"A Decree Went Out from Caesar Augustus" - December 24, 2016

“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken

while Quirinius was governor of Syria.”

  

In twenty years I’ve had eleven posts,

in every corner of the Empire.

I’ve seen the forest where it meets the coast

of the North Sea.  I’ve traveled the entire

length of Roman roads until they stop

halfway to Persia.  I’ve climbed the icy top

of mountains that look down on Italy

from summer snowfields, and the Pyrenees

where Gaul becomes Iberia.  The sea

has been no stranger, nor the tyranny

of sun in Africa in afternoon.

My enlistment will be over soon.

We’ve had some skirmishes from time to time

with villagers or tribesmen who thought Rome

was growing distant and who crossed the line

between resentment and defiance. Some

decided not to pay their taxes.  Wrong.

Augustus’ reach is far; his arm is strong.

It’s sad when these provincial yokels think

that they know better than a Roman.  We

it is who pull them from the constant brink

of local strife and tribal jealousy.

The peace of Rome alone ensures that grain

can travel where it’s needed, and the rain

itself is channeled via aqueducts

to where it’s needed. Roman engineering

conquers native ignorance, and Luck

herself gives up her domineering

way.  For that it’s only fair they pay

their taxes.  That is the imperial way:

to pay your taxes and to sacrifice

to any gods the Empire permits.

Nobody cares what other foreign vice

or funny kind of mumbo-jumbo spirits

you get mixed up with, just don’t interfere

with revenue.

                   That worked till we came here.

This province is a mess. I blame their priests

who won’t give them a statue of their god

or let them even at the very least

have someone draw a picture of just what

he looks like.  How can they learn the decent fear

authority relies on or revere

the emperor the way they should without

a concrete image in their heads of who

they bow to?  That alone, without a doubt,

explains the strategies we have to use

to make them pay attention to the law,

and fear the legions that enforce it all.

We’re stationed mostly in Jerusalem,

their capital.  But when Augustus made

his proclamation of a census, then

they wouldn’t just count off and stay

right where they were.  Oh, no.  They had to go

back to their tribal lands to call the roll.

We also had to scatter to these towns

where tax collectors are a target. We

provide them with protection in the crowds,

since local terrorists occasionally

slip up behind them with a knife and – pow!

Down goes the poor guy in a second.  Gone.

The province costs Caesar another one.

We can’t allow that.  We are in control

of towns like this, and they should shake

every time they see our men patrol

or even hear the sound their armor makes

as they enforce the curfew.  Pleasant dreams

are not what travels with them through the streets.

We have to do that.  A potential mob

has filled this town to its capacity.

The inns are full with people who would rob

us without giving it a second thought

and call themselves a patriot when caught.

They’re everywhere, and keep on coming.  We’re

assigning places where we can.  Some curl

up in some random spot they commandeer.

I found a stable for a pregnant girl,

her husband, and a donkey.  That took work.

Don’t ask me why I did it.  I’m no clerk

of housing for these refugees. And yet

it seemed the thing to do.  And I would give

you decent odds that they will not forget.

Perhaps the child she bears, if it should live,

will prove exceptional, and in the end

might even be a tax-collector’s friend.