Before The Cross

By D. K. Willis

Before The Cross, in the tradition of Ben-Hur and The Robe, is an epic tale of strife and conflict set in the Roman-occupied Mediterranean during the time of Jesus Christ’s principal ministry. Nicolaus, a young Syrian-Greek aristocrat, is falsely accused by the Roman authorities of sedition, condemned to slavery, and exiled from Syria. Forcibly removed from his beloved family and friends, Nicolaus considers his greatest personal loss his separation from Helen, the beautiful Greek girl whom he has loved since childhood. While Nicolaus is placed in the servitude of a former Roman general residing in Northern Africa, Helen flees Antioch for Jerusalem to live with her brother,Theodore, an assistant architect to the master builder. Theodore is working on the great temple that is being erected at the direction of King Herod Antipas. Soon after her arrival in Judea, Helen hears of the teachings and the miracles of a young Jewish rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth. She seeks Jesus out and soon becomes a devoted follower. Political pressure mounts on Metellus, the ambitious Roman legate in Syria, until he is compelled to reverse his earlier ruling and declare a death sentence against Nicolaus. After being warned of the new decree, and narrowly evading capture, Nicolaus flees to Egypt. There he remains a fugitive, increasingly desperate and alone, until he makes a fateful decision to journey to Jerusalem in an effort to reunite with Helen and confront his ultimate destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. K. Willis
• Release date: Jun 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476493091

D. K. Willis

D. K. Willis earned a B. A. degree in journalism from North Texas State University in 1975. He has a diversified professional background, mainly in business and finance. A voracious reader with a great passion for books and literature, he presently resides in Florida and is writing, primarily fiction, full-time.

Book preview

CHAPTER I

(1)

The swirling, murky waters of the Orontes exposed only a slight portion of the broken log that tumbled along on its rapid current. A lone male figure, slender and athletic, stood atop a prominent boulder that jutted into the great river. As he observed the elusive target, the young man raised his bow, aiming with precision, calmly sighting along the length of the arrow until—with the confidence of a skilled archer—he released the feathered shaft. The arrow soared over the rushing water in a perfect trajectory until it landed with a dull thud, its iron point embedded deeply inside the partially submerged target. Nicolaus felt his chest swell with pride. Perhaps he should declare himself the most accomplished archer in the entire province of Syria, or at least in its splendid capital city of Antioch.

Life in the glorious, fabled city of Antioch for a young Greek-Syrian aristocrat was anything but difficult. It was an existence influenced by great knowledge—literature and languages, science and mathematics, philosophy and history. It was also a world of exceptional culture. Since the citizens of Syria were not so much subjugated as absorbed by the expanding empire of Rome, they wisely accepted their fate and thus were allowed to experience no interruption of the social order to which they had grown accustomed.

Nicolaus suddenly grimaced as he glanced down at his sandaled feet, which were stiff and cold from being repeatedly doused by the sporadic backwash that soaked the protruding rock. When he turned and stepped off the boulder, he glanced at his most trusted companion grazing nearby on tufts of grass along the river’s edge. At the sight of Aleppo, his powerful white stallion with sleek Arabian lines, Nicolaus allowed himself a gentle smile. There was no finer stock in all of Antioch. He had seen more than one envious eye cast toward his magnificent steed. Aleppo had been a gift from his father nearly three years ago, on Nicolaus’ twenty-first birthday.

Alexander, the honored and respected father of Nicolaus, was a wealthy and influential city councilman who had derived his vast fortune from his fertile farmlands, particularly his many vineyards. In recent years he had become a distinguished shipbuilder. It was with much acclaim that the emperor had generously commissioned several vessels from Alexander’s shipbuilding firm in the nearby coastal community of Seleucia Pieria.

Nicolaus casually studied the gray, late afternoon sky before turning his vigilance toward the task of finding another target to strike with his arrows.

Nicolaus! Nicolaus!

A slight frown froze on his lips as he observed a familiar figure riding rapidly toward him. Nicolaus turned away from the river and advanced cautiously in the direction of the approaching horseman, finally stopping and waiting patiently, his bow lowered to his side.

Hello, Atticus, Nicolaus exclaimed cheerfully, though he was sure his forced smile betrayed his annoyance at being disturbed.

Greetings, Nicolaus, Atticus responded, as he swiftly dismounted. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a long face and a serious expression that rarely changed. I’ve come with a message from Mistress Helen.

Nicolaus acknowledged the obvious with a curt nod. Who else but his beloved Helen would know exactly where to find him when he chose to be alone? And who else would she trust with the task of summoning him but her personal servant, Atticus?

She is requesting that you come to her at once, Atticus explained. She feels you’ve been avoiding her and she has something of great importance to tell you.

Nicolaus bit his lower lip and looked away. He noticed a heavily loaded barge bobbing on the choppy river current as the craft sailed downstream toward the sea. As an adventurous boy growing up in Antioch, Nicolaus loved nothing more than to spend his free afternoons traipsing along this stretch of the Orontes, which bordered the western edge of the city. He often wondered what it would be like to sail its southerly route to the Mediterranean and destinations beyond.

He looked at Atticus, who had so audaciously invaded his private sanctuary, and said, I will go to her now. Is she at home?

Yes, Master Nicolaus. She is waiting for you.

(2)

The city’s most affluent residential district was situated along the lower slopes of Mount Silpius, the towering and majestic presence that formed a natural barrier to the east. The level ground that constituted the main portion of the city gave way to a gradual rise that led to a series of terraced sites with exclusive villas commanding a sweeping view of the entire community. These homes were connected by a maze of winding paths.

With Atticus trailing anxiously behind, Nicolaus directed Aleppo away from Antioch’s main avenue, a seemingly endless stretch of granite pavement that ran through the heart of the city. The avenue was impressive both for its utilitarian purpose and its magnificent grandeur. Its architects had flanked the expanse with a covered walkway that was supported at intervals by splendid colonnades. The entire scene was beautifully lit at night.

They rode past the large amphitheater, now empty and silent, and progressed along a back path that would lead them up the hillside. Nicolaus’ home was situated a short distance from Helen’s residence, where she lived with her parents, Endre and Tessa, and with her brother, Theodore. Nicolaus had visited the estate so often since his childhood that he could have found it blindfolded.

Nicolaus could feel the movement of the animal’s powerful muscles beneath him as Aleppo transported him up the sinuous incline and through the main gate of the House of Endre. Atticus followed closely as they continued down the path leading toward the front portico of the modest-sized villa. The residence was not an elaborate structure. Nor were the grounds particularly impressive, despite the affluence of its owner, for Endre was a practical man who had insisted that his home be built with reasonable efficiency. As a result, the house and its grounds were an excellent example of attractive but modest ideas.

Nicolaus paused alongside the front steps, still astride his beloved Aleppo, and waited for Helen to emerge. The white stucco walls of the rectangular-shaped house glowed softly in the late afternoon sun. Within moments, the structure slipped from a warm, yellow aura to a splendid shade of pink as the walls were tinged in the diffused light from the red-tiled roof. The vision created an image of serenity that seemed to engulf the entire estate. Nicolaus suddenly dismounted and handed the reins to Atticus, who was already standing alongside Aleppo, waiting expectantly.

You will find her in the garden, Atticus informed him.

Nicolaus smiled with awareness, for he realized that Helen was seeking refuge in her private sanctuary, just as the banks of the Orontes were his special place for quiet reflection. As he circled the house and slowly found his way in the gathering darkness, he could see the glow of an oil lamp from inside the pergola. He walked over a narrow wooden footbridge spanning a little stream and carefully stepped into the confinement of the vine-covered structure. Helen was seated on a wooden bench. She smiled reassuringly at Nicolaus, though her eyes appeared puffy from a lack of sleep, or from crying, or perhaps both. He bent down on one knee and tenderly grasped her hands.

So you’ve come, Nicolaus. Did Atticus have to persuade you?

On my word, he did not. I came of my own volition. I followed my heart.

How long does it take for your heart to carry a message to your head?

Helen, please. His voice almost trembled. I’ve desperately wanted to be with you. But I simply couldn’t bring myself to . . .face you. I was terribly afraid. Afraid of what I would feel.

She remained silent, continuing to stare past him, into the surrounding darkness.

Nicolaus felt a cool breeze drifting inside the airy wooden structure and the lamp flickered softly.

I spoke to Aristid, she said, referring to his younger brother. And he told me of the agreement you have with your father.

You know me well, Helen. Perhaps too well. You know that I intend to obey my father even though he demands the greatest possible sacrifice. He asks me to surrender my love for you so that I might marry Drusilla.

Helen looked away, her cheeks blushing red.

It’s all so senseless. He stood with his fists firmly clenched as he turned and glanced toward the house. He could see that the lamps inside were being lit. I love you, Helen, but I am to marry Drusilla by arrangement. Nicolaus shook his head and laughed harshly. My father says the legate is very insistent in this matter. He thinks I am, by far, the most appropriate choice for his daughter.

And who can defy the wishes of Metellus? Helen responded, softly. No doubt your father agrees with his proclamation. Alexander is probably enthusiastic about such an alliance.

Nicolaus leaned against a wooden column and continued to avoid looking at Helen. No matter how he rationalized it, he felt betrayed by his own father.

So you will marry her? Helen queried, though she undoubtedly knew his response.

He studied her face, her lovely profile a silhouette framed by the lamp’s soft glow. I certainly prefer not to, he admitted. Yet I see no other choice.

She stared at him curiously. Finally, she said, You should follow your feelings.

I want you to know this wounds me terribly.

She stood up and moved to the opposite side of the pergola, her gaze lingering on the dark slope below as she listened to the pleasant sound of trickling water from the small stream nearby. The reflection from the partial moon faintly lit the grounds.

Then it’s settled, Helen declared, with resignation. There is nothing more to be said.

It was an awkward moment and despite the finality of it, Nicolaus made no move to leave.

Helen eventually spoke again. Aristid asked me if I would agree to marry him. He said he would ask our fathers to discuss it.

Nicolaus looked at her sharply. Do you love Aristid?

Her reaction was swift, and deeply emotional. Please stop, Nicolaus. I am as much a victim of this arrangement as you are. You must understand that a great part of my heart—perhaps more than you will ever know—will always belong to you.

Nicolaus struggled with the swelling tide of tears that began to fill his eyes. He was unable to speak. Helen turned toward him and they suddenly embraced. She kissed him softly on the cheek. When she began to pull away, Nicolaus abruptly held her closer, so tightly that he could feel the steady rhythm of her heart.

Let’s go away together, he whispered. We can leave immediately.

Helen shook her head defiantly. Where can we go, Nicolaus? And who would we become? We are who we are. And this is where we belong.

Nicolaus lifted her chin with his hand and studied the tears washing her cheeks. His own eyes remained moist. She quickly pulled herself from his arms and fled outside the pergola, leaving him alone in the shadows. He could hear her running rapidly over the footbridge, the sound of her retreat echoing in the still night air. He lowered himself onto the wooden bench and attempted desperately to rationalize a world that he no longer understood.

CHAPTER II

(1)

Drusilla Aleria Metellus, perhaps because of her youth and her soft, delicate features, projected a deceptive image. She appeared to be a woman of outstanding virtue and remarkable sincerity. Those unfortunate enough to know her well realized something quite different, that her true demeanor resembled that of a scorpion with its stinger held high. She placed everyone she encountered in two separate but distinctive categories: either friend or foe, ally or enemy. There were too few in the former and far too many in the latter. If she had been born a male, she left little doubt that her legacy would be that of a fierce and unmerciful military leader.

Drusilla was devoted to her father, Marcus Inigo Metellus, who was serving as the governor of Syria by appointment of Emperor Tiberius. She was entirely captivated by the realization that her father was a man of power and eminence. And they both knew that Legate Metellus would inevitably return to Rome after his distinguished service and no doubt serve in the Roman senate. That would be the fulfillment of his last great ambition.

Drusilla was momentarily unhappy as she strolled at a leisurely pace through the splendid gardens in the outer courtyard of the governor’s palace. The towering mansion had been erected on a sizeable island located in the center of the Orontes River, surrounded by a separate wall and connected by a series of bridges linked to the city. Drusilla felt comfortable and secure in the confines of the sprawling estate. Now, alone with her thoughts, Drusilla seated herself on a stone bench in the shadow of a sizeable chestnut tree as she reflected on her disheartening circumstances. Why was her father so determined to have her marry a man she did not love? Did he have a special plan involving his prospective son-in-law? Her father had every right to choose her suitor, and moreover she was obligated to accept his decision. But she was nonetheless disappointed in the result of his selection. Nicolaus was an attractive, well-educated young male from a prominent family, but he was not to her liking. They were both strong-willed and impulsive. They were, in fact, too much alike. He was not a man that she could tame or easily manipulate. Conflict was inevitable.

She stood up and moved casually along the walkway, pausing to admire a sizeable Myrtle bush, enjoying the rich fragrance from its abundant flowers and leaves. Though she never revealed such sentiment to anyone, least of all her father, it was at complicated moments such as this that Drusilla missed her mother, who had died when Drusilla was still quite young, leaving her with no brothers or sisters.

Drusilla! Drusilla, how lovely you look this day. I’ve come to congratulate you on the announcement of your wedding.

She was startled at the sound of her name. The commanding voice belonged to Cnaeus Lucian Secundus, the handsome, overtly ambitious centurion who served her father as an adjutant. He was stationed with the III Gallica military garrison that was responsible for defending the city. She looked up in surprise as Cnaeus approached her with his arrogant swagger. Yet she found herself secretly delighted by his unexpected presence.

Cnaeus! How kind of you, she said, graciously offering her cheek. He quickly applied a delicate kiss while grasping her hand momentarily in greeting.

She again seated herself on the nearby bench while Cnaeus continued to tower over her, looking splendid in his red tunic. He carefully scanned the garden with the eyes of a soldier accustomed to staking out the high ground, preparing a strategy that would enable him to successfully defend his position, and perhaps formulating a method of retreat as a contingency. Despite her young age, Drusilla was not easily deceived. She was well aware of Cnaeus’ shrewd and calculating mind. In fact, she admired it greatly, for his thinking was so much like her own. He was not a man she could ever hope to manipulate, but since there was no threat of marriage to him, such a desire was inconsequential. As a result, they found themselves allied to a common cause. They were equal in their urge to control their own destiny. Neither would ever allow themselves to be innocent, unsuspecting victims.

I suppose I should be preparing my wedding plans, Drusilla murmured, with a sigh. It is something every woman should look forward to with great enthusiasm. My union to Nicolaus should be one of mild happiness, I suppose. Not that my feelings are of any consequence.

Cnaeus raised his eyebrows in amusement, and with a measure of concern. It was not unlike Drusilla to express herself with such sarcasm. But he only now realized she had no real interest in a union with Nicolaus. He responded carefully. I had assumed you would be pleased to marry the handsome son of one of the more prominent men in all of Antioch.

My personal happiness is of no importance. My father’s wish to have me marry this. young aristocrat is of far greater importance. I shall gladly sacrifice my own desires.

I sincerely regret to hear of your disenchantment, Cnaeus said, observing her thoughtfully. I have told you more than once that it is of some importance to me, personally, to know that you are happy, or at least content. I place myself, as always, in your service to that end.

Oh, Cnaeus, you are such a dear and devoted friend. Perhaps I should indulge myself and ask a minor favor of you. It may seem like a menial task, but it would mean so much to me.

I assure you, Mistress, that nothing you can ask of me will be beneath me.

Drusilla smiled softly. She had long been aware that Cnaeus was a man of great ambition. He obviously viewed her friendship as a means of ingratiating himself more closely with the legate. His intention of moving up from the rank of centurion to that of tribune with full command of his own legion depended on his gift for political maneuvering. She guessed that he did not have the proper connections in Rome to propel him successfully through the ranks. So, as a result of his own driving determination, he was willing to exercise whatever means were available for his purpose. Not that she was the least concerned about his motives. Drusilla merely saw him as a legitimate personal ally, and she intended to use him fully, with the reasonable understanding that he was no fool and that he was undoubtedly far too valuable to carelessly exploit. And most important, she need not worry about him revealing any of her schemes to her father. She had observed the quiet awe Cnaeus displayed in the presence of the legate. Metellus, of course, regarded Cnaeus with only minimal interest. But it was not lost on Drusilla that Cnaeus had great respect for anyone in a prominent position of authority. He would be the last person to confront Metellus with unfavorable information on his daughter.

As Drusilla looked on, the centurion gingerly paced the garden path, pretending to study the blossoms and fragrant plants that surrounded them. He seemed hesitant to speak, but finally he said, May I be so bold as to ask if your heart belongs to another man?

Drusilla reached forward and snapped a flower from a drooping vine and twirled it between her fingers. There is someone else. She smiled secretively. I know this may seem very confusing, but my heart belongs to the brother of Nicolaus, my betrothed. His name is Aristid, and he is such a gentle and poetic soul.

Cnaeus listened quietly, deliberately avoiding any reaction. But he was earnestly attempting to imagine a marriage between an unrelenting woman like Drusilla and the soft, poetic Aristid. It was almost comical; the sort of thing that the Greeks would produce in one of their silly plays. Yet, Drusilla was obviously intent on pursuing the matter, so he sighed softly and said, How may I be of service to you regarding this unfortunate dilemma?

Drusilla stood up and handed him the flower she had plucked. I am going to ask a special favor of you. I want you to deliver a letter I’ve written to Aristid, and to bring back any message he may have for me. I fully realize you have far greater responsibilities than running such a foolish errand. I sincerely hope I’m not insulting you with such a request. But the truth is, I simply don’t trust anyone else.

How could it be insignificant when it is so obviously vital to your peace of mind? I will gladly deliver your communication and then return with whatever response is presented to me.

She studied his attentive but impassive features and she smiled with pleasure. She had suspected that he would not reveal even the slightest indication that he was insulted by her suggestion that he act as her personal messenger. As always, he made her feel as though her individual welfare was his major concern.

I have the letter prepared. Will you take it with you now?

As you wish.

Would you like a glass of wine or some other refreshment before going? she asked, taking his arm as he escorted her toward the front foyer of the palatial estate.

A female servant appeared suddenly, bowing reverently and avoiding a direct gaze. There is another visitor here to see you, Mistress. It is Nicolaus, from the House of Alexander.

Drusilla’s face dropped. She withdrew her arm from Cnaeus. She attempted to control the unpleasant sensation that the announcement evoked inside her. When she finally responded, she spoke vigorously to the servant. I want you to retrieve a scroll from my room. It’s sealed and lying on my dressing table. Centurion Cnaeus will take it with him. Please show him out. And then ask Nicolaus to join me in the garden.

Cnaeus studied her grim expression. Are you certain you are well enough to see this suitor of yours?

Yes. Of course. She somehow projected a smile in response to his obvious concern. And you, Centurion, have already been more than generous with your time. Please forgive me for not walking out with you. We will speak again soon.

I can guarantee it. He bowed his head gracefully. His face was an amazing blank slate.

Drusilla squeezed his hand and then turned back toward the garden.

(2)

She was seated on a bench overlooking a pond swarming with an array of exotic fish when she felt his presence. She glanced up to see Nicolaus standing awkwardly inside the entrance to the garden. He approached her without smiling, moving with long and graceful strides. It was not without interest when she viewed his lean, athletic body and his handsome features. Yet, she felt totally devoid of even the slightest affection toward him. She was convinced that she could never love him.

Thank you for seeing me with such brief notice, he began, graciously.

She avoided his eyes. Instead, she gazed about the garden as if she were viewing it for the first time. She remarked, casually, To arrive unannounced and so unexpected is unlike you, Nicolaus. So tell me. To what do I owe this urgent visit?

I deeply apologize for the intrusion, Drusilla. But I felt I must speak to you without delay.

She smiled faintly, appearing bemused despite her inner turmoil. Feel free to speak your mind, Nicolaus.

He continued to stand and observe her while wearing a fixed expression, with his shoulders squared firmly and his jaw set. I have little doubt, Drusilla, that we share the same grave concern. I have serious reservations about my father’s desire, as well as your father’s desire, to have us marry. Surely you can see the folly of such a union as much as I do.

His voice was steady and resonant. I’m certain, Drusilla, that I am not your first choice in the selection of a husband. And I must confess that my own heart belongs to another. He sighed and shook his head for emphasis. I think we must do something to change this decision. Will you please share with me your thoughts on this matter?

She continued to observe him coolly, dispassionately. I, too, am unenthusiastic. But what do you suggest we do?

He seemed relieved that she did not respond defensively, that she conceded the necessity of some joint action.

I think you should speak to your father—as respectfully as you always do, of course—but you must convince him that this is simply an improper match. If you think it best, we will both address him.

She stood up and moved toward a nearby shrub that displayed an abundance of pink, fragrant blossoms. A bee swarmed around her, but she refused to flinch. With her back to Nicolaus, she smiled deceitfully and said, You are very courageous, Nicolaus. I know of no other man who would confront my father with the declaration that the legate’s daughter is someone he would not consider marrying. She suddenly realized that it was best not to torment him too boldly, for she agreed with his assessment of their engagement. In her mind, such an uncomfortable union would most likely be an unmitigated disaster. So she swiveled to face him with a smile of encouragement.

Of course, Nicolaus, I admire such noble conviction. So let us speak to the legate together and attempt to reason with him regarding this situation. Yet, I wonder. . .

He stepped toward her. What? Tell me.

Is there any chance Alexander could also be persuaded in this matter? If the three of us addressed my father, perhaps…

I don’t think so. Alexander seems determined to have us marry.

Have you told your father you love someone else?

Nicolaus looked briefly forlorn, and then he shrugged in defeat. He undoubtedly knows.

I see. It seems we have before us a formidable challenge.

But it must be done, he replied, firmly. I understand what a difficult position this has placed you in, Drusilla. You intend to be a faithful daughter as much as I want to be a son Alexander can be proud of. Neither of us wants to lose the trust, or the respect, of our father. And you realize that it’s not your place to challenge the legate on such an important matter. But perhaps together we can make it possible for him to understand our profound reservations.

I agree with you in principle. Of course, we must try.

She studied his drawn and unhappy features and fully realized the extent to which he wanted to avert their marriage. She was aware of his devotion to Helen, the beautiful Greek girl. It was, she reflected, a strange twist of fate that prevented the appropriate hearts from finding happiness together.

You must know that this is a matter of great urgency, he confided. We must act quickly to avert another calamity.

To what do you refer? she responded, intently.

It’s my brother, Aristid. He is attempting to convince the woman I love, my devoted Helen, to marry him instead.

Drusilla recoiled in surprise; she could barely contain herself. She drew a deep breath.

What are you saying? she demanded, more sharply than she intended.

It seems that my brother, Aristid, loves Helen as much as I do. And now that he knows that I am intended for you, he is attempting to convince Helen to accept his proposal immediately.

She inhaled sharply. And what are the chances of that? Do you think she loves him as well?

He stood, his shoulders sagging discernibly and a grim smile on his face. His eyes clearly reflected his sorrow. I think not. But if I am unable to marry her, she must make whatever decision is best for her.

Drusilla returned to the stone bench and quietly reseated herself. Her eyes were fixed as she sat staring into space, oblivious to the presence of Nicolaus or anything else. Her mind was swirling with confusing thoughts, her heart a tumult of emotions. While her mind raced for answers, she was uncharacteristically—for the first time in recent memory—experiencing a measure of self-doubt and absolute uncertainty. She agreed with Nicolaus as to the urgency of their purpose. They must act and do so quickly.

CHAPTER III

(1)

The massive, rectangular reflecting pool centered in the interior courtyard of the Seleucid Palace was flanked by a series of large statues whose presence evoked the image of loyal, unflinching sentinels. A generous selection of benches for reclining and relaxing were randomly situated throughout the expansive grounds. Inside the legate’s elaborate residence were a series of corridors that branched off into numerous rooms with floors of marble and thick walls of granite.

Alexander was no stranger to the estate, having visited on numerous occasions at the behest of the legate, with whom he had a close confidence, though there was not necessarily a sense of warmth or endearment between the two men. Their alliance was the practical result of political and social considerations.

The position of legate was the highest authority in the region, involving significant power and responsibility. Rome deemed Syria a strategic military province. No fewer than twenty thousand troops in at least four separate garrisons were spread throughout the region. Their presence provided for the protection of the empire against such threats as a potential invasion by the Parathians, who eyed Syria with increasing interest. The two powers were separated by a natural boundary, the Euphrates River.

Meanwhile, to the south, the aggressive Roman troops were able to exert control over such client kingdoms as Judea, maintaining a constant vigilance against any internal disorder.

Legate Metellus, as envoy of the emperor, was in essence the commander of all the garrisons in his jurisdiction. His power extended outside the providence, for he wielded authority over the Prefect of Judea. Yet, Metellus was reluctant to travel beyond the city of Antioch, preferring that his various tribunes, the senior officers commanding his garrisons, report directly to him.

Knowing that Metellus was not one to be trifled with, Alexander responded in haste when he was unexpectedly summoned to the palace to confer with the legate. He approached the palatial estate with more than a little apprehension, since he respected the Roman governor’s considerable influence but often suspected his motives. Alexander was well aware that the legate was a man of great ambition whose every decision was weighed in favor of impressing the authorities in Rome, particularly the emperor himself. When Alexander hurried up the front steps and into the main foyer, he was recognized by a friendly house servant who immediately escorted him through the corridors and into the bowels of the palace in search of the legate.

Though Metellus wielded power with no small degree of arrogance, he also proved himself to be a cautious and prudent man. He cultivated an alliance with Alexander and other civic leaders because he wisely recognized the importance of appeasement in achieving and maintaining internal order in the capital of his province. He believed that the civic leaders should be allowed the authority to exercise local law and order. As a result, the Syrians maintained their