Oleg Krasin
Solar Wind. Book one
The Jewish War
Emperor Hadrian spent the whole spring and summer in the East, mostly in Athens.
Galatia and Cilicia, Egypt and Judea. He didn't like Asia very much. Screaming, self-serving, impudent peoples, people in whom it was difficult to find the inherent Hellenic susceptibility to the sublime and graceful, irritated Caesar.
Being in the Arabian sands or mountains of Cappadocia, in the sun-dried city of Alexandria, among the olive groves of Phoenicia, he often turned his gaze towards Greece, where the clouds flowing through the blue sky. There, above the top of Olympus, where the majestic gods lived, these clouds were showered with warm rain, mitigating the harshness of the celestials. There was ready to be shed and his heart, the heart of the Emperor of Rome, if he was on the ancient land of Hellas.
But circumstances prevented the reunion of Hadrian's soul with the divine and unique Greek aura. All the fault was Judea, unruly and persistent in their delusions, which from the point of view of Rome were seen as barbaric and demanding eradication.
It all started two, maybe three years ago. In his quest to impose Greek culture on the Jews, Hadrian may have gone too far. He passed a law banning castration, unwittingly affecting Jews who were no longer allowed to circumcise. Unfortunately, this was one of the most important rites of their religion.
Then he, Hadrian, decided to rename Jerusalem, the holiest city for every Jew, to Aelia Capitolina, because it seemed that its importance after the defeat of the Titus rebellion in these lands significantly decreased. The city, as it seemed to Hadrian, had already lost the original importance of the religious center of all Judea and on the Temple Mount he intended to build the sanctuary of Jupiter Capitol.
The members of Hadrian's council also did not object to such measures, neither the prefect of Rome Regin, nor the prefect of the Pretoria Turbo, nor the immediate entourage of the emperor, which included the famous lawyers Publius Celsus, Salvius Julianus, Neracius Priscus. Even his secretary, Avidius Heliodorus, a native of Syria, who was of close origin to the peoples of Asia and he found no arguments against. Maybe he lied since the Syrians have always acted as antagonists of the Jews.
Therefore, having received approval from all sides, on the wave of fame and success of his brilliant reign, Hadrian did not think about the consequences.
But how can one predict what comes to the minds of fanatics of faith? After all, the divine Titus almost sixty years ago seemed to have destroyed the sprouts of resistance forever. However, the deafly hidden and dangerous discontent lurking in the bowels of the people of Judea had to sooner or later break out, like lava from Vesuvius.
The Jews were just waiting for their messiah, predicted in the Old Testament, and such a messiah appeared. Hadrian was informed that his name was Varkoheba,43 which meant “Son of the Star,” and Varkoheba called himself the prince of Israel. However, the governor of Tineius Rufus reported that the messiah has another nickname—Ben-Koziwa, the son of lies. But there was little trust in Rufus.
Prefect of the Pretoria Turbo, to which the service of the frumentarii44 was subordinate, the collectors of human secrets, reported that the viceroy did not behave quite well, and the cup of patience of the Jews was overflowed with Rufus’ harassment of a newlywed. It was as if he had corrupted a few women.
This Rufus had yet to be dealt with.
Now, after four years of bloody war, in which the Romans lost many experienced warriors, several legions, Hadrian sat in front of the city of Betar on a white horse in armor, a purple cloak—a symbol of imperial power, fluttered behind his back. He didn't usually have a helmet, because he never covered his head, neither in winter nor in summer. He was surrounded by a small retinue.
The Augustus sun burned brightly in the sky, warming the air, gray stones, distant mountains. There was a severe heat, which happened in these places in early Augustus, and Hadrian felt her suffocating, squeezing his lungs. He was afraid that his nose would start to bleed.
Covering his eyes with his palm from the blinding light, he looked at the last stronghold of the Jewish resistance, the fortress of Betar. In front of him was an impressive sight worthy of the artist's brush; in the middle of small hills, scorched by the southern sun, gray-yellow stones, faded green trees, lay a Jewish fortress, which survived a long siege, but was eventually captured thanks to the unexpected help of the Samaritans. When the Roman legions, exhausted by the long and barren siege, were about to retreat, the Samaritans came to the rescue and helped to find out the secret passage into the fortress.
Hadrian carefully considered the high gloomy walls, partially punctured by battering rams and destroyed by powerful catapults, a long ditch stretching along them, filled with the corpses of legionnaires. They lay in the sun-shining armor, and the red cloaks covered many, as if preparing for a funeral fire. Black smoke of fires, engaged in several places, rose into the sky above the fortress.
Roman troops entered Betar only a few hours ago on the ninth day of the Ava45 on the Jewish calendar. Loud wails of murdered male-defenders were heard from the city and their bodies, similar to dead birds falling from the ruined nests, were strewn from the city. There were laments of women who were dragged by the victors. Behind the walls of the city rattled deaf blows, as if someone was banging on a huge drum.
Terrified residents appeared from the broken gates, with men, women, children, exhausted and dirty, with difficulty moving their legs. They were led by guards, separated by each cohort. Soon the Jews would be turned into slaves, into a living commodity. Rich prey!
It had been hard lately. The state needed almost five hundred thousand slaves annually, but the conquests ended, and the pirates captured at sea could not cover all the needs. The last emperor to satisfy the needs of the state was Trajan, who captured a large extraction in Dacia. And now, he, Hadrian, would help Rome.
Among other things, he would also teach the Jews a lesson, an order had already been given to wipe out almost a thousand settlements in Judea, about fifty fortresses. Many would be executed and crucified. He would pour blood on this scorched, stingy earth, paint its sky in red in accordance with his preferences, as an artist who creates an epic canvas. Blood and earth, what could be more epic? His work would be no worse than The Aeneid Virgil—just as majestic and memorable.
Meanwhile, the crowd of captive Jews was approaching. They were being pushed viciously, driven by guards, which was causing screams and noise. Jews were being taken to the markets of Terebinth, in Gaza City, some of them would be sent to Egypt. There were so many of them, captured today and captured earlier, that the prices of slaves had already fallen and equaled the cost of horses.
“Where is the new Jewish ruler, this despicable dog?” Hadrian asked his confidants. “I want to see him.”
“Caesar, my men are looking for Varcoheba!” the viceroy, Tineius Rufus, sitting on a horse just behind the emperor, cast his voice. He was in gilded lats, which gleamed in the sun, discharged like a peacock. The conversation allowed him to move forward a little bit, so as not to force Caesar to turn around.
“I wish this robber to be punished!” Hadrian said firmly, turning his eyes to Rufus. “You've served me well, Quint! It remains for you to be commended for your devotion.”
A benevolent smile touched his lips; however, it quickly melted in the graying beard and Tineius Rufus was lost in guesses how he would be thanked by the emperor. Would he give new lands? Money? Or would he let him go next to him during a triumph in the capital??
He felt the excitement, a certain rise, because, after all, they had achieved victory in this grueling and bloody battle, in a long war. He had to retreat a lot and surrender to the Jews one fortress after another, but now in the end, Rome won! Of course, it was not a very good impression that overshadows the upcoming triumph. The Jews accused him, Tineius Rufus, in their troubles, as if he had ploughed their holy Temple Mount in Jerusalem and was going to put there a temple to Jupiter Capitol together with a huge statue of Emperor Hadrian. However, he, Tineius Rufus only followed the instructions of the princeps. Have discipline and diligence ever been blamed?
Still the Jews spoke of his voluptuousness, compared with the lascivious Assyrian Holofernes molested by the beautiful Judith. No, he, Tineius Rufus, was no more lustful than all the other men in power.
But Caesar's smile… Rufus didn't think it was kind.
Two horsemen left the gates of the ruined fortress at that time and rushed to the emperor at full speed. The commander of the legions, Julius Severus, and the legate, Titus Matenianus, who recently received triumphant clothes for the victory.
As the Governor of Rufus seemed to be ineffective in the military field, Hadrian had to bring to the war Julius Severus as the most experienced of the generals. He was summoned from Britain, and thanks to his tactics, first managed to oust the rebels from major cities, and then disperse them through the mountains and caves.
“Great Caesar, we brought the head of Varkoheba,” exclaimed Julius Severus, and raised the blood-stained bag with a theatrical gesture, in getting it from the saddle. Then he uncovered it. On the ground rolled the severed head of a black-haired bearded man, whose eyes were gouged out, his mouth tightly compressed.
Hadrian bent down in the saddle, looking at all that was left of the defeated enemy.
“So you are, prince of Israel,” he said calmly enough, as if he did not want to express much interest. On the other hand, why should he show it? Hadrian saw many defeated enemies, crucified on crosses, with severed heads, with fractured limbs, because under Emperor Trajan had to fight everywhere.
“Where is the body of the rebel himself?” someone asked behind the Princep’s back.
It was relatively not old, he was not yet thirty-five, the Senate envoy Lucius Ceionius Commodus. The Senate reported that it would not mind if Hadrian, in honor of the victory over Judea, declared his triumph and celebrated the event in Rome.
Hadrian was looking at Ceionius.
He had long known his family from Tibur, where villa Ceionius was relatively close to the residence of the princeps. He also knew Commodus's mother Plavtia, who was a hot thing. She had gone through three husbands. The first, the father of Ceionius, Hadrian knew quite well, and he respected him. Thanks to his father a few years ago, his son was given the post of pretor, a post insignificant, but responsible in terms of the beginning of his career. Then, after the death of his father, the young Lucius began to entrust more important affairs.
This had already been facilitated by Plavtia, a seductive woman who tried to charm him, Hadrian. He was then young, strong, charming, entering the court of Trajan and with his mother Ceionius they could have a love affair, all contributed to this. But the Emperor's wife Plotina already picked him as Vibia Sabina's bride, and he could not embark on the waves of love joys with the married matron. Although, evil tongues claimed that Ceionius Commodus was his son.
Hadrian looked again at the young man who, under certain circumstances, could have been his son. Curly hair, high height, amiable smile, pleasant speech of an educated man who knows Hellenic and Roman literature. Everything about him was like Hadrian. This Ceionius was also a connoisseur of cooking, it was he who invented Tetrapharmakon—a dish so loved by the emperor.
But a low forehead, a cheerful emptiness in the eyes and primitive reasoning. No, this Ceionius Commodus was superficial, did not have the depth of reason and the breadth of views inherent in him, Hadrian.
“Yes, where is his body, Severus?” the emperor supported Lucius Ceionius. “Of course, there is enough head, but still, I would like to look at it completely.”
“Great Caesar, we found a body in one of the caves, not far from here. The rebel tried to hide with his companions, but he was discovered by us. Some of them we killed, the rest captured. They say that among the prisoners was a Jewish interpreter of the laws of Judaism, a priest. His name is Akiva. Spies say that he is one of the instigators of the uprising against Rome.”
“Akiva?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes,” the legate Matenianus confirmed. “The spies told us that this Akiva had been proclaimed the messiah king of Varkoheba. He also set out on the road in Judea and preached enmity to Rome, called for rebellion, collected money.”
“The Jews in this war have given us fierce resistance,” Hadrian said wistfully. “Even the divine Titus did not have to face such a pervasive and desperate struggle. Samaria, Galilee, Golan and Ashkelon. Only in Caesarea was the fire of rebellion weak. They say it's thanks to the Christians whom Varkoheba forced to give up his faith and join the rebels. What happened, what happened to these people?”
“I've already reported to the princeps that fanatics like Akiva contributed to the war,” intervened in the conversation of governor Rufus. He was hot, his face glistened with sweat. “Religion is what motivated the Jews to revolt.”
Hadrian this time looked distasteful of his governor and turned to the commander Severus.
“Apparently, the Jews felt insignificant punishment to which they were subjected to the divine Titus and the price must now be much greater. As Virgil wrote, ‘You can't get used to wars like this!’46 Jews must be scattered around the world, and then their harmful religion will disappear.”
“The laws of Rome,” thought Hadrian, “were wiser than the Jews, and our legions were stronger than their detachments. And in general, the people of Rome could become greater and mightier, because he learned from others. We absorbed the culture of Greece and Egypt, joined their gods and were protected in all designs and deeds. Zeus and Hera, Jupiter and Juno, Cybele and Myrtle. What can compare to their power? What can a Jewish god? After all, he is alone, just like Christians. And that's because they're weak.”
“Where's the cave? I want to see a defeated enemy,” Hadrian said, and then he touched the horse.
“Caesar, there are still enemies roaming. Our legionnaires didn't catch everyone. It's not safe!” the Severus retorted.
“Nothing,” Hadrian looked back at the retinue, “I'm accompanied by experienced warriors. Here, for example, is our Rufus. He's brave enough to hit the pathetic Jews if they get caught on the road. Isn't that true, governor?”
“Of course, emperor!” Tineius Rufus, who did not expect Hadrian to address him, mingled.
“If you show your back to the Jews for three years, then it is necessary once to see the enemy face,” Hadrian added, his eyes flashing. “Especially after the defeat of the enemy, when nothing is in danger. Don't you think, dear Quintus?”
“I…” the governor began, but the exasperated emperor did not listen to him, he went forward and next to him attached legates Severus with Matenianus to show the way.
“I think you've fallen out of favor, Tineius,” remarked the passing Ceionius Commodus, who did not like the governor for his arrogance.
Once in Rome, the arrogant Rufus, who was transported in palanquin through the narrow streets of the city, ordered the slaves—high and strong Cappadocian, that they did not give way to anyone. And when they came to meet the stretcher with Commodus, they rudely pushed his slaves aside. Ceionius noticed how the curtain on the palanquin moved, the cold, arrogant face of the Syrian governor looked out from behind it.
Now this face was different; Rufus lost his self-confidence and turned into a pathetic subject from whom everyone turned their backs.
The cave where Hadrian entered, accompanied by legats, retinue, and guards was remarkably quiet. Screams and scolding, the wails of the vanquished, black smoke in the sky and the smell of burning, all of it remained there, behind the walls. Here it was cool, the damp walls were unevenly illuminated by burning torches, but it was light enough to cover the whole cave.
The Emperor noticed several corpses of Jews lying on the side. In the far half-dark corner, apart from all, lay another body. He came closer. A retinue crowded behind; in a small space under the low arches was heard the noisy breathing of people.
On the stones lay a decapitated man in a dirty, blood-stained tunic. He was of short stature, raised fabric exposed short hairy legs with bare feet. There were no shoes on the former prince of Israel. Perhaps, the thieves have already visited and brought out everything that has turned under his arm.
“This is Varkoheba, great Caesar,” said Julius Severus, his voice sounding blankly under the arches of the cave.
The wind blew from behind, shadows swirling from the flame of torches.
“Who goes there?” Hadrian asked, but there was no answer.
Pushing the crowd, a tall centurion from the Fifth Macedonian Legion stepped forward. He led behind him a frail, ragged old man with gray side curls and a disheveled beard. His hands were tied with a leather belt, which usually belted the tunic.
“Caesar, I have ordered to bring Akiva, a priest of the Jews. We've already talked about it,” Matenianus explained.
“Oh, yes, this rebel!”
The Emperor looked curiously at the face of a man exhausted by the long siege stained with mud and soot, and stingingly asked:
“What old man, your god, your Yahweh, has not helped you?”
But Akiva did not answer, he looked down under his feet, and his lips moved as if uttering the words of prayer. Or maybe he prayed to his god, whose name Jews could not say out loud. But Hadrian could speak because he was not a Jew.
Having lost interest in Akiva, Hadrian returned to the murdered Varkoheba. Looking closely, he saw something unusual on the rebel's body, where the neck was supposed to be, something was moving, it seemed that the dead man's shoulders were rising, as if the leader of the rebels had not yet died, and just put his head to the body as it comes to life. For a moment, Hadrian was terrified.
“Fire here!” he shouted.
The legionnaire ran up with a torch, and now everyone saw that the shoulders of Varkoheba were enveloped by a large viper, as light yellow, in dark spots, as the surrounding walls and stones under their feet.
“Look!” Severus exclaimed. “He is the messenger of their god. The Jewish god himself killed him, punishing him for deceit and treachery.”
The old man muttered something barely audible.
“What are you saying?” Hadrian turned to him and said, “Translate someone.”
One of the Syrians who guarding the emperor reported, “He says that God did not kill Varcoheba, he came for his soul, as a righteous man's soul, to place it in the treasury of the throne of glory.”
Hadrian frowned.
“Does God want to take this man’s soul to heaven? Then chop off the head of this snake! Rufus,” he found with his eyes among the retinue the figure of the viceroy, “Rufus, come here! You trust the great honor of defeating the messenger of the Jewish god.”
Before Rufus immediately parted, and he had to come forward. Near Varcoheba’s body, the governor stopped, hesitantly drew a sword from its scabbard, and began fussily poking at the head of the viper. The snake hissed menacingly, sliding from the body of the murdered, but the governor still could not get into her small flat head with a forked tongue. It seemed that horror shackled him, it was one thing to anger your gods, whom you can cajole by making a rich sacrifice to them, and another thing was a stranger, an unknown god. He, Tineius Rufus, did not know what sacrifices this Yahweh received. And would he accept from him?
“How long are you going to practice, Quintus? We're tired,” sneered Hadrian, who was amused by the squirming figure of the viceroy standing on half-bent legs.
The old man again muttered something in a stubborn, loud voice, and without waiting for the emperor's question, the Syrian translated it.
“He says that God will punish the one who will kill this snake.”
The remark of the recalcitrant rebel angered Hadrian, and he, a mighty, like the majestic monumental sculpture of Trajan, standing on the Forum, hung over the puny old man.
“I alone can punish here and no one else! Remember!”
In the cave there was silence, which was broken only by Rufus's grunt. Ceionius Commodus, who had been on the sidelines all this time, decided to intervene.
“Great Caesar, let me fight the Jewish messenger!”
Grim, with angrily sparkling eyes, Hadrian waved his hand and Commodus, coming up to the snake, deftly cut off her head. After this scene, the emperor addressed Akiva.
“You will be executed, old man, by a terrible execution.”
“Talking to God is not afraid of cruelty,” he replied detachedly.
“Proud! You don't have to talk to the gods, you have to ask the gods and listen to what they're talking about.”
Hadrian wrapped himself in his purple cloak, as if an unbearable, deadly cold pierced his body and went to the exit from the musty cave, to the hot sun, to the fresh air, even if it was saturated with the smoke of war, to those pleasant and elegant things that were waiting for him to return to Athens.
On the way out he stopped for a moment, saying without turning around.
“Send the legions to the Dead Sea, where the last rebels remain. And from this Jew, remove the skin from the living!”