The Hidden Flame (10 page)

C H A P T E R

EIGHT

LINUX AWOKE AT DAWN to a desire that clenched his soul with a force both painful and exquisite. He had no choice but to murmur the woman's name. "Abigail."

A voice from the front room called, "Did you say something, sir?"

As he rolled from the pallet, he searched for the name of his new manservant. "Julian?"

"There's tea and fresh bread, sir. A bit of goat's cheese. Dates."

There were always retired soldiers hovering about any main fortress, looking for work or an ally or simply a connection to the former life they had loved. Linux had met Julian in years past when he had served one of the officers sent home with Pilate. Linux went into the front room to find the manservant bent over the breastplate worn by Roman officers on parade.

"Why, pray tell, are you bothering with that?"

"Word came this morning, sir. The legate will see you." The man was using a mixture of old paraffin and sand to scrape away two years' worth of grime. The breastplate was beginning to gleam like polished silver. "I wanted to let you sleep as long as possible, after your being away until late." He polished more fiercely still. "Alone."

"I was looking for a friend, a former centurion."

He was clearly accustomed to the ways of Roman officers, for he sniffed his disbelief. "No doubt the lady you visited was married."

Linux started to correct him, then decided it would make no difference to the old man. "Have you any word of your former master?"

"Nary a whisper since he left for Rome with Pilate. Which does not bode well." Julian scrubbed vigorously along one edge. "There's rumors enough around the fortress. How every officer is to be sent home in disgrace. Or worse."

Linux thought of the reason behind his request for a meeting with the legate, and stuffed his mouth full of bread and dates.

"Times've changed since you were away," Julian went on darkly. "The legate's ordered all Romans to travel in force whenever they go out after dark."

"What, here in Jerusalem?"

"There've been incidents. Most have been hushed up, on account of how nobody wants to give the locals reason to think we're going soft. But a couple of soldiers went off drinking and never came back. Gotten the lads nervous."

Linux emerged from the stable's shadows wearing a legionnaire's dress uniform. His breastplate, helmet, buckles, and scabbard gleamed from Julian's thorough work. As expected, a young officer awaited him. If the subaltern found anything odd in a senior officer emerging from the fortress stables, he did not let it be known. "Commandant's compliments, sir. He wishes to have a word."

Linux motioned with the scroll he held in his left hand. Even in the lane's perpetual gloom, the imperial eagle glowed with unmistakable intensity. "Lead on."

Antonia Fortress was a functional and charmless place. When the Romans took it over as their garrison headquarters, they buried the courtyard gardens beneath heavy stone tiles. Where flowers once bloomed, soldiers now paraded and trained and gambled. The halls were bare of adornment, the sounds brutal and masculine. Linux followed the young officer up the broad central stairs, nodded in response to the guard's salute, and entered the commandant's quarters.

"So you're back."

He snapped off a parade-ground salute, then bowed low. "Linux Aurelius at your service, Tribune."

Legate Bruno Aetius was just as Linux had recalled, a bull in leather and gold. "When exactly did you arrive?"

"My ship docked a few days ago in Caesarea, Tribune."

"You had some trouble on the way to Jerusalem?"

"Not much, thanks to your men. They handled themselves well."

"They'd better, or I'll show them just how rough I can be on soldiers who don't." Bruno settled into the leather-backed chair behind a massive table. "I suppose you've heard of the new pestilence sweeping the Judean plains."

"I understand they call themselves Zealots."

The tribune nodded as his aide placed a mug of something hot by his left hand. "Will you take tea, Linux?"

"Thank you, sir, but no. I just ate."

"These Zealots are determined that Judea will once again be ruled by Judeans, united under a name from the distant past. `Israel,' they call it. Legends are springing up about them. Songs are being sung in the local taverns."

Linux recalled the hum of death flying out of a desert night. "And you have yet to capture any."

"The Zealots are neither strong enough nor stupid enough to attack my troops head on. They prey upon lone riders and small contingents of soldiers."

"Not local merchants?"

"Not many Judean caravans are hit, which leads me to suspect they pay tribute. Or the Zealots resist attacking their own. But our own merchants and Herod's are suffering losses." The tribune showed a brief glimpse of humor. "I find it hard not to agree when they call Herod their enemy."

Linux gave a sardonic grin in answer, then asked, "Are you suffering casualties?"

"Some. We have not had reason to mention them in official reports. But, yes, we've had some casualties."

Linux heard the unspoken concern. "More than you would like, I'm guessing."

"I dislike losing any men. Speaking of which, whatever happened to that friend of yours, that former centurion-what's his name?"

"Alban, sir. I was hoping you could tell me."

Bruno Aetius turned to his aide, who remained stiffly at attention by the side window. "Do we know?"

"Haven't heard a thing since he resigned his commission, sir."

"Hate losing good men," Bruno Aetius repeated. "From all I heard, he was a fine officer. Wouldn't you agree?"

"One of the best I have ever served with, sir."

"Even if he was a Gaul." Bruno eyed him with a commander's wisdom. "How did you find things in Umbria?"

"Much the same. My brother has grown fat."

"I recall Castor from my days in Rome. Your brother was always on the heavy side."

"Now he is obese. I doubt he can any longer tie his own sandals." He felt a trace of the old bile. His brother had married a girl half his age and a third his weight. She had wept on her wedding day. As had Linux's nieces, who were hoping for a mother. But it would not do to relate such things to the legate. "My days were brightened by the company of my brother's two daughters. They are growing up to be as lovely as their late mother."

Bruno's eyes glimmered with a smile he did not release. "They stole your heart, I wager."

"I would have given anything to have brought them back with me."

"You did well to leave them in Umbria. Judea is suffering through perilous times." The tribune finally deigned to notice the scroll Linux held. "You have brought something for me?"

"Yes, Tribune."

"Can't be good news, the way you're holding it as if it were a viper." He gestured across the table. "Let's be having a look at it, then."

Linux handed over the scroll and resumed his military posture. The tribune broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and read in silence. He then rose and walked to the side window. His aide risked a single glance, his expression full of concern.

Bruno Aetius announced to the arched opening, "I've been ordered back to Damascus."

Linux said nothing.

"I and my entire officer corps. Sent off as if we'd been caught stealing from the emperor." He planted two fists on the windowsill. "I suppose I should be grateful for the chance to leave this pestilent city. But to be sent off like a ..."

Linux remained standing at stiff attention, his eyes upon the wall behind the tribune's desk.

"I assume you met this new prelate."

"I did, sir. In Rome. Just a few weeks after his appointment became public. I went by to present my compliments, as any officer would to a new commander. To my surprise, Marcellus asked to see me."

"What do you make of him?"

Linux replied carefully, "He is most definitely a man of today's Rome."

"Yes, I've heard all I need to know about what is happening at the heart of our empire." Bruno returned to the chair behind his desk. "Sejanus is said to be digging his own grave, fighting with the Senate and demanding to be named consul. What help is he receiving from our Emperor Tiberius?"

Linux hesitated, then confessed, "The emperor rarely emerges from his pleasure gardens on Capri. Sejanus stands alone against the Senate."

"Then I warrant he is not long for this world." He lifted his head to stare into Linux's face. "When does the new prelate arrive?"

"Marcellus was scheduled to leave Rome soon after I did, sir. We were delayed by some vicious storms. If he missed the bad weather, he could be here any day."

The tribune toyed with the scroll unfurled across his desk. "Well, all I can say is, if Marcellus is anything like what I've heard of the people running our empire, Damascus will not be far enough away from Rome for me."

The Temple trumpet sounded just as Linux left the fortress. He had rarely given the Judean rituals any thought when he had been posted there in the past. The city was full of the Judeans' religious fervor. Every Roman officer was certain this intensity was behind much of the antagonism shown toward their Roman masters. Linux returned the salute of the officer awaiting his appearance. "You have the legate's staff?"

"Yes, here, sire."

The imperial eagle at the top of the gilded staff glowed with the same power as the bird on the end of Linux's second scroll. "It's a nice day for a stroll, don't you agree?"

The soldiers all grinned. Linux's sardonic air was well remembered among the Jerusalem garrison.

Linux took the reins from the soldier tending his horse and slipped into the saddle. "Let's get this over with."

The air held a dense mixture of sunlight and heat and dust. Linux rode alongside the subaltern, the only other Roman who rode. Their way forward was made easy enough, for not even the most surly Judean was willing to obstruct the imperial eagle. The staff held by the soldier who walked ahead of them signified to all that they rode on the emperor's business. Any who stood in their way would be treated as though insulting the emperor himself. Such processions only took place under very special circumstances, as when a governor was traveling under official business, or when the emperor sent a royal decree to a local ruler. Such as now.

Linux held to the mask of Roman authority that every officer in Jerusalem was forced to adopt. The lead guard shouted for the people to make way, while a pair of soldiers walked on either side, armed with long staffs to prod away any man or beast. The avenues were crowded, as always. Many of the looks cast their way held dark fury. But no one threatened their progress.

At the first major turning, the lead guard glanced back. Linux motioned them to the right, away from the Temple. The subaltern frowned, clearly wanting to make as public a display of Roman power as possible. But Linux had no desire to confront the mobs clustering around the Temple entrance. From the glances the foot soldiers shared, they clearly agreed with him. Their way took them north toward the Pool of Siloam, then along the main thoroughfare bisecting the upper city. This route was further but much less crowded. They made good time.

Linux found himself thinking about the Judean lass, Abigail. The horses' hooves offered a gentle cadence to his reflections.

He felt as though his spirit were being torn in two. One side of his reflections, the Roman side, shouted like a commander facing enemy battalions. Marry a Judean? His brother, Castor, would be utterly delighted by the news. Linux knew Castor had always feared his seizing power. Many Umbrians made no attempt to hide their preference of Linux as their ruler. Marrying a Judean would hand his brother a sharpened sword, one Castor would not hesitate to use against him.

But the other side of him, the lonely wanderer, hungered for a woman he scarcely knew at all.