The pimpled lictor droned on and on, but the words made no sense to Gratus. To his ears, it was like the mewling of an obstinate child or the cawing of a seabird. He lifted himself from the couch to tear the sheet of paper from the startled lictor’s hand.
“Later for this!” he shouted. “Leave me! Leave me and stay away until I call!”
The lictor’s lips quivered as he turned to go. Was the man going to cry?
“But pour me another draught of wine before you go!” Gratus called to his receding back.
The lictor sniffed as he tilted the jar to fill the prefect’s cup.
“Shake it first, you horrible excrescence!” Gratus roared.
The lictor replaced the cork and gave the jar a vigorous jiggle to more thoroughly mix the lead powder with the potion.
“Now, away!” Gratus muttered once the cup was filled to the brim.
The lictor departed sullenly from the prefect’s office. The supremely annoying man returned in what Gratus believed at first to be an instant.
“Honored Prefect, you have a guest!” the lictor brayed.
The prefect noted that his office was in shadow now, no sunlight showing through the gaps in the drawn curtains. He rose with some effort on one elbow to find the empty cup still in his hand. A broad red stain had dried on his robe. How long had he slumbered? He realized that the lictor was still speaking. Gratus looked up to see a second man entering the room. A Jew with a long braided beard, dressed in fine robes of black linen trimmed with yellow silk. He wore atop his oiled hair one of those peculiar hats that the wealthier Jews favored. Gratus was so fascinated with how the contraption remained balanced atop his visitor’s head that he only heard the last of his lictor’s pronouncement.
“...envoy of the Herod Antipater, tetrarch of Galilee and Perea, the most honorable Channah Samarius.”
The Jew strode boldly to the couch where Gratus was levering himself to a seated position with some difficulty. Two more Jews, hard men from the look of them, entered in the wake of the first and shoved the lictor aside. The prefect wondered idly where his personal guards were at the moment.
“Herod has received word of events within his kingdom of which he was not advised,” this Channah said, eyes blazing from beneath dark beetled brows.
“Is this so?” Gratus said.
“His Highness has learned that you are the author of this event. He has sent me as his envoy to receive your explanation for this flagrant violation of the trust between Tiberius Caesar and the ruler of these lands.”
His Highness. Gratus stifled a chuckle. This upstart Herod, as his brother and his father before him, ruled at the sufferance of Rome. And a brittle rule it was.
“Inform me of the details of this betrayal please,” Gratus said and made an effort to stand before the man. He was gratified to find that he was a head taller than this upstart Jew.
“A Roman army has taken the young men from the city of Nazarea,” this Channah huffed. “They have been marched north to be sold into bondage, and the proceeds used to fill your coffers.”
This damned Herod had spies everywhere. Was there a traitor in the prefect’s palace? Or within the Syrian legate’s command? More likely the Nazarenes sent word to Herod begging for his mercy.
“I acted within the bounds of my own aegis. I was under the belief that Herod had been informed of my actions.”
Was that true? Did the stranger ever mention the tetrarch Antipas by name? Gratus could not recall. In fact, he could not recall the white-haired foreigner ever mentioning by whose authority he acted.
“He was not informed,” this Channah seethed. “He knew nothing of your actions. He wishes to know the cause of this. What gave the prefect cause for a reprisal such as this? Nazarea has been a peaceful place. It has raised no hand against Rome.”
Gratus hesitated to answer. What reply would make sense? He had no actual cause for taking the captives. He sighed with visible relief that he had defied the stranger’s wishes and not had them executed.
“Will you answer?” the Jew thundered up at him.
“It is a Roman affair and does not concern the tetrarch,” Gratus sniffed.
“His Highness enjoys a brotherly friendship with Caesar Tiberius. It is a simple thing to discover if your words are lies and find the truth behind the seizure of Herod’s subjects.”
That was true. Herod was known in Rome and, for a Jew, well thought of by many in the imperial house as well as in the Senate. And many powerful Romans were either in business with the wealthy bastard or indebted to him for loans. Though in theory, the prefect of Judea was the reigning power in the province, Herod held the true power with the aid of influential friends in every corner of the Empire.
Gratus realized with a chill that owed nothing to the night air that he was in over his head in waters where predators glided. He had a sudden mad image of blood-smeared teeth clotted with raw flesh and shuddered at the thought.
“I have acted in error,” Gratus said, forcing a smile that was more repellant than reassuring.
“And how may I tell his highness that you will make good this error?” The Jew smiled most condescendingly.
“The captives are at a legion castra in a village belonging to the family of Sasson ben Zakai.”
“Was it to him that you sold the Nazarene men?”
“Yes. They work cutting stone in his quarries. And are well cared, for by all accounts.”
“You will return the Nazarenes to their homes. You will surrender the gold you made from the sale of those slaves to Herod. Only then will his highness be satisfied. He will see no need to trouble
