“If I were to be discovered…” He paused, letting the meaning of his words settle. “I would have to deliver you up.” – Link of the full chapter at the end of this post.
I’m excited to share the second chapter preview of “The Shadows of Gerasa” with you.
This is also just a preview, still evolving. This time we are introduced to Diogenus who is one of the magistrate of the city.
If you’re here it’s because you love Follett-style historical fiction (interwoven lives, rich historical detail, multiple perspectives), I’m hoping you’ll see that influence.
What I’m hoping for: your honest feedback:
- Does this scene hook you?
- Does the setting feel authentic without info-dumping?
- Is the character voice working?
Thanks for reading, your thoughts mean everything at this stage!
First Knowledge of the Rumor
Steam rose from the pools in thick coils, carrying with it the smell of sulfur and perfumed oils. Diogenes closed his eyes, letting the heat of the caldarium penetrate his tired muscles. Around him, the voices of other bathers echoed against the marble walls, mingling with the constant trickling of water through the channels. The Great Eastern Baths were his favorite refuge after long days spent supervising the agricultural taxes of the Decapolis.
A slave approached, water streaming down his brown skin. “Master, the nobleman Titus asks for you.”
Diogenes opened one eye. Titus, here? His friend rarely came to the public baths, preferring the private facilities of his villa.
“Where is he?”
“At the frigidarium, master.”
Strange. Diogenes rose, hot water cascading from his body, and headed toward the cold pool. The transition was brutal—from stifling furnace to icy bite. His skin bristled instantly. There, standing waist-deep in the water, was Titus, his face grave despite the smile he wore for the other bathers.
“Ave Diogenes!” he called out in a loud voice, too cheerful to be natural.
“Ave Titus.” They extended their right arms, grasping each other’s forearms according to custom. But Diogenes felt the tension in his friend’s grip. Something was wrong.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” he asked, entering the pool. The cold water took his breath away.
Titus’s face split into a commercial smile. “My cousin Lucius Pomponius Flaccus is now the new governor of Syria. He will officially take office very soon. The Decapolis has a new master.”
Diogenes plunged under the water, letting the cold chase the heat from his bones. When he resurfaced, he shook his head. “What does that concern me? Governors succeed one another like the seasons. Come take a bath instead, it will take your mind off things.”
But Titus wasn’t laughing. His eyes swept the frigidarium. Three other men were there—a Syrian merchant they knew by sight, and two strangers speaking Greek with a Damascus accent. Too close. Titus lowered his voice until it was nothing more than a whisper beneath the lapping of water.
“There’s more. I cannot tell you more here.” His look was eloquent. “Let us go where the walls have no ears. Meet me tonight when the moon is at its highest. In the park, near the old temple.”
Diogenes’s heart quickened despite himself. In twenty years of acquaintance, he had never seen Titus adopt such behavior. “This riddle will torture me all day.”
“And I am sorry for it, my friend.” Titus placed a hand on his shoulder, hard enough to hurt. “But the greatest discretion is required. Our safety depends on it.” He paused. “Tell no one where you are going. Nor that you are meeting me.”
Diogenes felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. “By all the gods! This is the first time I’ve seen you with such a grave air.”
“Remember. The greatest secrecy.”
Night had fallen over Gerasa like a leaden shroud. Diogenes had waited until his household was asleep before slipping outside, dressed in a simple dark tunic without any ornament that might identify him. The moon, nearly full, bathed the Greek columns in a silvery light that transformed the familiar city into an unsettling theater set.
The park stretched north of the city, where the wealthy families of Gerasa had planted groves of cypress and cedar. The night air carried the perfume of jasmine and the distant song of cicadas. Diogenes advanced between the trees, each crack of a branch beneath his feet resounding like a thunderclap in the silence.
A silhouette emerged from the shadow of a great cedar. “There you are at last.” Titus’s voice was barely perceptible, a breath in the night.
They embraced quickly, forearm against forearm, then Titus signaled to go deeper into the park. They walked in silence for several minutes, moving away from the paths, until they reached a small clearing surrounded by oleanders. Here, even the sounds of the city died. Only the distant murmur of a fountain disturbed the silence.
Titus turned around. In the moonlight, his face was pale. “What I am about to reveal to you could cost me my life. If this were ever to become known, I would be the primary traitor and my family would be in danger.”
“By Dionosus, Titus!” Diogenes’s impatience exploded. “I’ve waited all day. Spit it out.”
“I first want to ensure we are on equal footing.” Titus’s voice was cold now, almost official. “You must measure the gravity of my words.”
“All right, I understand.”
“No.” Titus raised his hand. “No, you do not understand. By sharing this information with you, I put myself in mortal danger. But you too, by extension. If I were to be discovered…” He paused, letting the meaning of his words settle. “I would have to deliver you up. It is my only guarantee that your word has value, that my trust is justified.”
A silence fell between them. Diogenes heard his own heart beating in his ears. He thought of his wife sleeping in their bed, of his sons growing up in innocence, of his position as agoranomos that he had spent twenty years consolidating. All of this could collapse because of a few words spoken in the darkness.
“Do you accept the possible consequences if everything were to be revealed?” asked Titus.
Diogenes gave a bitter laugh. “You must know that it’s no longer the time to turn back.”
“It’s not too late yet. You are free to leave.”
“Come now!” Impatience took over again. Diogenes raised his fist, where his gold ring of agoranomos caught the moonlight. “What do you want me to do? Seal my seal upon your forehead? You have my word that this will remain secret. By all the gods, are you satisfied?”
A fleeting smile crossed Titus’s face. “If you’ll excuse the attitude, yes.”
“After all I’ve done for you, you’re the one who will excuse your sarcasm.” Diogenes dropped his hand. He thought of the denarii he had diverted from agricultural taxes in recent years, that percentage of a hundred he systematically reserved to buy Titus’s discretion about his affairs in the Decapolis. A mutually beneficial arrangement that had enriched both men. But for Titus to seem to forget it now, his story must be truly important.
Titus nodded. “Here is what it’s about.” He took a long breath. “During my trip to Jerusalem, I met Pilate.”
Diogenes knew the name. Everyone in the region knew Pontius Pilate, the prefect of Judea whose reputation for brutality preceded every decision.
“We discussed the management of colonies and regions. But above all, I took advantage of it to learn more about my cousin Lucius. Pilate knows him much better than I do.” Titus took a few steps, his sandals crushing the dry grass. “During our conversation, Pilate told me about his problems with the Jewish people. There is a troublemaker who is gathering a growing crowd day after day. The Sanhedrin is furious, Pilate fears an insurrection.”
“So what? What does that have to do with the Decapolis?”
“I’m getting to that.” Irritation crept into Titus’s voice. “I allowed myself a little mockery. I asked him what he had done to the Emperor for him to punish him by placing him in Judea.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “That’s when he threw me a strange reply. ‘Oh, you’re going to be well placed to know. We’ll talk about it again soon.’ Then he snickered in that way he has, as if he were the only one who knew a joke.”
An icy premonition descended down Diogenes’s spine. “What was he implying?”
“That’s exactly what I asked him.” Titus drew closer, his voice falling to a hoarse whisper. “It took a whole evening to draw it out of him. He wanted me to understand that he held power over me, that he was my superior.”
“The context, Titus! Get to the point!”
“Patience.” But Titus accelerated nonetheless. “Pilate revealed to me that he was the only one who knew a certain secret. If it were to come out, being relatively close to Lucius, it would cost him his friendship and probably a certain hostility. Then he looked me straight in the eye.” Titus stopped, the memory visibly painful. “He told me that as a member of his family and a traitor, it would certainly cost me my life. Lucius is vengeful. He holds betrayal in horror, like Julius Caesar.”
The name of Caesar floated between them like a specter. Everyone knew the story—the betrayal of Brutus, the Ides of March, the blood on the Senate steps. If Lucius Pomponius Flaccus truly venerated Caesar, then betrayal was not simply dishonor. It was a capital crime.
“Pilate cared desperately little for my fate,” continued Titus, bitterness coloring every word. “He simply wanted to put me in my place. So, even before I agreed to take the risk, he spilled everything.”
Diogenes waited, fists clenched.
“My cousin is close to Tiberius. In Rome, he is known for his ambition. When Pilate was still in Rome, he saw Lucius again. They shared many evenings together at the time. During the imperial festivities, when they were both quite drunk…” Titus broke off, as if the words burned his throat. “Lucius told him of his plan to please the Emperor.”
“What plan?”
“He is going to conquer the Decapolis.” The words fell like stones into dark water. “Without weapons.”
The world seemed to stop. Diogenes felt his legs weaken. Conquer the Decapolis? The confederation of ten semi-autonomous cities that had resisted total absorption since Pompey had established the arrangement? It was impossible. It was…
“How?” The word came out in a breath.
“Pilate asked him the same question. Lucius was evasive. He simply said he would know in due time. Then they toasted to the project.” Titus spat on the ground. “Pilate thinks he’s too sure of himself. He doesn’t really believe in it. Pompey had good reason to keep the region semi-autonomous—it’s a complex area. Certainly, it enjoys extensive riches, but multicultural instability can prove cataclysmic. One need only observe the situation in Judea, and that’s one and the same people!”
Diogenes leaned back against the trunk of an oleander, his thoughts whirling. The implications were staggering. If Lucius succeeded in annexing the Decapolis, Gerasa would lose its autonomy. Local magistrates would be replaced by Roman procurators. Taxes would be multiplied. Greek laws would be supplanted by Roman law. Everything they had built…
“There is a precedent,” he murmured, more to himself than to Titus.
“Archelaus.”
The two men exchanged a look in the gloom. In 6 AD, Rome had seized the kingdom of Archelaus after he had inherited it, extending the empire under the pretext of responding to the complaints of the population. A pretext. Always a pretext.
“We must discover how he intends to do it,” said Diogenes.
“I must meet him soon. For his taking office in Syria.” Titus straightened his shoulders. “I will know more. And we will find a way to stop this project.”
In the silence that followed, Diogenes heard the distant hooting of an owl. An omen of death, said the superstitious. He shivered despite the mildness of the night.
“Be careful,” he said finally. “If Lucius discovers that you know…”
“I know.” Titus extended his hand, and they grasped each other’s forearms one last time. “We will see each other again in three days. At the baths, as usual. No one will find anything unusual.”
They separated in the darkness, each taking a different path home. Diogenes walked for a long time through the deserted streets before returning to his dwelling, his mind occupied by political calculations and growing fears. Above him, the witness moon shone impassively, illuminating a city that did not yet know its fate was shifting.
In his bed, his wife slept peacefully. Diogenes watched her for a long moment before lying down beside her. He did not close his eyes all night, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, drawing scenarios of resistance and survival in a Decapolis threatened by the insatiable appetite of Rome.
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