Pilate's Dilemma

CHAPTER TWO Page last update

Should Eros relax and smile, a greater number of wrinkles formed on his already-aging face. Eros bore no resemblance to his namesake of love; rather, his physique proclaimed Face me, and you face a warrior! Born on a beautiful island, the Sicilian Greek was raised in disadvantage. He received a wealth of black curly hair from his mother but inherited the grinding poverty of slave life as well. Money they had came from prostitution; as a toddler Eros used profane words that delighted customers of hers, and this occurred hundreds of miles from where Ennius Sextus, far removed, was taking his first steps in Rome, the glorious Eternal City.

Wealthy patrician parents expect to have children raised in the wide-ranging activities of the nobleman class. However for Sextus, insurmountable problems prevented any prolonged living with privilege: Father died of a rapidly-debilitating breathing illness and Mother soon after. For several months she had suffered through treatments for abdominal pain and ultimately she succumbed. Though Sextus had not known meanness from any, hardships struck him without warning, hitting a second time while he was down with the first. The view he had of the world was one of uncertainty; he was not sure it was even friendly. His one living relative at the time was unavailable, this Pontius Pilate who he now rode to see. The advice from the uncle undoubtedly would have been to connect oneself to a politician, or at the least: a bureaucrat. Sextus made a decision about his future that joined him in the Army with others having similar souls’ needs.

Sextus, who spent his time in diligent service while shunning sights and sounds of surrounding decadence, had the comfort of thoughts that had both his parents lived, undoubtedly they’d be satisfied with his career and the similar morality he fashioned from theirs. Never had Sextus subjected superiors to any last-minute effort to appear industrious; their appraisals of him were on a proper basis for recommending he be promoted. Though this present assignment was more “a lateral”, the prestigious “detective” descriptor he gained, besides being still an “officer”, gave considerable clout to him and was, unmistakably, a “plum”.

Dion Eros was used in all kinds of investigation work. There was no singling him out for the Greek-speaking assignments or for his knowing island geography. The Department assigned him as it did the others, and this was a compliment to him. Both investigators knew their advancement had been from behavior as a tried and true soldier.

Because Eros and Sextus enlisted at nearly the same time, this provided them with a similar basic training. Yet unrelated and important to their instruction was their both having keen vision which, when coupled with other natural abilities, allowed the giving of concise and perceptive reports to superiors. Both Sextus and Eros were in that special category known as “Resourceful”. And separately they gained experience doing reconnaissance. But eventually they met and it was on a battlefield when they'd been asked to go behind the enemy's line. Importantly, they survived, and the reports given to commanders earned them a joint praise of: “Intuitive choice of action courses fast in your veins!” Later, two generals gave their recommendations they be allowed to enter the Department of Vigilance. This was the civil police intelligence branch. No longer did Sextus’ and Eros’ "see in silence"; instead they were listening to the whispers and hearsay of informants who, in turn, were asked the disquieting questions Sextus and Eros could provide. There was not the swordplay, spear and battlefield; rather, these two now analyzed evidence and wrote reports in their rooms most often without windows in that Eternal City of Rome.

“A beautiful day to die, or live to carry the wounded.”

After two years these two Vigiles—all detectives called themselves that—were without qualms of conscience even with an occasional extreme tactic being used. They and the thirty or so like them were both the players and the stratagem of the Department game board. Still belonging to the Army, the soldiers wore their uniforms they provided for themselves, and the average folk when seeing Vigiles were with some element of fear. Eros, in particular, appreciated this and once told his fellow-detectives, “Any distinction between their feeling ‘fear’ and having ‘respect’ doesn’t matter to me. It’s only their fidgeting when I approach that's the reaction I desire to have.”

Random pairing placed Eros and Sextus together on assignment occasionally. These they would approach as an agreed-upon mission and they consciously worked against getting to cross-purposes. Yet despite the work together, neither Eros or Sextus could say of the other they were friends. There was never a seeking of one another's company when not mutually assigned. Yet how magnificent their joyfulness when walking together that first day underneath the archway leading to the Department of Vigilence in beginning their new training! Accomplishments together added to each's credentials list and enhanced his reputation—perhaps that was enough and to "be friends" was not necessary. And, yet, there had been times...

Hearing a former slave giving battlefield commands irked, and Sextus countered this by granting that: Being Greek was a refinement. However, the growing up Eros endured ingrained a certain coarseness. Were Pilate to ask them about previous joint assignments, a reply would have to include when the pair, in Germany, was crouching low in the Teutonburger forest to see barbarians crooning around campfires while, above, captured Roman legionaries were being roasted to their deaths in cages hung from trees. It was a noisome affair these two spied upon, and yet dangerous, too, as a situation. That air was thick with horrid smoke and nearly caused Sextus to cough. Eros quickly had put a dagger to his throat and whispered along with the contorted face, “Even begin a cough and I shall have to kill you!” So, words, might accessorize a weapon in certain circumstances.

They were taught this as new recruits: “A weapon, and how the soldier faces up to use of it, is direction to your life. Always one should work to improve the skill by ‘beefing up’ the body till the weapon has its efficient use. Master the use of a weapon and your next one is easier to learn. These extend hands and feet, your arms and legs.” To such instruction Eros added his brought-in street fighting experience.

Born on the Roman-conquered, formerly Greek island of Sicily, Eros happened to win, rather than fight—as a gladiator might—for status as a freeman. Here a freeman was eligible to join the Empire Army; elsewhere in the world: Arabs might well show up for battle with their army of slaves.

Phintias, popular as a western coastal city for Empire hierarchy to visit, was location for his accomplishing more than merely learning to swim. Here he excelled in winning races. When an Emperor’s ship approached once, he dove in and with others fast swam out, becoming the first to welcome its dignitary. Fortunately, the Emperor himself was onboard, and Eros welcomed aboard, received from that magnate a gold coin struck 75 years earlier that commemorated Pompey the Great’s achievements in Sicily. More than the value of the gold was Eros’ enthrallment at meeting and chatting with the Emperor and his daughter who favored him in visits from then on. Though brief their several encounters, it led to Eros’ having been granted the freeman status with payment of money.

In Rome, Ennius Sextus, besides having reasonably-nice looks, had all natural bearing and ability; and these so much so, that when he entered the Army, he learned all weapons use quickly. Soon he was honored with an order to teach others. In this he added his slant: Weapons are the intelligent duty of the soldier. Elsewhere, Eros similarly was picked to inform his recruits about weapons use. He made his points this way: A weapon shall get you what you want. You don’t kill or wound with it always. For two years Eros instructed new soldiers, and Sextus did a single year. Both, to think of that time of teaching would have to say it was “half their career” ago.

One might summarize that as soldiers are supposed to perform, these two did. It had been talents and backgrounds of theirs that were diverse that helped to produce for them these commendations necessary for appointment to enter the Department of Vigilance. They got along well; Sextus was raised in all things non-prosaic, and Eros openly developed his intelligence and innate aggressiveness. Both were to achieve good for the Empire, regardless of that stress from danger.

In working within The Department, Sextus had dealings with nobility. Oh, he could lean comfortably against their columns supporting metropolis buildings, yet this did not cause him to pine for lost former status. Sextus, literally, had emerged from too much muck and bogs—he won commendation for that—that he forever relinquished possible return to the life of receiving easy praise from half-sincere patricians. And he never gave any thought to hiring a slave to do his cleaning as another officer from the patrician class had done.

For Eros and others their labor within the Department provided a “home”. And because it was their livelihood, that place enabled them to serve. Eros drew out from the military his wanted status in life; his was a shared destiny with the Roman way he would ensure endured. Eros, glad his work had brought him to the Empire center, was aware his Army could always uproot him, and coupled with this requirement to constantly report one’s whereabouts gave him the sensation that life was not quite “owned” by him. Despite Eros’ no longer being a slave, the Army way could make him feel not quite free. Yet Eros took his example from the Empire—it being no “slave” magnificently served, in concert with it’s rightfully commanding to be served! Older than he, the Empire stood as “his father”; and in a certainty to outlive him, it was his “child”. Because Eros affected the Empire, it bore somewhat his resemblance. These aspects formed the basis for it being his “be-all and in-all”, and Eros daily bequeathed his devotion to the citizenry of the Empire as espoused in the Department motto: Permanence and Quality to Roman Life. After two years of life in the Department, he emotionally could commit all his mental strength to its success for the Empire rather than attempt to attain any personal goals. And empty of these, it was with dedication that Eros faced off against whatever evils of the day that would challenge, tempt, and occasionally confuse him.

* * *

There are some men who inevitably cry when talking of their mother—a “remembered” love has lingered in an abstruse way. They cannot finish what it is they wanted to say! Love has muted. “I wanted to live to love you longer,” were the words she last spoke to him, and at any time Sextus could recall them. Rarely had he’d spoke her name—Ennius Octavia Lepida—for his naming her was the common “Mother”. In recollections he saw her as vibrant; even near her end she had managed a bit of cheerfulness, showing, once again, she cared for him.

Pilate’s youth shared important experiences, boys having—unless the daughter be the only child—preferences shown to them for introduction to the world. Of course, Sextus’ knowledge of Lepida were her older, married years. The men’s youthful years were the observer, and taken together, from their recollection a chronologic history of Lepida’s life could be made. There were a handful of incidents, however, when Pilate visited, that all three were together. To talk of these, the uncle and nephew would find no description necessary and could easily converse. Sextus felt Pilate’s final visit to have been too fleeting, their talk was interrupted as a butterfly’s irregular flight in a garden. He’d break away to visit others in Rome but return to converse as before. So Sextus truly did look forward to the remarks Pilate should make concerning Lepida’s early life. Questions he might ask were “Had her mother been the one to teach her to cook?”, “What games had she played?” Obviously, these were questions he could have asked her as she lived, however being a typical boy, Sextus was wanting only to be outside and at play. Pilate’s sharing could fashion his future hours for reflection upon how these childhood incidents gave rise to adult mannerisms and practices he had come to love, as he saw these in her. Eros one time had made comment to Sextus that he never spoke of his “father”, and Sextus gave the reply, “He was busy becoming ‘important'.” The mother was the “favorite”, if his favoring one parent be allowed.

Sextus’ devotion was to gods that most others little regarded: Somnus, the god of sleep, and his son Morpheus, god of dreams. Not that Sextus spent inordinate amounts of time sleeping or that he had always considered his dreams important. He had not, but it was in these dreams as an adult he gained more interest. Morpheus had seen to it this mother and son often were reunited to relive their happiness. Such dreams refreshed Sextus. In one well-remembered, he and she had been on a grassy knoll. She rested on a cot and Sextus, attentively beside, sat on the luxuriant green grass. Their look upward was at the beautiful blue offering clouds at their whitest! So joyful were the two at seeing these, the clouds were hesitant to move on. It is a living prevalent joy that supersedes dreams, however, and many a time in their last half-year he combed her hair when the nurse was absent. Towards her end—there being a day of her marshaling real strength—they went out with a driver and wagon that they might view again those lovely areas she’d, as a wife and mother, known.

A residual of love was his fond memory of her. This was propelled by dreams but already was integral in his heart; for, Sextus’ love was to, and always would be to, her. When she had given motherly love, he had been the son who received this. And when fatal illness was changing all, Sextus believed he became stationed in perfect sympathy with that discomfort. As a soldier Sextus incurred injuries having much pain, yet short of life-threatening were the wounds. At such times he thought of Lepida’s strength to endure. Sextus now had a cameo that once belonged to her. It was a carving in ivory of an unknown lady. Yet, he came to cherish this because his mother had valued it so. Not a talisman holding an herb, not a medal honoring a god to get through painful times; this was his beautiful lady showing similar grace of his mother. It was no popular teaching but his supposition that:beauty heals.

Difficult to express, but regardless of victories on the battlefield and subsequent promotions, intrinsic joy he had had evolved from a different place—his significant joy was that she had lived—yet there was no requirement from him that he experience joy.

Mile after journey-mile passed; had she been waiting patiently all his military career for when he would not be busy, save for accomplishing plodding miles that go by? Was this to be, at last, the time when she, rightfully, took a foremost place in the mind’s eye? A few days back, riding this road, Sextus had looked at his shirt and seen the fading. His thought was Color surely fades but not the memory of one’s mother. At that clear-thought moment, he stopped the horse and looked all around to see whether amid all that greenery, she was there. Against the cameo he pressed the leather sides of his purse, and touching it, he then rode on.

During those final months of hers Sextus withdrew from classes. They were an expense, and the money should go to doctors; but, moreover, Sextus had desire to spend all time with her. He lost contact with chums but any “sacrifice” in that seemed infinitely small; he had recognized this, even as a teen. Sextus learned to position her for “comfort” or tolerating the discomfort. He on occasion would prepare a meal they slowly ate, and on these times and others she'd endeavor to explain Sextus’ father’s outlook. She regularly mentioned their gods and instruct how it was they cared for their mortals. These earnest claims—regardless of his respect for her—seemed hollow in light of her decline. So as a man grown now there was no calling upon those gods for assistance. He wasted no anger on them; a real suspicion he had was that their “sky” overhead was rather empty. Why, too, trust gods when all might be capricious? Avoiding any such disappointments kept Sextus’ purse unopened when pleas for donations to honor these most common gods came around. Others might trust them for safety and make appropriate sacrifices–and so if these others were protected, by his being close in battle alongside, then he had benefit without the expense made for worship. This was Sextus’ calculation, and it was the calculation made by a man who had become impoverished in youth and understood how it happened.

Certainly, Pilate would also wish to speak of her; the same lovely woman had a brother and son and, though dead, she connected their lives. Sextus had expectation for the grand ex-Governor to consider him floating somewhere between detective and the sister’s only son. His ranking in the field was just below Centurion.

He expected exhilaration to come from talking about her, and especially with one who was with clear mental image of whom they spoke. (Lepida was no historical person of a previous generation, still a topic of discussion with citing of deeds she’d been known to accomplish!) There may be adding to his living memory of her with any scenes Pilate could create for him. And to this end Sextus foreswore to tell all that Pontius Pilate should desire to hear about her. However, it was of a truth that mere talk could not fashion her any more real through jarring of memory–this love signed by her many kisses could not know of increase; but, perhaps, it could better be understood by what Pilate might now have to tell and through what increase of vision Pilate’s own intervening years had brought to him.

It was in her dying that Ennius Octavia Lepida's son discovered he had ineptitude over certain situations. At his father’s earlier dying, Sextus had optimistic thought about earning money for the family’s support. When she entered that dying phase of her life, with doctors not aiding much, the lad-almost-a-man grew increasingly realistic concerning life’s events. And in becoming grown, Sextus regained the confidence that was his youth’s; however what changed, by comparison, was his accepting life’s bitter handout even while producing high achievement in life. He did not think with the political astuteness as Pilate might, and he wondered: Could Pilate even put aside politics and his private plans for a time so as to allow their “resurrecting” those perfect memories of Lepida? What might be worse: Would the stolid Pontius Pilate rob of reacquainting with her loveliness of spirit? At end of life—if this was Pilate’s time it—would the ex-Governor preoccupy himself with personal oversights of his, those slights and faults of his past, and to then seek to give recompense of a sort? Or might his guilt be crushed that he then, in a summation of effort, deliberately goes on to influence events and manoeuver through the manipulation of others?

With Sextus having desire to reacquaint in this planned-for, prolonged visit recementing relationship with “Uncle”, it was in reading the letter that he was inclined to think so. The piece of mail arrived having been marked for urgency. And bearing official seal, this letter the director of the Department judged to be important. He personally carried it to Sextus as final delivery. (Having traveled, now, the same distance the little letter took, Sextus had respect for Pilate’s intent.) Considering from whom it came and the great distance, Sextus was immediately eager to have it open and be at the reading of it. Other detectives stood around in their curiosity and they shared his excitement. Using demure tones and providing Sextus assurance and compliments, they hoped to nudge Sextus into opening his letter. Elated and happy, at first he’d agreed to read it aloud. After its opening and his reading of initial greetings that Pontius Pilate wrote, Sextus saw that it all became too personal for others to hear. He apologized to them for having stopped, and this brought on their much jocularity in their brazen requests for him to give loans, for Pontius Pilate to write letters of introduction whereby they might purchase rich-blooded horses cheaply in Rome, and to share the ocean villa he was known to have, etc.!

On that occasion of Sextus’ leaving the room with his letter, Eros followed and presented a different request; then for days, he dogged Sextus to give an answer. Eros had desire to journey along that he might come to meet the famous uncle, Pontius Pilate. He had met an Emperor and Emperor’s daughter during his lifetime; he could imagine himself coming to know Rome’s Governor over the Syrian Provence! Talks they could have would far excel the understanding of power and strategy that no amount of letters back and forth would allow.

Money and privilege had been the request of others for Sextus’ Pontius Pilate, but it was not a hope for gaining an inheritance that brought this traveling. It was his desire to meet again and talk with a very-much-alive Pontius Pilate who had full mental acuity and was enjoying life.

Eros’ asking had begun with a rather business-like tone, even to sounding officious. But with the passing of a day and no answer from Sextus for the request, Eros repeated the asking, but this time cordially; his explanation being that he had vacation days due him in abundance and he had for a long while wished to travel to see Gaul. Still Sextus delayed in giving that permission. When half a day later Eros stopped Sextus in a hallway, Eros again presented the request but in a beseeching way in which he gave a promise of assisting Sextus in any way possible. The Roman considered that Eros was finally to put himself to the actual begging, and he didn’t want to see that. He had some arrangements to be made prior to leaving Rome and assigned Eros one chore as a test of willingness to help. With this completed, Sextus gave Eros his right to come along, “Yes. All right. Pack that fancy saddlebag. You can come,” he told to Eros.

There on the spot, and overjoyed, Eros began his dance in the Greek style that other detectives passing by stopped to enjoy. So that’s a Greek being happy Sextus knew. He clapped and encouraged Eros to continue. When this dancing stopped Sextus remarked, “I’ve made you happy, but I haven’t done a thing! I wish this job here was always so easy and the Director pleased as well!” But to not let Eros’ raise hopes too high, Sextus explained that there was some shakiness in Pilate’s writing, and perhaps he was becoming frail. Eros quickly assured that at no time would he press for overly-long discussions that may cause him distress.

On reconnaissance they traveled under the tension of their concern for their discovery; on the battlefield they bore the eagle of Rome insignia with pride. They had conviction that by their actions in the Department, Rome gained in endurance. The two detectives relied on each other in equal proportion. But before commencing this journey, Sextus began to doubt he really knew the basis of Eros’ motivation. It was with precautionary warning he reiterated to Eros not to press Pontius Pilate beyond the limit of toleration; “and from these discussions of yours,” Sextus gave proviso, “there are to have no new investigations arise.” Eros playacted mock astonishment Sextus even mentioned this.

Their politically-minded Director had taken note of the letter that the astute Pontius Pilate had decorated with seals and formalized delivery instructions. All gave appearance of some unfinished Empire business. Nevus Macro’s complaint was that the proposed lengthy absence by Sextus exceeded the permissible in his policy for Department members. In keeping, Sextus refrained from asking his trip be sanctioned. Eros merely used the weeks of vacation days he’d never taken. And because Eros was to receive usual pay, the Director leaned towards assisting Sextus who would receive his travel costs but no salary. His uncle Pontius Pilate was not poor anyways! This could change and Sextus receive more, pending results of that travel and adjudged importance to Rome. Pontius Pilate had made mention of fallout from the Judean itinerant preacher who he had had crucified a few years before.

* * *

Within a room that held the fire which produced a plume of smoke seen by the two riders on the plane sat Pontius Pilate. He was leisurely reading a letter, the original of which he had sent to Ennius Sextus asking that he quickly come to Gaul.

My doctor advised that I may soon depart, and I am certain he is not meaning another trip that I might visit Rome! Rather, nephew of mine, I ask you to come to me. Since Portia no longer is by my side—repeated travels to Malta, and her continually assisting those living there took a final toll—I find you are my soul heir. But were others alive, I don't doubt I would still call upon you; for you are, Sextus, the personification of the virtue found in the Patrician class. I do confidently predict that you shall be of great assistance in helping to keep the Empire secure for many years to come. So now, venture to Gaul; for, I have much to tell and ask of you! Pilate took enjoyment in his reading again the style in his writing.

“You’ve still got it.” Smugly he awarded himself the compliment.

Not far away, at this same moment, Sextus was waiting for Eros to complete the descent with the packhorse. The relative of Pilate took out his letter for a final read. Sextus had, lately, taken to removing it from the leather pouch so as to touch it and have “contact” with the great man. Most words he’d memorized by now, and it retained but small pieces of the original wax seal. Now he appreciated the length of this journey that the letter, for a second time, had taken. Touching the letter was not a fetish, and it was doubtful that he would read it again soon. Those words penned by Pilate offered affiliation anew with his uncle. It also involved Sextus’ giving service to him.

Eyes of Sextus’ searched toward a section near its ending: For the beloved recollection of all your mother has meant to us; come to me, Sextus. Gaul awaits. Sextus returned it to the pouch. He quite beamed to realize he had brought this first goal to its reality; they were to meet again. It was but a short distance to Pilate’s, and his soul praised the day!

Pontius Pilate, in informing Sextus his own health was questionable and expectation for long life limited, had wished for Sextus to “come do what shall be seen as needful to do.” The request was absent the “summoning” language of letters Vinius Gaius would pen for him and send in the ex-Governor’s name. And with regard to Vinius Gaius, Sextus intended to cooperate with the man who had served his uncle many years. Thoughts returned to Mother as a result of Pilate’s mention of her in the letter. Sextus felt love to still come from her—at this life point (reaching 30) Sextus found love to be rare; he did not need to ask of what love consisted. In the mind’s eye he saw her smile characteristic of his younger life.

Transalpine Gaul positioned Pontius Pilate where the rulers at Rome could put the weak and “bribe”-branded past governance of his well out of mind. “Banishment” was not the word they had used, kindly; however, Pilate experienced that after two years of regular letter writing and his mentioning others with improprieties still had the Emperor’s favor, no replies came, and he realized he was, effectively, marginalized. This gave rise to a desire to have Sextus visit; unknowingly, the nephew was bringing “a bit of Rome” along with him. Pilate would reciprocate by writing him several introductions to Army generals he knew. Mindful of the fact that Sextus knew Rome, Pilate anticipated much good conversation. This Gaul, seemingly a paradise when he arrived here, had been such contrast to the “dry” Palestine he’d left; however, “gardeners” within this paradise were so very plain that nothing but dull conversations were to be had with them.

Maybe fifteen minutes more of riding remained. Unpredictably, this flat land became his stage for a flurry of bombarding thoughts. The past few weeks should have been ample-enough time to consider all things, however, a nervousness now at finally seeing the uncle did confuse in a way that nearly devoured! It was strange, this sensation Sextus was feeling. It were as if “two” of him rode to see the uncle. If the situation was that Pilate was near death or frail in the extreme, what exactly could the nephew do to help him? This brought hesitation, and yet Sextus surely wanted to see him, this one in the world who was “family”. But why the uncle’s detachment through the years? Letters Sextus wrote seemed not to have gotten delivery. Were lack of replies from his demands of duty or from selfish preoccupation? Sextus’ intent was “to do good” here, but those left behind in Rome thought he'd left to only attach himself to wealth. As if these conflicting thoughts did not suffice, Sextus realized he was here, about to help sort through the affairs of a previous leader the Empire now chose to keep “at arm’s length”.

To be sure Pilate could delineate how Sextus could assist, but all statesmen—irrespective of age—used their words to manipulate. Sextus intended to keep active his detective skills and have eyes open to all truth in the developing situation. Had Mother not said, and Father agreed: “Almost nothing is as it seems." Sextus hoped to have Pilate look at him with eyes that understood he was a nephew who cared, and not somebody to be used. Sextus wanted soon to see a person able to love and give him respect, not a grasping politician.

“No more wonderin’ how far we’ll get today,” Eros commented after five minutes of Sextus’ being caught up in silence with a tendency not to talk.

Sextus smiled and said, “No. We’re 'here' today.”

If there are contingencies to arise with folk interior to the gate, it was certainly nice, Sextus thought, to have Eros along. All this way—32 days of traveling—at last had given evidence of his being truly thankful Eros insisted on coming along.

Sextus was not sure of how to begin conversation with Vinius Gaius or Pilate; but based on the view from higher up, he might address the courtyard mess–he’d have huts cleared away and hangers-on relocated and the gate kept routinely shut. Anyone who wants to both eat and be lazy would have to decide for one or the other here in the future.

Sextus first through the gate was an alarming sight for dogs, first to notice. Individuals soon after then stood and scowled to defend their huts. Curses were uttered and wives and children also took turns at shouting in the higher register. Dogs which barked unceasingly made charging steps forward, only to sidle back for mimicking of another charge.

Sextus considered this to probably not be a “situation” due to the fact that Eros and he didn’t wish it, and to where they were: Pilate's house. His soldier-companion had disgust for the crudely-fashioned clubs and swords having rust. The Celtic attire was generally ragged. But as they were standing in defense, what was there here that could be in need of protecting? Were he and Eros robbers, what could a thief possibly think to be of real value lodged in these unpromising huts? The two were stationary inside the gate, on horseback. “Against” their own "army" comprised of two Eros gave a quick tactical count of 20 and Sextus replied that he saw no bowmen or any with spears. Sextus held his hand high yet all kept their distance. Yet how the younger ones were eager to see parents humble these intruders!

It was propitious timing that Vinius Gaius, manager of the estate, came rushing through doors of the house. His flapping arms was to wave off concern his ‘soldiers’ had for the visitors.

“Greetings and welcome, my lords!” he spoke, and bowed. After straightening, Eros observed how Gaius’ obese cheeks bulged wider in effort to smile. The aide-de-camp stood aside the horses and marveled at the appearance of the one visitor he struggled with shading of his eyes to see.

“You are the kinsman of my master.” Gaius gave a military salute, and this time even Eros returned it. “I have not doubted,” said Pilate’s helper, “that I am looking at Ennius Sextus who Pontius Pilate has praised to me down through the years.” After dramatic pause he offered, “But were you to tell me you are a ‘younger’ Pontius Pilate, this I would believe likely as well! The resemblance is unmistakable. Now were you to exhibit statesman-like qualities, well, the name honoring Pontius Pilate would reverberate endlessly...” He cut this off, meaning it all as his compliment.

He turned and gave his rebuke of the staff. “What are you doing, you fools? A more doltish crew I have never had! Here we are expecting arrival of these two, but you have been most unwelcoming.” Following, he made excuse to Sextus, and Eros. “You are early.”

This tirade stopped the intimidating looks of the Celts who, again subject to the inactivity in the estate, dropped the clubs in place; they seemed not to know what next they should do. Gaius handled a rein of Sextus' horse and led the guests closer in.

“Help these soldiers with the horses and their belongings,” Gaius told the others.

A dozen grubby hands pressed forward to aid them in dismount. “Don’t touch the bags with leopard strips,” Eros directed. (These were given him as a trophy from an African hunt corollary to his investigation for the Department.)

Odor of Gaius' breath gave revelation of near-drunkenness, a similar condition of many others here. “A poor reception you’ve received,” Gaius acknowledged again while walking backwards—Eros assumed this little fete could be done by him were they even in a lightening storm or flood.

“We understood you to arrive in two days or more. Did the guide meet you as we had set it up? I promised him his pay.”

“His salute,” Eros quipped to Gaius—more a jibe, really—“lacks the excellent flourish of yours.” Vinius Gaius did not recall saluting but he received the compliment graciously.

“Well, you must forgive—hopefully accept?—our behavior. Since the last illness of my master, Pilate has placed great store on privacy. These around have followed his wishes, but today it’s certainly a coarse and surly way! I think you'll agree: for them it comes naturally.” Gaius inadvertently was proving his own demeanor to be not better: he grossly belched, leading Eros to raise his eyebrows and Sextus to increase the distance between himself and the man. At reaching the front steps and platform, it dawned upon the aide he had failed to officially introduce himself. His shoulders straightened.

“I, Vinius Gaius, was once centurion of the second regiment of the Tenth Legion...” Paranthetically he remarked,“My present heftiness can’t belie the fact much time has passed since those days of soldiering.” He rambled, “Yes, Ennius Sextus; yes, Dion Eros, towards the end I took to much worrying about my master and his affairs of state in Jerusalem. All troubled me nearly as much as it did my Master! Pilate was most kind in keeping me on when he served as Procurator. Now I’ve become as you see of me: I am broken, old—perhaps a fool serving a fool.” Vinius Gaius grew lighthearted to tell, “I had indicated your uncle was ill. Yet, it is a vexation of mind which plagues Pilate. Physically, he’s well enough—he might ride twenty miles or walk five, were there the desire for that. But, no, it’s in his mind that there’s an ailment, and perhaps what Pilate says is true; he maintains that a worm has been placed there by the gods. It lodges against his brain causing him trouble.”

The ‘talker’ tried to ascertain if they thought such could be possible. He broke out, then, laughing and they saw he relished telling this story.

“But, please, I ask your forgiveness, my lords. I neglect my duties. You are tired from the long journey—”

Gaius, in his saying ‘lords’ had included Eros, a man unknown to him except by name. He had no idea whether Eros be born freeman or slave. He commenced a quick examination of any holes in the stranger's ears and if on the ankles Eros had marks of past fetters he’d worn. Gaius looked also at his arms. Multiple scars were much present, however these had come from routine soldiering. There were no brand marks or marks of the lash as a laid-in punishment. The exam Vinius Gaius thought surreptitious—he had accomplished all in a minute without detection he presumed. All this while Gaius had continued his welcoming words. His being drunk seemed not to diminish his effectiveness in meeting and forming his first judgments of people. As he had worked for Pontius Pilate in Palestine, this was one of many tasks. But Eros saw he was being “looked over”—it displeased him and Eros was doing a "slow burn".

“Best that I escort you to your quarters. Pilate undoubtedly still sleeps.” Gaius led them down another corridor having even greater litter present. Eros conjectured that no woman had good charge of the household. At the door to the guest room played several children and watching these was a pair of women in a nearby alcove. Entering, Gaius and the visitors happened upon two ladies caught napping. Gaius did not bother to introduce them in their giggling and appointed them to be Sextus’ and Eros’ chambermaids. The entire room needed general cleaning up and straightening.

Eros knew a cure to use for what first should have been done. He eyed a copper basin heating over a charcoal stove ten feet away. From this he removed a shovelful of charcoal and crossed back to the couch where a lady stood scratching a bite.

“Ho! What are you up to, fellow?” Gaius tried to intercept him. The tone used was that of Gaius’ towards the courtyard idlers. Eros obviously was about to “sew” these over the wooden bed, and Gaius had intention of preventing it. Eros required but use of a single arm to move an old man who’d stepped into his way.

“This,” Eros replied matter-of-factly, “is what you should have performed before we came.” Pulling the bedding back, Eros scattered out the hot-hot coals. They hit, and any wishing to see could watch tiny lice going in all directions, desperate for survival. This brought forth more giggles from the ladies.

Eros returned the shovel to the burner and approached Gaius. “I know you,” he said, loud enough so all could hear. “You stand here as Vinius Gaius, some-time centurion in the Tenth Legion.” Eros drew his knife and brought it to the man’s neck and let the point prick the skin. He held it there for the next few minutes. “But you got into trouble. You became drunk once too often! Struck your superior—I’ve read the report. Yes, Gaius, you got flogged and remained unrepentant. But for your knowledge of Aramaic, you would have seen release from Army service. Luck had its eye on you, though; Pilate learned about you and for some reason gave to you the opportunity to serve him. For his time of office you did better. But now you’ve fallen back to your drunken ways!”

There was no refuting any of this revelation.

Eros grew in anger. “You work for a sick master who you cheat and despise, and you have your nerve to call me ‘fellow,’ not knowing whether if I be slave or freeman!” Eros let the knife nick a trifle more. “I shall explain to you all which of the two I am.”

Sextus took a slow deep breath, holding as still as Gaius.

“Put it out now, woman,” Eros instructed, and she poured water on the couch. Steam hissed and arose.

“My mother was a prostitute who got hired out to those my master had chosen. When aged, her duties became to clean the rooms. And this she did well, just as you, Gaius, will see to it that this room has its cleaning! When I, at 17, showed I had certain talents, the master sold me to an Imperial civil service worker where I was able to add to the gold in my pocket. Before age twenty I was freed by the Empress Livia and granted citizenship. I am as indebted to her as to my mother. In the Department of Vigilance, I answer only to the Emperor and Naevius Macro, Prefect of the Praetorian Guards.”

He withdrew the blade point. A trickle of blood made its way down.

“Do you know what Macro would say to my holding a knife at your throat? Nothing. You will see that my orders are carried out. I give them—you then manage these people until all I say concerning our being guests comes to be. Understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” This answer of Gaius’ permitted his freedom. The fat man took to kissing Eros’ hand. He shed tears onto the investigator’s arm.

“Forgive this foolishness of mine, Dion Eros. You were not expected so soon, and so you see, I—no, none of us—really was ready. It behooves us that we should do better. This lot I must deal with have rough manners; they are ill-disposed to make changes.”

Gaius looked at the ladies for reassurance they'd clean the room thoroughly. They assented with their nods. Gaius stood upright, having this to say:

“In one thing you are wrong, sir. I do not cheat my master nor rob him of respect he’s rightly due.”

Eros listened with no expression, except for his hand being miles away from his knife now sheathed.

“I love him,” Gaius disclosed. “Yet for me to humor Pilate is a difficult matter—he has clamorous demands. You shall see...”

At this moment—it was uncanny—a large gong sounded to beckon Gaius.

“It is my master who calls. Pilate has awakened. No doubt that he has learned of your arrival. I will take you to him.” He turned and left showing great hurry, and his guests obediently followed close behind.

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