Pilate's Dilemma

CHAPTER TWO
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Should Eros relax and smile, a greater number of wrinkles formed on the already-aging face; despite these, however, he still bore no resemblance to his god of Love namesake. His physique proclaimed to all the world: Face me—you fight a warrior! Born on the beautiful island of Sicily, the Greek lad received his wealth of black curly hair from the mother, but he inherited her slavery status as well. As a toddler Eros used profane words that amused her prostitution customers; this was occurring hundreds of miles distant from where Ennius Sextus was taking his first steps in glorious Rome.

Patrician parents expect the raising of children to include wide-ranging activities within the nobleman class; yet for Sextus there were insurmountable problems that prevented a lengthy living in privilege. His father died with a breathing difficulty and mother soon thereafter. There were doctors' treatments she suffered through but after a few months time, she succumbed with complications from her abdominal pain. Sextus, through this, learned to be her comfort.

Though he had not known the meanness of people, Sextus' hardships were without warning; they hit while he was down. Thus his view of the world was uncertainty; he could not say it was even “friendly”. His one living relative had been unavailable at that difficult time, and it was now this man who he rode to see. But advice from the uncle certainly would have been that he attach himself to a politician—he had his own start that way—or at least to become a bureaucrat. Sextus made a personal decision that in joining the Army he would meet others having similar soul’s need. Now he had ten years of diligent service to look back on; all this while he had shunned sights and sounds of decadence. It was Sextus’ comfort to believe that had parents lived, they would be satisfied with the progress of his career and life.

Never did Sextus subject his superiors to last-minute appearance of industry; their appraisals rightly recommended him for promotions. Though his present “investigator” assignment was more “sideways” a career move—one without increase in pay—his prestigious descriptor gained him more “clout”. This duty he considered to be “a plum”.

Both Sextus and Eros importantly possessed keen vision which, coupled with high natural ability and similar training, allowed them to deliver concise, perceptive reports to superiors. They were in a special reserve category that commanders formed of those who are found to be resourceful. Separately, the two gained their experience in reconnaissance, and when they met it was on a battlefield with a need to go spy behind the enemy line. Being paired up, not unimportantly, these two survived; the reports they gave higher up earned joint commendation: “Intuitive choice of action courses fast in their veins!” Dion Eros saw himself used for all sorts of investigations; he was not singled out for the Greek-speaking assignments. No longer did Eros and Sextus “see in silence” but listened to whispers and hearsay. Rarely had they swordplay. No more battlefield shouts! In this civil police intelligence branch, these two—among the thirty like them—analyzed their information to the writing of reports, all made in rooms without windows. And yet, they were in Rome!

After two years as "Vigiles"—firemen and detectives so-named themselves that—the pair were without qualms of conscience despite occasional extreme tactics they used. They and all detectives were the stratagem and players on the Department of Vigilance game board. Still Army, the soldiers wore uniforms they provided for themselves. Commonly, the folk seeing them had some fear. Eros rather liked it. On one occasion he had said to others there “Any distinction between their feeling ‘fear’ or giving ‘respect’ has no distinction to us; that they start to fidget as I come near is what pleases me!”

They had random assignments when they worked together. These projects they approached with an agreed-upon mission, and they consciously avoided getting at cross-purposes. Despite several of these, however, neither Eros nor Sextus could say of the other one “He’s my friend.” They did not seek one another's company when not assigned together. But how magnificent the joy of their first walking together underneath the Department archway when beginning new training! Accomplishments since that time were many and added to their credentials; their individual reputations were enhanced, and perhaps that was enough for these two.

Eros, in growing up, had developed enough coarseness that Sextus found it irksome to hear this former slave giving battlefield commands. Yet in his mind he knew the popular notion that "being Greek” was an enviable refinement, so it rather balanced out. Were Pilate to now ask of their previous joint assignments, the reply would include when the pair, crouched low in the Teutonburger forest, saw barbarians crooning around fires while above they roasted legionaries suspended in cages from trees. That noisome affair spied upon was still with danger for them—there was thick, horrid smoke that nearly caused Sextus to cough. Eros quickly put his dagger to the throat of Sextus and, whispering, said “Even begin to cough, I shall have to kill you!” So, words were as sharp as weapons carried, and the two combined, well...

They as new recruits years ago were taught “A weapon, and how the soldier faces up to its use, is a direction for your life. Always work to improve skill by ‘beefing up’ your body till the weapon has its efficient use. Master a weapon—the next will be easier to learn. These extend hands and feet, your arms and legs.” To this, Eros was bringing along much street fight experience.

Born on the Roman-conquered, formerly Greek island of Sicily, Eros happened to win, rather than fight for his status of freedman. Arabs might send slaves into battle, but not the Romans, though in Coliseum gore, slaves and convicts were encouraged to fight ferociously for their living a bit longer. Phintias was a popular west coast city for Empire hierarchy to visit; it was here that a very young Eros accomplished more than the mere learning to swim—he excelled in swimming and won numerous races. Once when a vessel approached the island, he was first into the water, and he reached the ship first. The vessel happened to transport none other than the Emperor himself, and to the young Greek slave with such initiative he presented a gold coin struck 75 years earlier that commemorated Pompey the Great's achievements in Sicily. But more than this value of gold was Eros’ showing joy to meet and chat with the Emmperor of the Empire!

Ennius Sextus having natural bearing, ability and reasonably-nice looks, had enlisted and learned all weapons use quickly. He was then honored by being designated to teach others. For these new recruits he added the slant, “Weapons are the intelligent duty of a soldier.” Eros, similarly picked elsewhere, explained his points this way: “A weapon shall get you what you want. You don’t have to kill or wound always with it.”

One could summarize that as soldiers are supposed to perform, these two did. Their talents and backgrounds, though diverse, had helped to produce for them commendations necessary to gain appointments to enter the Department. The two got along well here: Eros in his life had openly developed his intelligence and innate aggressiveness, while for Sextus, he was raised in all things non-prosaic. Working in the Department, Sextus occasionally had dealings with nobility. Oh, he could lean comfortably against their columns supporting metropolis buildings, but he did not start to pine for a status now lost. Literally, Sextus had emerged from sufficient muck and bogs to win commendation that he relinquished forever a returning to the life of praise that came easily from but partially-sincere patricians.

For Eros and several others their labor in the Department proved to be their “home”. Because the livelihood of theirs came from the Department, this place enabled them to serve. Eros extracted from the military a status he wanted; and his was to share the destiny of the greater: it was to be Rome’s way that would, by his help, long endure. Too, Eros was glad that his work brought him to the center of the Empire. Eros was aware that Army orders could uproot one for new assignment; coupled with this was his needed obedience in essentially reporting his whereabouts all times. This gave a sensation that life was not quite “owned” by him. Despite no longer being a “slave”, Dion Eros could not quite be free while in the Army. Yet, surprisingly, he took proud example from the Empire: it, being not a “slave”, magnificently served all—in tandem with the rightful command that it be served! Older by far, this Empire stood as a “father”; in certainty, it would outlive him. Eros saw in it his “child”—because his own work affected the Empire, the Empire bore some resemblance to him: these various aspects formed the Empire as the “be-all and in-all” of his life. Eros daily bequeathed devotion to citizenry of the Empire as espoused within the Department motto: Permanence and Quality in Rome’s Life. And after two years within that Department, he emotionally could commit his total mental strength to it having success, rather than pursue his own dreams and personal goals. So, empty of the more natural drives, it was for Eros with dedication to face off against evils of the day that challenged, tempted, and occasionally confused.

*

The remembrances of mother that came to mind on this trip surprised Sextus for their great number. These were pleasant, and he regretted no time he’d spent—or not spent—with her while she had lived. What was to sorrow was that life could be shortened so! Whatever number of years before her dying did not matter, it was Sextus’ sentiment towards her that calculated a “life” of hers now. He dutifully excised a share of life on the battlefields where the fates of others were subject to his, and among these most often younger men, it was impossible that they would have been as loving as she!

There are some warriors that inevitably cry when talking of their mother—a “remembered” love for them has continued to linger in an abstruse way. These cannot finish what it is they even wanted to say! Love has here muted. “I wanted to live to love you longer”: those were her words last spoken to him, and at any time Sextus might recall them. Rarely he’d spoke her name—Ennius Octavia Lepida—his name for her was the ever-occurring “Mother”. Recollecting, Sextus pictured her vibrant; she was lovely and loving—even towards the end she managed a bit of cheerfulness. She had showed time and again that she cared deeply for him.

Pilate’s youth had share in the girl Lepida’s experiences from a time before; though boys had preference shown them for introduction to the world. Of course, Sextus’ knowledge of her was the older, married years. The men’s youthful years were the observer. Taken together, reliably their recollections could paint her life history. There were those handful of times when Pilate had visited the family-of-three, and should they talk of these, there would be no necessity for Sextus and Pilate to orient themselves before speaking. Sextus felt Pilate’s final visit to have been brief, the talk they were having seemed interrupted as a butterfly in its irregular flight through a garden. Pilate would break off and go visit others; then he’d return for more conversation. Sextus was truly looking forward to hearing new remarks concerning her life. Questions he thought he might ask were “Had her mother been the one to teach her to cook?”, “What games had she played?” Obviously, these questions he could have asked when he was young, but Sextus’ being a typical boy had him mostly outside, wanting to play. Pilate could share; this could help fashion Sextus’ future time of reflection over her childhood incidents giving rise to her adult mannerisms he had come to love. Eros made a comment once that he never spoke of his father. Sextus explained it away in this way: “He was busy becoming ‘important'.” His mother easily was “the favorite”, if the favoring of one parent be allowed.

Whatever devotion to gods Sextus allowed in himself, his choice was for a pair lightly regarded by other soldiers: Somnus, the god of sleep, and Morpheus his son who provided dreams. Not that Sextus slept inordinately long or that he considered all his dreams important; he hadn’t. But in dreams Morpheus thankfully saw to their reunification—mother and son—for often produced happiness. These dreams refreshed and in one well-remembered, Sextus and Lepida were on a grassy knoll. She rested on a cot and he, attentively beside, sat on most luxuriant grass. Their look upward was at the beautiful blue offering clouds at their whitest! So joyful were they in seeing these that clouds, then, were hesitant to move on.

However, it is the living prevalent joy that can supersede a dream. Sextus relived several times this year the touching of her hair while combing it on those days when, at the last, the nurse must be away. Some of it he had carefully saved. It was towards her end—there being a day she had extra strength—that he hired driver and wagon so they might ride out to see again a few lovely places that as a wife and mother she had enjoyed.

“Love” resided in those fond memories of Lepida. What, too, was carried to him by dreams already was integral in his heart; for, Sextus’ love was to, and always would be to, her. When it was motherly love she gave, it was as the son he received it. And when fatal illness was changing all that did surround, Sextus believed himself to be in perfect sympathy with her discomforts. Sextus incurred a share of injuries as a soldier, but short of serious were the wounds. Even so, at times of the pain, he thought of Mother’s strength and endured. Now a possession was a cameo that once had been hers. It was the lovely profile of a lady that he now cherished for the reason she had valued it. Not to be a talisman encapsulating an herb or medal that would honor one of the many Roman gods as hedge against painful life loss, the ivory was a woman showing grace similar to hers. The soldier held the supposition somewhere beneath the strong, hardy exterior of his that beauty heals.

Difficult to express... regardless of victories on his battlefields and subsequent promotions that were his, the intrinsic joy he had had evolved from a very different place—it stemmed from the fact she had lived. (Yet the soldier in him did not require that there be joy.)

Mile after scenic mile he traveled to meet Pontius Pilate with his matters of importance; not unimportant for Sextus, however, was it to learn more of this woman who had meant so very much to him. Had she waited till now that there would be time in his career when, not busy, he’d attend to her? Was this the right moment for him to exchange cares of the world for more pressing memories of the past? There was, a few days back, when riding the road that Sextus had looked at his shirt. “Color may surely fade, but not the memory of one’s mother.” That all was succinctly was a clear, enough that it brought him to a stop where from atop his horse he might have a look all the way around to see whether amid that greenery she was somewhere there.

During those final months of Lepida’s existence, Sextus withdrew from education classes. These were expensive and that money needed to go to her doctors. But more so, it was Sextus’ earnest desire to spend all time possible alongside her. He lost contact with his chums, but any such “sacrifice” seemed then and now infinitely small. This he understood even as a teen. He learned those positions that brought “comfort” to her deteriorating body. On occasion he’d prepare their meal which they slowly ate. And on such times and others she endeavored to explain his father’s outlook. She regularly mentioned their gods and instructed how it was that they cared for mortals. Her earnest claims—and he had respect for her view—still seemed hollow to him. As a man: taller, heavier, and more to be feared, there was no calling upon these gods once hers. He’d not waste his anger on them either; in reality, he had suspicion that the “sky” overhead was rather empty of them. Why trust gods when they might be, at best, capricious? To avoid disappointments Sextus kept his money purse closed when those seeking donations for a new sacrifice came around. His dreams were more real to him than the preachments and pleas from Captains. Others should trust their gods for safety and make the appropriate sacrifices, he would not; notwithstanding, he benefitted from any safety that their actions may bring as he fought alongside those soldier-donors. This was the calculation made by a man who in his youth had become impoverished and who had been wise in seeing how this came to pass.

Certainly, Pilate would include his speaking of her; the same lovely woman had both brother and son. Sextus had expectation the grand ex-Governor would consider him as being somewhere stratified between detective and only sister’s child.

He expected exhilaration to come from talking about her, especially with one who had similar mental image of whom they spoke. (Lepida was no historical person to be found of a previous generation, a mere topic for discussing accomplishments attributed to her.) There might be his adding to the memory of her with scenes from life that Pilate could create, and to a like end for Pilate, Sextus foreswore to tell all his memories. However, it was a truth that any talk would not fashion her more real through jarring a memory–this, her love, had been signed by many kisses and could not know increase! Only the insight—not love—might further be his gain.

It was in dying that Ennius Octavia Lepida taught her son he was powerless over life’s most powerful and dramatic situations. At his father’s passing, Sextus thought optimistically he might earn their money for the family’s need. But by time of Lepida’s entering the dying phase—with doctors able to avail little—the lad, closer to manhood, became more realistic concerning tragic events. Now, being grown, Sextus had regained his confidence of high achievement while accepting there would be misfortune. Aware he was not to think with the same political astuteness as Pilate, Sextus was wondering Could Pilate put aside his politics and private plans for a time so as to allow for talking of their memories of Lepida? Would the stolid Pontius Pilate rob of reacquainting with her loveliness of spirit? At end of his life—if it was to be Pilate’s now—would the ex-Governor preoccupy himself with his own personal oversights, the slights and faults of his past, and feel need to seek a giving of compensation? Or might the guilt he has be effectively crushed by him that he might wish to go on maneuvering events by manipulating others?

With Sextus having desire to reacquaint in this sure-to-be long visit wherein he’d potentially “reestablish” with “Uncle”, it was in rereading that letter from him that Sextus became inclined to see it all was a possibility. Hadn’t his mail arrived marked with urgency and the Director decided it was of sufficient importance to have him personally put it into Sextus’ hand? (And having traveled that distance now the little letter took, Sextus had even more respect for Pilate’s effort.)

That day, receiving the letter in Rome, Sextus had had eagerness to open it and begin its reading. Other detectives stood around to share in the excitement, and be curious. Using their demurest tones they convinced Sextus to immediately read it aloud; at first, while elated, he agreed—but on reading past the initial greeting Pontius Pilate gave, the nephew saw that its contents was becoming all too personal. He stopped and apologized; then began their jocularity in attempts to secure their loans, letters of referral for where they might near Rome find rich-blooded horses to purchase cheap, and other such nonsense.

On that occasion when Sextus left the room with his letter, it was a thus far silent Eros who followed him to present a very different request. And having done so, he then dogged Sextus for days that he might get an answer. For, Eros desired to journey along. He would meet the famous uncle and have face to face discussions over the Empire. He once had met an Emperor with great success, and this was an nice opportunity to meet and talk with a once-Governor of Rome’s Syrian Province

Eros, in so asking, had begun with rather placid tone. But after a day passed and no answer forthcoming from Sextus, he repeated the request in a more cordial way. Too, he explained that he had abundant vacation days available and he actually had wished to someday see Gaul. Sextus delayed in giving that permission to him. When again, half a day later, Eros stopped Sextus in a hallway, he requested this same approval but in a more beseeching way. He promised additionally he would provide Sextus assistance in all ways. Now the Roman considered that Eros next would put himself to actual begging—he didn’t want to see that! Sextus had arrangements remaining before he’d leave Rome. He assigned Eros a chore as a test of willingness to help. With this comfortably completed, Sextus went ahead and accepted Eros as one who could travel along. “Yes. All right.” he told him. “Pack that fancy saddlebag of yours, you can come!”

On the spot and with joyousness, Eros began his dancing. It was in the Greek manner, and other detectives who were passing stopped and watched. So that’s a Greek in total happiness! Sextus now knew. Their clapping encouraged Eros to do more, but he finally stopped. Sextus remarked to Eros, “I have made you happy but haven’t done a single thing! I wish I could so easily please the Director.” But so as to not let Eros have hopes raise too highly, Sextus went on to explain some shakiness was in Pilate’s handwriting—perhaps he was becoming frail. Eros knew to quickly assure that at no time he’d tax Pontius Pilate with discussions that either was lasting too long or that distressed him.

For money and privilege had been those requests of others before, but Sextus was riding not in anticipation of inheritance. It was his hope to meet and talk again with a very much alive Pontius Pilate who, with full mental acuity, was enjoying his life.

When on their reconnaissance years ago these two soldiers traveled under a tension of concern of discovery; on the battlefield they fought bravely beside those bearing the Empire eagle insignia with pride. Theirs was the conviction now that by their action in the Department Rome would endure. They relied upon the other equally, but before beginning this trip, Sextus came to have his doubt he fully understood Eros’ motivations. With precautionary warning it was again that Sextus warned Eros he should not plan to press Pontius Pilate beyond any tolerance of discussions. Likewise, these should not give rise to any new investigations for the Department of Vigilance. Eros agreed wholeheartedly; he playacted a mock astonishment he was even asked.

Their politically-minded Director took note of the letter the astute Pontius Pilate had decorated with seals and provided formalized delivery instruction. All gave an appearance of there being as yet unfinished Empire business. Nevus Macro complained the lengthy absence requested exceeded weeks permissible to one in the Army. In keeping, Sextus refrained from asking sanction for his trip. In the end, Sextus got travel costs covered but not the salary beyond his normally allotted leave time. Sextus could receive more, pending results of the travel. In the letter he was allowed to read, Nevus Macro learned Pontius Pilate was concerned over the fallout from the Judean itinerant preacher’s execution under the sentencing of then-Rome’s Governor. “The matter,” Pilate wrote, “might well become ‘of interest’ to the Department.”

*

From that room producing a plume of smoke seen above the house from in the valley there sat Pontius Pilate reading the letter—a copy of it—he’d sent his nephew. In it he had asked Ennius Sextus to come join him posthaste. My doctor has advised I may soon depart, and his meaning is not to say that I may plan another trip to Rome. Rather, nephew, I must ask that you come to me. Since Portia no longer remains at my side—arduous, repeated travel to see friends in Malta is her mainstay, and for which her health also suffers—this leaves you as recipient of my main call for help. You are the sole heir of this vast estate of ours. But were there others, still it would be you, Sextus, who I would call to assist. In you is personification of the many virtues found in our Patrician class. I can predict that you shall be of great to the Empire overall, both in securing the borders and our having sustained strength internally for years to come. It is with the greatest need that I beseech you to venture here to Gaul. Pilate took enjoyment in reading his own words again. The style of writing had charm.

“You’ve still got it,” he awarded himself smug, favorable opinion.

Not far away at the very moment, Sextus awaited Eros’ final descent with the packhorse. He took out his original for a final read of Pontius Pilate’s letter. Lately he had taken to removing it from its leather pouch for touching it as if it were direct contact with the great man who was his uncle. Most words in it he’d memorized, and now the letter exterior retained but few fragments of the original wax seal. To touch the letter this way was not a fetish, but at seeing those words again he remained in full conviction that affiliation with Pilate would be renewed.

His eyes searched to the bottom phrase that meant much to him: For the beloved recollection of all your mother has meant to us; come to me, Sextus. Gaul awaits. Sextus returned this to its carrying pouch. He quite beamed now that he had brought reality to that first goal he’d set: Soon they would meet together again. His soul praised the day!

Pontius Pilate was informing in the rest of the letter that his health was questionable, further life for him, he thought, was limited, and inasmuch, he wished that Sextus “come do what shall be seen as needful to do.” Absent from the requestor was any language “summoning”, as what Vinius Gaius would do in letters he wrote for Pilate. And with regard to Vinius Gaius, Ennius Sextus intended to cooperate fully, for Gaius had served his uncle faithfully many years. There was return of thoughts to Mother as she had been mentioned in the letter, and still it was that love was felt to come from her at his reaching 30. If asked, Sextus would say that love was 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’s view.

Transalpine Gaul positioned Pontius Pilate where those rulers of Rome could put the weak bribe-taker well out of mind. “Banishment”, tactfully, was a word not used; however, Pilate felt he had experienced that. After his two consistent years of writing to mention improprieties others in the service of Rome had, there were no replies forthcoming. He realized he was marginalized. This gave rise to his desire to have Sextus come visit. Unknowingly, the nephew brought a bit of Rome along. Pilate planned to reciprocate by writing introduction letters on his behalf to Army generals he knew. Mindful of his young ears knowing Rome, the nephew, Pilate anticipated, would provide him conversation galore concerning individuals mutually known by the two. This Gaul might be thought of as a paradise for all its greenery and trees as compared to the “dry” Palestine he had left; yet it was no place for intellectual exchange of ideas, and less so for any news, it turned out. As a Governor, Pontius Pilate allowed himself few friends, but now that he was retired, he wondered where friends were?

The remaining fifteen minutes of riding were Sextus’ hardest. This flat land had become the stage for a flurry of “bombarding” discouraging thoughts. The past weeks of his riding should have been ample-enough time to work through his known contingencies here. But such nervousness now at finally soon seeing his uncle did much confuse; it was to devouring! Strange, his sensation and feeling, that of there being “two” of him that rode towards that grand house. If the situation were that Pilate ebbed towards death or severe frailness, what exactly could be done to help? This brought some hesitation to earlier resolve… and yet Sextus truly wanted to see him. Pontius Pilate was the one in the world who was “family”. But why the man’s detachment the many years? Letters Sextus wrote seemed not to have had delivery. Or were the lack of the man’s replies due to demands of continuing duties and selfish preoccupation? Sextus’ intention was to “do good” here. Discarded in Rome were comments of some that he came surely for the reason of attaching himself to wealth again. But here in the last fifteen minutes the calloused words made their way into his mind again. And if these to be reconsidered did not torture enough, Sextus realized that he was here and about to help sort through the affairs of a previous leader that now the Empire in its wisdom had chosen to keep well away!

To be sure, Pilate would delineate how Sextus might here assist, but all statesmen—irrespective of their age—use words for manipulating people. He intended to keep active his detective skills and have eyes open to all truth of the developing situation. Had Mother not taught, and with Father’s agreement: “Almost nothing truly is as it seems." Sextus’ goal was to have Pilate looking at him with eyes that saw him as a nephew who cared about him, and not as someone to be “used”.

“No more wonderin’ how far we’ll get today,” Eros broke through and said after Sextus’ five minutes of intense silence.

Sextus immediately smiled, saying, “No. Eros, we’re 'here' today.”

If there were to be a contingency just inside that gate, it was well to have him along Sextus thought. It took 32 days of traveling, but Sextus had to admit to himself now he was glad for Eros’ insistence on coming along.

Sextus was not sure of how to begin a conversation with Vinius Gaius; but based on the view from higher up, he might address that aspect of the courtyard mess. He’d have huts cleared away and hangers-on relocated to where they could work gardens outside the gate which would in the future be kept shut. Anyone here wanting to both eat and be lazy was going to decide for one or the other, and not have both.

Sextus, being first through the gate, alarmed the dogs. Then male individuals soon thereafter stood. Mysteriously, they took on scowls so as to be a defense of their huts. Curses in Celtic were their utterance. The wives with children took turns shrieking out in a higher register. These dogs with their unending barking made a certain number of threatening steps forward then they’d sidle back to mimic, again, another “charge”.

Sextus considered this unlikely to be “a situation”. Eros and he would not wish it so; for, they were at, finally, Pilate's estate. Sextus’ soldier-companion had disgust for the crudely-fashioned clubs and how their swords exhibited considerable rust. Celtic attire, apparently, was ragged. But as these folk stood defensively, what might there be within the huts in need of protection? Were he and Eros to have been robbers, what could a thief imagine had value inside these unpromising huts? The two remained horseback just within the gate. Against an army of two, Eros gave his quick tactical count there were 20 here, and Sextus replied he saw no bowmen and none with spears. They could always turn and ride out, but what “progress” was there in that? Sextus held his hand high, yet those others kept at a distance. Youths had a look of being eager to see the visitors/intruders humbled.

All this led up to a propitious timing for Vinius Gaius to come rushing out the doors of the house. Flapping arms to wave away everyone’s concern, he reached his visitors who guised their fair amusement over this very heavy man who seemed to have the potential for flight.

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

“You are kinsman to my master,” Gaius spoke to Sextus and gave them both his military salute. For this occasion, Eros returned it. “I have not doubted,” said Pilate’s helper, “that I am looking at Ennius Sextus who Pontius Pilate has praised these many years.” After thoughtful hesitation Gaius pronounced, “But were you to tell me you, rather, are a ‘younger Pontius Pilate’, I should believe this as well! Your resemblance to him is most noticeable. Now were you to exhibit statesman-like qualities, well, the honor towards the name ‘Pontius Pilate’ would reverberate endlessly...” He cut this off and had meant it all as a compliment.

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

The tirade had stopped intimidating looks of the Celts; they, again subject to the inactivity of the estate, dropped their clubs in place. They seemed not to know what next to do. Gaius handled the rein of Sextus' horse and led them closer in.

“Help these soldiers,” he ordered his own, “with their horses and belongings.”

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

The odor of Gaius' breath was revelation of near-drunkenness, not unlike the condition of half the Celtic men here. “A poor reception you’ve received,” Gaius acknowledged again while walking backwards—Eros assumed this little fete could be done by him were there lightening flashing or a flood rising!

“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.” Gaius said all these things.

“His salute,” Eros quipped more as a jibe at Gaius, “lacks the excellent flourish that’s seen in yours.” Vinius Gaius did not recall that particular salute, but he received the “compliment” graciously.

“Well, you must forgive—hopefully, perhaps accept?—our behavior. This goes since the last illness of my master; Pilate places great store on privacy. These around have followed his wishes; but today, it’s certainly in a coarse and surly way! I think you'll agree: for them it has come naturally.” Gaius inadvertently was proving his own demeanor to be no 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 and he told:

“I, Vinius Gaius, once centurion of the second regiment of the Tenth Legion...” Parenthetically he remarked, “My present heftiness can’t belie the fact that 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 troubled affairs of state in Jerusalem. I was perplexed as was my Master. Yet, Pilate was most kind in keeping me on when he served as Procurator. Now I’ve become as you can see: broken, old—I am perhaps ‘a fool’ serving ‘a fool’.” Vinius Gaius grew lighthearted as he told, “I had indicated your uncle was ill. Yet, it is a vexation of his mind plaguing Pilate. Physically, he’s well enough—he might ride twenty miles or walk five, were there desire for that. No, it’s in the mind that there’s an ailment. 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 all trouble and pain!”

The ‘talker’ tried to ascertain if they thought this could be possible. He broke out, soon enough, laughing; they saw he quite relished telling the story.

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

Gaius, in his saying of ‘lords’ had included the man Eros unknown to him except by name. Gaius had no idea whether Eros be born freeman or slave. He commenced his quick examination for any holes in the stranger's ears and if on the ankles there were marks of past fetters being worn. Gaius looked also at the arms where multiple scars existed, but these were judged by him to be from soldiering. There were no brands or marks of the lash to be seen. The exam Vinius Gaius gave was surreptitious—he thought—and all this was accomplished within a short minute. All the while the welcoming words from him continued unabated. Nor did his being drunk seem to diminish any effectiveness in meeting people. Eros knew he was being “looked over” and assessed in a first judgment. This greatly displeased him; he did a "slow burn", as one could say of it.

“Best I escort you to your quarters, for Pilate undoubtedly still sleeps.” Gaius led down another corridor that happened to have an even greater litter problem. Eros conjectured there was no woman here in charge of the cleanliness of the household.

At the door to the guest room played several children, and watching were a pair of women in an alcove nearby. Upon entering, Gaius and his visitors happened upon two ladies more; these they had caught napping. Pontius Pilate’s aide did not bother to introduce them. In their giggling the two were appointed as chambermaids for the room, the entirety of which required general clean up and a good straightening.

Eros had a cure for what first must be done. He eyed the copper basin heating over a charcoal stove a few feet away. With a miniature shovel he removed charcoal and crossed back to the bed place where a lady stood scratching her latest bite.

“Ho! What are you up to, fellow?” Gaius tried to intercept him, and that tone used was no different from instructions given to courtyard idlers just before coming here. As a fit soldier Eros required but a single arm to move the man from his own pathway.

“This,” Eros matter-of-factly said, “is how you should have prepared our room.” He pulled bedding back and scattered out hot coals. These hit, and all wishing to see could view the tiny lice go in their many directions. This brought only more giggling from the ladies.

Eros returned the shovel then approached Gaius. “I know you,” he said. All could hear him. “You stand here as Vinius Gaius, some-time centurion from the Tenth Legion.” Eros drew his knife and brought it to the man’s neck and the point pricked the skin ever so slightly. Here Eros let it stay while he talked for the next few minutes.

“But you got into trouble. You allowed yourself to be drunk once too often! Struck your superior—I’ve read the report. And you were flogged and remained unrepentant. But for knowledge you had of Aramaic, you would have been released from Army service. Luck seems to have an eye on you though; Pilate learned of you and gave you the opportunity to serve him. For this time of his office you did better, but now you have fallen back into drunken ways.”

For Gaius, there was no refuting anything Eros revealed.

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 which of these I am.”

Sextus was taking a slow, deep breath; he held himself as still as Gaius was doing.

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

“My mother, a prostitute, got hired out to those my master chose for her. When she became aged, he set her to cleaning those very same rooms. This she did well, just as you, Gaius, will see that this room is now made clean. When I was 17 and showed myself to have certain talents, the master sold me to an Imperial civil servant. Here, gold in my pocket went to good use; before reaching 20 I was freed by the Empress Livia and, giving that gold, I was granted citizenship. I consider myself more indebted to her than to my mother for a life worth living. In our Department of Vigilance, I answer now to Naevius Macro, Prefect of the Praetorian Guards.”

He withdrew his blade which began the blood trickle down.

“Do you know what Naevius Macro would say to my holding a knife at this man’s throat? Nothing,” he told them all. Addressing Gaius, he directed, “You will see that my orders are carried out. I give them—you then manage the people until all I say comes to be. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” This answer gained Gaius the release, followed by the fat man’s kissing of Eros’ hand. He also shed tears that dropped onto the Greek’s arm. When partly composed, Gaius explained:

“Forgive this foolishness of mine, Dion Eros. You were not expected so soon, and so you see, I—no, none of us, it seems—was prepared. Yes, we are behooved to do better here! This lot I deal with has manners that are ‘rough’ in the making—and they are slow to change.” Gaius looked at the ladies for reassurance they'd clean this room to Eros’ satisfaction. Their nods were their full assent. Gaius stood upright.

“In one aspect you are wrong,” Gaius was forthright, even bold to say. “I do not cheat my master nor have I robbed him of respect he is due.”

Eros was listening with no giving of expression except for the hand which he now held—with the knife—“miles away” from the beleaguered Vineus Gaius.

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

This all proved uncanny—a very large gong sounded which was beckoning Gaius to somewhere else in the house.

“It is the master who calls. He has awakened and no doubt has learned of your arrival. I will take you to Pilate.” Gaius turned. He left in great hurry, not even looking behind to see that his guests were following.

*