”
“I thought you said that he was.”
“He was, but many did not believe it at the time, including Paul. So when He was crucified and His disciples said that He had been raised from the dead, Paul felt it was necessary to oppose what he believed to be a lie. The Chief Priest authorized Paul to capture the heretics and imprison them. This he did energetically. In his obsession against them, he even went to foreign cities to arrest them.
“On one of these journeys, he was on his way to Damascus when suddenly he saw a light from heaven, brighter than the sun. He and his followers fell to the ground, blinded by the light. He heard a voice saying, ‘Saul, why do you persecute Me?’ He didn’t know who was speaking. He saw no one. So the voice continued, saying, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. Stand up. I have appeared to appoint you as a servant and as a witness of what you have seen of Me and what I will show you. I am sending you to the Gentiles to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light.’ So Paul stood, but he was still blinded. Others led him to Damascus, where he recovered.”
“This voice came from the man who had been crucified?” Herclides asked incredulously. “Then he did not die.”
“That is the miracle I told you about. He died and was raised from the dead on the third day by God, His Father.”
“You know this without question?”
“Without question. Paul was there when the Chief Priests ordered all who witnessed Jesus’ resurrection to spread the word that it was a lie.”
Herclides got to his feet and then reached down his hand to help up the man who had told him this story. “Perhaps you should tell me more of this god of yours. It seems I have nothing but time right now.”
Lucius awoke to brilliant sunshine flooding his bedroom. He should have been up hours before, but today was his eighteenth birthday, and his mother let him sleep. This was the day when he became of age. Coming of age, becoming a citizen, was cause for quite a celebration. Later that day, he would wear a white tunic with a crimson border, with his father making final adjustments. No longer would he wear childish clothes. The day would end with a dinner party, given by his father, in honor of the newest citizen in the Roman Empire.
Today was the day he would remove his bulla—the locket placed around his neck at birth—and set it aside. His mother already had a place of honor where it would be displayed. She had told him that he could wear his bulla again, if he won special honors, as his father had done. Tonight, at the party, his father would wear his own bulla because of his military successes and to protect him from the evil jealousy of men or gods, she explained.
Manhood meant the end of school. No more reading, writing and counting. No more Latin, Greek, grammar, history, military tactics and literature. No more studying public speaking at rhetoric school. Lucius had been a good student, paying particular attention to military tactics and strategy. Not that he wanted to be a soldier. He was just fascinated with the genius of warfare. On a par with his studies, he was an accomplished athlete, excelling in the discus and wrestling.
This was going to be a good day. He knew it. But then, he thought, every day is a good day.
Legatus Legionis Aemilius Calvus Marcus, head of the Roman Legion in Korinthos, barked orders to his new Centurion, Opiter Nigidius. Nigidius quick-stepped into his leader’s office and saluted, pounding his right fist onto his chest. “You called, Legate?”
“Assemble the Tribuni.”
“Immediately, Legate. But Tribunus Publius Annius Sulla sailed from Cenchreae to Piraeus early this morning. He will not be here.”
The Legate nodded. “I sent him to meet with the Praetorian Prefect of Greece. There is a threat of insurrection in Macedonia, and Roma is concerned. I need his assessment as to how this should be handled.” Then, waving his aide away, he added, “I want the other nine here within the hour.”
“It shall be done.” Centurion Nigidius moved smartly to carry out the command.
Next to the celebrated 10th Legion, made famous by Julius Caesar and now moving into Palestine, the Legion in Korinthos was the largest in the Roman army. It was composed of 6,000 infantry and cavalry, divided into ten cohorts of 600 men, each cohort divided into six centuries of 100 men.
Korinthos controlled the communication of Peloponnese with mainland Greece. It was this position that made her the richest commercial city in Greece. Korinthos’ maritime experts were also the innovators and master builders of commercial and military vessels. As the capital of the province of Achaia, it was a city of social, cultural, and religious diversity.
It occupied a strategic position on the only road from northern to southern Greece and was the site of an almost impregnable fortress. It was located in the middle of a very fertile land and, with its two harbors—Cenchreæ to the east on the Saronic Gulf, and Lechæum to the west on the Gulf of Korinthos—it was a crucial outpost of Roma.
This strategic value was the reason why Legatus Legionis Aemilius Calvus Marcus had been assigned to this post three years earlier. Roma considered him among the brightest and best of its senior officers. He had repeatedly proved himself in battle as both a fighter and a military strategist. Trim, with the look of a gladiator and handsome, with the appearance of lesser god, his destiny was to be a provisional governor. Even the Emperor had said that.
Lucius wanted to skip breakfast, but he knew his mother would not allow this. “This is the most important meal of the day,” she told him repeatedly. She, of course, was the only one who held this view. Every man knew that dinner was the main meal, therefore the most important. However, he knew he had no choice but to eat before heading to the Forum. Today he might be officially a man, but his mother was still his mother.
The atrium was already warm when he went there for his meal. The household slaves had spread cheese, fruits, and bread on a low-standing table. His father had long since eaten and had left for the garrison. His mother was somewhere in the house; he could hear her singing. He would eat alone, and that was fine with him. He sprawled onto a convenient cushion.
Lucius looked around for the honey that he liked to use to sweeten his food. There was none and he called for Puer to bring him some. His food had already been cut so that he could eat with his fingers. Nearby was a wet towel to clean up after the meal. Puer appeared with the sweetener, bowed, and left him to the relative quiet of the morning.
A tiny warbler chirped cheerfully in the acacia tree, and Lucius smiled. “I am happy, too,” he said, stuffing the last of the bread in his mouth. “It is going to be a good day.”
He had seen her several times in the marketplace. She appeared demure and quite shy. On one occasion, he had caught her glancing at him, but as soon as he returned her gaze she hid behind her slave, who was busy bargaining with a butcher. Only the other morning, he had stopped at the bakery to buy a pancake, and she had been in the shop. Of all the girls he had ever seen, she was perhaps the prettiest, with a graceful figure, raven hair that hung to her shoulders, and smooth skin and the face of a goddess. And those eyes! Those emerald-green, romantic and hopeful eyes! He imagined they were the immediate captivation of every man she met.
He had been tempted to follow her home that day, just to see where she lived, but he lost his nerve when her Nubian slave glared at him as he sauntered by the two of them for the third time.
So he couldn’t believe his eyes when she appeared at the party given in his honor that evening. She arrived with Quintus Sentius Scaevola, the Tribunus Laticlavius, his father’s second-in-command, and his wife. Again, she hung back, hiding behind the lady whom Lucius presumed was her mother. Even as introductions were made, her eyes were cast down, avoiding his. He learned that her name was Sentia and that she and her family moved from Roma earlier that year. Her father had been assigned to this Legion, under the tutelage of his father, as a career move to enhance his position as a future senator.
At sixteen, Sentia was old enough to marry. Probably the reason she was single was the family’s move from Roma to Korinthos. Would-be suitors had been discouraged. So it was that her mother seemed to look upon Lucius with interest. He was a handsome young man with an athletic body, not unlike those who played in the games. His olive complexion spoke to the blending of his Roman father and Hebrew mother. It was a good combination, she thought. And best of all, he was the son of Korinthos’ leading family.
For a moment, she was distracted from her mission when two half-idiot dwarfs, who had been hired to keep everyone laughing, pulled on her gown and pranced around her, making silly sounds and faces. She shooed them away, then asked, “Lucius, what will you do now that you are a citizen? Will you follow your father into the military?”
He frowned at the thought. “I do not think I want to be a soldier.”
She pressed on, moving her daughter closer to the circle. “What do you think you would like to do?”
“I have given thought to one day becoming a senator—a member of the Patres Conscripti.” He wished the questioning would end, although he enjoyed the opportunity to stand so closely to the beautiful Sentia. Then, for the sake of levity he added, “Or maybe Emperor.”
“That is a worthy ambition, don’t you think so, Sentia?” She nudged her daughter for a response.
“Yes, Mother.” Her bright green eyes once again were downcast, and she fidgeted anew.
“Well, I need to join my husband,” she said to Lucius, signaling to her daughter that she should remain. “You two get better acquainted.” She nodded affirmatively to a frowning Sentia and walked away toward a gathering of adults.
It was Lucius’ turn to be uncomfortable. He hadn’t spent much time around girls. “I saw you at the marketplace the other day.” He grinned sheepishly.
“Did you?” She seemed to feign unawareness. He was positive she had seen him.
“I am certain it was you. You were with your slave at the bakery. I was there buying a pancake. I smiled at you, but you hid behind your slave.”
“I do not remember.”
“Well, I do . . . and you did.”
“Did what?”
“Hide.”
She looked around the room as if seeking a way of escape. He seemed to be courting, and she appeared uncomfortable. “Have you seen my father?” she asked.
“He is over there, talking to my father,” he said, nodding in the direction of a cluster of officers standing near the large table of food that had been prepared. It was difficult to make him out because of the dancers and jugglers who were competing for space among the guests.
“I know I am making you nervous, and I do not want to do that. I am perhaps as nervous as you are. Talking to pretty girls is not my specialty. But I would like to know you better . . . if that is all right with you. Maybe we could meet sometime at the marketplace. Without your slave. We could sit near the forum and listen to the orators make their claims.” He looked at her intently.
“Perhaps I will be there tomorrow . . . around two o’clock.” She smiled the prettiest smile he thought he had ever seen.
“Perhaps I will be there, too.” He watched her flee to her mother’s side.
Lucius’ father gave a proud speech. He talked about his son’s scholarly achievements, particularly in the military sciences, and he bragged about his athletic prowess and his skill as a horseman. During most of his speech—Lucius thought it was more of an oration—he praised his son for the man he had become while tracing the path he had taken to arrive at this milestone. Throughout, Lucius kept his head bowed, wishing that the torment would be over. Once he glanced up and looked at his father. Tears had formed in the older man’s eyes as he spoke passionately. Then, mercifully, it was over. Legatus Legionis Aemilius Calvus Marcus nodded at his son and motioned him to come forward. “Today is the day I have awaited with eagerness,” he said with pleasure in his voice. “Today is the day that commissions you as a man, no longer a boy. I foresee great things ahead for you. You will do me, you will do your mother, and you will do Roma proud. Congratulations, my son.” With that, he took the white toga with its crimson border from his wife’s arms and placed it around his son’s shoulders.
“And I have one other gift for you this evening.” His normally staunch face broke into a smile. “Your mother and I have observed the bond that has formed between you and my personal slave, Puer. He is six years older than you and capable of providing wise counsel. He is strong, loyal and honest and has been a trusted member of this household since he was a child.” The Legate motioned for Puer to step forward from where he stood in the shadows. His toga clung to his powerfully built body. Whenever he moved his arms, his biceps bulged.
“Tonight, I place Puer in your custody. He will be your companion and your sentinel. He will serve you as he has served me.” Puer stepped closer and gave his new master a salute by extending his arm, grasping the forearm of Lucius with his hand and squeezing. Lucius squeezed back.
“Father, I do not know what to say. This is the best present you could have ever given me.” He smiled his inimitable smile. “Thank you.”
The ceremony was officially over, but the party continued into the night. As much as he tried, Lucius never had the opportunity to speak to Sentia again. She was sheltered by her mother and then whisked away about an hour later.
The next day took forever to arrive. At least, so it seemed to Lucius. He awoke at dawn so that he could properly prepare for his appointment with Sentia at the forum later that day. He went out onto his balcony and looked down at the courtyard, watching the kitchen slaves as they laid out the morning meal. He turned to dress for the day, accompanied by a warm breeze that flowed into the room. Another good day, he thought. He was ravenous and hurried to fill his stomach.
Moments later, he was enjoying breakfast alone when his father’s voice disrupted the solitude. “Lucius, it is good you are up at a decent hour. You will accompany me to the garrison this morning.” Lucius was startled by the interruption and distressed at the news. He knew better than to ask his father why, but he knew it foretold nothing good.
“You want me to go with you this morning?” He thought it best to confirm what he had just heard. Maybe he misunderstood. As if his father ever misspoke his mind.
“You are to meet with my camp commandant, Faustus Quinctius, the Praefectus Castrorum.”
“Father?” He was puzzled and worried, all at the same time. “Why, father?” He couldn’t stop the question from blurting out of his mouth.
“I am Aemilius Calvus Marcus, Commander of the Korinthos Legion, loyal servant to the true Emperor, Nero.” His father’s voice was loud and angry. “I am also your father, your supreme leader. You dare challenge me?”
“No, Father. I do not challenge you. I merely ask why.” Lucius did not recall ever having been this frightened before, probably because he had never before been so bold. While he had always been afraid of his father, it was more based on healthy respect of his power over him than on actual fear. Still, he continued, “I have spoken to Centurion Quinctius only once, and that was when I came to see you and he was in your office.” He gulped at the pomegranate that was stuck in his throat. “I was just surprised. Why do you want me to meet with him?”
“It is time you learned of military matters. We are a military family, and I want you to consider the opportunity of becoming a member of my Legion.” His eyes penetrated deeply into those of his son’s.
“But Father . . .”
“We are not having a discussion, Lucius. Put on your sandals. I am already late.” Then noticing Puer standing nearby at the ready, he added, “It will not be necessary for Puer to accompany you today. This will just be for you.”
Legion headquarters was, as usual, a beehive of activity. Lucius and his father threaded their way through a maze of military personnel, plea-bargaining lawyers, newly-released drunks, sniveling merchants seeking favors, and Greek philosophers bent on transforming the Empire to something else—anything else. A unique cacophony echoed through the halls. Lucius had never heard it anywhere else. But he always heard it here.
“Sit on that bench,” his father directed. Lucius sat. His father entered his office and closed the door. Moments later, his head appeared, shouting for Nigidius, his aide. Nigidius entered and emerged almost immediately, hurrying down the hall. Less than two minutes later, a Centurion rushed past Lucius, knocked and entered the Legate’s office. Lucius continued to wait. Finally, after thirty minutes or more, the sounds of chairs scraping the floor suggested the meeting in the next room was over. Voices became louder as they approached the door.
Legatus Legionis Aemilius Calvus Marcus opened the door and ushered the Centurion in to the anteroom where Lucius was waiting. His father motioned to him to join them. “Lucius, I would like you to meet a former member of the Praetorian Guard, now on his way to join the Augustus Band in Judea. This is Centurion Julius, who was the Primus Pilus—senior centurion of the Guard.” Then, turning toward the Centurion, he said, “This is my son, Lucius.” The Centurion stiffened briefly and brought his clenched right fist hard against his leather breastplate. Lucius acknowledged the formal salute with a courteous nod. He was not military and there was no need for him to return the salute in kind. “I’m pleased to meet you, Centurion. Do you bring any exciting news from Roma?”
His father quickly answered in behalf of his visitor. “Centurion Julius has been directed to meet with the commanders of all Roman Legions between Roma and Judea to alert them that Christians—a sect of the Jews—are stirring up trouble, not only in Judea but throughout the Empire. For the most part, we Romans are tolerant of local gods. But there is something unseemly and disturbing about this new cult. The Emperor himself has had to banish these Christians from Roma, so troublesome were they.”
“Do they pose a political threat to the Empire?” Lucius wanted to know.
“None that we have been able to detect,” Julius answered. “And as a matter of fact, my observations have been quite the opposite. I have known a few Christians, and their aspirations seem far removed from political.” He paused and bit his inner lip. “May I speak frankly?” He looked at the Legate.
“You may.”
“Well, I feel the Emperor is just in need of a new cause to strengthen his hold on the people.”
“What does this mean?” Calvus asked in a half-challenge.
“Well, sir, without a cause for the people to rally behind, I fear the Emperor worries about his popularity. It has been long since proven that if the people fear something to the point of hating it, the power rests in the hands of the one who can combat that fear. It has been several years since the conquest of Britannia. The Empire thrives on war. I believe that the Emperor—or at least his advisors—sees the Christians as the source for a new Roman campaign, and this time it is from within the Empire. We do not have to send Legions to foreign lands. Instead, we can combat the enemy right here at home. It is most convenient.”
Calvus was now frowning. “You realize the implications that you raise, do you not, Julius?”
“Indeed, sir. And were it not that I trust you implicitly, I would not have said a word. But mark my words, the day is not far off when this promoted fear of Christians will be converted into hate, and when that happens, Roma will see a bloodbath unlike any seen before.”
“Then you do believe the situation is political,” Lucius stated, intently.
“No, I believe the Christians are content to live in peace and content to serve the Emperor so long as they are free to worship their risen Messiah, as he is called. The bloodbath will be one-sided under the sponsorship of Roma.”
Lucius stiffened. “Come now, Centurion, you can’t seriously expect me to believe that Romans are such barbarians, nor can you convince me that we suddenly care who anyone worships. We pay no heed to gods, and if others wish to be superstitious, that is their concern. I cannot accept what you say.”
Julius turned to the Legate. “Your son not only speaks his mind, he speaks it well. For a young man such as he, I hold much for his future.”
The compliment sat well with Calvus, and he smiled his approval even before he spoke. “My son may be only eighteen years old, but he has been trained in Roman law, Roman customs, and Roman honor. I share with him his disbelief with your speculation. What brings you to say it?”
Julius became uncomfortable with his impropriety. He realized that he may well have overstepped his bounds, but he considered it un-Roman, and therefore unthinkable, to retreat from his position. “Sir,” he spoke in a quiet voice, “when was the last time you were in Roma?”
“When I left four years ago.”
“Much has happened in four years, Legate. Nero has had twelve years to settle in as Emperor. He was cautious at first. I think he wanted to be judged favorably when compared to Claudius. By almost every standard, Claudius was a good ruler. He extended Roman citizenship into many provinces. He built aquaducts and many other fine public works. He reformed the civil law and he extended the Roman Empire by creating several new provinces. But he had a flaw. He wanted to please his wife, Agrippina. She wanted her son, Nero, named Emperor. So he was.” Julius paused momentarily to clear his throat, and then resumed. “As a member of the Emperor’s Praetorian Guard, I was in a position to observe some of the behavior of the household. I formed a personal opinion that the misdeeds laid upon the Christians were ones conceived and carried out by Nero.”
It was Calvus’ turn to be uncomfortable. He ran the palm of his hand over his temples, smoothing an errant lock of hair into place. “And the Senate. Are they aware of this duplicity?” His brown eyes pierced Julius’ in search for an honest answer.
“I am afraid not, sir. They believe without question that the disturbances throughout the Empire are the instigation of the followers of Christus. Right now, the only penalty being exacted in Roma is the banishment of all Christians. Some are here now in your city. The others are scattered everywhere.”
Lucius had long since forgotten his displeasure at being brought to his father’s office. The visitor from Roma had completely commanded his attention. He had heard something of these Christians and had paid attention, since most were Jews, as was he—if only half. His thoughts turned to worry as he wondered if he, too, would be considered a menace, a scourge, someone who needed to be run out of town. And what of the predicted blood bath to follow?