King Diocletian
Magistrate
A new story...
Aelia sank back against the rock. She was exhausted but exhilarated. She ran a hand through her dark hair, still a little damp with sweat. It had been their most daring raid yet, and brilliantly successful. It was astonishing how arrogant the Romans were, as if they still couldn’t quite get into their heads the possibility that they might be attacked. It had been almost too simple: a broken wheel on a wagon to block the road, a woman sobbing in supposed fear and then, when they’d broken rank to investigate, a swift assault from both sides of the valley: three dozen bandits overwhelming the party. Two soldiers killed, another dozen or so injured and, most importantly, a bag of gold and some jewellery stolen.
Not that the loot was really the point of it all. They needed it to survive, to finance the small settlement they’d established in the hills above Jerusalem, and taking it from the Romans helped maintain morale, a sense that they were plucking their noses. And after what had happened to her, she was keen enough to do that. Her father had been a Roman, high-born, a patrician, an official in the imperial command of Judea. Her mother had been a local noblewoman, a cousin of the puppet king. They’d lived in a fine house just outside the city but then, when she was 13, her father had died, killed by bandits on the road to Jericho. Given how things had turned out, she wondered now whether they really had been bandits.
Her mother had tried to maintain the family in the style it was used to, but she had no influence. For two years she suffered humiliation after humiliation as the Romans first ignored her and then began to exploit her. Her own people were suspicious of her, thinking her a Roman pawn. The priests were the worst, constantly demanding donations as if they were an easy touch. Creditors appeared claiming her father had owed them money. Aelia saw their avaricious glances, the way they looked at the house and the grounds, at her mother, who was still a beautiful woman, and even at her. Her father’s old steward, Grumio, who had taught her to ride and to handle a sword, treating her like the son neither he nor her father had ever had, tried to disguise how grave things had become, but she’d known something very serious was going on.
And then, when she’d been 16, they’d come to repossess the house. Soldiers and bailiffs and that despicable official Lepidus, crashing through the gardens, smashing statues. Grumio had grabbed her and fled with half a dozen slaves, riding out into the hills. Her mother hadn’t made it. It wasn’t entirely clear what had happened to her but it seemed she’d committed suicide by eating hot coals after being raped. The family’s property had been confiscated and a bounty placed on Aelia’s head. The authorities set about rounding up their slaves and other staff. Some were sold to other masters, some were flogged, some were tortured to see if they knew where Grumio might have taken her. Understandably, those who evaded Lepidus also fled into the hills.
So their community grew. At first they’d lived in caves but now they’d built small huts. They hunted and gather what meagre provisions the dusty landscape offered, but they had to steal from farms – and then, from Romans on the roads. Occasionally the Romans sent soldiers to try to flush them out, but the settlement was well hidden and easy to defend, and with the Jews in the city always querulous, they weren’t really a priority.
Grumio had been killed when Aelia was 21, cut down by a Roman as he defended one of the narrow passes up the mountain. She had assumed the leadership of the community. She was lean and tough, a fine horsewoman and excellent with a sword. Slowly the community grew as the disaffected left Jerusalem. They launched more raids. As rumours of her royal blood circulated, she began to be known as the Bandit Queen. The name tickled her, but she knew they had to be careful. Provoke the Romans too much and they might send an entire legion, and there was no way they could fight against that, not even in the narrow pathways of the mountains. But today’s raid had been perfect: big enough to earn much-needed resources, not big enough – she hoped - to make her more of a threat than the Judean fundamentalists. She wished they hadn’t had to kill two of them, but they suffered worse losses all the time. And, a spy in the command told her, the army was reluctant to acknowledge a band led by a woman was causing such problems. The raid would, she hoped, be put down to unspecified bandits.
Aelia had been in command for four years now and, during that time, the community had swelled. It wasn’t just her family’s household now: there were others. Friends and relatives, of her own, of Grumio and other people who had served her mother, and then the discontented, those attracted by the thought of a new life without the hierarchies that existed in the city. She had to be careful, she knew, and she was careful to expel anybody she had doubts about, but their settlement now numbered almost 200. What she was building, slowly and far from steadily, was a better world.
Aelia sank back against the rock. She was exhausted but exhilarated. She ran a hand through her dark hair, still a little damp with sweat. It had been their most daring raid yet, and brilliantly successful. It was astonishing how arrogant the Romans were, as if they still couldn’t quite get into their heads the possibility that they might be attacked. It had been almost too simple: a broken wheel on a wagon to block the road, a woman sobbing in supposed fear and then, when they’d broken rank to investigate, a swift assault from both sides of the valley: three dozen bandits overwhelming the party. Two soldiers killed, another dozen or so injured and, most importantly, a bag of gold and some jewellery stolen.
Not that the loot was really the point of it all. They needed it to survive, to finance the small settlement they’d established in the hills above Jerusalem, and taking it from the Romans helped maintain morale, a sense that they were plucking their noses. And after what had happened to her, she was keen enough to do that. Her father had been a Roman, high-born, a patrician, an official in the imperial command of Judea. Her mother had been a local noblewoman, a cousin of the puppet king. They’d lived in a fine house just outside the city but then, when she was 13, her father had died, killed by bandits on the road to Jericho. Given how things had turned out, she wondered now whether they really had been bandits.
Her mother had tried to maintain the family in the style it was used to, but she had no influence. For two years she suffered humiliation after humiliation as the Romans first ignored her and then began to exploit her. Her own people were suspicious of her, thinking her a Roman pawn. The priests were the worst, constantly demanding donations as if they were an easy touch. Creditors appeared claiming her father had owed them money. Aelia saw their avaricious glances, the way they looked at the house and the grounds, at her mother, who was still a beautiful woman, and even at her. Her father’s old steward, Grumio, who had taught her to ride and to handle a sword, treating her like the son neither he nor her father had ever had, tried to disguise how grave things had become, but she’d known something very serious was going on.
And then, when she’d been 16, they’d come to repossess the house. Soldiers and bailiffs and that despicable official Lepidus, crashing through the gardens, smashing statues. Grumio had grabbed her and fled with half a dozen slaves, riding out into the hills. Her mother hadn’t made it. It wasn’t entirely clear what had happened to her but it seemed she’d committed suicide by eating hot coals after being raped. The family’s property had been confiscated and a bounty placed on Aelia’s head. The authorities set about rounding up their slaves and other staff. Some were sold to other masters, some were flogged, some were tortured to see if they knew where Grumio might have taken her. Understandably, those who evaded Lepidus also fled into the hills.
So their community grew. At first they’d lived in caves but now they’d built small huts. They hunted and gather what meagre provisions the dusty landscape offered, but they had to steal from farms – and then, from Romans on the roads. Occasionally the Romans sent soldiers to try to flush them out, but the settlement was well hidden and easy to defend, and with the Jews in the city always querulous, they weren’t really a priority.
Grumio had been killed when Aelia was 21, cut down by a Roman as he defended one of the narrow passes up the mountain. She had assumed the leadership of the community. She was lean and tough, a fine horsewoman and excellent with a sword. Slowly the community grew as the disaffected left Jerusalem. They launched more raids. As rumours of her royal blood circulated, she began to be known as the Bandit Queen. The name tickled her, but she knew they had to be careful. Provoke the Romans too much and they might send an entire legion, and there was no way they could fight against that, not even in the narrow pathways of the mountains. But today’s raid had been perfect: big enough to earn much-needed resources, not big enough – she hoped - to make her more of a threat than the Judean fundamentalists. She wished they hadn’t had to kill two of them, but they suffered worse losses all the time. And, a spy in the command told her, the army was reluctant to acknowledge a band led by a woman was causing such problems. The raid would, she hoped, be put down to unspecified bandits.
Aelia had been in command for four years now and, during that time, the community had swelled. It wasn’t just her family’s household now: there were others. Friends and relatives, of her own, of Grumio and other people who had served her mother, and then the discontented, those attracted by the thought of a new life without the hierarchies that existed in the city. She had to be careful, she knew, and she was careful to expel anybody she had doubts about, but their settlement now numbered almost 200. What she was building, slowly and far from steadily, was a better world.
