Spoilers: Major Spoilers for the season 2 episode, "Reckoning."
Disclaimer: I certainly don't own The Chosen, and I'm not making any money from this.
A/N: I found myself very intrigued by Gaius's scenes in "Reckoning" when he is sent to arrest Jesus, and I couldn't resist trying to figure out what he was thinking. It seems like this is the point where Gaius's views of Jesus began changing, even before the Sermon on the Mount, so it was a lot of fun to explore. All recognizable dialogue is taken directly from the episode. Also, this is part three in my series about Gaius and Matthew's friendship. You should still be able to read and enjoy this fic without reading the others, but reading those 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. :) This time, to save some space, I'm not defining titles the show already uses, such as "Praetor." (Including those would mean my content notes would be even longer, lol.) If you're curious about the definitions of those terms, you can find them on the first two fics in this series.
Iter
The steady march of footsteps had been a part of Gaius's life since the earliest days of his infantry training.
He'd joined the Roman army at eighteen, as soon as his father had declared him ready, and he'd been excited and eager and dreaming of battle. Instead, as a new recruit, there'd been four straight months of combat practice, camp labor, and the march.* Combat practice and camp labor...well, he'd trained with his father from the time he was strong enough to lift a spear, so combat practice was practically an old friend, and he was no stranger to hard work either, so camp labor was just more of the same.
But the march? He'd despised the march at first, though pride and youthful stubbornness had kept him from ever admitting that to another living soul. The drudgery, the repetition, the sheer mindlessness of it had seemed far less glorious than what he'd imagined as a boy, and marching twenty miles in five hours, carrying sixty pounds of equipment, meant that exhaustion had only strengthened his hatred for the weekly exercise.
But gradually – very gradually – he'd come to appreciate what the exercise was meant to teach.
Discipline. Coordination. Endurance. Patience. Fortitude. All skills a solider needed to succeed.
And succeed he had. Gaius had finished his four month trial and sworn his military vow, officially becoming a member of the legion. But those early days had shaped his mind and his body in ways that remained with him still.
It made him smile faintly to think of it now, as he marched ahead of his men.
His men.
Gaius wasn't sure he could ever say those words without pride. It was a dream he'd thought long dead, the impossible realization of all his hopes.
It was difficult to fully enjoy it this morning, however, as they left Capernaum to carry out their orders to arrest Jesus of Nazareth.
It was bad enough that Matthew was likely to be there when the arrest was made, but that wasn't the only reason for the unease that was sitting in Gaius's gut like a lead weight. The other reason was the man who was following their company, keeping pace at the back of their ranks like an unwanted shadow.
Atticus Aemilius.
The cohortes urbanae had invited himself along with all the confidence of someone who knew he couldn't be refused.
Gaius wasn't sure precisely what the man wanted, but he could guess. After all, imperial agents like him had a reputation for knowing anything and everything, and if Atticus lived up to that reputation, then he'd undoubtedly seen Gaius's service record, which meant he knew the truth of his heritage.
Gaius's hand tightened faintly on the gladius that rested at his hip, a muscle working in his jaw.
He'd hoped he would have more time to prove himself before someone questioned the wisdom of giving a Germani such a high rank, but it seemed that wasn't to be. He could hear the arguments already. It wouldn't matter that his command was far from Rome, practically on the outskirts of the Empire – Arminius's treacherous legacy still loomed large*, and many would still see Gaius's promotion as as a possible threat...see him as a possible threat. And, if Atticus chose to make a case against him, Gaius would have few allies.
Though, he did have one thing in his favor – he didn't think Quintus would bow to such pressure easily, if only because the Praetor didn't seem fond of this particular cohortes urbanae, and he might resist Atticus's efforts purely out of spite.
Gaius snorted very faintly at the thought, though his amusement faded when he heard someone approaching him from behind. Only one man in the company would be brazen enough to simply walk up and join him.
He was proven right a moment later when Atticus spoke.
"So, what's your plan, Primi?"
Gaius's eyes narrowed. Did the imperial agent actually think he was too incompetent to carry out a simple arrest?
"Plan?" Gaius scoffed. "We're gonna walk through that city like we own it, arrest our man, and be home by breakfast, cohort. That is the plan."
"Have you been to Jotapata?"
The question had more weight this time, and Gaius had to work to keep his tone level.
"I've seen schematics."
He'd spent hours memorizing maps of the town and surrounding area, in fact, though he didn't intend to admit that. For all he knew, the imperial agent would see it as proof that he was plotting something more than a successful arrest near Jotapata.
Atticus's response was wry this time. "It's a very, um...intense place."
"Meaning?" Gaius demanded.
He'd never had much patience for word games. If the cohortes urbanae planned to see him ruined – or executed – he'd rather the man just state it outright.
"Well...let's just say the Praetor in Jotapata doesn't have the kind of control Quintus has in Capernaum."
Gaius blinked, caught off-guard. It almost sounded like Atticus wanted to help him. Unless, of course, that was meant to be a subtle warning that Quintus's protection would only extend so far. But it was still enough to spark Gaius's curiosity.
"How do you know that?"
"I used to have some reliable informants there."
Used to have?
Gaius frowned. "What happened? They stopped talking?"
"They stopped living."
Gaius turned to stare at the other man in surprise, his brow furrowed, and Atticus met his gaze.
"Tortured to death," he added. "One by one. Rome is the enemy in Jotapata, Primi."
It certainly sounded that way.
It was the sort of knowledge about a place that couldn't be gained from maps or schematics. Only sandals on the ground could give you that kind of intel, and if it was accurate, then Gaius owed this man, probably more than he wanted to admit. This was his first assignment as a Primi outside of his regular duties in Capernaum, and he knew all too well how precarious his position really was. That was why he'd spent so much time memorizing those maps – though, knowing what he knew now, his assignment was likely to be far more complicated than he'd expected. And that was...
"Not great."
The words slipped out, clumsy and too honest, and Gaius immediately regretted them.
Atticus was not particularly impressed either, judging by the sarcasm dripping from his agreement:
"Yeah."
Silence reigned for a moment, and the imperial agent's gaze turned back to the path in front of them, towards the sun that was low over the horizon, the morning still young.
"You know the guys in black and white?" he asked.
"Pharisees," Gaius responded.
"They've got a lot of 'em. And the other ones?"
Gaius hadn't actually had much interaction with that sect yet, but he'd heard of them. "Sadducees."
"Yeah, some of those, too. And preachers, like this Jesus, all over the place. Pretty much everyone in the town is on a mission of protest." He turned to offer a pointed look. "You know what I mean?"
Gaius could only nod. "I am starting to get the picture."
"Jesus' camp is just south of the city."
Gaius had already known that, and there was no missing the implications now. "Maybe we'll take the long way around."
Atticus chuckled at that, grinning. "Now, that sounds like a good plan."
The cohort reached up to toss the bulk of his cloak over left shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye, Gaius saw a faint glint of gold in the sun, undoubtedly from the eagle embroidered on the front of the man's tunic, a reminder of exactly who he was speaking with.
A cohortes urbanae. Practically the stuff of legend, if some of the younger legionaries were to be believed. Gaius didn't quite share their wide-eyed awe, but Atticus clearly wasn't the sort of man to do anything on a whim, which meant he must have had a good reason for inviting himself along on this little trek.
Considering that he'd helped Gaius avoid a potential disaster, it didn't seem like he had taken issue with his heritage after all. If he'd wanted Gaius to fail, it would have been easy enough to keep silent. So, it had to be something else.
Gaius decided to risk prodding him for more information. The man had humored him so far, at any rate.
"Is that why you came along?" he asked.
Atticus shrugged in a way that seemed far too casual. "I wanted the exercise."
Gaius smirked, disbelieving. Sure he did.
Atticus must have known what he was thinking.
"But mostly," the imperial agent admitted, "your Praetor is just about the most detestable guy in all of Galilee."
Gaius found it hard not to laugh. No one else in Capernaum – save perhaps Matthew, who never seemed to know when to stop talking – would have dared say something like that about Quintus. Still, even if he couldn't stifle his grin, he didn't let the amusement distract him, though perhaps Atticus had been hoping it would.
"You sure that is all?"
The imperial agent turned to stare at him now, looking faintly surprised.
"Could've walked along the seashore." Gaius gave a slight shrug of his own. "If you wanted to avoid Quintus, there's always plenty to drink in a fishing city."
He was the one to meet Atticus's gaze pointedly this time.
A smile broke out on Atticus's face, and he chuckled, seeming genuinely delighted. "You've got good instincts, Primi."
Gaius was pleased by the praise, much as he might have wanted to deny it.
"All right," Atticus said at last, apparently willing to offer the truth. "I must admit I am intrigued by your prey."
That certainly wasn't the answer Gaius had been expecting, and his eyebrows rose. "Jesus of Nazareth?"
Atticus's expression grew suddenly intense. "I saw a man who had not stood on his own two feet in half a century bounding like a boy."
Gaius blinked. Surely that was impossible. Like the paralytic in Capernaum, it must have been a trick.
But Atticus wasn't done. "I watched a martyr throw down his weapon and take a knee."
That sounded equally as impossible. The most notorious martyrs among the Jews were the Zealots, and Gaius had heard that, above all, they would rather die than surrender.
"I saw a lunatic's eyes go clear."
Gaius's brow furrowed. He'd dealt with...disturbed...people before while on duty, including a shrieking, wild woman he'd seen while he was stationed in the Egyptian desert. Somehow, she had followed one of the caravans all the way to the fort, and she'd clawed up one of the merchants pretty badly before they'd managed to restrain her – even then, it had taken three of them to finally drag her off that man. He remembered the savage look he'd seen in her eyes, and he tried to imagine it clearing away.
He couldn't do it.
"Jesus of Nazareth did those things."
Atticus said that like it was a simple fact, and for a moment, Gaius was reminded of the way Matthew had been so insistent that he'd seen a boat's worth of fish just...appear out of the sea.
"My son has no interest in illusion," Matthew's father had said.
But it couldn't be real. It couldn't. It had to be some sort of deception...didn't it? But then what did Jesus want? A following? He was certainly gaining one, but that itself wasn't really remarkable. Street preachers were fairly common among the Jews, and many of them had devoted followers of their own.
Except...Jesus of Nazareth wasn't like any of the street preachers Gaius has seen. He hadn't heard Jesus utter any of the same fiery rhetoric they did. Not against Rome, at least. But he certainly hadn't hesitated to confront those pharisees when that paralytic – supposed paralytic – was lowered through the roof. And even then, there'd just been...something...about the man, something Gaius couldn't quite place.
The imperial agent seemed to be thinking along the same lines: "He doesn't strike me at all as threatening or scary...and that scares me."
Gaius's frown deepened as he stared out over the landscape for a long moment, his gaze locked on the horizon.
"Now," Atticus continued, "maybe I'm just interested to see how he'll take to wrist irons."
The was enough to make Gaius look sharply at Atticus once again. Did he want to see the man in prison so badly?
Atticus seemed to find his shock amusing; his lips quirked faintly before he turned and quickly dropped back in the formation, re-taking his place at the rear.
Gaius grit his teeth, wanting to question the man further, but clearly, as far as the imperial agent was concerned, their conversation was over.
He bit back a sigh and drew a deep breath. He had new orders to issue, so he raised his voice and began:
"Listen up, men..."
The city of Jotapata was east of Capernaum, just on the other side of the northernmost end of the Sea of Galilee.* As Atticus had said, the area where Jesus and his followers had set up camp was due south of that point. Thankfully, the terrain hugging this part of the sea was dotted with hills that gradually sloped down towards the shore, and the higher elevation of the surrounding land made it possible to look down into the basin below – an advantage Gaius might not have had elsewhere.
He waited until he had the best view possible, then signaled for his men to crouch behind a cluster of bushes so they could observe without being spotted in return. Thankfully, the brush was thick enough that even the bright red of their cloaks and tunics should be fairly well hidden, so long as no one happened to look directly at them.
Despite the relatively early hour, a number of people were already milling around the shore. Gaius couldn't see much detail at such a distance, but there was one particular group that had arranged themselves in a loose circle, and the man in the center seemed to be speaking. That had to be Jesus and his followers. There were fewer than Gaius had expected, but he supposed the others may have been at the camp, which he guessed was probably just over that nearby ridge where they would have shelter from the wind.
Gaius studied the outline of the shore with a critical eye. The shore was surrounded by a series of dunes, rocks, and small bluffs. If he divided his men between the top of the bluffs and the shore, then Jesus and his disciples would have few places to run if they tried to scatter, and the paths leading up bluffs would be blocked.
Signaling again to his men, Gaius directed them behind a grove of trees and issued his orders, commanding the unit to split into two groups as he'd planned. He ensured that each man knew they were not to attack unless otherwise ordered and that they were allowed to use lethal force to defend themselves only if they believed that their lives were in danger.
This was intended to be just a simple arrest, but Atticus's warning had been a reminder that even a simple arrest could turn ugly in just a moment. Gaius couldn't afford that, since such a failure would fall squarely on his shoulders. (And, he admitted, if Matthew was among that group now, then he did not wish to see the former publicanus killed by men under his own command.)
Whether Atticus approved of his instructions Gaius wasn't sure – the imperial agent simply stood back and listened. He didn't contradict anything Gaius said, though he technically had the authority to do so, but Gaius wasn't foolish enough to confuse his silence with agreement. Atticus might not seem like an enemy, but Gaius was sure he had his own agenda as well. For now, perhaps, he would simply have to hope that the agent's goals aligned with his own.
With his commands given, Gaius brought his men back into formation and they started down a path, marching steadily once again. Their trail carried them closer to the shore for a brief stretch and then back up hill, until they came over a final rise in the landscape that led them to the section of the beach where Jesus and his followers were gathered.
As soon as the group spotted them, all talking stopped, and they turned to stare at the approaching soldiers in shock and obvious fear.
Jesus himself, however, looked wary but not truly afraid or even surprised. He turned to his disciples, evidently working to keep them calm – especially the two closest to him whom seemed to be more on edge than the rest. Two others he sent off, back up the hill, though Gaius was still too far off to clearly make out their features. But, they weren't running, and Gaius had orders only to arrest Jesus himself. As long as Jesus' disciples posed no threat, he wouldn't pursue them.
Gaius's men neatly split up their formation like the well-trained soldiers they were, half leaving the path to approach from the top of the bluffs while Gaius led the remainder along the shore, meeting Jesus and his followers head-on. (Atticus, Gaius saw, had chosen to remain with his group as they marched down the beach. Perhaps the imperial agent thought it would offer him the best view.) The men on higher ground spread out as ordered until they formed a loose ring around the group below, their hands poised on the hilts their swords.
There was no mistaking the fear and dread on the faces of the disciples now. The two who seemed the most tense had flanked Jesus, one on each side, clearly intent on protecting their rabbi. Another of the men had stepped in front of the only woman present, his stance equally protective.
Jesus, though, simply watched them all with a look Gaius couldn't quite place.
Gaius rested both hands on the hilt of his gladius and met the street preacher's gaze squarely. "Jesus of Nazareth, you are sought for questioning by a Roman authority. Will you surrender to detainment peacefully?"
The other man nodded without hesitation. "Yes."
Gaius's eyebrows rose faintly. The street preacher had done nothing to suggest that he was violent, but the threat of Roman detainment was sometimes enough to make even the most peaceful men fight back. Gaius had hoped to be able to carry out his orders with little trouble nonetheless, but he hadn't expected such easy compliance.
Clearly, Jesus' followers hadn't either.
"Jesus, no!" the man on Jesus' left objected.
The man on Jesus' right looked ready to protest too, but the street preacher hushed them both, silencing them with a look.
Gaius's eyes narrowed. This was almost too easy.
"Are you armed?"
"I am not," Jesus answered. "But some of my followers are."
Immediately, Gaius's men unsheathed their swords, holding them at the ready.
The disciples tensed even more. The one closest to the woman stretched his arm out in front of her, as if to shield her further, and the men at Jesus' sides were clearly braced for an attack, though they had to know that they were outnumbered.
"Tell your followers to drop their weapons," Gaius ordered, "and step back ten cubits."
Again, Jesus nodded. "I will. May I say goodbye to my Eema?"
Eema?
Gaius blinked, trying to remember the meaning of the word. He had heard it used in the markets, he was sure, but truthfully, he'd never cared enough to try to learn or remember the language of the Jews.
As if knowing his thoughts, Jesus translated a moment later: "Mater mea."
The man spoke Latin?
Realization came quickly on the heels of his surprise, and Gaius glanced over at the woman who was watching them now, pale and obviously upset.
Jesus' mother.
Gaius stared at her for a moment, thoughts of his own mother rushing through his mind unbidden.
(When he'd left to join the army, he and his family had known it would be a very long time until he saw them again...if ever. A legionary agreed to twenty-five years of service, and many things could claim a soldier's life, both inside and outside of battle.*
The day he'd set out to enlist, his mother hadn't acted like a proper Roman woman, but a fierce Germani wife and mother, whose role it was to bolster her fighting men by sheer will, calling on their bravery and courage.*
"Show them who you are – who we are," she had told him, her gaze steady and intent, burning with determination.
Only when she had pressed something into his hands did he see her expression waver, sadness visible in the blue depths of her eyes, and Gaius had looked down curiously to see what's she'd given him.
It was a fibula.*
The brooch was iron and simple in style, and it was unmarked on the front, but he'd felt something carved into the back, so he'd turned it over in his palm.
Runes. It was covered in runes for protection.
Germanic runes.
He'd looked up at his mother sharply, and the smile she'd given him had been tinged with the same sadness he'd seen in her eyes. She'd curled his fingers around the brooch and held on for a long moment, the warmth of her hands seeping into his own.)
Gaius's gaze darted back to the man in front of him now.
If Rome found Jesus of Nazareth to be a threat, then he could be facing prison or even execution. Atticus's comment about "wrist irons" only served to make those possibilities seem even more likely.
Knowing that, how could Gaius refuse him the chance to say goodbye to his mother?
His voice was gruff when he finally spoke his agreement: "Yes."
Jesus dipped his head in gratitude, then walked over to his mother to hug her, and Gaius looked away, his gaze falling briefly to the sand at his feet.
(He and his mother hadn't always seen eye to eye, but he loved her. He still had the fibula. He'd used it often, and the pin had broken almost a decade ago, but it was wrapped in linen and sitting in a trunk he'd carried with him to every new posting.)
When he looked up again, Jesus was pulling away from his mother, grasping her hands for a moment and murmuring something, though he was speaking too softly for Gaius to make out the words.
Then the street preacher turned and walked back to his other followers, repeating the orders Gaius had given him:
"James and John, drop your weapons and step back ten cubits."
The two men shared an uneasy look, both clearly reluctant, but another nod from their rabbi was enough persuade them, and they did has he asked, both dropping knives into the sand, one a bare blade and the other still in its sheath.
As they backed away, Gaius motioned to two of the legionaries behind him, the ones he'd selected earlier to bind the prisoner as soon as they had his cooperation. He watched as they tied Jesus' wrists in a leather cord, and then, certain now that Jesus' disciples wouldn't offer them any other resistance, he looked around, quickly studying the faces of those nearby.
Where was Matthew?
"Matthew is safe."
Gaius's eyes darted back to Jesus in surprise.
"And doing well," Jesus added. "He's back at the camp."
Gaius frowned, though after a moment, he had to scoff a little at his own foolishness. Of course the other man would know who he was looking for. Matthew might very well have told his rabbi about him, and even if he hadn't, Jesus had seen him at Matthew's booth, and again at Matthew's house, during that diner party.
Still shaking his head at himself, Gaius started forward. He could feel Atticus's gaze on his back, but the imperial agent had already heard what Jesus had said. There was no point in trying to deny his connection to – and concern for – one of Jesus' disciples.
His let his eyes sweep over the disheveled group as he walked.
"You all look...underfed." He stopped a few feet away from Jesus, his hands still resting on the hilt of his sword. "Filthy," he added, pointedly.
Jesus didn't seem bothered by his tone. "We had a bit of a hungry spell, but we have men out on the water now, stocking us up."
That was better than nothing, Gaius supposed, but he couldn't help but wonder how frequent those 'hungry spells" were. He'd tried to tell Matthew what he would be giving up, but he hadn't listened.
Frowning and gritting his teeth, Gaius stepped closer to Jesus still, dropping his voice into a harsh whisper. "He's used to eating well." He tilted his head back to look Jesus in the eyes once more. "What do you have to offer him?"
Gaius knew some men that would have literally killed to be in Matthew's former position – wealthy, protected, and favored by those in power – but for this street preacher, this rabbi, Matthew had tossed it all away in a heartbeat. What could this man possibly have that would be worth that much?
Jesus' lips curved up in a faint smile, and he glanced up at the soldiers surrounding them. "Should we talk about this later?"
He didn't seem upset to be challenged so blatantly, nor did he seem intimidated, despite being the one with his arms bound behind his back. Instead, there was something about Jesus' gaze in that moment, something warm and knowing and a little wry, that made Gaius wonder if the man could see right through him.
He could only stare back, frustrated that Jesus hadn't answered him...and frustrated, too, that he was right. It wasn't the time for this discussion.
Jaw clenched, Gaius stepped away, turning and calling out to his men: "Move out."
The legionaries obediently sheathed their swords and began to fall into step behind him. Atticus, he assumed, had retaken his place at the back, though Gaius didn't bother to check, even when the men who had been positioned up on the bluffs merged back into formation.
Gaius simply continued up the path, leading his men forward, once again resuming the steady cadence of the march.
An hour later, they were a few miles from Jotapata.
The familiar rhythms of the march – and the extra distance from that volatile city – had allowed the lingering tension and irritation to slip from Gaius's shoulders.
Speed wasn't that much of a concern now – they had the preacher with them, after all, and no matter how used to walking the Nazarene might be, he wasn't likely to be able to keep up with the fast, brutal pace of a forced march, so they couldn't press him too hard. They were still making good progress, though, even better than Gaius had hoped, and when they passed a small village, he decided to stop for a short rest. It could be no more than a half an hour, but it would give them a chance to get out of the sun, which was creeping ever higher in the sky. They weren't all that far from Capernaum now, in any case, so a short break would help ensure that Jesus was fit to be taken directly Quintus, as ordered. Gaius's men, too, had done their jobs well today, and he saw no reason not to reward them for it.
With Atticus's warnings about unrest still at the forefront of his mind, Gaius had left the majority of his men behind in a small, rocky valley to guard their prisoner, taking only two of his men with him into the village itself. There was a small market and a well at the end of the square, so they were able to refill their waterskins. (Gaius could never remember all the Jewish purity laws – he just knew that there were an awful lot of them – so he got a brand new waterskin for the preacher and filled that, not sure if those laws would allow him to share with anyone else.) Thankfully, unlike Jotapata, Gaius got the impression this particular village was a common stop off for travelers of all sorts since none of the merchants so much as batted eye when Roman soldiers approached them.
It wasn't long before they rejoined the others, and Gaius gave them all permission to refill their own waterskins in the village, two at a time, now that there seemed to be little chance of trouble. Atticus opted not visit the well himself, but he took out a small pouch of figs, dates, and dried meat that he must have been carrying with him and began to eat. Gaius ordered that Jesus' hands be untied for the time being, and the street preacher gratefully accepted the water Gaius had brought for him.
After that, Gaius's last order of business was to organize rotating shifts for his men so they could all take turns keeping watch but still have a few minutes free from that particular role. He didn't truly think that Jesus would try to escape, but he didn't intend to take any chances, and there were always other dangers to think about in open country, like wild animals or opportunistic thieves. There was even the remote possibility that Jesus' disciples might try to rescue him.
That sense of caution meant Gaius found his gaze lingering on Jesus, even when he sat down in the shade of a nearby tree while his men spread out loosely around the valley. But he also couldn't deny that he was curious about the preacher.
Jesus had been a model prisoner thus far, not uttering a single complaint. He was sitting on a large, rocky outcropping in the center of the valley, looking far too relaxed for someone who had been arrested just an hour before.
It was just...strange. So much about him was – like the followers he chose.
He'd picked people like Simon, whom Gaius knew from the betting table at the foot races, and Mathew, a tax collector. Matthew had said that tax collectors weren't even welcome in the temple of the Jewish God. And yet...this teacher had called them, and they had both answered.
It didn't make any sense.
Jesus must have noticed his scrutiny because he turned to meet Gaius's gaze.
Deciding he wouldn't have a better chance, Gaius stood and walked over to the outcropping where the preacher sat. He dismissed the men on duty, telling them that he would watch the prisoner for remainder of their shift, then he sat down on rock of his own, a few feet away from the preacher.
Jesus greeted him with a nod and the same faint smile he'd worn earlier, already seeming to know what was on his mind. "I take it you would like to finish our conversation."
Gaius hesitated for just a moment. Atticus was just a short distance away, sitting on another bolder across the valley, a handful of dates in his palm, popping them in his mouth one at a time. He wasn't watching them now, perhaps deliberately trying to seem uninterested, though Gaius had no doubt that the imperial agent would listen to every word.
But he wasn't likely to have another opportunity to speak to Jesus, not like this, and in for a denarius, in for an aureus, he figured.*
"You said Matthew's doing well?"
"He is. He has resumed his Torah studies."
"Torah – those are you holy writings?"
Jesus nodded again. "Yes."
Gaius's eyes narrowed as he remembered that "hungry spell" Jesus had mentioned earlier. "Admirable though that might be," he said, his voice dry, "you can't eat a scroll."
Jesus smiled. "Not most scrolls, no. But 'man does not live by bread alone – man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the Lord.'* The body needs food, yes. But even when a man eats a meal, he will always be hungry again. The riches of this earthly life can never truly satisfy him."
Gaius sat back a little, looking away as he frowned in thought. He supposed that was true.
He knew what it meant to be poor.
After his tribe had been defeated and fractured, Rome had re-settled his family and the others with them in the Tungri region, in Gaul.* But the portion of land they'd been given was largely wild, untamed even by the few, scattered settlers who had called it home before their arrival. Rome had offered them some aid once they'd pledged their loyalty to the empire, renounced their own princes, and promised to send men to serve in the Roman army.* But, even then, it had taken years to cultivate their new lands into usable, productive acreage, fit for them and their herds. Building suitable, permanent homes had taken nearly as long, and some of Gaius's earliest memories from that time were of tents, campfires, and cold nights.
It was only much later that he'd had steady pay as a solider, and eventually, he'd been fairly well off as a centurion, having enough to marry, to afford a home...to keep a slave. Now, as a Primi, he made twice as much as he had then.*
Gaius's frown deepened. He was practical enough to admit that, if he had a choice, he'd rather have money than not. But though parts of his life were indeed easier when he did not have to struggle for shelter or food, and luxuries certainly offered some pleasure...he did sometimes think that there had to be more.
Gaius glanced back at Jesus. "What's missing then," he asked, "if riches aren't enough?"
"Something that only God can provide."
"And that's what you have to offer Matthew?"
Jesus nodded. "Yes, and anyone else who asks. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened."*
Gaius stared at him for a long moment.
"Gods don't work that way," he said at last.
"Your gods do not," the other man agreed softly. "But My Father in Heaven is not like your gods. I ask my followers to give up a great deal, that is true. But when they seek God with their whole heart, they gain far more than they lose."
Gaius's brow furrowed again, and he looked down at the rocky ground for a moment. He'd never been particularly devoted to any gods. He'd offered sacrifices to Mercury, when he'd been sent to the farthest reaches of the empire, and to Mars, as well, when he knew he'd be facing battle. He had his household gods, and Vesta had her dues in his home too, the way she did in all of Rome (though his petitions to her always seemed to go unheard), but he'd never truly gone out of his way to serve her or anyone else.
Yet, even if he had been especially dedicated to any of the gods...would it have changed anything?
He remembered, once, hearing his grandfather compare the gods to a stormy sea: Deceptive. Changeable. Unpredictable. Calm one moment and raging the next. At most, you could try to curry their favor, but there was never any guarantee.
He wasn't sure he was convinced by Jesus' claims about the Jewish God, but he was, at least, still curious. And, perhaps now, he saw a little of what drew people to this teacher in particular.
"Speaking of those who follow me," Jesus added, his voice a little lighter, "I wanted to thank you for what you've done for Matthew."
Gaius blinked in surprise – Matthew had told Jesus about that? Then again, Matthew had clearly told his rabbi other things...why not what they'd talked about the night of that dinner party?
Gaius shrugged. "I owed him a favor. All I did was help him get his affairs in order."
At least he had enough sense to do that, he added silently.
"I don't mean only what you did when he left Capernaum," Jesus said, wearing that knowing look once again. "You understand Matthew's life in a way few have, and you are his friend."
Gaius shifted uncomfortably at the ease with which Jesus mentioned that friendship, the one Gaius usually preferred not to acknowledge, even in his own mind. But it didn't stop his eyebrows from raising in disbelief. "I don't understand him."
Jesus laughed. "Perhaps not everything about him," he said, smiling once more. "But enough."
His brown eyes held the same warmth they'd had on the shore, and for the second time, Gaius couldn't shake the feeling that he had no secrets from this man...that he knew things he couldn't possibly have known, no matter what Matthew had said to him.
Gaius wanted to ask more, wanted to demand just what this man knew and how he knew it, but the sound of footsteps reached his ears, and he turned to see two of his men approaching.
"You ordered us to report at this time, Primi," one of them said.
It was tempting – very tempting – to send these men off like he had the last two, but a glance to his right reminded Gaius that Atticus was still nearby. He'd been so intent on speaking with Jesus that he'd almost forgotten the imperial agent's presence.
That was dangerous. He might be able to excuse a short conversation with Jesus as a simple inquiry about the well-being of a fr... an acquaintance, but if he seemed too intrigued by this preacher, Atticus was sure to notice.
He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders faintly. "Yes, Renatus, thank you. You and Palaemon have this last watch before we leave."
Gaius could still feel Jesus' knowing gaze, and he glanced over at the other man, offering him the barest of nods as a farewell, but he didn't acknowledge him any further. (He was a prisoner, after all, even if he wasn't acting like any prisoner Gaius had ever seen.)
Then Gaius stood without another word and walked back over to the tree whose shade he'd enjoyed earlier, ignoring the curious looks his men were giving him as he went. That was was certainly one of the benefits of command – he didn't have to explain himself if he didn't wish to. (And he was especially glad of that now, as he wasn't sure what he would have said to them anyway.)
He'd left his waterskin behind when he'd gone to speak to the preacher, and he reached for it, retrieving it from the base of the tree and taking a long drink. When he was done, he looped the thin strap back over his head so that the waterskin hung at his side, just behind his scabbard, and then he began a quick survey of his men, ensuring that all of them had visited the well in the village if they wished to.
It was the work of just a few minutes, and afterwards, he called for his men to reform ranks so that they could set off once again. Atticus put whatever remained of his meal back in a pouch on his belt, a pouch that was quickly hidden by the folds of his cloak as he stood up and joined the gathered men once more, retaking his position at the rear.
Gaius ordered Jesus' hands to be bound again while they were on the road, though preacher seemed just as unbothered by it as he had before, and Gaius resisted the urge to shake his head.
He still didn't know what to make of the man...a man they might be taking back to Capernaum to be condemned. It wasn't a particularly welcome thought, but he pushed away the unease he felt and started down the path once more.
If he'd learned anything from the march, it was that sometimes, the only option you had was keep moving forward.
They reached Capernaum an hour or so before midday.
They went directly to the praetorium,* and as soon as they entered the outer court yard, Gaius had Jesus untied once again. (If it had seemed unlikely that Jesus would escape outside of the city, it was virtually impossible now, surrounded by a legion of soldiers – not that the Nazarene seemed any more inclined to try than he had when he'd first been detained.) Gaius dismissed his men and handed off his and the preacher's waterskins to a nearby servant, then directed the preacher towards Quintus's office, guiding him with a hand on his arm.
Atticus, Gaius was unsurprised to see, remained with them, following at a short distance as they walked through the courtyard. Their small party drew a few curious stares as Gaius led them past the praetorium's main steps, heading towards the corridor which existed between the praetorium and the barracks. That corridor housed what Gaius supposed could be considered the private entrance to Quintus's office – it wasn't the only entrance, but it was generally more exclusive, used mainly by high ranking officers and city officials. The other entrance could only be reached by taking a much longer, winding route through the praetorium.
The corridor itself was quiet, due in part, Gaius guessed, to Quintus's secretary having been told to turn away anyone else who might have been seeking an audience. The secretary, Oeneus, glanced up from his desk as they entered, giving them a sour, rather unimpressed look as they passed. (Given Gaius's own, grudging interactions with him, few things ever seemed to impress that man.)
Only a short hallway existed between the secretary's desk and Quintus's office, and they were in the Praetor's line of sight the moment they turned the corner. Quintus quickly dismissed the servant who'd been attending him and stood up, an open scroll still in his hands, his gaze locked intently on Jesus.
"Did he resist?" he asked.
"No, Dominous," Gaius answered.
Atticus, who had paused briefly at Jesus' other side, walked forward to take up a position in the corner of the room, clearly intending to observe the questioning. Quintus eyed him, obviously displeased, but even he didn't have the authority to refuse a cohortes urbanae outright.
The Praetor turned to face Gaius once more, rolling up the scroll in his hands as he did so.
"And his followers?" he pressed.
"Peaceful. And compliant."
Quintus smirked faintly at that, though Gaius wasn't sure exactly what he found amusing. Then again, the Praetor seemed to find many things amusing, if his fascination with Matthew's oddity was anything to go by. He set aside the scroll he'd been holding, then gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
"Have a seat." he told the preacher, sitting down once more as well.
Jesus stepped forward to do as Quintus had ordered, and Gaius nearly followed him, intending to remain with him as a guard, which was standard practice whenever a prisoner was brought in for questioning. (Beyond that, Gaius couldn't deny that he felt a sense of responsibility for the preacher now as well.)
But Quintus didn't seem to believe that was necessary; the Praetor leaned back in his seat, his right elbow propped up on the arm rest, and when he spoke, he barely spared Gaius a glance:
"Leave us."
Gaius's eyes flickered over to his commander in surprise, but knowing that he had no choice but to obey, he offered the Praetor a bow, then turned neatly on his heel, leaving the room and moving back out into the hallway.
He could hear the Praetor's voice behind him (Quintus rarely bothered to speak quietly, Gaius had learned). The Praetor had seemed incensed by the preacher at first, especially after Matthew had left, but that anger had gradually turned to interest as tales of Jesus' ministry had spread, and he seemed excited to be meeting with the preacher now. Perhaps Gaius was growing soft in his old age, but he hoped that Quintus's obvious fascination would work in the preacher's favor, maybe garnering him a less severe punishment, if nothing else.
Gaius frowned, shaking himself a little.
He'd done his duty, and he would have to be satisfied with that. Jesus must have known that he would draw Rome's attention eventually, but it hadn't stopped him. He had made his own choices, just like Matthew had when he'd followed him.
His frown deepening, Gaius walked farther into the praetorium, his legs carrying him automatically in the direction of his own office. It was far smaller and less imposing than the Praetor's, and it was sparsely decorated, with walls painted a dark red, and only a desk and a small shelf, but it was his – something that had seemed far beyond his reach just a few months ago.
He paused at his desk, glancing over at the light streaming through the window at the back. He could just make out the position of the sun. He hadn't eaten yet, and it was still a decent hour for a late breakfast or an early lunch, but...Gaius realized that he wasn't particularly hungry.
He walked around the desk instead and sat down, deciding to plan the arrest report that he would dictate to his scribe later (having a scribe was another aspect of his new position that he was still getting used to). It would be good to have that finished.
Severe minutes passed that way, seated at his desk, but instead of planning anything, Gaius found himself staring at the wooden surface, his mind straying back to his conversation with the preacher in that valley...to the emptiness of earthly riches...to the idea of seeking something more and finding it.
Gaius sat back in his chair and sighed.
The report could wait for now. Clearly, he needed more time to put his thoughts in order.
He rubbed a hand over his face, considering his options from among his other duties.
He had a few requisition orders to approve, but he would need his scribe for that too, and if he hadn't been able to focus on a report, he doubted that he'd be much better off with requisitions. He needed something that would get him moving instead. Silvanus, who oversaw the far northern tax collection district, had mentioned a problem with hecklers around the publicanus's booth. The hecklers had only called a few insults so far, but they'd done it while the publicanus was working – in full hearing of the publicanus's guard – and there was always the chance that they would grow even bolder with time. Gaius had asked Silvanus to keep him apprised of the situation, but he supposed this was as good a time as any to visit the district himself.
His mind made up, he pushed himself away from the desk and started for the door.
It wasn't long before he turned back into the hallway that ran past the Praetor's office. (He'd chosen that route because it led to the closest exit, and if Gaius was grateful to have an excuse to overhear more of the Praetor's questioning, it was purely a coincidence.)
He was caught off-guard, however, when he drew closer to the office just in time to hear Jesus say, "It was a privilege to speak with you today, Quintus."
Gaius's eyebrows rose and his footsteps slowed.
Jesus walked out of the office a moment later, his pace unhurried. He was alone, with no escort in sight, so he was presumably a free man, though given what Gaius knew about the often harsh realities of Roman justice, he wasn't sure how that was possible.
He could only stare as the preacher paused and turned to smile at him, as if he'd known to expect him. Jesus nodded, a gesture that was somehow more of a welcome than a farewell, his gaze filled with the now-familiar warmth that Gaius still didn't understand, and then he turned away once more, heading for the door that would lead him out of the praetorium.
Gaius watched him leave.
The preacher. The man Matthew had given up everything for. The man Gaius still had so many questions about.
Brow furrowed, Gaius shook his head and followed after him.
He might as well make sure the guards at the gate knew that Jesus of Nazareth was free to go.
It was, after all, on his way.
Fin
Historical and Content Notes
Four month trial for Roman army recruits – In the early years of Imperial Rome, recruits for the Roman army were first examined for desirable physical traits and skills that would make them effective soldiers. Once a recruit was accepted, their four month trial began, and one of the first skills they were taught was the march. Every week, they marched 20 Roman miles (18 mi or 30 km) in only five hours, carrying 60 pounds of equipment. Occasionally, a forced march was ordered, where the men had to march 24 Roman miles (22 mi or 35 km) within the same five hours. Recruits were also taught to swim, to throw a javelin, and to use a sling, and they were given combat training several times a day. The recruits were also expected to carry out camp labor, such as digging trenches and collecting wood. Many recruits didn't pass this intense four month trial, and only those who did would go on to swear their military vow (Information drawn from the YouTube channel, Filaxim Historia, from the video "The Impressive Training and Recruitment of Rome's Legions").
Arminius's treacherous legacy still loomed large - 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).
The city of Jotapata was east of Capernaum – This is not factually accurate, but this seems to be an instance where The Chosen decided to "condense" the distance between locations for the purpose of the story. In reality, according to Google Maps, the city of ancient Jotapata (modern-day Tel Yodfat National Park) is about 14 miles to the west of the Sea of Galilee, far from the shore, and it's almost 18 miles from Capernaum.
My fictional description of the location is based on two factors: one, in the episode, the disciples appear to be camping a short distance from the Sea of Galilee (the sea itself seems to be west of their camp), and two, "A typical walking pace is 15–20 minutes per mile. Going any faster will result in you essentially jogging or running" (Healthline). So, the average person can walk roughly 3 miles per hour. (I'm assuming, of course, that Gaius didn't demand an especially fast-paced march from his men at any point.) If the distance from Capernaum to Jotapata is 18 miles, that would be 6 hours each way, and about a 12 hour round trip if you traveled steadily without ever taking a break. But in the episode, Gaius and the others seem to return to Capernaum with Jesus around midday, and Jesus returns to the disciples that same night. So, my fictional description is my best approximation of where Jotapata is located in the "Chosen" universe, given episode's timeline. (And yes, I probably have thought about this far too much, but it mattered for the fic. :) )
When he'd left to join the army – Though I've seen various figures from different sources, the general consensus seems to be that Roman soldiers agreed to serve around 25 years in the military. They faced a number of possible dangers during their career, many of which could be deadly. The college professor who runs the YouTube channel toldinstone examined the inscriptions on the tombs of around 100 Roman soldiers, aiming to create what he called an "impressionistic picture." After considering the data he viewed, he said that "it would be reasonable to estimate that about half the soldiers who enlisted in the imperial Roman army survived to retirement" (toldinstone, from the video, "How Many Roman Soldiers Survived to Retirement?").
A fierce Germani wife and mother – When ancient Germanic fighting men were at war, it was the women's job to rally the men: "If a tribe was caught up in a fight while migrating or moving for any reason, women would not be left behind. Germanic women would yell at their fighting men, sometimes with their children on hand to witness the fighting" (WeAreTheMighty - "Why ancient German women yelled at male warriors in combat"). In his work Germania, the ancient historian Tacitus wrote, "It stands on record that armies already wavering and on the point of collapse have been rallied by the women, pleading heroically with their men" (quoted in the previously mentioned article). Moreover, "If the battle didn't go well, however, Germanic women could take on an entirely new role. They might kill any male members of the tribe who attempted retreat. They could even kill their children and then commit suicide rather than submit to enslavement by another tribe or army" (Same source as above).
Fibula - A fibula (fibulae is the plural) is "a brooch or pin for fastening garments, typically at the right shoulder." They were common in the ancient world, and "Unlike most modern brooches, fibulae were not only decorative; they originally served a practical function: to fasten clothing for both sexes, such as dresses and cloaks" (Wikipedia).
In for a denarius, in for an aureus - The base unit for Roman coins was known as the "As." A silver denarius was worth 16 "As." An aureus, on the other hand, was made of gold and was worth 25 denarii (Englishhistory – Roman Currency).
Man does not live by bread alone – This is the verse from Matthew 4:4, with some small wording adjustments to retain the meaning but still have it flow well with the spoken dialogue. Jesus' comment about not being able to eat "most scrolls" is a nod to the moments in scripture when men were told to eat scrolls during visions in Ezekiel 3:3 and Revelation 10:10.
After his tribe had been defeated and fractured – If you've read my other fics about Gaius, you know that I've written him as a member of the Sicambri tribe. The Sicambri were a Germanic tribe who "by the first century BC...[occupied] territory on the east bank of the Rhine" (The History Files – European Kingdoms – Germanic Tribes). Caesar said of them that "'these men are born for war and raids'" (Wikipedia). It appears that there were occasions when they fought for the Romans, but they also had a number of violent clashes with Rome, and, "In 9 BC the Sicambri battled the Romans in an alliance with the Cherusci and Suevi [tribes] and lost. At least a part was forced to move to the south side of the lower Rhine, where they possibly merged into Romanized populations such as the Tungri or Cugerni" (Wikipedia).
Once they'd pledged their loyalty to the empire – This was standard practice with displaced peoples who were accepted into the Roman Empire. "Tribes were broken up into smaller groups and sent to underpopulated regions. They were forced to surrender their weapons, renounce their loyalty to their tribal leaders, and commit a certain number of fighting men to the Roman legions" (The Conversation - "Immigration: How ancient Rome dealt with the Barbarians at the gate").
The pay of ordinary Roman soldiers, Centurions, and Primi Ordine – According to ancient records, "every year, legionaries received 225 denarii in their purses." Centurions, as officers, "are believed to [have received] at least five times the pay of ordinary foot soldiers," though the exact amount could depend on the type of work a centurion did. Primi Ordine, however, "earned twice as much as a regular centurion" (All quotes taken from Imperium Romanum - Pay of Roman Legionary).
For everyone who asks receives – This is the verse from Matthew 7:8.
Praetorium - The word "praetorium" originally "identified the tent of a [Roman] general," but it went on to have a number of different uses, and it could describe "a large building, a permanent tent, or in some cases [it could] even be mobile" (Wikipedia). In this story, I am using it to refer to a building serving as a sort of headquarters for the Roman army stationed in Capernaum.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!
Take care and God bless!
Ani-maniac494 :)