Traveller Manifesto

Judaea – 1st Century.

The camp was the usual bustle with the welcome smells and sounds of home. Soldiers, their slaves, and other auxiliaries cooked and ate, cleaned and maintained their equipment, entertained themselves and slept. With so many guard patrols and other duties to fulfil it was a busy life. A smith hammered out repairs while other craftsmen, most of whom were legionnaires, made sure their camp, or castra as they called it, ran at its peak. Granted, they were not considered to be in enemy territory, but they were on alert, for Centurion Titis Crispus ran a tight ship.

They were of the notorious 10th Legion – Legio X Fretensis – the ‘Tenth Legion of the Straight,’ originally founded by the Emperor Augustus himself. While the remainder of the Legion were stationed in the province of Syria, their Cohort, Cohort lV, was temporarily stationed in troublesome Judaea. The command of their vexillation, which was the formal designation given to any detachment sent from the main legion to carry out a specific project, was Tribune Marcus Valerius Flaccus. Thankfully he was one of the better officers. Hailing from the stew of Rome’s august ancient families, Flaccus was not one of the poncy fools a legionnaire often had to put up with. He at least knew how to fight and when to listen to his centurion.

Flaccus was in command of two centuries of troops, one of Roman legionnaires and one of local Samaritan auxiliary troops from the forces of Herod Antipas, who ostensibly ruled Judaea but was really a client of Rome. Client kingdoms never truly ruled themselves, for their rulers had the hand of Rome firmly upon the back of their neck. As it was, Vorenus and the lads never trusted the local forces, though they had kept themselves out of trouble so far. All were keen to see how the deployment of local cavalry would respond in a real fight.

Vorenus stood to attention after delivering his report and Crispus nodded. They had served and fought together for eight years and, though known to be a hard man, Crispus was fair. His administered punishment for fighting had Vorenus make the best of his bad situation. He could have been beaten but had, instead, found the Zealot camp.

“Good work Vorenus,” Crispus nodded. Was that a small smile? Vorenus thought not, though his Centurion seemed to be pleased. He, like the rest of the men, was sick of their stay in the shit-hole of Beersheba. The task of finding the Zealots had been a dreary one that wore at the nerves.

“I left a few of the lads on watch,” continued Vorenus. “If anything happens or if they’re seen, Brutus and Remus are runners. Though I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he added.

Flaccus nodded and turned to Crispus. “Good work lads. Good work. So, Centurion, do you think the lads will fancy a little action?”

Crispus smiled, his face a network of scars and wrinkles. “I think so Tribune,” he exclaimed with a voice that sounded like grinding rocks. “We have another patrol in the field, but we could leave a skeleton crew to man the camp, which means one hundred and fifty men under arms.”

The Tribune looked to the Roman Centurion in command of the auxiliaries. With the cognomen of Corvus, after the iron grapnel used by Roman ships, he was a dour man who, all knew, was one of the Legion’s most ardent killers. He hated being stationed at Beersheba and, like all of the men, was keen for some action. Corvus merely gave a curt nod.

Crispus ordered Vorenus to be at ease, allowing him the honour of remaining as they discussed details. They were not to waste any time. The Zealots were finished, even if it meant leading a force this late in the morning. None would care.

Quintus Caelius, Vorenus’ childhood friend and the cause of the altercation that had Vorenus patrol the wastelands, was also present and he nodded in respect. There looked to be peace between them. One couldn’t fight over a woman forever.

“What happened to the lad you caught?’ asked Flaccus. The question came out of the blue and took Vorenus by surprise.

“Tripped and fell, sir,” was his immediate reply.

“So, no loose ends?” asked the officer.

“Not from him sir,” responded Vorenus.

Tribune Flaccus paused and looked at Vorenus with a small frown. “What do you mean, soldier?”

Vorenus winced to himself and then continued. “Well sir, there were these strange others we saw when on patrol …”