Legends of the Victory Bringer

By Gregg Hills

In ancient times, when paganism ruled with the dictators of the ever-dominant Roman empire, one bold religious cavalier helped spread a rising faith among his fellow soldiers. Born as a Christian and following in his fathers footsteps, he tried to keep the peace within the legions of these war-torn provinces, as he considered himself a knight of Christ before bringing victory on the battlefield.

This story documents the travels of a Roman tribune who was well-liked and well-respected among his peers and kept his Christian faith alive whilst campaigning in Asia Minor, Britannia, Persia, and Libya before realizing the real terror was within his own realm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524637521

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Legends of the Victory Bringer

Gregg Hills

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

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©

2016 Gregg Hills. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/12/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3753-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3751-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3752-1 (e)

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

An Addition to the Family

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Back to His Roots

Appendices

In Loving Memory of my Grandparents

Special Acknowledgement to Paul Blakes and

John Calleja for their kind assistance

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But on his breast a bloody Cross he bore,

The dear remembrance of his dying Lord,

For whose sweet sake that glorious badge we wore,

And dead (as living) ever he adored.

Edmund Spencer, AD 1590

An Addition to the Family

Geronzio leant over his wife as the priest stood by, blessing their moment with words appropriate for such a joyous occasion. Policronia Kira Anici smiled as she cradled the baby in her arms: their firstborn. Their surgeon made sure all was well before leaving and the housemaid Şefika, portraying the role of a nursemaid, smiled fondly at the new mother and father, through teary eyes.

Have you thought of a name? the priest Theodosius asked, looking down admirably at the child, wrapped in a shawl and viewing his surroundings uncomprehendingly.

Something from the Testament, replied Policronia, although she had to admit she had not given it much thought for the past nine months. Her husband had not long returned home, as he served as a soldier in the Roman army, and she saw it fit they come up with a name together.

I have thought of a name, should it be a boy, Geronzio confessed. It is not a name widely used in either Cappadocia or Palestine, but I think it is a bold name, all the same, for it means worker of the land, and the name was once my father’s father.

He then whispered his suggestion into his wife’s ear.

I like it, she said aloud and then turned to her housemaid. Would you grant me an extra blanket, Şefika? she then asked.

Şefika, satisfied that Policronia made it through the delivery well, chuckled before replying, With pleasure, milady, before leaving the room.

Geronzio and Policronia’s house was not like a typical mud-hut upon Lydda, for its architecture was of Romanesque design, fondly characterised by their neighbours as a palace for its rich interior and polished surfaces. It had barrel vaults, columns and doors with rounded arches. The building was solid and heavy with small windows, dimly lighting the huge internal place.

Geronzio Anastasius Anici was of noble birth from the land Cappadocia – recognised as a governor like his father John before him – whereas the once Policronia Kira Theognosta was from noble birth but from Lydda, the daughter of Count Dionysius Theognosta. Together, as good Christian followers, they were well liked and well regarded amongst their neighbours and friends.

Previously, Dionysius had granted Geronzio a dowry twice the weight of his daughter in gold, and many other gifts including servants, male and female, Şefika amongst them. In return, Geronzio gave his new wife much raiment of multiple origins and blessed her with the gifts of fields and vineyards.

Their time had come, however, to move from Palestine and back to Geronzio’s roots, for he had a chance to be an officer of Rome simultaneously with bringing up a family, and could only do this if stationed at his once home. Policronia had struggled so hard to try and change his mind upon such a decision, as she had learned to love Lydda and would find living elsewhere a daunting thought. She had eventually given in and accepted her husband’s decision, but the house she currently dwelled would invariably be considered as her spiritual home.

At present, the awful thought of her moving to another land was drowned by the loving moment of her new son and heir. The child looked up at the mother, seemingly knowing who she was, and as their eyes met, Policronia made a secret vow that she would protect this child at all costs, keeping him from the tyranny and cruelty that the one thousand and twenty-eight years from the founding of the city of Rome had presented.

May he be baptised here? she then asked her husband.

Sadly there is no time, Geronzio answered. We are granted but only a couple of days for you to rest and for me to pack. Then we leave with a caravan to Cappadocia.

We are always in a rush, she firmly announced.

War waits for no man to be ready, Geronzio reminded her, though he had to confess his words seemed a little harsh. He felt guilty about taking his hesitant wife away from her own settlement, and regretted even more so its urgency. But his enlistment as a Roman praetorian paid them their wealth, and despite their time apart due to his battalion constantly on the move, they had not seemed to be victimised into a hard life.

The following few weeks were tough for the loving couple and their infant son. They had to leave behind their only home they shared together in the Plain of Sharon to approach – what Policronia referred to as – foreign land.

Laboriously heading north with the trading caravan, up the east coast of the Mediterranean, they passed through the monotonous Phoenicia, Syria and Cilicia until they finally reached the land of beautiful horses, and the settlement Melitene where previously Geronzio had made arrangements for their new home.

Cappadocia was unlike Palestine in many ways. It had barren wastelands true enough, but it seemed to have a lack of Christianity at Melitene, and Policronia wasn’t sure quite how she would cope with settling in.

By Theodosius’ power, who travelled with them and stayed for a few weeks, their infant son was soon baptised into Christianity, but to Policronia’s dismay, very few people turned up to witness the event, thus longing for home even more, knowing of how many people would have proudly gone to see them if held in Lydda. Baptism was not commonly known at all to people, but to the few nobles who allowed their newborns to take part, they wished the ceremonies to be a big event.

It took the family a while to attune to their new surroundings, for although they still lived in a wealthy looking environment, Policronia missed Palestine, wishing and sometimes even praying to God to go back there one day.

Their new house was noble looking too, not too dissimilar to their old one at Lydda. Policronia spent some months fixing it up so the decoration matched what she had been used to. An imitation of Christ’s crucifix was displayed on the walls of each bedroom and their kitchen where they held their prayers three times a day.

Fortunately for them both, Geronzio seldom used his military barracks so he was able to sleep at their home more frequently than Policronia anticipated, but the rumour of battles approached them, and before long the Cappadocian-born knew he might be stationed away.

Only time would tell as to when…

Chapter I

Ten years had passed and Geronzio had fought battles for the Roman Empire against the bothersome Sarmatians. Little of them had been fought in his homeland, and as he moved swiftly through the ranks, this still strong, but discrete, Christian follower saw less and less of his family.

The Roman Empire had been divided into two spheres, Eastern and Western: arranged that way for administrative purposes, and Geronzio served under the Eastern Empire and had been an asset to any Caesar, governor or general he followed.

Policronia Kira Anici was pegging up her washed laundry on one fine spring morning, when a soldier rode upon horseback up the hill to their home. He was clad in heavy, ornamented Roman General armour. His long tunic had slid up his bare legs, catching them in the sunlight and he seemed to struggle at one stage with holding the javelin in one hand and the horse reins in the other.

Policronia’s son ran excitedly out of the house with a wooden sword to hand, swinging it back and forth wildly, yet controllably at the same time.

Return to your country, Sarmatian Warrior! he called to the oncoming horseman. And come back to this land no more!

The Roman Governor, now portraying a Sarmatian, dismounted his horse, threw down his javelin and picked up a wooden stick, now masquerading as a sword.

We Sarmatians go where we please, young man, he acted out. Now step aside or I will make yet another killing this day.

Never! the young boy screamed and ran in, waving his sword ferociously.

The armoured man parried well, and on his attack was also parried by the ten-year-old boy. The young boy’s steps, although clumsy and kicking up a mar of dirt, still seemed to be a military move as he kept one foot in front of the other, keeping his guard up at the same time.

The young boy leaned forward a bit too eagerly and almost lost his balance, but the armoured man stayed put as the child’s wooden sword stabbed him in the leg.

The man screamed out, clutching an imaginary wound, as he fell on one knee to the earthed ground, dropping his stick.

The boy carefully stabbed the man in the upper neck, where his body-armour halted and the man yelled out again, gripping his neck, almost as if real blood were jetting from it.

You have best me, Roman Solider, he cried out. I should have known not to meddle with you. Before I die, let me have your name, gallant sir.

Giorgios of Cappadocia, the child replied.

"Giorgios of Cappadocia! the man repeated, almost in disgust. What happened to ‘Giorgios son of Geronzio’?"

Well, Mother said I should say that, as others will recognise it more, rather than saying your name, Father.

Is that so? the man said laughing and turning to his wife for answers.

I had nothing to do with it, Policronia chuckled innocently, now holding the washing basket. "A lot of the children here seem to use their homeland, rather than referring to their father’s name. I said he could use ‘Giorgios of Cappadocia’ if he wished. Some also call him Joris of Cappadocia."

Tell the other children of Cappadocia that their fathers had not ascended up the hierarchy of the Roman Empire as swiftly as your governor father has, he said, picking his son up and onto his lap before tickling him.

Giorgios, who shared his father’s blond hair and complexion, laughed as his father tickled him, but when Geronzio had finished he rose from his knee and kissed his wife passionately.

Policronia put her brow upon his and they looked into each other’s eyes fondly.

At that moment, two other children rushed out the house, one a girl of six, repeatedly calling, Father in greeting, as the other was a girl of two, smiling excitedly, but not speaking a word.

Kasiâ! Mathrona! Geronzio called and threw his arms around both his daughters at the same time.

They couldn’t wait to see you, Policronia said to him. Neither could I.

I got your letter yesterday, Geronzio informed her. I have missed you so much.

Geronzio had only been away for two weeks, but his last visit home had been the first time he had seen his family in two months. The incessant war against the terror-induced Sarmatians had separated many families, spreading as far south as the cities of Jerusalem and Alexandria and as far up as the northern land of Sarmatia Asiatica. The Sarmatians had been portrayed as barbaric tribes, bloodthirsty with rage.

A romantic reunion held out quite well between the married couple. As their son and two daughters went off to play battling games with the other neighbourhood children – the boy calling himself Giorgios son of Geronzio again – the husband took his wife into their bedroom catching up on old times as often a soldier would when returning home.

Two days into the homecoming, Policronia was preparing their evening repast, as she watched through the kitchen window her husband and their infant son swordplay with harmless wooden instruments. The two battled away in the late windy afternoon, and Geronzio was proud of the innate strength his son had worked on.

Remember, Geronzio said throughout the fight. A soldier fights with his heart and his head, not with his arm. To be a good fighter, you must first learn to use your brain.

Giorgios tried so hard to hit him with his wooden sword, but Geronzio knew he was not going to succumb that easily, so he continued to parry, takings steps backward if he had to, but then when Giorgios let his guard down, he then saw it fit to attack.

What’s the most important thing? he asked his son.

Not to let your guard down, Giorgios answered, but then abruptly clasped his hand over his mouth, as he knew he had been tricked. "Oops, I meant ‘family.’ Family is the most important thing. In battle, the most important thing is not to let your guard down."

That’s right, his father laughed, seeing the funny side of tricking him, but then pleased Giorgios retraced his words and gave him the correct answer.

Policronia, still watching from the window, was proud of Geronzio, for not only was he a good soldier in the Roman realm, he had proved to be an excellent husband and father too. His strength, she could see, had been passed down to Giorgios, who no doubt, would grow up to be as honourable as his father was – ten years of age, and already a good swordsman.

Dinner is almost ready! she called out to them, but Giorgios knew not to drop his guard just because dinner was being served. The unabated young boy was too focussed to be distracted by that, but when he saw his father’s face smiling down at him and dropping his own guard, he knew they had to eat there and then.

Go and wash up, Son, Geronzio said, and Giorgios ran around to the lee side of the building where a bucket of water awaited.

After a quick wash, he then followed his father into the house where Policronia had displayed their table full of bulgur, sun-dried meat, apples, apricots, oranges, grapes and many kinds of bread and cheeses.

Save from the youngest child Mathrona, who was not old enough to understand mealtime traditions, the rest of them leant their heads slightly over the table and above their clenched hands, as Geronzio spilled out a mealtime grace; an affirmation of their God-fearing faith:

"Bless O Lord, this food to our use,

And us to thy loving service;

And make us ever mindful of the needs of others,

For Jesus’ sake,

Amen."

Amen, Policronia, Giorgios and Kasiâ said together.

Policronia knew her husband’s prayers were different from other Christian household’s they had visited in their days. His words were better, in her opinion, and hoped his godly and honourable words would influence others one day.

Giorgios and Kasiâ had very good table manners for their age. They knew when to talk, how to ask for food properly and to keep any such fidgeting habits they did have outside their mealtime hour.

We do not use our fighting skills to slaughter the weak, Giorgios, you know that don’t you? Geronzio asked.

I know Father, you told me, Giorgios said. We use it upon defence and upon those who would oppose others. He seemed to recite his father’s once words very well.

How was Giorgios at the market today? Policronia asked. Was he of good help?

Geronzio looked down upon his son and smiled. Oh yes, he was of good help, he replied proudly.

I found the market stall that keeps the bread, Giorgios said. Father couldn’t find it at first. And I helped carry the food back.

In that case, you had better get a second helping, Policronia said, offering him some more bread, teaching him that good work pays off. Giorgios took the bread appreciably and put it on the side of his wooden plate ready for later, and thanked his blessing for an extra helping.

I took two of our cows and two of our sheep to that poor family that lost their home, Policronia told Geronzio.

That’s good, her husband returned. It must be tough for them.

They thanked us very much, she informed him. They thanked me with opened arms, in fact.

We will mention them in our prayers again tonight, Geronzio said.

Geronzio and Policronia had done themselves very proud over the years they had been together. Like both their God-fearing parents’ before them, they had succeeded in loaming farmlands of plenty, where they bred cattle, sheep and even horses. Their servants were given time off every Dies Solis, thus their presence withdrawn upon this Sabbath day, but the honest pay of farm life and soldiery could afford to keep them working hard for the Christian family most other times.

The poor family may require more than those animals, Policronia said.

Then we shall grant them more, Geronzio said generously, when there was an abrupt knocking at the door.

The thirty-six year old man didn’t look amused by their mealtime interruption, but he got up from his chair all the same to answer the door, politely excusing himself first.

Did Jesus make this table and these chairs, Mother? Giorgios asked, knowing of the great Messiah he was growing up to love had the profession of carpentry before his popularity.

He may well have done, she giggled to him, knowing full well he didn’t, but pleasing her son by her answer. Her attention was, however, driven to her husband’s exit and who it could be at the door.

As Geronzio opened the door, a Roman praetorian stood in front of him, who he seemed to recognise.

You are Governor Geronzio of the Roman Empire, are you not? the praetorian asked.

That, I am, Geronzio replied.

You are called out on the morrow to gather by the town’s square, the praetorian envoy said, handing him an order written on scroll. Your regiment leaves for Gaza in Judea at midday.

Policronia rushed up behind her husband when she heard the news, for it had seemed he had not long returned and was now being ordered into Roman duty once again!

Thank you, Praetorian, Geronzio could only think to say, and closed the door before he led his wife back to the table and opened the scroll.

Giorgios’ eyes began to fill up, for he knew exactly what was going on. His father was – yet again – to leave their family and be part of a soldiery Giorgios Anici still didn’t fully understand.

Policronia’s journey from Palestine to Cappadocia gave her a guess as to how long her husband would be away, travel time alone. Judea was directly upon South Palestine and it didn’t seem right to her that Geronzio would be so near to her homeland without her, as she was stuck upon his homeland without him.

It is official, he confirmed to them both after reading the scroll. I leave on urgent business to travel to Judea noontide tomorrow.

Amongst the enrolling of troops, Geronzio led his wife and children through the bustle of the town the following day, preparing himself for the long journey ahead.

Greetings, Geronzio, a voice abruptly spoke among the throng, and as Geronzio turned, he was being greeted by his Roman soldier friend Justus.

Greetings, Justus,, the Roman Governor replied. Are you ready to face the cruel Sarmatians again?

Point me towards danger, his friend replied confidently. He then turned to the woman and the children. Policronia, Young Giorgios, Young Kasiâ and Baby Mathrona. How nice it is to see you.

Greetings, Justus, Policronia said and kissed his cheek, for he had been a friend of the family ever since they moved to Melitene.

And what of you, young praetorian? Justus asked Giorgios. Are you out to battle the sons and daughters of the Devil himself?

Giorgios smiled at Justus’ jest, but didn’t have an answer for him.

He would be a fine help, I’m sure, Geronzio proudly said. But he is stationed here to protect the women and children.

A just quest to undertake, young man, Justus announced.

Is Taylan with you? Geronzio asked.

How could you miss him? Justus replied, almost in sarcasm as he pointed over Geronzio’s shoulder.

The biggest man Giorgios had ever seen waded through the morning levy, almost like he was walking knee deep in water. He had seen the Roman Governor and the other praetorian and had made his way over.

Well, I’m glad you’re here at last, Geronzio said to the man, not caring if his words sounded insulting, so Giorgios knew there and then that they must have been close concomitant friends.

Greetings, Geronzio, the big man said in a deep voice, just as Giorgios and Policronia had expected.

Greetings, Taylan, Geronzio said. How like you this quest ahead?

Let the Sarmatians come, Taylan said. Let ’em come in their hundreds or even their thousands. That way, there’ll be more to kill.

Look at this man, Giorgios, Geronzio revealed. Have you ever seen a man with tree trunks for arms?

Giorgios kept his eyes on the big brute of a man in front of him, and kept smiling.

Geronzio then looked at his wife, adopting a more serious look. I have to go now, he sadly said, and Policronia threw her arms around him quickly, embracing him hard.

I love you, Husband, she said to him.

And I: you, Wife, he returned. Fare you well.

He then kissed his son and daughters on their heads and began to mount his horse, but Giorgios pulled him back.

It didn’t take long for Justus and Taylan to mount up too, and as they did, Geronzio looked over the fearful faces of his loving family one more time.

Remember, Geronzio said to his son. It’s not our wealth that makes us noble, but our loyal actions that define our nobility.

He liked to use words of inspiration to make