Accidental Historian

Horror in the Holy Land, Pt. 6

They began to gather just after midnight.

One of the sentries summoned Philip and Tiberius to the top of the wall and gestured out in to the inky blackness beyond the feeble pools of light cast by the torches.  “There’s something going on out there,” he said.

The three men stood in silence and strained to make out any sound, any flicker of movement.  Finally it came.  Shuffling footsteps, low moans, grunts, and the unmistakable sounds of people preparing for…something.

“They’re out there,” Tiberius said, “Getting ready for something.”

Philip nodded.  “We’d better make our own preparations, then.”

The two Centurions climbed back down from the wall and began to rally their troops.

When the Second Egyptian Auxiliary reached Jerusalem they had taken over an old legionary encampment built when there was a greater threat of a major uprising but abandoned in recent years.  At the time it had seemed like a fantastic idea.  The men of his cohort had more space to themselves than they had ever had before.  Now that they actually had to defend an encampment designed for an entire legion, however, it was simply too large.

The one thing the encampment offered that was to Philip’s advantage was the placement.  The camp lay just west of the city and was backed up against the very edge of one of the many steep cliffs that crossed the terrain around the city.  While the cliff face was not completely unscaleable, it was quite difficult and precluded the use of ladders or siege engines to mount the ten foot stone walls of the encampment.  It meant he really only had to defend three of the walls.

But even that was almost impossible.  The walls were simply too long and his ranged fighters too few.  Even with his cavalry archers of the Tenth Centuria dismounted and placed along the walls he could not hope to cover enough ground.

The only advantage he really had was that there was almost no way the walking dead could possibly mount the walls.  They lacked siege engines and, he was sure, the ability to build them.  That meant all the shamblers could possibly manage was a protracted siege.  But, again, he was at a disadvantage.  The fort simply wasn’t stocked for such an engagement.  His forces would run out of food within a week.

The only hope, then, was that whatever had reanimated the dead would run out more quickly than his food.

And for that, it helped to be prepared.

He placed all his archers along the walls and made sure the ones trained with the sling collected as many stones as possible.  He then ordered his siege engines mounted at even intervals along the wall.  Tiberius set his legionaries to work hastily reconstructing the section of wall that had been damaged in the earthquake.

The wall was filled in and braced with a wooden palisade an hour before dawn.  Philip and Tiberius deployed their infantry around the walls in the gradually lightening morning, then ran to the main gate.  They climbed to the top of the wall and looked out in to the plain beyond the camp.

Philip’s heart sank as the steel gray dawn began to reveal the area beyond the walls.  Thousands of shamblers stood silent and unmoving just beyond the range of a bow shot, assembled in militarily precise ranks.

“Something or someone is definitely controlling them,” Tiberius said.

“Yeshua, I would assume,” Philip replied.

“I will wait until I have proof,” Tiberius said, “All we have is the word of this Joseph.”

As if on cue, the shamblers directly in front of the main gate separated.  A small party began to make their way to the front of the collection of the dead.  It did not take Philip long to recognize Yeshua, but he led eleven men Philip had never seen before.

“Are they…” Tiberius rubbed his eyes, “Are those men still alive?”

“Looks like it,” said one of the soldiers manning the ballista that had been placed over the gate.

“Philip!” Yeshua called once he stood in front of the shamblers and they had resumed their precise ranks.  “Philip of Alexandria!”

“I am here,” Philip shouted back down.  He suddenly realized that there was no way Yeshua should know where he was from.  “How do you know who I am?”

“Because I know all,” Yeshua replied.  “I know you are Philip and you were born in Alexandria and you joined the auxiliaries because life in the army seemed preferable to marriage to the woman your family had chosen.  I know that just as well as the fact that you stand next to a Roman who goes by the name Tiberius because he has disgraced his family and dare not say he is of the family Manlius.”

Tiberius looked at Philip with an expression of utter defeat.  “I…um…I once…” he started to say.

“I don’t care,” Philip stopped him short.  “We have more pressing issues now than whatever you did that disgraced some damn family a thousand leagues away.  It can’t help us or hurt us now.”

A look of relief crossed Tiberius’s face.  “Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Philip, Tiberius,” Yeshua shouted up, “Come down here.  Join me.  We should talk.”

“I’d rather stay up here, really,” Philip yelled back.  “I like my walls.”

“Oh, I understand,” Yeshua replied, “But I insist.”

With that the shamblers in the back ranks moved as one.  They all bent down and to the left.  When they straightened back up again they held long wooden ladders over their heads.

“I was prepared for such an eventuality,” Yeshua said.  “Now, please, come down before I feel the need to come up to you.”

Philip issued one last order to the crew of the ballista and the nearby archers, then he followed Tiberius down from the gatehouse.  A pair of nervous looking legionaries opened the heavy gates.

“Seal them behind us,” Tiberius ordered.  “Don’t let anyone through.”

“Even you, Sir?” one of the legionaries asked.

“I don’t think we’ll have that option,” Tiberius replied.

The legionary nodded.

Philip and Tiberius stepped through the gate.  It slowly swung shut behind them and they heard the heavy wooden beam used to secure it slam in to place.

“I suppose there’s only one thing to do,” Tiberius said.

The two Centurions walked across the field, then came to a stop a few feet in front of Yeshua.

“I see you have listened to reason,” the former rabbi said.

“Reason?  No,” Philip replied.  “There is nothing reasonable about this.  It’s an ultimatum.”

Yeshua nodded once.  “I suppose so,” he conceded.  He stepped to the side and gestured to the eleven men who had followed him through the ranks of shamblers.  “These are my disciples,” he said, gesturing at them with a sweep of his hand.  “The last time they saw Roman soldiers they were the ones who had no hope and no strength.”

The eleven men – who were very obviously alive when observed from close range – shifted from side to side nervously and tried not to look at the Centurions.

“They don’t appear to be any more comfortable now,” Tiberius observed.

“It is a lot to take,” Yeshua conceded.  “But they will get used to it.”

“Why?” Philip asked.  “Why do they have to get used to it?”

“Because when my army destroys the Roman Empire, they will be my princes.  They will rule the world,” Yeshua replied, “Who else would I take except my own hand-picked disciples?”

“There’s no way that will work,” Philip said.  “You can’t possibly take on the entire Roman Empire.  Your little army here is an impressive trick, but it’s not nearly enough.”

“Oh, of course it isn’t,” Yeshua agreed.  “There has never in the world been such an army as the Roman army.  In war the only time an army of the Roman Empire has lost in battle is when they are fighting another army of the Roman Empire.”

Yeshua took a step towards the Centurions.  “That is the problem.  See, the Judeans seem to think that all they need on their side is my Father.  He was able to beat the Assyrians, the Egyptians, and the Philistines, after all.  But the Egyptians were weak, the Assyrians had too many enemies, and the Philistines,” Yeshua stopped and smiled, “The Philistines were little more than barbarians, barely able to figure out how to speak.”

“Your…father?” Philip asked.

“Yes,” Yeshua looked up to the sky, “My father.  El.  Yahweh.  He was a big fish when this pond was little.  Then the Persians showed up and he couldn’t do a thing about it.  The Hellenes were even worse.  He only managed to wrest control back after they weakened themselves by fighting each other.  And everything looked great until you thrice-damned Romans arrived.

“Time and again men tried to rise up as Judas Maccabeus did.  Time and again the might of the Roman army crushed the self-declared messiahs.  So I decided to take matters in to my own hands.  But for that I needed help.”

Philip gestured at the shamblers.  “Them?” he asked.

“They were the first step,” Yeshua replied.  “The blood of my people cried out for vengeance and freedom, after all.”

“Were?” Tiberius asked.

Yeshua smiled a tight, cruel smile.  “Yes.  I’ve already moved on to step two.  As I said, the only army that can hope to stand up to the Roman army is the Roman army itself.  So…well, see for yourselves.”

The first rank of shamblers directly behind Yeshua took a simultaneous step to the side.

Three ranks of about fifty Roman soldiers stepped out to the front of Yeshua’s army.  Many carried the rectangular shield of the Roman legion, but most held oval shields and hefted hastae.  Philip scanned the ranks and recognized many of the faces of his own men.

Then he saw Lucius, or, rather, the body that once was Lucius, standing on the far left flank of the first rank.

“You bastard,” Philip said.

Yeshua shrugged.  “I guess it depends on how you look at it.”

“You have forgotten to take one thing in to account,” Philip said, wrapping his arm around the hilt of his sword.

“What’s that?” Yeshua asked.

Philip drew his sword and pointed it at Yeshua’s chest.  “The Roman army never gives up.”

Yeshua opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment a half-dozen arrow shafts struck him in the chest.  Then the massive bolt from a ballista wooshed directly over Philip’s head and passed through Yeshua’s before burying itself in the ground at the feet of one of his startled disciples.

Yeshua’s headless body crumpled to the ground.  At that moment whatever spark of malevolent life kept the shamblers on their feet withdrew and they collapsed with almost military precision.

Silence reigned for what seemed an eternity as the two Centurions stared across at the suddenly terrified disciples.

Finally, out of lack of any better ideas more than anything, Philip put his sword away.

“What,” the disciple who had nearly been hit by the ballista bolt started to speak, then swallowed hard.  “What will you do to us?” he asked.

Philip shrugged.  “I get the impression that you really didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“No,” the disciple shook his head, “When the teacher died we all thought about running.  But then he came back and, well, we didn’t see we had much of a choice.”

“Then return to your homes,” Philip said.  “Try to forget about this.”

“What should we tell the people?” the disciple asked.

“I don’t know,” Philip shrugged.  He rapidly dug through his memory for teachings of his own philosophy that might apply.  “Tell them that it’s all a sort of metaphorical thing.  Say that the message of your rabbi was that the only way you can truly be free is to be willing to give everything up and die.”  It wasn't quite Epicureanism, but the search for simple pleasure in everyday life rarely included handling the walking dead.

“That’s pretty stupid,” Tiberius said.

“You’re not helping.”

Tiberius shrugged.  “No one ever wants to take constructive criticism.”

“No,” the disciple shook his head, “It’s not.  The teacher said he was going before us to prepare a place in his father’s house.  So we can say that his teachings were to be willing to give everything up in order to find the reward promised in the next life.”

“Yeah,” Philip nodded, “That works.  Now go on, get out of here.”

The disciples turned and walked away.  As they picked their way over the fallen bodies of the shamblers Tiberius turned to Philip.

“So you think we’ll ever hear from them again?”

“Nah,” Philip shook his head.  “That’s a pretty harmless doctrine to teach.  Everyone will forget about it by the next time someone declares himself messiah.”

“Yeah,” Tiberius nodded, “You’re probably right.”

The two Centurions turned their backs on Yeshua’s headless body and walked back to their encampment.

Intermission

So, Part 6 of Horror in the Holy Land was supposed to go up this morning. It is not so much done. So please, take a moment to grab a snack, hit the restroom, do whatever you need to do.

We'll return tomorrow with the exciting conclusion of Horror in the Holy Land.

Horror in the Holy Land, Pt. 5

Tiberius was waiting at the gate when Philip’s detachment returned.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at Joseph of Arimathea.

“His name is Joseph.  He claims that the Judean named Yeshua is behind this.”

“Who?”

“The criminal I escorted to see Pilate.  All of this seemed to happen at the time he was there, so there might be something to this.”

“It is worth questioning him, then,” Tiberius said.

“Also, I saw Yeshua in the graveyard.”

“That is hardly surprising,” Tiberius snorted.  “I have seen a lot of dead men walking around lately.”

“He walked and talked as if he had never seen the grave.”

“That…” Tiberius raised an eyebrow, “That is news.”

“I thought so,” Philip replied.  He turned to Nedjah.  “Nedjah, find Lucius and tell him to take the Third, Fourth, Eighth, and a squad from the Ninth.  They are to find Yeshua and bring him back here.”

“Tell him to take my Sixth Centuria, too,” Tiberius added.  “And tell them to order all citizens they find in the streets to return to their homes and wait until we can say they are safe.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the Judeans,” Philip said.

“I don’t, really.  But every one of them that gets caught by the shamblers is another one we will have to kill.  It is in my best interest to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Philip nodded.  “True enough,” he said.

Tiberius turned to Joseph.  “Come with us,” he commanded, “We have many questions to ask.”

Joseph dismounted from his horse and the trio walked off to the officers’ quarters.  They took the room where Philip had informal meetings with his Centurions.  Tiberius wasted no time with pleasantries.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I, as I have said, am Joseph of Arimathea.  I began following Yeshua about a year and a half ago.”

“But you’re trying to stop him now?” Philip asked.

“Yes,” Joseph nodded.  “At first I just saw Yeshua as another rabbi.  Then I began to realize that he said things no other rabbi would say and talked about the law as something to highlight our path and inform our behavior, rather than just a list of rules.  I had never been taught such a thing before and I found the idea wonderful.”

“So what brought about the change of heart?” Philip asked.

“I’m getting to that,” Joseph held up a hand.  “Yeshua eventually began to take on followers who believed he was more than a simple rabbi.  They began to see him as the messiah, the promised one who would deliver us from…well…from you.”

Tiberius nodded.  “We’re aware of your prophecy of a messiah.  Go on.”

Joseph nodded.  “When those new followers started to come around Yeshua’s preaching started to get…dark.  He began to speak more about death.  He mostly talked about his own death.

“I am a wealthy man,” Joseph shrugged, attempting to make it seem like he was making that statement as nonchalantly as possible.  “That meant I had an opportunity to learn more.  Yeshua’s treasurer, a man named Judas, is,” he paused, “Well, he was a greedy son of a bitch.  So I started paying him to tell me about what Yeshua was saying in private.”

“What do you mean he was?” Philip asked.

“Judas is dead,” Joseph replied.  “He killed himself when he realized what he…what we had done.  Now that I think about it, I hope he killed himself well enough to stay dead.”

“I do, too,” Tiberius nodded.  “Back to the story.”

“Well, Judas told me that Yeshua was telling his disciples that he actually was the messiah.  He also told them that he was going to die in order to accomplish it.  But he also said not to tell anyone.  He told Peter that he was the son of god.”

“Seems a little absurd,” Philip observed.

“This coming from a people who believe that the gods walk across the Earth all the time and that your Jupiter has quite the appetite for the ladies,” Joseph said drily.

“Not all of us believe in the old ways,” Philip replied.  “The gods and their ceremonies are used now to keep the people in line and as an excuse to rest and party.  The enlightened among us believe that the stories of the gods are simply parables meant to teach us important lessons about how we should or should not behave and the greatest good is to simply find pleasure in all things.”

Tiberius raised an eyebrow at that.  “You’re an Epicurean?” he asked.

Philip nodded.

“If we live through this we shall have to talk.”

“Are you also a follower of the teachings of Epicurus?”

“Stoic, actually.”

“Ah,” Philip smilied, “So it’s a debate you want.”

“Excuse me,” Joseph cut in.  “What are you talking about?”

Philip took a breath and briefly considered launching in to the finer points of Epicureanism and Stoicism and why the two philosophies were at odds.  He looked over at the legionary, who shook his head.  “We’ll, um, we’ll have to talk about that another day,” Philip said.  “When we’re not all in imminent danger.”

“Very well,” Joseph nodded.  “A few days ago Judas told me that Yeshua had asked him to betray him to the authorities.  He told Judas that he had to die in order to come back and destroy Rome.”

“Isn’t that what you want, anyway?” Tiberius asked.

Joseph hesitated.  “I suppose,” he finally said.  “But not like this.”

“How did you know it would be like this?” Philip asked.

“Lazaraus,” Joseph replied.  “A few months ago, Yeshua rose a man named Lazarus from the dead.  Everyone thought it was a great miracle, but Judas said something seemed different about him.  Then one of his sisters said that when Yeshua wasn’t around Lazarus just kind of stood in his home and looked blankly at the wall.  It was like he was a puppet, but only Yeshua knew how to make him work.”

Tiberius raised an eyebrow.  “So from this you figured out that Yeshua was planning on raising an army of the dead?”

Joseph shrugged.  “I figured there was a good chance.”

“Well, then,” Tiberius said.  “Let’s hope that Lucius finds this Yeshua fellow, then.”

------------------------------

An hour later the force Philip had dispatched in to the city returned.  Part of it did, at least.

He had sent over three hundred infantry and thirty horsemen out in to Jerusalem.  All of the cavalry made it back, but only about half of the infantry.  Of those, most were legionaries or archers.  Very few carried the oval shield and hasta of the Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort’s heavy infantry.

Tiberius pulled the Centurion in charge of his Sixth Centuria out of the line as the men streamed through the gate.

“What happened?” he asked.

“They ambushed us,” the Centurion responded.  “We didn’t stand a chance.”  He turned to Philip.  “Your Auxiliaries fought like mad men,” he said, “They bought enough time for the archers to form up behind my men and we were able to slowly pull back.  But a lot of good men are, well, they’re still out there, I guess.”

“Lucius?” Philip asked.

“I didn’t see him after the first moments of the ambush.  He was at the front of the line, so he was probably one of the first to fall.”

“So it was an actual, military style ambush?” Tiberius asked.

“Yes,” the Centurion nodded.  “Something is different about the shamblers.  I don’t know what it is, though.”

“Yeshua,” Philip and Tiberius said as one.

Horror in the Holy Land, Pt. 4

“We’re about to have a real problem on our hands, Philip,” Tiberius said.

“I know,” Philip nodded.  “I know.”

The two Centurions stood over the main gate of the encampment that had originally belonged to the Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort and which the Third Cohort of the Seventeenth Legion now called home, too.  The Sun was just beginning to peek over the Eastern horizon and Jerusalem appeared to be at peace.  Its citizens would soon emerge from their homes for the first time in a day and a half to begin their week, however.  Many would undoubtedly find out the hard way that the walking dead occupied the streets of their city.

Philip and Tiberius had retreated to Philip’s camp the previous day.  Philip had brought his cohort through completely intact while only the First, Fourth, and Sixth Centuria of the Third Cohort, who had been deployed outside of the Prefect’s palace, could say the same.  The Second Centuria had lost twenty of its eighty men, while the Third and Fifth had both lost about thirty.  That left approximately thirteen hundred men against, potentially, an entire city.  The odds were not in their favor.

That was not the only bad news.  After the men had returned from the graveyard the previous morning Philip had ordered Kosmas to report to the infirmary.  He soon developed a fever and about six hours later had become a shambler.  One of the guards assigned to watch him had crushed his skull with the butt end of his hasta before Kosmas could do any damage, but the lesson was chilling: even light wounds meant the man who received them had to be killed before he, too, became a shambler.

“Maybe we can find some answers at the graveyard,” Philip suggested.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.  But it can’t hurt to check.”

Tiberius thought about it for a minute.  “You're right.  It can’t hurt,” he finally said.  “And the trip will take you away from the city, so it will minimize the danger.”

“Exactly.”

Half an hour later Philip had assembled his First, Second, Seventh, and Ninth Centuria at the gate of the camp.  They quickly and warily set off down the road to the graveyard.  It was a short trip, marked only by a quick stop to make sure Gennadios’ corpse had remained where they’d left it.    It had.

The graveyard itself had not been so promising, however.  The soldiers found the place silent and deserted.  Most of the shattered stones from the earthquakes had been moved far enough away to leave the caves they covered unblocked.  The lack of movement and noise indicated the shamblers had made the most of their new-found freedom.  That meant there were dozens -- or possibly hundreds -- of shamblers loose in Jerusalem.

Philip ordered his men to break in to squads and search for anything that might help them understand what was happening.  A few minutes later one of his squads ran up to him escorting a pair of women.

“They have news,” the men reported.

“What is it?” Philip asked.  “Who are you?”

“I am Mary,” the older woman said, “My son was executed two days ago, but I just spoke to him.  He lives!”

“You…spoke to him?” Philip asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Be not afraid,’” she replied.

“He didn’t…attack you or anything?”

“No,” she snorted as if such a suggestion was completely absurd, “Why would my own son attack me?”

“We’ve, um, we’ve been seeing some interesting things,” Philip replied.

“Can’t be more interesting than the dead coming back to life,” Mary replied.

Philip nodded, “That’s more true than you could possibly understand,” he said.  “Now, can you tell me where you saw your son?”

Mary pointed down one of the paths.  “He’s over there,” she said.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”  Philip pointed to the entrance of the graveyard.  “Some of my soldiers are over there.  Please go see them and they can escort you home.”

“That’s not necessary,” Mary replied.

“Oh, I think it is.”

Philip ordered the men that had brought the two women to him to follow, then headed down the path Mary had pointed out.  A minute later they found themselves in front of an open tomb.  This one, however, had not opened because of the earthquake.  The stone was intact, just rolled to the side.

“What do we do now?” one of the soldiers asked.

“We investigate, I guess,” Philip replied.  He took a step forward, then stopped abruptly.  A man dressed all in white appeared before him suddenly.

“Be not afraid,” the man said.

“No,” Philip shook his head, “Fuck that, be very afraid.  The dead are walking.”

“I know,” the man said.  “It is okay.”

Philip suddenly realized who he was looking at.  “You’re Yeshua,” he said, “I escorted you from the High Priest’s palace to the Prefect’s palace.”

“I am,” Yeshua responded, “I am indeed.”

“Do you know what has been going on?”

“Yes,” Yeshua nodded.  “You have been caught in an unfortunate fight.”

“Caught?”

Yeshua nodded again.  “You seem like a kind soul,” he said, “Unlike most of the soldiers the Romans have sent to this place.  You were certainly kinder to me than any of the other soldiers I saw over the past few days.  So I feel sorry that you have been caught in this fight.”

“Can you,” Philip hesitated, unsure of whether or not to even ask the question, “Can you stop this fight?”

“Yes,” Yeshua nodded, “Of course.  I am off to do exactly that.”

With that Yeshua disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared.  Philip turned back to his men.  He began to ask them if they had seen what he had just seen when he was distracted by the sound of a galloping horse.

“Who is that?” he yelled at the rider.

A moment later the horseman revealed himself.  A small Jewish man rounded the corner on a large, black charger.  He pulled the horse to a stop just in front of Philip.

“Did you see him?” the man asked.  "Did you stop him?"

“Did I stop who?”

“Yeshua.” The man said.  “He must be stopped.”

“Wait, what?” Philip asked, confused.  “Explain yourself, man.”

The little man dismounted from his horse and walked up to Philip.  “I am Joseph,” he said, “Joseph of Arimathea.  I had Yeshua put in my own personal grave because I knew that he would arise and try to take command of his army of the undead. I was hoping that the grave would hold him, but it appears I was wrong.”

“Um…” Philip paused, unsure of how to reply.  “I did just speak to him,” he finally said.  “He told me he’s going to stop this fight.”

“Yes,” Joseph nodded, “He’s going to stop this fight by killing everyone in Jerusalem and turning them all in to his slaves.  We have to stop him before he does that.”

Horror in the Holy Land, Pt. 3

The Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort was an experiment in efficiency and flexibility.  In the years following the wars of succession that brought Augustus Caesar to power the auxiliary had taken on an important role throughout the Roman Empire.  The massive, invincible Roman legions held sway over the public mind as the symbol of Roman might, but they were limited, both tactically and numerically.  The legions only accepted true Roman citizens in their ranks and the vast majority of the Empire’s subjects were not counted among that citizenry.

Further, the legions were inflexible.  While composed of the finest heavy infantry the world had yet seen, the Roman legionaries tended to not be trained or optimized to fight at range or from horseback.  During the latter days of the Roman Republic the Romans had relied on allies to provide cavalry and ranged units.  As the Republic became the Empire, that onus fell to client and subjugated states.  These non-legion forces came to be known as the Roman Auxiliary.

Another issue soon became apparent, however.  The legions simply were not large or numerous enough to patrol the entirety of the expanding Empire.  Auxiliaries soon began training in the standard heavy infantry tactics of the legions and tasked with fighting on the line alongside their better regarded, better equipped, and better paid brethren.

What the auxiliaries lacked in reputation and pay, however, they made up for in flexibility.  The Roman legions strove to maintain a uniform code of behavior, training, and equipment across the entire Empire.  Local commanders of auxiliary, however, were given a certain amount of flexibility to tailor their units to contend with local conditions.  They were also often forced to compensate for a lack of cutting-edge weaponry, such as the pilia issued to Roman troops.

That combination of shortage, tactical need, and flexibility had been the genesis of the formation of Philip’s cohort.  Egypt’s position as breadbasket of the Empire had caused all sides to target the province in the civil war following Julius Caesar’s death.  The need to field the maximum possible number of effective troops had overridden the standard push for uniform troop deployment and necessitated several odd, unbalanced cohorts.  Many of those cohorts had proven to be extremely effective on the battlefield and, as such, were retained in their oddball configurations.

In the years after Augustus’s victory the fights over Egypt had moved to the margins.  Nomadic tribes, perceiving weakness, had repeatedly raided along the frontiers, at times managing to penetrate in to the very Egyptian cities to carry off provisions and slaves.  Several battles had turned in to tactical embarrassments and strategic near disasters.

Eventually the Roman Prefect decided to create new units of auxiliaries that could fight the nomadic tribes in their own territories.  Those units were often modeled off of units that had successfully fought the nomads, not the Roman ideal.  The Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort had been formed as a part of that push.  It was an oversized cohort, consisting of six centuria of heavy infantry supported by two centuria of archers and two centuria of cavalry.  The unit was additionally supported by an artillery unit equipped with four scorpions and four ballistae.

The heavy infantry lacked the segmented iron armor and bronze and lacquered wood shields of the Roman legions.  They were instead equipped with mail and leather armor and wicker shields covered in animal skins.  The lighter defensive armament allowed them to carry the hasta, a heavy spear that was a holdover from before the Marian reforms, and the spatha, a longer, heavier sword than the usual Roman gladius.  Against troops of horse the heavy infantry operated as a phalanx.  Against enemy infantry they operated in loose formation and fought as heavy shock troops.

The archers marched in to battle equipped with their bows as a primary weapon.  They also carried a pair of javelins and a gladius and could operate on the wings as light infantry if such formations were needed.  Upon his elevation to First Centurion, Philip had also made sure each man was trained with the slingshot, as slings were light and there was no shortage of small stones in the cohort’s operational area.

Philip’s pride and joy, however, was the cavalry.  While the infantry mostly consisted of men drawn from the Hellene-descended branches of Egyptian society, the cavalry was comprised of an eclectic combination of Parthians, Sarmatians, Scythians, and the very nomadic tribesmen he was tasked to fight.  When he had taken over the unit they had been a rag-tag collection assembled as light lancer cavalry.  He had turned the Ninth Centuria in to an oversized unit of heavy cavalry consisting of 150 men and the Tenth Centuria in to an oversized unit of cavalry archers consisting of 120 men.

Philip’s cohort had spent five years fighting nomads all across the Egyptian province and never once lost a battle.  He’d used his Tenth Centuria to harass the enemy, his Ninth Century to disrupt them, and his infantry to crush anyone who survived time and time again.  Over time he and his unit had developed such a grand reputation that he had the pick of the best fighters whenever there was an opening in his units.  That reputation, in turn, had allowed him to develop something of an informal command, relying on the skill and professionalism of his troops rather than the threats and brutality most Roman commanders were forced to use to keep their men in line.

He also had the flexibility to pursue his enemy in to areas that were nominally outside of his jurisdiction.  That, in a roundabout way, was how he had ended up in Jerusalem.

He had been pursuing an enemy across the Sinai Peninsula and ended up within a week’s march of the ancient stronghold city of Gaza.  While resting his troops at an oasis a messenger had arrived with orders to break off his pursuit and report to Jerusalem.  The Prefect, Pontius Pilate, was worried about native unrest and a lack of Roman forces in the area.

The area was supposed to be defended by the various Syrian auxiliaries and the Seventeenth Legion.  At that moment, however, most of the Syrian forces had been concentrated near the city of Antioch to defend against a possible incursion and the Seventeenth Legion was tasked with defending Gaza, Jericho, Jerusalem, and the roads between those cities.  It was an impossible task even without a traditionally restive population.

The orders had come with a succinct message from his Prefect: “Don’t make us look bad.”

Most Roman troops looked at the Egyptian forces as potential enemies.  The province’s tendency to switch sides during the wars of succession had resulted in a lasting animosity for its troops.  It did not help that incompetent management of exhausted troops had nearly caused a complete collapse when Egyptian forces had been called in to help quell a Zealot uprising a decade or so before.  Rumors had started that the Egyptians were actually helping the Zealots and were not to be trusted.

Philip’s goal was to prove the rumors false.

----------------------------

The first four centuria assembled in front of the gates of the camp with the Seventh and Ninth in support.  Philip was worried about leaving the camp undefended and, as such, had decided to keep a heavy detachment back to man the walls.  He knew there was potential for a heavy fight ahead, but he also knew that his camp had to remain in friendly hands if he ever hoped to get out of Jerusalem alive.

Once the force was assembled by centuria and standing at attention Philip mounted his horse and rode to the front of his men.  “Men!” he called out, “Listen to me!

“This morning we found out that something very strange is happening in Jerusalem.  A few of us fought an enemy unlike any we had ever seen.  The enemy looked like a man, but had all of the skill and intellect of the dead.  He fought with only one intent we could discern: to attack and to eat the flesh of his enemies.  We saw him struck in his very heart with a spear, but he did not slow or even seem to notice.  Only by striking his head could we take our enemy down.

“Then, after this enemy had killed our friend and fellow soldier Gennadios, that dead man arose from the dead.  We were forced to kill poor Gennadios again.

“I have reason to believe that this enemy has overtaken the Prefect’s palace.  We are going to find out.  If you run in to any of these walking dead, these shamblers, dispatch them as quickly as possible.  Use your spears to keep them away and try to take off their heads.  Above all, be careful.  We do not wish to add our own numbers to their ranks.”

Philip paused and took a deep breath.  “Cohort!” he yelled out, “Are you with me?”

The men raised their spears and shields and cheered.

“Move out!”

The unit fell in to march step.  Philip led, supported by Lucius on his own horse.  The four centuria of heavy infantry followed.  His archers and cavalry followed in turn.  They passed through the eerily silent streets of Jerusalem.  Nothing moved and no one tried to slow their advance.

The men soon entered the square in front of the Prefect’s palace.  The square was empty and desolate, a far cry from the noisy, crowded space it had been the day before.  It seemed peaceful.

Something, however, was off.

Lucius was the first to figure out what was wrong.  “There are no guards on the wall,” he observed.

Philip studied the palace for a moment.  “No,” he finally said, “There aren’t.”

“That’s a bad sign.”

“The gates aren’t defended, either,” Philip observed.  “And they aren’t completely shut.”

“Perhaps we should investigate, Sir.”

“Perhaps we should.”

Philip ordered his men to enter the palace.  All five infantry centuria entered the palace walls while the cavalry stayed in the square to hold their escape route open.  He ordered the Fourth and Seventh to hold the gate under the command of Lucius, then took personal command of his first three centuria and entered the palace itself.

As soon as they were within the building they heard the sounds of fighting.  Philip followed the sounds and soon the men found themselves in the main hall.  Several dozen shamblers in legionary armor were at the other end, attempting to force their way through a wall of red shields.

“First Centuria,” Philip ordered, “Form phalanx.”

His men rushed past him and soon were locked together in three lines that stretched from one side of the wide hall to the other.  Three layers of hasta stuck out in front of the wall of men and shields, all held at approximately head height.  His men were taking no chances.

“First Centuria,” Philip ordered, “Advance.”

The result was almost anti-climactic.  The shamblers did not even turn to face the threat from their rear.  Their first indication that something was wrong came in the form of spear points penetrating their skulls.  All of the shamblers fell without even knowing they were under attack.

“First Centuria,” Philip ordered when the shamblers were down, “Loose formation.  Parade rest.”

His men pulled their hastae back and stood before the legionaries.  After a moment the wall of shields parted.  Centurion Tiberas stepped out from between his troops.

“I see you got my message,” he said.

Philip nodded.  “That I did.  My men hold the gate and the square.  We didn’t see any shamblers on our way here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any more out there.”

“I agree,” Tiberius nodded.  “I don’t have enough men to hold the palace if there are more.  We need to evacuate and get the Prefect to a more secure location.  We also need to join up with the rest of my cohort if at all possible.”

“Who is in command here?”

“I am,” Tiberius replied.  “The Second Centurion was in the initial ambush.  The First Centurion was paying his respects when he, well, when he came back to life.”

“Very well, First Centurion Tiberius, lead on.”

Horror in the Holy Land, Pt. 2

The night passed uneventfully.  The sky had cleared up and the Sun returned shortly after the earthquake.  Once night fell everyone had shut themselves up in their homes to celebrate the Sabbath and everything went quiet.

Philip set the guard back to normal just after dawn and ordered patrols to head in to the city to make sure the night had passed as uneventfully as he hoped.

About an hour later one of his cavalry patrols galloped back to the camp at full speed.  They reported strange things happening at the graveyard.

Philip immediately gathered a dozen of the men from his First Centuria and marched out with his cavalry.  When they arrived they found a half dozen legionaries staring warily at a pair of the caves the Judeans used as graves.  The stones in front of both had cracked and partially collapsed.

“What’s going on, soldier?” Philip asked the nearest legionary.

The man turned and looked at him.  “We, um, we aren’t sure, Sir,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Which unit are you with?”

“Fifth Centuria, Sir.  I’m in charge of the detachment.  Flavius Sextus,” he offered his name almost as an afterthought.

“And why are you so afraid of a broken stone, Flavius Sextus of the Fifth Centuria?”

“Well,” he paused, “Just listen…Sir.”

Philip turned towards the opening in the hillside and concentrated.  A moment later he heard it.  Something was scratching against the inner section of the broken stone.

“It’s probably just a mouse or something that got in to the cave and can’t make it back out,” Philip suggested.

At that moment the thing in the cave let out a long, low, agonized moan.

“On second thought, maybe not.”

They all stared at the cave in silence for what seemed like hours.

“We’re going to have to do something about this,” Philip finally said.  He signaled two of the cavalry men.  “Find some rope and pull those two big stone chunks away.  Someone find a torch.  We’ll take a look inside the tomb and see what’s in there.”

“Are you sure?”  Nedjah asked.  “Do we really have to find out?”

“Yes.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I do, too,” Philip replied, “But we’re all a little jumpy and this is probably nothing.  It’s better to see what we’re dealing with than to imagine it’s some monster from the old stories come to life.”

“I suppose.”

Twenty minutes later there were ropes running from the two largest stone fragments to a pair of horses.  Two of Philip’s men stood with lit torches, waiting to enter the tomb.  The rest of the ad hoc unit formed a rough semi-circle about a dozen paces behind the torch bearers.

“Cavalry, pull!” Philip commanded.

The horses grunted and strained against the heavy stone pieces.  At first there was no movement, but slowly, inexorably, the stones began to move.  The two men with torches leaned forward, as if ready to launch themselves at an enemy line.

The stone fragments suddenly collapsed to the ground with a heavy, dull thud.  They kicked up a cloud of dust and rock chips, forcing the men to shield their eyes and temporarily obscuring the tomb.

Philip sensed something moving through the cloud before he saw it.  “Get back!” he shouted.  “Everyone get back!”

The command came too late for one of the torch bearers.  A man-shaped void appeared in the cloud and merged with the shadowy form of the soldier on the left.  There was a muffled scream and then the torch dropped to the ground.

The second torch dropped to the ground, too.  The soldier who had been carrying it emerged from the dust cloud at a run.

Philip’s auxiliaries dropped back a pace, then hefted their heavy spears.  The legionaries drew their pilia and drew back their arms, ready to throw their weapons at a moment’s notice.  Behind the infantry the horses pranced and snorted nervously.

A figure emerged from the cloud.  It took the form of a man but could not possibly have been one.  The creature’s skin was mottled and sagging where it hadn’t been completely eaten away by maggots.  The hair of its head and beard had fallen out in clumps, leaving only spotty tufts here and there.  One of its eyes was missing and the other was nothing but a milky, off-white orb.  Its left arm hung limply at its side, held in place by stringy tendons.  Stripes and tatters of clothing or grave dressing hung off its body.

The man that was not a man shambled forward, lurching back and forth, right and left in the manner of a child first trying to learn to walk.  The soldiers took another step back in unison, almost as if they had been commanded.

Philip suddenly realized the creature’s mouth was covered in blood.  Fresh blood.

“Kill it!” he commanded.  “Kill it now!”

One of the legionaries reacted immediately, letting fly with his pilium.  The javelin flew straight and true and buried itself in the center of the creature’s chest.  It continued forward as if nothing had happened, the pilia wobbling about in front in time with the lurching steps.

“Well fuck me,” someone murmured.

“Surround it,” Philip ordered.  “It can’t take hits like that forever.”

The soldiers formed a rough circle around the creature.  Philip’s auxiliaries held their spears out with both hands and tried to keep the thing at bay.  The six legionaries switched their grips on their pilia and attempted to use them in the same way.

The creature lunged at one of the auxiliaries with unexpected speed, catching him off guard.  His spear tip sliced through the air next to the thing’s head.  The butt of the pilium struck the man in the chin.  Combined, the two actions left him surprised and overbalanced.  He staggered and fell backwards. The creature attempted to leap on top of him, but the pilium sticking out of its chest got caught between the man’s body and the ground.

Philip watched, transfixed, as the point of the pilium emerged from the middle of the creature’s back.  The creature slid down the narrow iron shaft, completely impervious to the pain and the impossibility of such a thing.  It flailed away at the man on the ground with its good arm while the soldier lifted his arms in front of his face and attempted to protect himself.

With a jerk and a sickening crunch the handle of the pilium struck a rib and brought the thing to a stop.  At that moment the creature locked the downed soldier’s left arm in its right hand and somehow, for some reason, bit down hard on his right forearm.

The man’s scream brought Philip out of his trance.  With a single, fluid motion he took a step towards the creature and stabbed forward with his sword.  The blade found a weak spot in the top of the thing’s skull.  Philip had just enough time to think it should not have been so easy to penetrate a skull from that angle before the blade sliced through the head, emerging in the spot where the neck meets the bottom of the jaw and just missing the soldier’s arm.

With that it was all over.  The thing went limp, then tipped over to its left as the soldier pushed it away.

“Are you okay, Kosmas?” Philip asked, offering his man a hand.

“Nothing a good bandage won’t heal, Sir,” the soldier responded, grabbing Philip’s hand and leveraging himself off the ground.  “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.  I almost took your arm off just there, after all.”

“But you didn’t.  That’s what counts.”

Philip laughed.  “I suppose it does at that.”  He turned to face the rest of the soldiers.  “Someone check on Gennadios over there,” he commanded, pointing at the man who had fallen in the initial attack.”

Nedjah ran over to the limp form on the ground and studied him for a moment.  “He’s dead, Sir,” the Nubian called out.  “Damn thing just about ripped the side of his neck right off.”

“Very well.  Collect his body, we’ll take him back to the camp for proper rites.”  He turned towards the legionaries as two of his men ran to join Nedjah.  “Legionaries,” he said, “Return to the Prefect’s palace.  Report what has happened here.”

At that moment a long, low moan emanated from one of the other caves in the hillside.  All the men turned to look, fear evident on most of their faces.

“Quickly, now,” Philip said.  “I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”

The half dozen legionaries left the graveyard at a speed somewhere between double time and a flat-out rout.  The auxiliaries lashed together a makeshift litter from spears and Gennadios’ shield with impressive speed and soon the little column was headed back for their camp.  Philip took the lead while the litter stayed at the back of the infantry, just in front of the cavalry.

Halfway back to camp Nedjah, who had been carrying the back of the litter, dropped it suddenly.  “He moved!” the soldier shouted.  “Gennadios moved!”

Philip spun around.  “You’re mind is just playing tricks on you.  He’s dead and you know it.

Then the dead soldier began to moan.

Everyone stopped and stared as the dead soldier began to leverage himself off the ground.  Philip tried to open his mouth and give orders, but couldn’t find any words.

Nedjah solved the problem for him.  He drew his sword and in a single, clean stroke separated Gennadios’ head from hi s shoulders.  Gennadios' corpse collapsed back to the ground and did not move, behaving in exactly the way a dead man is supposed to behave.

“Push him off the road, but leave him here,” Philip commanded.  “He deserves better than that, but I don’t want to take him anywhere until we can figure out what in heaven’s name is going on.”

The men complied quickly.  The column reformed and they walked down the road in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts.

A troop of legionaries arrived at the gates of the camp just as Philip’s little column got back.

“Centurion Tiberius sends his compliments,” the column leader said.

“What can I do for him?” Philip asked.

“He wishes to consult with you on a matter most grave.”

“The dead rising?”

The soldier’s eyes widened.  “So you have seen the shamblers, too?”

“Shamblers?”

“That is what we decided to call them.”

“I guess one name is as good as another,” Philip shrugged.  “Yes, we dealt with a shambler this morning.  I was with a detachment from the Fifth Centuria.  I sent them back to the palace with the news.”

“Two of our patrols met up with shamblers just after dawn,” the legionary said.  “We lost five men.”

“What did you do with the bodies?”

“They were taken back to the palace so we could prepare the proper rites.  Why?”

Philip spun and looked up at one of the soldiers on the wall.  “Find Lucius,” he shouted up at the man.  “Tell him to assemble the cohort.  Now.”

Horror in the Holy Land, Pt. 1

Philip stood at the window and peered out over the crowd.  They mobbed the gates, crying out for blood and death.  He shook his head at the spectacle.

“Barbarians,” Lucius, his second in command said, “They eat their own.  It’s not the Roman way.”

“What do you know of being Roman, Lucius?” Philip asked.  “Your whore of a mother just gave you that name in the hopes no one would notice you’re Syrian.”

“You’re saying it didn’t work?”

“It certainly didn’t occur to me to call you a citizen.”

The sound of footsteps in the hallway cut off any response.  “Thank you, Centurion,” Pontius Pilate said in his high pitched, reedy tone, “I will no longer need your services.”

“Are you sure, Prefect?” Philip asked.  “The crowd looks quite agitated.”

“I am sure my legionaries can handle this,” Pilate replied, his disdain evident with every word.  “I will summon the auxiliary if the need arises.  Perhaps there will not be enough slaves to clean up the trash.  You will be the first I call.”

“Thank you, Prefect,” Philip said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.  “I will await your command.”  He turned on his heel and left the chamber, Lucius following close behind.

“Damned Equestrians,” Lucius mumbled when they were out of ear shot.  “Think they own the world when all they get is backwater posts in the shittiest corners of the Empire.”

“It is unwise to criticize your Prefect, Lucius,” Philip cast his second a sidelong glance, “Even if your criticism is apt.”

Lucius chuckled.  “He certainly knows nothing of matters military, either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He thinks his precious cohort of legionaries can protect him.  You know why he's wrong?”

“Why?” Philip asked, already knowing the answer.

“They’re too busy putting it in each other to practice using their real swords.”

“So I’ve heard.  Mostly from you.”

“Of course, their First Centurion doesn’t participate, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?”  Philip raised an eyebrow.  “Why’s that?”

“They say he prefers those pretty Judean boys with their circumcised penises.  And he likes to be on the bottom.”

They rounded a corner right as Lucius finished his little joke and found themselves face to face with Tiberius, the Third Centurion in the legionary cohort.  The two auxiliaries stopped and raised their arms in salute.  Tiberius raised an eyebrow, then raised his arm to return the gesture.

“I would suggest,” the legionary said, “That you not pass that rumor around too far.”

“What rumor?” Lucius asked, feigning innocence.

“I shall not repeat it,” Tiberius replied, then broke in to a grin.  “If the Jews find out that the First Centurion likes getting it from Jewish boys we’ll not get any peace.  They’ll be lining up day and night to take their turn.”

“Perhaps that’s why they wait outside now,” Philip said.

Tiberius shook his head.  “I wish that was all.  Some new Messiah or holy man has the crowd riled up.  Some want to make him king, but most want to kill him.  We get one of these every couple months.  If you ask me, the Empire would be better off leaving this place to itself and letting them argue it out for themselves.”

Realization dawned for Philip.  “So that’s what we’re doing here.  We were delivering their Messiah so the Prefect could do their dirty work.”

“Yes,” Tiberius nodded.  “Their Sanhedrin knows your unit is still new and thinks they can push you around.”

“So you’re saying they can’t?”

“You don’t have to do anything without the direct orders of the Prefect or the Tetrarch.  And the Prefect can override him.  Caiaphas only has his job at the pleasure of the Prefect and, to be honest, Pilate would rather fuck with that self-important ninny than help him in any way.”

“Good to know.”

“Now if you’re excuse me,” Tiberius said, “I have work to do.”

The two auxiliaries headed to the front gate of the palace.  Two dozen men of the Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort awaited them.  Some were lounging; others stood and discussed the crowd on the other side of the half dozen legionaries who stood in the main entryway.  “The crowd’s gotten bigger,” Philip observed.  “That’s not a good sign.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Lucius said.  “But I sure don’t want to go out there, either.”

“They won’t mess with us,” Philip replied.  He raised his voice to address his men.  “Troop!” he barked, “Form up.  Nedjah, Shebaka, you will take the lead.”

The men quickly formed in to two columns and lined up before the gate.  The pair of giant Nubians Philip had singled out took the lead while Philip and Lucius collected their shields and spears from where they’d left them against a wall.

The gateway legionaries made way for the auxiliaries.  As they pulled back the crowd began to surge forward.  Then the column emerged and the crowd got their first look at the two point men.  They lost their nerve and retreated again.

“What did I tell you?” Philip asked.  “They dare not attack fully trained Roman troops.”

“Oh, so now we’re Roman?” Lucius asked.

The crowd parted to make way for the column, but so many bodies were pressed together in to the small square before the Prefect’s palace that no one could move too far.  The column could only move forward at a snail’s pace.  Philip was still nearly within earshot -- even of Pilate’s weak voice -- when the Prefect emerged on to the balcony and briefly addressed the crowd.  He could barely make out the words, but even so he didn’t have to wonder at the message for long.  It message was quickly passed through the crowd.

“Not guilty,” someone shouted.  “He says that he finds Yeshua not guilty.”

A response quickly started in the crowd, rumbling across the square in a disorganized tatter before surging in to a crescendo.

“Boo!” the crowd yelled as one.  "Guilty!  Guilty!  Guilty!"

The jeers continued for several minutes until someone somehow managed to calm them enough to pass another message.   Pilate wanted to know which prisoner to release.  He’d suggested Yeshua.

The crowd fell silent.  Everything stopped.

An answer came from the back of the crowd.  It started with the muffled cry of a few voices, but then was picked up by more and more of the madding crowd.  The single, chanted name soon washed over the square like a wave.

“Bar-abb-as!  Bar-abb-as!” the crowd screamed out.

Philip turned back towards the Prefect’s palace in time to see the legionaries part.  A man, beaten and bloodied from mistreatment by his captors, was pushed out in to the crowd.  Then the soldiers retreated back inside the palace.  The gates swung shut with ponderous finality.

----------------------

Philip’s men got back to their camp without incident.  The crowd had begun to disperse almost immediately after the gates closed and the people appeared to be rushing back to their homes to prepare for their holiday festivities.

Still, the whole thing had him rattled.  He played the entire day over in his mind repeatedly.

Lucius had awoken him will before daybreak with news that representatives from the Sanhedrin had requested his assistance in escorting a prisoner.  As First Centurion of the Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort, Philip had not had to respond in person to the request.  He could have sent one of his lesser Centurions, or even Lucius.  Still, something about the whole thing had piqued his curiosity and he’d decided to go and see for himself.  The unit had only been called up from Egypt a few months before to act as a reserve and extra deterrent to a historically restless people and he had yet to meet anyone of great rank amongst his charges, so these Jews were largely a mystery to him.  He did not like mysteries, especially if they might decide to try to kill him.

Caiaphas, the High Priest, had struck him as a blowhard.  The man had gone on and on about how their prisoner was an imminent danger to the Empire and had to be treated with extreme caution.  Philip had tuned him out after a while.  Lucius made faces behind his back.  At first Philip decided to order Lucius to submit to discipline for such insubordination.  Then he’d softened and decided to simply reprimand his subordinate.

Finally, while talking to Tiberius, he’d decided to make a note to have Lucius do that to Caiaphas’ face if the opportunity presented itself.

Eventually the prisoner had been presented.  Philip had not found this Yeshua to match up at all with Caiaphas’ description of the man.  He lacked the bearing and carriage of a great military leader and, instead, looked like any of the other religious teachers who wandered the streets of Jerusalem, spouting their sacrilegious nonsense about their single, supposedly all powerful god.

Philip had observed Yeshua through the entire trip to the Prefect’s palace.  The man appeared beaten, broken down, and fatigued.  He hadn’t even faced Roman punishment and was already giving up.

With leaders like that Philip could not understand why Judea was so hard to control.

----------------------

Philip called for a meeting of his Centurions at the noon meal time.  Lucius, as usual, arrived at the meeting space in the officer’s quarters early to make sure he knew what his commander wanted.

“You felt it, too, Sir?” he asked

“Felt what?”

“Something is weird.” Lucius replied.  “This day just doesn’t feel…right.”

“That’s exactly it.  But why do you think I feel that way?”

“You called the Centurions together.  You never do that at the noon meal.”

“True enough.”

The room suddenly went dark, as if a cloud had passed before the Sun.  The two men looked out the window and saw the sky, which had been blue and clear just moments before, was dark and threatening.  They rushed out the door and looked up.

The sky had become a slate gray vault over their heads.  The Sun was nowhere to be seen and there were no lines of clouds apparent anywhere.  It was as if the sky had always been blank and featureless.

---------------------

A few hours later a massive earthquake struck, causing one of the barracks and a portion of the wall to collapse.

Philip ordered all his troops to be rounded up and brought back to the encampment and had the watch doubled.  He was certain something terrible was afoot.

 

EDIT:  Holy crap.  Proofreading is my friend...