An unexpected assignment, fortunately, had delayed Longinus’ departure from Castra Praetoria, and he had just reached home when Tullia arrived at Senator Piso’s. Quickly she told him of the Prefect’s visit to her mistress.

He listened attentively, outwardly calm but inwardly with rage mounting as her story progressed. “Go back to your mistress, Tullia,” he said, when she finished, “and tell her that with me, too, nothing is changed. But warn her to make no attempt, until I tell her, to communicate with me. The Prefect is diabolically clever; he may suspect that we will try to thwart his plans. I don’t understand just what he’s scheming; we must be careful. But assure her that I will find some way of getting a message to her.”

“Centurion Longinus, if I may suggest, sir, should you send the message, or bear it yourself, to the shop of Stephanos in the Vicus Margaritarius....”

“I know that shop, Tullia, and the goldsmith, too.”

“Then, sir, from there I could take your message verbally to my mistress. Stephanos is the son of my father’s brother. He can be trusted, you may be assured, sir.”

“That’s a good arrangement, Tullia. And should your mistress wish to send me a message, you can leave it with the goldsmith. But do warn her to be careful. The Prefect may be setting a trap for us.”

The goldsmith Stephanos was, like his cousin Tullia, a Greek-speaking Jew who had been reared in the Jewish colony in Rome. Although a young man, he had already established a profitable business in the capital, and his customers numbered many of the equestrian class, including members of Senator Piso’s family. Consequently, Longinus, were he being watched, could go to the goldsmith’s shop without arousing suspicion.

Longinus discovered how fortunate they had been in taking such precautions when, a week after Tullia’s visit to him, he was again summoned to the palace of the Prefect.

Sejanus gave little time to the formalities of greeting the Senator’s son. “I am now prepared to hand you your orders, Centurion Longinus,” he said. “But before I do so I must ask you if you have any reservations whatsoever concerning this mission I propose to send you on.” The Prefect’s cold little eyes were studying him, Longinus realized, and he was determined that he would reveal neither fear nor surprise.

“None, sir. I’m a soldier, and I await the Prefect’s orders.”

But Sejanus was not satisfied. “When last I talked with you, you said that you were hardly acquainted with Pontius Pilate, that you were in no sense an intimate friend. But I ask you now, do you have any hostility toward him?” He leaned forward, and his eyes bored into the centurion’s bland countenance. “Has anything happened since then that would cause you to change your feeling toward him?”

“I know nothing that he has done, sir, that would cause me to feel hostility toward him. Has he, sir?”

The question seemed to surprise Sejanus. He leaned back against his chair. “He has done nothing. But something has been done that may have caused you to feel bitter toward him.” He was studying the centurion intently. “Bitterness toward the Procurator would render you unfit for the assignment I am proposing for you, just as close friendship for him would do the same.” He smiled, changing his stern tone to one of fatherly interest. “Frankly, Longinus, I had expected to find you bitter toward Pilate, the Emperor, and me.”

“But why, sir, should I be bitter?”

“I had thought that perhaps you would be jealous of him, resent his....”

“Jealous of Pilate?” Boldly Longinus ventured to interrupt. “But why, sir?”

“Pilate is going to marry the Emperor’s stepdaughter and take her out to Judaea when he goes there to begin his duties as Procurator. I had thought that you yourself might be planning to marry Claudia.”

“I, sir?” Longinus affected sudden surprise. “May I respectfully ask why you thought that?”

“You have been seeing her since your return from Germania. She accompanied you to the banquet Antipas gave for his brother’s wife.” Sejanus shrugged. “That suggested it to me.” His lips thinned into a feline grin. “Since I made known to her the Emperor’s plans I have had you both watched; if you have met or communicated with one another, it has escaped my men’s sharp eyes.” His piggish eyes brightened. “I want you to understand, Longinus, that I am not the protector of either Claudia or Pilate. I am not the least concerned with their private lives so long as what they do doesn’t harm me or the Empire. And let me add”—his eyes were dancing now—“I’m not concerned with your private life either. I am determined, however, that nothing be done to interfere with our plans for Pilate and Claudia. But if after they are married and gone out to Judaea, some evening in Caesarea or Jerusalem you should find yourself in Pilate’s bed when Pilate is away, that will be no concern of mine, nor shall I care one green fig’s worth.” Suddenly the lascivious gleam was gone from his eyes, and his countenance was grave. He raised a stern hand and leaned forward again. “But I’ll require of you a true and unbiased report on Pontius Pilate, Longinus. If you think you may be prejudiced against the man because he will have taken Claudia away from you, then I charge you to tell me now and I shall give you some other assignment.”

“I assure you, sir, that I have no hostility toward him. But I do wonder why Claudia is being required to marry him and be virtually exiled from Rome.”

Sejanus studied the senator’s son a long moment. “Longinus, I shall be entirely frank with you, as I shall require you to be with me,” he replied, lowering his voice, though there were no other ears to hear. “The Emperor and I want Claudia exiled, though we would never employ so harsh a word for her being sent away from Rome. Claudia’s the granddaughter of Augustus, remember, and also—it’s generally believed, at any rate—the granddaughter of Mark Antony and the Egyptian Cleopatra. She’s in direct descent from strong-willed, able—and in their day tremendously popular—forebears. Tiberius, on the other hand, is not. Nor does he have any strong following. As you know, Longinus”—he paused, and his small black eyes for an instant weighed the centurion’s expression—“in everything but name, I am the Emperor.”

“Indeed, sir, but were Rome to overthrow the Emperor, the gods forbid, would the people enthrone a woman? Surely, sir, they would never....”

“Of course not. It’s not likely, under any circumstances. But you don’t understand, Longinus.” The Prefect’s grim countenance relaxed a bit, but he kept his voice low as he sat back against his chair. “Claudia is no longer married. While she was married to that fop Aemilius there was no cause for concern. But now she’s divorced and in a position to marry again.” He smiled, and the wanton flame lighted once more. “And beautiful. Gods, what a figure!” He rolled his eyes. “If I were young again, with her I could be Emperor of Rome!” He was silent a moment. “But I am Emperor of Rome—in all but title.” Now Sejanus was suddenly grave, and old, and the flame was only of an innate cunning. He leaned toward the centurion. “Longinus, any man in Rome, any man, would be happy to marry Claudia. She’s beautiful, rich, highly intelligent, and the granddaughter of Rome’s greatest Emperor. Being that, she remains a threat to us as long as she is in Rome. What if some strong, ambitious general or senator, for example, should marry her and undertake to displace Tiberius?” He sat back and gestured with outspread palms. “Don’t you see, Centurion? And displacement of Tiberius—and me—would be disastrous for your father, of course, and for you. You and I must work together just as your father and I have been doing. So I shall look forward not only to your frequent reports of a military and administrative nature, particularly with respect to the collection of revenue, but now that Claudia is going out there, to tidbits of information concerning her and Pilate.” His sensual lips thinned across his teeth. “Claudia must be kept away from Rome, Longinus, but she must be kept happily away, too. So if you can help make her stay in Judaea pleasant, if you can help Pilate keep her satisfied, or if you can keep her satisfied,” he added with a leer, “you will be serving the Emperor and me, your father, and yourself. And I don’t care how you do it. Be careful to avoid scandal, though, that might reach Rome.” He grinned again. “I think you need have little fear of Pilate.” His lips were twisted in an evil smile. “Now have I answered your question, Longinus? Do I make myself entirely clear?”

“You do, sir.” Longinus’ countenance was impassive, he hoped, but his palm itched to be doubled into a fist that would smash the leer off the Prefect’s face.

“Then these are your orders. Three days hence the ‘Palmyra’ sails for Palestine. Aboard will be a maniple of troops to relieve two centuries of the Second Italian Cohort. You will command a century that will be stationed at Caesarea under Sergius Paulus. Centurion Cornelius will command the other. Also aboard will be Tetrarch Herod Antipas. You and your century will go ashore at Caesarea, but Cornelius and his will accompany Herod to Joppa. There they will land, and Cornelius will escort the Tetrarch to Jerusalem. Ostensibly Herod will be going up to the Temple to worship, but he will be bearing a message from me to old Annas, the former high priest.” He paused but did not explain further. “From Jerusalem,” he went on, “Cornelius will escort Herod to Tiberias, where the century will be stationed, with a garrison post at Capernaum supporting it. And now, to get back to you, Longinus, I have dispatched orders to Sergius Paulus that although you will command a century, you must be allowed leave any time you request it to undertake special missions. I indicated to him that these missions would be concerned primarily with the government’s interest in the operations of your father’s factories in Phoenicia. This work understandably could take you to the plants in Phoenicia and also to Tiberias, Jerusalem, and other regions in Palestine. The cohort commander must never suspect, nor anyone else, including Claudia, remember, that you are keeping sharp eyes and ears on Pilate and Herod Antipas. I’m sending you ahead on the ‘Palmyra,’ Longinus, so that you will be in Caesarea when Pilate and Claudia arrive there.” He studied the centurion. “Is everything understood, Centurion?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.” His forehead creased into small wrinkles. “When you talked with me before, sir, you said that I would be expected to keep watch on the activities of three persons, Pilate, Antipas, and....”

“Claudia, of course, was the third.” He twisted his vulture-like head to scan the large chamber, a habit developed during long years of caution. “Watch her, too. Know what she is doing, what she is thinking even, if you can.” He lowered his voice. “Be careful, Centurion. She’s a clever woman, with brains worthy of old Augustus. I am not concerned, as I said, with her morals, or Pilate’s, or yours. But be careful.” His little eyes fired again, and a wry grin twisted his face. “Don’t let Pilate catch you in bed with her. Such carelessness might destroy your effectiveness.”

Sejanus stood up, a signal that his business with the centurion was finished. Longinus arose quickly to stand at attention, concerned that even yet he might reveal in the Prefect’s presence the revulsion mounting within him.

“Send me reports as often and as regularly as you have valuable information to give, Longinus. Use great care to see that your messages are well-sealed and not likely to go astray. Watch those three. Let nothing of significance escape your notice, and let nothing be omitted from your reports. Keep Claudia under surveillance, but don’t get so occupied with her that you aren’t fully alive to everything that is happening. Watch her, regardless of what else you two may be doing!”