The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (3 page)

But the enemy was seemingly reluctant to put in an appearance that winter. Once the army arrived along the border with Germania, a strange quiet descended over the region. Less than six months had passed since the Germans had destroyed Varus' legions and captured their standards, but now that Tiberius and his legions were on their doorstep, they withdrew into the dark forests of Germania and bided their time. The four legions marched up and down the border for over a month, and then went into winter camp along the east bank of the Rhine in December.

Not long after that, Flavius Sixtus died in his sleep one night, and Pilate found himself in sole command of the legion. Tiberius, grown increasingly dour and glum in the bitter cold, nonetheless spoke encouragingly to the assembled legions at Sixtus' funeral pyre.

“Flavius Sixtus was a Roman of the Romans, a man of courage and skill, whose love for his legionaries was matched only by his skill in commanding them,” Tiberius said. “He died as he lived—in a military encampment, defending the honor of Rome against her enemies. Do you think such a noble soul would depart for Elysium without leaving his beloved boys in the most capable of hands? Sixtus would not have felt content to abandon this world unless he was certain that Lucius Pontius Pilate would lead his legion with the same skill and care that he always displayed. So even as we mourn the passing of our beloved general and friend, let us take courage in the skill and leadership of the successor he leaves to take his place!” The men cheered, and even though Pilate knew that they were cheering the memory of the beloved general, he felt his chest swell with pride all the same.

Six weeks later, the Cheruscii—the same tribe that had destroyed Varus' army the previous year—came screaming down from the forests and launched themselves at the Roman defenses. Sixty thousand Germans—tall, their blond hair stiffened into fantastic spikes, and wielding iron-tipped spears—stormed the palisades as the Roman legionaries used all their ingenuity to keep the camp from falling. Scorpions and ballistae were fired into the howling masses as fast as they could be reloaded, and the fighting on the wall grew furious.

Tiberius was in the thick of it from the start, grimly stalking the walls and barking orders to his centurions. As the fighting grew more intense, each of the senior legates took one side of the encampment, staying on the wall constantly. Pilate discovered that he enjoyed battle very much—the fear of death was like a drug that kept his nerves on a razor edge, intensifying every sensation. Near the climax of the fighting, a particularly persistent band of Germans got over the wall Pilate was guarding, and into the Roman camp. Sextus Dividicus, Pilate's
primus pilus
centurion, was borne to the ground by the crush and disarmed. A huge German warrior stood over him, about to skewer the hapless officer with a spear, when Pilate launched himself at the barbarian and drove his gladius deep into the man's belly. The German gave a howl of pain, and Pilate yanked the sword free and stabbed him again through the throat, ending the howls abruptly. Three more Germans hurled themselves at him, and Pilate slashed and parried like a madman. In a matter of moments, all three of them lay dead, and Sextus was back on his feet and fighting by his side. The demoralized troops rallied around their general, driving the Germans back across the palisade. Pilate ordered the scorpions brought up and began pelting the German ranks with stinging stone missiles.

The huge barbarians roared in fury and massed for another charge. Pilate looked at his thin ranks and knew that this moment could turn the tide of the battle one way or the other.

“Archers!” he shouted. A hundred crossbowmen leaped to the walls as the Germans began rushing the fortifications again. “On my command—FIRE!” roared Pilate, and a hundred bowstrings twanged at once. Nearly every bolt seemed to find its mark, and a good portion of the enemy's front rank crumbled to the ground.

“Flamepots!” he shouted next. A row of catapults hurled a dozen pots of boiling oil at the enemy, and a company of Gallic bowmen followed with fire arrows which ignited the fluid that soaked the advancing barbarians. Screams of anguish went up and down the ranks as the flames scorched flesh and clothing.

“Now! Scorpions! Let them have it!” Pilate ordered, and a shower of lead and stone pellets, each the size of a duck egg, was launched at high speed, denting helmets and shields and breaking bones where they struck. Howls of pain and frustration welled up from the enemy, and then, as suddenly as the attack had come, it ended. Within a few minutes, the last of the Germans fled the field. An eerie quiet descended over the Roman camp, broken only by the groans of the wounded.

“By the gods, sir—that was as neat a bit of fighting as I have ever seen!” said Sextus as he cleaned his blade on the cape of a fallen Cherusci. “I must confess, I thought of you as a bit of a dandy when we first met, but Julius Caesar himself could not have turned back that assault any better.”

Pilate allowed himself a grin. “Thank you, centurion!” he said. “Things did get rather intense there, didn't they?”

The veteran soldier looked at Pilate respectfully. “That they did, sir, and you saved my life—and you held your ground and killed several of the enemy with your own hands. Didn't he, boys?” Sextus asked the men around them.

They cheered in the affirmative, and then grew suddenly quiet as a familiar figure in a red cape approached. Tiberius Caesar looked at the sprawled bodies of the enemy and the battered survivors with satisfaction. “Well, Pontius Pilate, you have repaid my confidence in full!” he said. “The enemy threw his toughest men at your wall, and I had no reinforcements to send you at that moment. But it looks as if you did not need them!”

Pilate gave a respectful bow, and suddenly Sextus spoke up. “Sir, I would like to recommend the legate receive the Civic Crown! He saved my life and held his ground throughout the battle, and personally killed at least five of those big fellows lying there.”

Pilate was stunned. The
corona civitas
! There was only one higher honor that Rome could give! The Civic Crown carried with it a full membership in the Senate and an exemption from all taxes, and its holders were always honored at public events when every Senator present rose when they entered. Tiberius looked at Pilate and nodded.

“It sounds as if you have earned the honor, Legate!” he said. “Now have a drink and wash your face. I want to see all the officers in my tent in half an hour. Now, men, throw the enemy bodies back over the wall, post sentries, and have some dinner!” The men cheered as the general departed, and the centurions surrounded Pilate and congratulated him on his honor.

Half an hour later he and the other legates and lieutenants stood in Tiberius' tent and faced the general, whose usual grim demeanor had returned. At his side was his second-in-command, Julius Caesar Germanicus. Germanicus was Tiberius' natural nephew and adoptive son and heir, but there was little love between them. He was, however, Rome's best young general, and one of its most beloved public figures. He would make his mark in the years to come, but for now, he was a loyal subordinate to a prickly and difficult general.

“An excellent effort today, gentlemen,” said Tiberius. “The enemy threw about sixty thousand of his warriors at us, and as near as I can tell, left about half of them lying on the ground outside our camp. We lost about a thousand killed and perhaps as many wounded, but considering the odds and the suddenness of the attack, those losses are actually minimal. The enemy only breached our walls at one point, and thanks to young Pilate here, they were thrown back quickly and forcefully!” He nodded at Pilate, who flushed and bowed. The other legates grinned and thumped him on the back.

“But I didn't come to Germany to fend off attacks; I came here to avenge our fallen comrades and
destroy
those responsible for their deaths!” Tiberius' face darkened, and he pounded his fist on the table for emphasis. “Now we have a dilemma on our hands. My scouts followed the retreating Germans, and I am waiting for them to return and tell us where their camp is. I want to set out in pursuit and catch them at dawn and destroy their army, as they destroyed Varus and his legions! But at the same time, we are the only army Rome has north of the Alps right now, except for two understrength legions in western Gaul. If we should perish, there is nothing to keep the Germans from harrowing all our provinces from here to Italy!”

The men nodded. The loss of Varus' legions, and the cost of the dreadful campaign into the Balkans three years before, had left Rome's armies stretched thin. Another victory by the Germans might throw all the northern provinces into rebellion, and destroy the
Pax Romana
that Augustus had worked so hard to achieve.

“So we must temper our desire for vengeance with caution,” said Tiberius. “I want to take ten thousand men out of our camp about six hours from now, as soon as I hear back from our scouts. Germanicus, you will command the remainder until I return. If I do not return, fortify this camp even more strongly and send to Rome for reinforcements. Then, next spring, you can retrieve my skull from whatever tree the Germans have it nailed to—unless one of their kings uses it for a drinking cup!” He laughed, but it was a humorless laugh. The awful fate of Quinctilius Varus had been told from one end of Rome to another. Tiberius continued: “Of course, I have every intention of returning, and if Fortuna smiles on us, I will come back bearing all three of Varus' standards! Pilate, Verbinius, and Cassius—pick the strongest, least exhausted men from your legions and tell them to get some sleep while they can. We march before dawn!”

Pilate wound up taking about half of his legion—he had several hundred dead and wounded, but considering the ferocity of the fighting, they had gotten off pretty lightly. The Gallic scouts came filtering back into camp at midnight. These men were walking forest spirits, Pilate thought as he beheld them, wrapped in black fabric with twigs and leaves protruding from them at every angle. You could walk right by them in broad daylight and not realize they were there!

They reported that the Germans were encamped some twenty miles distant, exhausted and demoralized. Their camp was guarded, but not heavily so, because they were counting on the Romans being too battered and worn out to pursue them. Pilate sent the centurions to wake his men, and an hour after midnight, the expedition set forth. Two stripped down legions, double timing through the forest, ready to wreak havoc on a foe they despised—Pilate would not have wanted to be in the German camp when they arrived!

As the sun cleared the horizon they could see the smoke of the campfires rising before them. Tiberius gave the order, and Pilate sent two dozen of his best Numidian archers forward. In a matter of moments, the German sentries were dropped where they stood, and not a single one lived to give an alarm. The legionaries formed up, the archers rejoined their ranks, and then Tiberius raised his sword and lowered it dramatically.

With a roar of pure fury, the Roman legionaries charged into the German camp, unleashing their
pilae
at short range, then wading in with gladius
in one hand and shield in the other. The rain of spears had skewered dozens of Germans, and the sight of the Roman army descending on their camp dismayed many of them. Some of the forest warriors had already begun to break and run before the legionaries came to grips with the host.

But most of them stood their ground and tried to defend their camp. They knew the reputation of the Romans, and were determined to die on their feet rather than live on their knees. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Pontius Pilate felt the joy of battle as he threw himself into the enemy's ranks, slashing and stabbing at the huge warriors. The clash of arms sounded like a hundred blacksmiths hammering their forges at once—except that molten metal did not scream when the hammer struck it!

The battle lasted less than an hour. Another ten thousand Germans lay dead when it was done, and at least five thousand warriors, plus a host of women and children, were taken prisoner. The victory was not without cost, though. Another thousand Romans lay dead or wounded, and Varus' eagle standards were nowhere to be found. However, in the general's tent, three large chests full of gold coin and jewels were recovered, as well as the mistress and young son of Arminius, the German mastermind.

The march back to the Roman encampment was much slower and more exhausting than the trip in had been. The adrenaline had subsided, and the men were feeling the full effects of fighting two pitched battles within twenty-four hours. The mournful wailing of the captives only added to the gloomy atmosphere—the German women knew what fate awaited them when they were turned over to the legionaries, and pleaded with their menfolk to save them. The vanquished warriors ignored their pleas, marching forward grimly with their heads down and their fists clenched. Before sunset, the legions were within sight of the camp. They turned their captives over to Germanicus' soldiers and tumbled to their tents, exhausted but victorious.

Two days later, Tiberius assembled the entire army to hand out the decorations and awards that the men had won. In accordance with tradition, Tiberius' own decorations were displayed for the men to see, drawing whistles of amazement from those who had not seen them before. The only honor the Emperor's adopted son had not won was the
corona granica
, the Grass Crown, which was only given to those who single-handedly saved a legion from destruction, and then helped it defeat the enemy. Only a handful of soldiers in Rome's storied past had won this coveted honor—a simple crown woven of the grass from the field where the deed was done.

But many other decorations were handed out that day—two Civic Crowns; one for Pilate and one for Germanicus, and many gold, silver, and bronze
phalerae
, as well as several golden
torcs
and
armillae
. These were medallions, necklaces, and armbands that all signified specific acts of valor on the battlefield. Pilate received one golden armband and one gold and three silver medallions, in addition to his Civic Crown. He was now a legitimate war hero, honored by law and custom as a true son of Rome. Many other soldiers were decorated that day, and Tiberius was hailed as
imperator
, or conqueror, by his men for the fourth time in his career, guaranteeing him a triumphal march when he returned to Rome.