Spoilers: Subtle references to Gaius's conversation with Quintus about his Germanic heritage, in Season 1, Episode 6, "Indescribable Compassion."
Disclaimer: The Chosen certainly isn't mine, but I am incredibly thankful to creators of this wonderful show for all their amazing work. I'm only playing in their sandbox, and I'm making no money from this. :)
A/N: This is a loose sequel to my other Gaius and Matthew fic, "Orsorum." You should still be able to read and enjoy this fic without reading that one, but reading "Orsorum" might help to fill in details from Gaius's past, as I imagine it. It will also help explain the larger historical context I'm working from, based on hints we're given in the show. :)
As always, I also thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.
If you see anything marked with an asterisk (*), it will have an historical or content note at the bottom of the page with more information. The information will be listed in order of appearance. You don't have to read the notes for the fic to make sense, but I wanted to offer the information for anyone who might enjoy some more detail about the subjects mentioned. :)
Memoria
Capernaum, A.D. 25
Gaius had noticed the man the moment he'd joined the line in front of Matthew's booth.
He was tall, wearing a thread-bare, blue robe over a tattered, gray tunic, and he looked to be somewhere in his late thirties. He had a long, dark beard that reached nearly to his chest, and his head was uncovered, his short hair untamed and his skin marred with a few smudges of dirt.
There was nothing really remarkable about that, but where most of the Jews in line looked resigned, worried, or bored, this man was tense in a way they weren't, his jaw clenched tight, something wild shining in the depths of his eyes. He had the look of a man caught in a trap...the look of man who might feel he had nothing left to lose.
Instinct prickled in warning, but Gaius kept his scrutiny subtle, watching the man from the corner of his eye while he stared out over the crowd, one hand resting on the hilt of his gladius.
When it was the man's turn, he walked stiffly up to the counter and handed Matthew a worn scrap of papyrus through the small window.
Matthew unfolded it, scanning it quickly before he consulted his own records.
The man didn't wait for him to speak. "I need another extension."
Matthew frowned down at whatever he saw on the parchment in front of him. "That is not possible. You cannot file another – you do not have the necessary collateral."
The man's hands clamped around the edges of the counter, and Gaius tightened his grip on the handle of his blade, no longer pretending disinterest.
The man didn't seem to notice.
"I just need more time," the man insisted, leaning closer to the metal bars. "A few weeks."
Matthew glanced up at him, brow furrowed, then looked down once more, his finger tracing over the words in front of him.
"For assets, I see only a single property listed. Have you obtained any additional assets that you wish to declare?"
"No," the man said through gritted teeth. "If I had, do you think I would be...?" He drew a ragged breath. "A few more weeks," he said again. "That's it. That's all I need. Just a few weeks."
The furrow in Matthew's brow deepened as he scanned the records a final time, and then he shook his head.
"Unless your situation has changed," he began, looking up at the man again, but not quite meeting his eyes, "I see no remedy. The debt must be paid. I will transfer your case to the Roman office, and if you cannot provide the funds, then your assets will be seized immediately and you will be jailed until the debt is paid in full."
There was silence for just a moment before the man's face twisted in a savage snarl, and he lunged forward, one arm snaking through the small window as he tried to wrap his fingers around Matthew's throat. Matthew jerked back in shock, nearly tripping over the stool beside him, and Gaius was already moving, driving the pommel of his gladius down into the man's back.
Desperation must have given the man strength, though, because he grunted with the force of the blow, but he kept moving, twisting away from the counter and turning on Gaius instead, throwing his body forward in a wild tackle.
Gaius tightened his grip on the blade in his hand and let himself roll with the attack, bringing his right knee up into the man's stomach as they both fell. The man cried out at the impact, and using their momentum, Gaius sent the man over his head and face-first into the ground, stunning him.
Gaius quickly rolled over onto his front, getting back on his feet. A single step brought him to the man's side, and he dropped into a crouch, his right knee braced in the middle of the man's spine. He pinned the man with his weight, his gladius pointed at the back of the man's neck, the tip pressed against his skin.
"If you move," Gaius warned simply, "I will kill you."
The man's muscles bunched, but either he was too dazed to keep resisting, or he recognized that Gaius meant every word, because he finally stilled.
A quick glance around the market showed Gaius that most of the people nearby had already scattered in fear; a few of the bolder ones had stayed to watch, though they kept a careful distance. The scuffle had clearly drawn the attention of other soldiers, as well – Gaius could hear their heavy footsteps and the familiar clatter of their armor as they ran up the street.
He recognized one of them as they drew closer. Cadmus had been a part of Gaius's detail before Gaius had been reassigned to guard Matthew. Perhaps Cadmus had been granted a higher command position because he was the one to order the soldiers with him to take custody of the prisoner. Gaius pushed down the pang of envy he felt at the thought, then stood once more to allow them to bind the man's wrists behind his back, though he did not move his sword from the man's neck until the last cord had been cinched tight.
"Gaius," Cadmus greeted.
Gaius sheathed his gladius and nodded in return. He had never quarreled with Cadmus, at least.
"Cadmus." He motioned to the bound man as he was dragged upright by the other soldiers. "He attacked a publicanus* who was carrying out his duties in the service of the Empire. His assets are to be seized immediately to pay his tax debt."
The man was likely facing execution now, as well – a warning to others.
A publicanus was considered to be in charge of his own safety when he was not at his booth (though, naturally, if he was targeted outside of his work, only minor altercations were overlooked – the Empire could not tolerate the murder or maiming of their publicani, after all). But, once a publicanus was at his post, he was a representative of Roman authority, and anyone one who attacked him faced the full force of Roman justice.
The thought drew Gaius's gaze to Matthew, who, he saw now, was still standing near the back of his booth, well away from the counter. He looked pale.
"Are you hurt?" Gaius asked sharply.
Matthew blinked at him a few times, his gaze darting to the bound man. The man was slumped over in the grip of the other soldiers, but he managed to glare back. Matthew looked away quickly.
"No," Matthew answered at last. He straightened his shoulders and tugged uneasily at his tunic. "I'm fine."
He ducked his head and looked around his booth, clearly catching sight of some records that must have been scattered when the man attacked. A few rested at Matthew's feet, and he bent to collect them, gathering them into his arms.
He straightened a moment later, then took a few, short, steps forward to set them down at his usual work station. Immediately, his fingers began trying to smooth away the new creases and wrinkles in the papyrus.
Gaius watched the anxious motion of his hands, frowning. "You sure?"
Matthew looked up again, apparently caught off guard by the concern. "Yes," he insisted.
He bent down again, as if to focus once more on putting his records back in order, but something must have caught his eye because he paused suddenly, staring.
Gaius followed the line of his gaze and muttered a silent curse when he realized just what Matthew was looking at.
Gaius's lorica* had shifted during the scuffle, so that his shoulder guard had ridden up, pulling back the sleeve of his tunic and his cloak, exposing more of his right bicep – and the long, thin, white scar that ran across it.
Scowling, Gaius gripped the edge of his armor with one hand, and with a quick tug, resettled the chest piece so that the attached guards were once again even on his shoulders. (One of the leather ties that bound the armor around his torso had broken the other day, allowing the armor to move more freely, and he hadn't had time to address it yet. Clearly, he needed to fix that...and soon.)
He glanced down at his arm, satisfied that the scar was no longer visible, but he could still feel Matthew's gaze lingering on him now.
Gaius ignored him, turning his attention back to Cadmus and their prisoner.
Hopefully, Matthew's curiosity would fade soon enough. After all, it was hardly unusual for a solider to have scars - Gaius several had others, earned over the course of his career.
This one was no different.
But the memory burned just the same.
Ten years earlier, on the Black Sea Coast, in the Roman province of Moesia, the city of Odessos, A.D. 15*
The blow came out of nowhere.
One moment, Gaius had been walking to the barracks after his duty shift, the next, he was on the ground, a heavy weight pressing into his spine.
Ingrained instinct born of years of training had him moving in an instant. He quickly hooked his right leg over one of his attacker's, using it for leverage. Then, twisting his shoulders to keep his attacker off balance, he rolled over, taking his opponent with him until they had switched positions and his attacker's back was pressed into the dirt.
But his opponent was fast and already armed – there was a flash of silver as a knife thrust upwards. Gaius jerked back, avoiding the worst of the blow, but the edge of the knife caught his right bicep, just under his shoulder guard, leaving a long line of burning pain in its wake.
His flinch gave his attacker just enough time to slip out of his reach and scramble to his feet as well, and Gaius grit his teeth, bracing himself in case the other man lunged again. But, when he caught sight of his attacker's face in the fading light of the evening, he froze.
He didn't know what he'd expected.
A dissident, unhappy about the nearby city's annexation to a Roman province. An especially brazen thief, crazy enough to try their luck at a Roman fort. A runaway slave who'd panicked when he saw a Roman solider.
But instead, he saw the face of a fellow centurion.
Adelphus.
He was young for a centurion, having been promoted to the rank just last year, and right now, those youthful features were contorted with rage, his brown eyes blazing with hatred. It was the hatred that held Gaius in place. They'd shared night duty together a few days past, and though Gaius would not have called Adelphus a friend, he hadn't imagined him to be an enemy either.
The other centurion barred his teeth in a feral snarl.
"Germani dog!" he growled and lunged again with the blade.
Gaius blocked the strike, catching Adelphus's wrist and turning the knife aside without much thought, but his mind was reeling all the while.
Germani.*
Adelphus knew. How did he know? Had one of the commanders told him? Had he overheard a conversation? Seen the contents of a scroll?
Perhaps, in the end, it didn't matter.
Adelphus ripped his arm free from Gaius's grip and thrust the knife forward once more, aiming for Gaius's throat. Gaius arched his back to avoid the strike, but the tip of the short blade still passed just a hair's breadth from its target; it was fortunate that it was a knife and not a gladius that would have given Adelphus a longer reach. (Perhaps Adelphus had thought his gladius might be too conspicuous – he was wearing only a red tunic and a leather belt, after all, having left his armor behind, and he had waited until Gaius was alone to attack.)
Gaius was acutely aware of the weight of his own gladius which still rested at his hip, but he didn't want to kill the younger man unless he had no other choice. It was not mercy that stayed his hand – if there were others in the legion who shared Adelphus's hatred, then in their eyes, killing Adelphus, even in self-dense, would only prove that he was the threat they believed him to be.
Adelphus obviously did not feel bound by the same concern, and Gaius didn't plan to give the other centurion another chance to find his mark.
Dropping into a low stance, Gaius charged forward and hit Adelphus full on with his shoulder, using his weight and momentum to knock the other man off his feet.
Adelphus grunted as he landed hard in the dirt, and at last, their fight seemed to have drawn some attention.
Gaius heard a few soldiers calling out, a murmur rising around the fort, followed by the sound of footsteps as men rushed out into the open. A few seemed to think that it was some sort of attack because they had their weapons drawn.
Their arrival was enough to distract Gaius for just a moment, and Adelphus twisted away from Gaius's hold, getting back on his feet once again, still brandishing his knife. Gaius cursed his inattention and raised his hands, prepared to defend himself once more.
He didn't have to.
"ENOUGH!"
The Primi Ordine's* voice rang through the air, bringing everyone to a halt; Adelphus grit his teeth as he lowered his knife, though he still looked as though he would like nothing better than to bury it in Gaius's chest.
The Primi made his way quickly through the gathered men, his red cloak trailing behind him as he moved. The other soldiers parted to allow him to pass, dropping their gazes respectfully. The graying commander's sharp brown eyes swept over the crowd as he took in the scene before him.
Gaius lowered his hands and stood up straight, nearly at attention; he was still winded, and rivulets of blood began making their way down his wounded arm, the cut stinging with every beat of his heart.
The Primi's attention moved from Gaius to Adelphus and back again.
"Explain," he said finally. "Now."
Gaius opened his mouth to speak, but Adelphus burst out before he could:
"This Germanic scum deserves to die!"
However Adelphus had learned the truth, clearly, Gaius's heritage had not been common knowledge before that moment because a different sort of murmur rose from the gathered men this time, and Gaius could feel the sudden weight of their combined stares.
A few even moved closer to Adelphus, as though silently offering their aid to him should he choose to attack, and the Primi – whom Gaius knew had read his service record when he'd first been stationed at the fort – didn't seem to disagree with the pronouncement, his gaze cold and unyielding as he looked at Gaius once more.
Gaius raised his chin faintly, straightening further. "I was walking to the barracks when he attacked me from behind, Primi. I was defending myself."
The Primi glanced over at the other centurion. "Is that true?"
"He's Germanic," Adelphus spat. "He wants us all dead. He's just waiting for his chance."
"I would never-"
"Silence."
Gaius obeyed.
The commander once again turned to the other centurion. "What do you accuse him of, Adelphus?"
"His wretched kind killed my brother! Marcellus was in the 18th."
Gaius grimaced at the mention of one of the the legions that had been lost to Arminius's treachery nearly five years earlier*, and he heard a few of the gathered men spit harsh curses of their own. He wasn't certain if they were directed at the Germanic Prince who had betrayed Rome and slaughtered thousands of soldiers, or if those curses were meant for him.
In their eyes, maybe there was no difference.
The Primi didn't seem to feel that there was – Gaius didn't miss the way his hand tightened faintly on the hilt of his gladius. But, Germani or not, Gaius was still a member of the legion, and perhaps the Primi felt some sense of duty towards him for that alone. With a look of extreme distaste, the commander sighed.
"My condolences for your family's loss, centurion," the Primi told Adelphus. "His people should be rightly condemned. But do you have any other basis for your accusations against him, aside from his unfortunate ancestry?"
Gaius stiffened, biting his tongue to hold back the response rising up in his throat.
"He's a barbarian!" Adelphus snarled. "He'll-"
"I said," the Primi repeated tersely, "do you have any other basis for your accusations against him? Has he been acting suspiciously? Have you heard him make threats? Do you have proof that he's spoken against Rome or her people?"
Adelphus seemed to sense that the Primi would not tolerate another outburst, and he spoke his next words through gritted teeth.
"No, Primi."
"Then we'll bring this before the Primus Pilus* for judgment. You two, follow me. The rest of you, return to your duty."
The men did as they had been ordered, though the fight and what followed had drawn enough of a crowd that it took some time from them to disperse. Adelphus finally put away his knife, slipping it into a small sheath he had strapped around his waist, but his eyes still burned with fervent hatred.
Gaius met his gaze without fear, his own fury raising in his chest, and for an instant, everything that made him Germani seemed to surge in his blood. He could feel the phantom of the Suebian knot in his hair* that would have rested at his temple, and the ghost of the frameae that he would have carried as a warrior of his tribe* made his palm itch; he could almost feel the texture of the wooden shaft and see the spear's pointed head out of the corner of his eye.
"Centurions," the Primi barked.
The moment broke.
His hair was once again cropped short in the Roman style, and it was a gladius that rested at his hip; his hand tightened on the familiar hilt, the sensation grounding him in the present.
He and Adelphus followed the Primi at a distance, keeping pace with each other, neither willing to have the other at his back.
Hours later, the Primus Pilus had declared that, for his actions, Adelphus would be punished by pecuniaria multa – a reduction in pay.* This would continue for the next three months.
The was no proof, the Primus Pilus had reluctantly agreed, that Gaius had done anything worthy of disciplinary action himself.
Of course, Gaius was given the notice that he was being transferred just a few days after that, sent to a remote outpost in the Egyptian desert.
He spent the next three years in the sweltering heat, checking caravans, fighting marauders, and earning a few more scars to match the one Adelphus had given him.
Capernaum, A.D. 25
With the man bound and the area secure, Gaius watched as the prisoner was dragged away.
He struggled weakly in the soldiers' grip, still clearly dazed, but when his gaze once again locked onto Matthew in his booth, anger seemed to revive him.
"Filthy traitor!" he yelled, trying to wrench his arms free. "Roman dog!"
One of the soldiers back-handed the prisoner hard across the face, and he abruptly fell silent, but Gaius saw Matthew flinch out of the corner of his eye.
The reaction was enough to draw Gaius's scrutiny. Surely, Matthew had to be used to that sort of insult – citizens often made their displeasure known, judging by his obvious reluctance to walk through the market. Then again, maybe it was proof that the younger man was more shaken than he wanted to admit.
Frowning, Gaius turned to the lingering crowd who had stayed to see the spectacle.
"The booth is closed for the remainder of the day," he announced, raising his voice enough to be heard over the din of the market. "You'll have to return tomorrow to conduct your business with the publicanus."
That was standard procedure any time there was an incident, a subtle form of punishment for the rebellion in their midst. A few of the gathered Jews obviously recognized it for what it was, judging by the dark looks he received, but no one dared to voice their complaints aloud.
The crowd began to disperse, and Gaius looked back at the booth, observing Matthew through the bars once more. He'd returned to fussing over his records now, his gaze lingering on the papyrus, his fingers tracing the letters there.
"Matthew."
He jumped slightly.
"You heard what I said – you're done for today." Gaius nodded pointedly at the door. "Get out."
Matthew didn't answer, but he went to collect his things, picking up his waterskin and slipping the strap of his leather bag over his head. He opened the door, crossing the threshold with his shoulders hunched, a wary expression on his face as he left the safety of the booth.
Gaius eyed him for a moment.
He was dressed in a gold-colored tunic, a green cloak draped over his shoulders, the vivid quality of the dyes and the fine weave of the fabrics marking him as every inch a tax collector.
A tax collector. A willing servant of Rome. An outcast. Unwelcome, even among his own kind.
The scar on Gaius's arm seemed to ache faintly, and he almost cursed the man in front of him for calling up those memories in the first place.
He let Matthew move past him, then reached up to lock the booth's door with a turn of the key.
He sighed.
"I'll walk you," he added, "just so no one else gets any ideas."
Matthew blinked up at him in surprise, and Gaius glowered in response.
"Don't get used to it."
Fin
Historical and Content Notes
Publicanus/publicani – Publicanus is the Latin form of Publican. Publicani is the plural form. They were "ancient Roman public [contractors], who erected or maintained public buildings, supplied armies overseas, or collected certain taxes, particularly those supplying fluctuating amounts of revenue to the state (e.g., tithes and customs)" (Britannica).
Lorica - This is "a Latin word literally meaning 'body armor'" (Wikipedia). In this case, it specifically refers to the armor's chest piece and attached shoulder guards, meant to protect the torso.
On the Black Sea Coast, in the Roman province of Moesia, the city of Odessos, A.D. 15 – The city of Odessos is known as Varna in modern times, and it is currently the third-largest city in Bulgaria. It contains "the largest Roman remains" found in Bulgaria. In A.D. 15, the city was "annexed to the [Roman] province of Moesia" (Wikipedia).
Germanic/Germani – The use of the term "Germanic" has its origins with Julius Caesar who, "During the Gallic Wars of the 1st century BC...encountered peoples originating from beyond the Rhine. He referred to these people as Germani and their lands beyond the Rhine as Germania" (Wikipedia). It became used as a broad term to refer to all the various people groups living there, though they were distinct tribes who had a long history of warring with one another and competing for power in the region.
Primi Ordine – While centurions were officers in their own right, the Primi Ordine is one of the three most senior centurion ranks. From least senior to most senior, were the Primi Ordine, the Pilus Prior, and the Primus Pilus (Wikipedia).
The legions that had been lost to Arminius's treachery – Arminius, who lived from18/17 BC to 21 AD, "was a Roman officer and later chieftain of the Germanic Cherusci tribe." He won the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest in 9 AD, wiping out three Roman legions. "His victory...would precipitate the Roman Empire's permanent strategic withdrawal from Germania Magna. Modern historians have regarded Arminius' victory as one of Rome's greatest defeats. As it prevented the Romanization of Germanic peoples east of the Rhine, it has also been considered one of the most decisive battles in history, and a turning point in world history" (Wikipedia). It's estimated that "15,000–20,000" Romans soldiers were killed in that battle (Wikipedia).
Primus Pilus – This was the highest of the centurion ranks. Simply put, these centurions "were...senior centurions of their respective cohorts." Naturally, "These positions were usually held by experienced veteran soldiers who had been moved up within the ranks" (Wikipedia).
Suebian knot - The Suebian knot "is a historical male hairstyle ascribed to the tribe of the Germanic Suebi. The knot is attested by Tacitus in his 1st century AD work Germania, found on contemporary depictions of Germanic peoples, their art, and bog bodies." It was a knot of two twisted strands of hair worn at the temple. While it was originally unique to the Suebi tribe, "Tacitus...reports that the fashion had spread to neighboring Germanic tribes among the younger warriors" (Wikipedia).
Frameae – Popular culture often shows Germani peoples using two axes, but the weapon of choice for the Germanic warriors was actually a type of spear known as frameae. "In Germania, Tacitus says that this word was the Germans' own name for their spears," though this seems to be the Latin form of the word they used (Wikipedia). The name in the original proto-Germanic is somewhat uncertain and still debated.
Pecuniaria multa – As mentioned in the fic, this was a reduction in a soldier's pay, sometimes used as punishment for crimes that were less serious than desertion. (From the article, "The Crime of Desertion in Roman Law," found on the Library of Congress website.)
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!
Take care and God bless!
Ani-maniac494 :)
