Authors: Mark Henrikson
“
It sounds like
Tonwen and his buddy Isa were quite the pair over there in Israel,” Dr. Holmes commented. “Wielding godlike powers over the infirmed must have drawn a lot of attention.”
“Indeed,” Hastelloy agreed. “Tonwen helped Isa go around all of Galilee teaching in the synagogues, preaching the message of an inclusive faith that embraced a merciful, loving god rather than one of wrath.”
“Why would they be allowed to preach in the synagogues?” Jeffrey asked. “Wouldn’t the leaders of those Jewish congregations object?”
“Back then the towns dotting the landscape were so small they couldn’t support a full time priest,” Hastelloy instructed. “It was common practice for the synagogues of these tiny towns to open their doors to tra
veling preachers. The thing is these townspeople were completely numb to the recycled teachings the firebrand Pharisee and Sadducee preachers spoke when they came to town. Isa and Tonwen’s new message challenged the establishment and caught on like wild fire.”
“I’ll bet having a mystical healing touch didn’t hurt his following either,” Dr. Holmes sarcastically noted.
“Not one little bit,” the patient dead-panned back. “As they went, Isa healed every disease and infirmity among the people. They brought him all the sick, those afflicted with various pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics. He healed them all. Isa’s fame spread throughout all of Syria, and great crowds followed him wherever he went.”
Dr. Holmes had to catch himself from drifting into the patient’s imaginary world. He could turn a phrase, and certainly told an engrossing tale, but Jeffrey had a job to do. He was this patient’s psychiatric doctor. It was his job to blast apart the pretend world of this patient so the real one could shine through, both the good and bad. The patient needed to face his bad to eventually reach the good again.
Jeffrey had a sneaking suspicion that the most prominent figure in human history would soon enter Hastelloy’s story, so he decided to beat him to the punch. “So when will Jesus Christ make an appearance in this history lesson?”
“Why whatever do you mean?” Hastelloy replied through an amused smile that betrayed his true intent.
“Oh come on. The imprisoned wilderness preacher is obviously John the Baptist. Tonwen and Isa are marching around Galilee as healers and preachers, it’s inevitable that Jesus makes an appearance sooner or later. Who is it? Oh, oh I know, its Gallono right? That’s how he comes back into the story after a thirty year hiatus.”
“No fair reading ahead,” Hastelloy said through a sideways grin and a set of eyes that harbored a playful glow.
**********
Tonwen remained several yards behind Isa and his gaggle of followers. The constant bombardment of people wanting to see, touch, listen and be healed by Isa was exactly what was supposed to happen, but a common phrase kept creeping into the back of his min
d, ‘be careful what you wish for.’
More and more often, Tonwen needed to distance himself from the crowd to regain his sanity. All he could do was marvel at the perseverance shown
by Isa. Not only was he unfazed by the masses constantly pressing in on him, he genuinely thrived on it.
Their next s
top was the town of Philoteria at the southern tip of the Sea of Galilee. Tonwen heard stories about the great body of fresh water that resided in the heart of Israel and was looking forward to what was sure to be an impressive sight. At the moment all he could see were the tops of people’s heads. When the group passed the zenith of a rolling hill and descended toward the town, Tonwen caught his first glimpse of the clear blue waters of a lake that stretched for a couple of miles in either direction.
To his surprise, Tonwen had no difficulty seeing the far shoreline. It was certainly a large lake, but somehow hearing it referred to as the Sea of Galilee set the expectation that it would occupy the landscape from one horizon to the other, seemingly without end. Despite the lake’s modest size, its shoreline was littered with fishing villages. It was surprising in fact that so many could eke out a living competing with each other for the limited number of
fish in the lake.
Tonwen was so caught up in his own ponderings that he failed to notice a man now walking alongside him. The road was not at all crowded since Isa
and his followers were more than a hundred yards ahead. Why was this man walking so close, and not just walking, but staring unabashedly at him as they went?
“How is the fishing these days friend,” Tonwen asked with his eyes staring straight ahead.
“Dreadful,” came an efficient reply along with an unwavering stare directly at the side of Tonwen’s head.
Tonwen stole a few sideways glances at his unwelcome companion. He didn’t see malice in his eyes, but there was a certain militancy to his stride. The notion of this confrontation turning violent caused Tonwen to take a physical inventory of his counterpart. Judging by his muscular build and agility with which he moved, the unfortunate conclusion was the man knew how to handle himself in a fight, and the safety of Isa’s crowd was now out of sight.
The uncomfortable situation finally got the better of Tonwen. He stopped and turned to face the man’s omnipresent stare. Those eyes. There was a strength and hint of amusement that nagged at the back of Tonwen’s mind as he asked, “Can I help you friend?”
“No,” the stranger replied without even so much as a blink, “But now that I’ve finally found you I can see about completing my assignment.”
Warning sirens were wailing inside Tonwen’s mind. Was this man a killer hired by Herod, or the Pharisees? “I hope you have not been searching long,” Tonwen responded while simultaneously trying to look confident yet frantically searching for any help nearby with his peripheral vision.
“Thirty years, give or take a few days
since the last time I saw you with the Captain in Rome,” the stranger said as the corner of his flat lips turned up to unleash a broad smile.
“Commander Gallono, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Tonwen said and then shared a quiet embrace that only two men absent from each other’s company for far too long could truly appreciate. Lovers reunited in such a way would have made love right on the spot. Two female friends would have cried and then chatted each other’s ears off telling every last detail of the times they’d missed. These two men simply embraced and let the silence between them say it all for them.
“You look good old friend,” Gallono finally managed.
“And you,” Tonwen paused to make a true assessment of his friend’s condition, “Look like hell. Have you not been eating well?”
“I haven’t been eating at all,” Gallono corrected. “The fishing in this town, this entire lake in fact, couldn’t even keep a mouse properly fed. Everywhere I drop my nets, someone has already plucked the fish.”
“Hmm,” Tonwen pondered for a second, and then reached into one of the packs his camel carried. He pulled out a silver sphere the size of a small marble and handed it to Gallono. “Let us see if we can remedy that to feed everyone, and strengthen our following.”
Gallono’s trademark playful glow had never shown brighter “I have two boats along the shoreline we can use.”
The two men broke into a brisk jog to catch up to the rapidly expanding crowd flock
ing to see the great healer they’d heard about. By the time they caught up to Isa, his friend was enveloped by the entire town. They had him hemmed in against the lake shore where two men hauled their empty fishing nets out of their small boats.
Tonwen navigated his way through the crowd, and stepped into the open space allotted to Isa along the lake shore. He approached his friend with Gallon
o in tow. “I would like you to meet the legendary healer, Isa.”
“A real life prophet
in our midst,” Gallono beamed. “We must have a celebration to mark this great day.”
“With what,” one of the other fishermen moaned as he washed his nets with a sense of futility about him. “We haven’t caught a single
thing for days. It’s as if all the fish in the sea have gone into hiding.”
Isa glanced in Tonwen’s direction, and a subtle nod gave him the go ahead to declare the commencement of another miracle.
“Launch these boats out into the deep and let down your nets for a draught,” Isa commanded.
“Teacher, these men testified that they toiled for days and have nothing to show for their efforts,” Tonwen responded. “Nevertheless, we all know the greatness of your reputation, so at thy word we will let down the net
s.”
Tonwen and Gallono took hold of the closest boat and pushed it off the beach and into the lake waters. The other two fishermen reluctantly followed suit, climbed into their vessel, and rowed out to deeper waters.
Gallono took out the metallic marble Tonwen handed to him earlier. He made ready to activate the device when an unusually stout wave caused the small vessel to almost capsize. The marble dropped from his hand, clanked off an oar and then plopped into the lake waters.
“Did you activate the
sonic attractor before losing it?” Tonwen asked.
“I
’m honestly not sure,” Gallono sheepishly answered . “We’ll know in a few minutes, unless you have another of those in your pocket.”
“This could be a disaster if you did not,” Tonwen said under his breath as the two men let down their nets into the water.
Five long minutes passed while the anxious crowd waited on baited breath to witness the miracle.
Tonwen fixed an uncertain glare at Gallono. “Let us see what we have.”
While they pulled up the net ropes Gallono tried his best to disarm the situation. “Worst case is the nets come up empty and your friend over there does the usual routine of healing the sick. This situation can still be saved.”
When the net reached the surface, a flurry of desperate splashing drenched the two men as a multitude of fish struggl
ed to remain in the water. Tonwen and Gallono heaved with all their might, but only succeeded in nearly capsizing their boat. They beckoned to the other boat for help depositing the fish into the boats. When it was all said and done, both vessels were so laden with the catch that the vessels were very near the point of sinking.
Both boats managed to reach shore where hundreds of awestruck townspeople helped unload their catch. No one had ever seen so many fish pulled from the lake with a single draught of the net. Gallono held up the net
he used and observed that half the rope and knots making it a serviceable fishing tool were now hopelessly frayed from the immense weight of their catch.
A
revered word began resonating about the crowd. It started in one corner but soon overtook the entire body of people as they chanted over and over in unison, “Messiah, Messiah, MESSIAH! ”
Isa quieted the crowd by raising his arms high above his head. “You pay me too much honor.”
“Isa,” Tonwen objected in a booming voice. “This is an unparalleled miracle you have performed, no amount of praise is too much.”
“Then why do you dishonor this prophet of
god by using his foreign name, his Roman given name?” an angry man from the crowd challenged. “He is one of us, a Jew, and he deserves the use of his Jewish name - Jesus.”
The crowd took up the name without missing a beat. “Jesus, Jesus, ” they all cried until Gallono knelt before Jesus which silenced the crowd once more.
“Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord!” Gallono declared.
Jesus lent Gallono a hand as he ushered him back to his feet. “Follow me, and I will make you a fisher of men.”
Without another word, Tonwen, Gallono, and their fishing partners James and John immediately left their nets and followed him.
Valnor sat high
in his saddle alone on a grassy hilltop. He glanced to his right and admired an aqueduct that ran between two hillsides on a southeastern path toward the city of Rome. The arches supporting the stone water channel stacked three levels high at its tallest point to bridge the gap between the hill crests in order to maintain the two degree downward sloping angle required for gravity to pull water from the mountain lake source all the way to the great city.
He took in the visual reminder
of how far the people on this planet had come technologically in such a short time. He also recognized how far these people still needed to go before he’d have any chance of returning to his home planet.
The dark, smothering veil of depression began to worm its way into Valnor’s mindset again as he pondered all he’d lost by getting stranded on this planet. He spent a grand total of one day with his new bride before assuming the helm of the collector class ship, Lazarus. Though short, the time was sufficient to conceive a child. A child he had never seen and was now several thousand years old and knew infinitely more about life as a N
ovan than his marooned father.
Valnor banished the depressing thoughts
of the life he should have lived to focus on the one he was now forced to endure. While Hastelloy was in command, Valnor had the luxury of contemplating his self pity, but the captain was out of the picture now.
He surveyed the fields below where roughly ten thousand men gathered to hear Valnor’s proposal. Collectively, the men used to be the most experienced soldiers in the Republic; veterans of Caesar’s
Gallic wars. Valnor knew these men owed everything to Caesar: their pride, their honor, their military pension payments, and the veteran land grants Caesar doled out to them. As Caesar’s adopted son and named heir, Valnor knew they were predisposed to join in his scheme.
He
was counting on them to form the backbone of his army to dislodge Tomal from his stranglehold over Rome. The only question was how expensive their allegiance would be.
There was also the question of how useful they would be. Would years of working the land as farmers dull their ability to swing a sword
? As young men they had nothing to lose, now they stood to lose everything in battle. Knowing that, would they still courageously charge the enemy line with reckless abandon? Only time would tell.
Valnor felt the growing impatience of the veterans below, but he needed to wait. He needed to know how much compensation he could offer them. As the long minutes passed, he grew closer to going down and addressing the crowd without having all the facts.
As Valnor moved to spur his mount forward, Cosconius came thundering up the far side of the hill. The man’s horse gave a labored huff as it came to a full stop alongside Valnor.
“Report,” Valnor ordered. The pained look on Consconius’ face made him mentally brace for unpleasant news.
“Every man on the list you gave me has accepted your arrangements,” Consconius replied.
“Half up front, and half when Mark Antony is expelled from the city?” Valnor
clarified.
“Yes.”
“Well that’s wonderful news,” Valnor beamed. His pulse quickened at the thought of his plans coming together so easily. “Why the long face then?”
“Their cooperation didn’t come cheap I’m afraid.”
“Bah, I’ll have more coin than I know what to do with once Mark Antony is dislodged. As long as you left me enough to get the cooperation of these veterans,” Valnor said and gestured to the men gathered in the field below.
Cosconius looked
down at his stirrups with feelings of regret emanating from his slouched posture. “Unless they’re willing to fight for you in gratis, that’s not going to happen without another loan against your inheritance,”
“You spent it all?” Valnor asked with alarm. “Those greedy parasites sucked up every coin you carried?”
“Every last sesterce,” Cosconius confirmed. “I even had to borrow this horse from General Quintus after I secured his allegiance to ride back here. You need to negotiate for another loan.”
“There’s no more coin to be had,” Valnor protested. “My claim to Caesar’s inheritance is only as strong as my threat to wrest control of the treasury away from Mark Antony. Anyone willing to gamble on my success has already placed his bet. It doesn’t matter what usurious lending terms I agree to, there is no more money to be had.”
“Then this endeavor is finished,” Cosconius advised. “Bribes or not, the only way our new allies in Rome take action against Antony is if you approach the city with a force that has a legitimate chance of winning the battle.”
The crushed look in Valnor’s eyes lasted only a moment as he mentally turned the page of his playbook to plan B. “Hope for the best, but plan for the worst,” Valnor said and then prompted his horse toward the field below.
Cosconius quickly caught up, “What was that, sir?”
“Something my mentor taug
ht me long ago. Having no money left over is unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. There are other ways to get these men to fight for me. Money was just the easiest.”
Valnor jabbed his he
els into the side of his horse to prompt a full gallop. The veterans cheered at the approach of Caesar’s heir; the successor of their slain general. He rode to the center of the crowd and remained on his horse to address the ten thousand men around him.
“Brothers,” Valnor bellowed for all to hear. “You give great honor to my father’s memory by simply listening to my words. Dark days are upon us, soldiers, and the nighted color grows darker still. My father’s legacy is threatened from all sides. From familiar adversaries, new back
-stabbing assassins, and now, even some old friends turn against Caesar.”
The veterans had not lost their sense of discipline while tending their fields all these years. They stood in stark silence, obediently listening to
the words of their superior in spite of the questions or protests they might have carried in their minds.
“
Gaius Julius Caesar chose me as the steward of his legacy. He entrusted me to deliver every citizen of Rome their inheritance from my father. He thrust upon me the mantle of his name so that I could serve as a representative to the people and help govern this Republic in his stead.
“My fellow soldiers, one man stands in the way of Caesar’s final wishes. He was a friend to
us all once, but he too has turned against Caesar - Mark Antony.”
Discipline among the veterans broke down at once. Shouts of protest and disbelief rang out among the men.
“General Antony turned the people against Caesar’s murderer,” a particularly vociferous veteran said over all the rest. “He offers a bounty for the capture or death of Senator Brutus from his own finances. These are not actions of a man betraying Caesar’s legacy.”
Silence settled back in among the men as they waited for Valnor’s reply. “Correction, the bounty you mention will be taken from my treasury, the one bequeathed to me in Caesar’s will.”
“So this is truly just a dispute between you and General Antony,” the same veteran countered. “He controls your inheritance and you want all of us to walk away from our lands and families, risk life and limb, so you can take over a room full of gold coins. To be honest, I only see a family squabble that has nothing to do with Caesar’s legacy.”
“Antony gave his speech to drive half the senate out of the city,” Valnor countered. “It
gave him the pretext to bring his armies in to control the city. He has turned our beloved Roman Republic into a police state governed by swords, not laws.
“You mentioned the bounty,” Valnor continued. “I ask, what good did it do? While the citizens were hunting Brutus, Antony’s soldiers consolidated his power. Now that Senator Brutus’ whereabouts are known in the east, he does nothing but throw games, festivals and orgies. Even as I speak, my father’s murderer raises an army of heathens to protect his cowardly ass. Brutus grows more powerful with every cycle of the moon that passes, yet Antony does nothing.
“You mentioned the money. Soldier, you forget, nearly all of the money is to go to the citizens of Rome, per the instructions given in Caesar’s will. Whatever is left over I’m sure will get spent paying you noble veterans for your services.”
Valnor shouted at the top of his lungs with as much passion as he could force into his words. “I will not profit from this! I will see my father’s last wishes met, and the vision of Rome he carried become reality. This is what I seek.”
“You,” Valnor said while pointing to the veteran who kept raising a verbal challenge. He prompted his horse over to the man. “If you will not fight for my father’s final wishes then take these.”
Valnor frantically reached behind his saddle to pull out a small bag of coins. He clumsily opened the purse and pour
ed the coins into his open hand and quickly counted up the gold coins.
“Seventy-two . . . Seventy-three,” Valnor counted out loud. “Caesar’s will stat
ed all citizens shall receive four thousand sesterces. All that is left of Caesar’s legacy is seventy-three coins.
“Here, take them,” Valnor shouted as he flung the fist full of coins at the
soldier with uncontained contempt. “Take them and be gone, citizen. You have successfully picked clean the bones of your murdered general.”
The word ‘citizen’ hit the man and inflicted more pain than any of the seventy-three coins that plunked off his chest and face. The man was retired, but he served, and that service carried with it the distinction of being called a soldier. By virtue of his selfish acts, he was being discharged from his lifetime of service for a measly seventy-three sesterces.
“I am a soldier of Rome,” the veteran hollered back at Valnor without paying the least bit attention to the coins lying at his feet. “I earned that honor, it is mine and no one can rob me of it.”
“You have robbed yourself of the honor by failing to fight for Rome and the memory of your slain General. You are not worthy to stand among the
noble soldiers of Rome. Leave! Your presence is . . . offensive.”
“No,” the veteran protested. “I fight with honor.”
“Then you fight for me,” Valnor declared. “I seek to restore the Roman Republic to its most honorable place and dislodge the usurper of Caesar’s mantle; therefore you fight for my cause. Are you with me?”
The crowd of soldiers exploded with cheers and promises to rid the world of Caesar’s enemies. Everyone present, to a man, enlisted into Valnor’s private army. The only guaranteed compensation promised them was the pride they carried in being soldiers. The coin would come, but at the
moment that seemed quite unimportant.