Jesus Triumphant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 8) (10 page)

Marcus Lucius Longinus arrived at the prison in Scythopolis. His rank of centurion garnered him the attention of the entrance guard. He left his own guard of twenty outside the doors as he was introduced to the head of the prison, an optio, one rank below his own. The optio must have been intimidated by Longinus’ presence because his hands trembled and his voice quivered.

“I have been commissioned by Pontius Pilate,” Longinus told the nervous optio, “to ascertain the facts of the case and apprehend the seditious rebels who escaped. I expect a full accounting of what happened.”

“Yes, sir,” said the optio.

Longinus was tired of all this. He was forty years old, and felt like the last of a dying breed of quality officers in an army of sloppy, unprofessional morons. It was a wonder the Roman legions held the nations in their power. It was a wonder they maintained the order they did, with all the lazy irresponsible lawlessness he saw around him. It didn’t help that these Jews were such a rebellious lot of ingrates. Longinus knew of several bands of fanatical Hebrew outlaws that just increased the chaos and mess. Unfortunately, because of Longinus’ dedication to the law and to excellence, the prefect governor of the region, Pilate, called on him to clean up his messes, such as the one before him this moment.

The optio pointed out the front entrance. “Well, first off, they stormed the entrance with about a hundred armed outlaws.”

“One hundred?” repeated Longinus. It didn’t seem very feasible, considering how few dead soldiers there were: six, and two of the outlaws.

“Yes, sir. They tricked us by impersonating a centurion with a false Zealot prisoner.” He reached down and held up the centurion costume. “We found these in the latrine below.”

“Show me where,” said Longinus.

The optio led him down the stairs and into the long hallway leading to the holding cell, where two guards stood sentry.

They stopped at the latrine.

The optio explained, “The centurion freed the prisoner and the three of them exited through the latrine toilets into the sewage system below.”

“Did anyone follow them?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Well, sir. In all the confusion, and the fighting above…,” the optio hesitated with shame.

“What, soldier? Speak up.”

“Well, sir, we lost track of them. They killed the two holding cell guards and their replacements. And by the time we made our way down here from the fighting above, well, they were long gone.”

Incompetents,
thought Longinus. “Where is the holding cell?”

“This way.”

The optio led him to the cell at the end of the hallway.

Longinus asked, “Tell me, soldier, by the time your sharpened sense of logic figured out how you had been duped, did the idea ever cross your little mind to record a description of the imposters? Or was that just too much to ask, what with all the fighting going on above.”

The optio looked shamefully at the floor. “I did, sir. I will retrieve the drawing for you from the officer’s quarters. We believe one of them was the prisoner’s brother, a bestiarius from the arena.”

“What a pleasant surprise, optio. You did one thing right. Open the door.”

The guards opened the cell door. Inside were two prisoners in chains.

The optio said, “These were the two hoodwinked soldiers at the entrance.”

Longinus said, “Take them out and flog them in the yard.”

The two guards were tied to whipping posts in the center of the citadel yard. They were stripped completely naked in humiliation. Flogging was the prescribed punishment for dereliction of duty. These two guards allowed an imposter to get through to the cells and kidnap their prisoner. Death by bastinado was the normal procedure for such failure, but because one of the outlaws had impersonated a centurion, the soldiers were not culpable for the breach with their lives.

Longinus was more infuriated with the intruders. Impersonating a Roman officer was a high offense punishable by crucifixion. Of course, that was only the conclusion of the series of tortures the law had in store for those miscreants. Longinus was a man of law. As much as he hated criminals, he did not relish their suffering under punishment. What he cherished was justice. What he treasured was the harmony of balance restored by law and order. The punishment should fit the crime.

Two soldiers unfurled their whips. They began their application of thirty-six lashes each upon the disgraced guards. The scourge, which the Romans called the flagrum, was a long-handled whip that branched out into multiple leather thongs a total of five feet in length. At the end of each thong was a knot with an embedded piece of iron or glass. The sharp material would rip the flesh from the victim in streaks of bloody gore down their backs. The soldiers tried to remain silent to maintain their dignity as warriors, but the scourge ripped their cries out of them. The good news was that the six thongs counted for six lashes with each hit. Thus, they only required six actual hits by the enforcers.

Good news.

Pain was cathartic. Law was pure and impartial. Even those responsible for peacekeeping required chastisement when they failed in their duty. A lawless world was the quintessence of evil to Longinus. Unruly barbarians and savages killing and eating each other like the animals. But Caesar created order out of chaos. He brought stern but just rule into a primitive cosmos. Longinus could understand the barbarians on the eastern frontier. They were like undomesticated beasts in the wild. But these Jews and their restlessness under Pax Romana, the Peace of Rome, were simply without sense or reason. They had all the benefits of civilization and progress, yet their religion seemed so intolerant and easily offended by the rule of Roman law that provided that protection and abundance.

A splash of blood hit Longinus’ cheek, bringing him back to the moment. He wiped his face. The lashes were almost completed. The soldier’s backs looked like a bloody plowed field of pulpy flesh. He could see the white of a rib showing through one of their backs.

Another slap of the flagrum and one of the soldiers fell into unconsciousness with the pain.

“Sir,” interrupted the optio from behind. “Here are the likenesses.” He handed him three pieces of parchment. Longinus stared at them one by one, memorizing the features of the criminals’ faces. The original captive was a handsome scoundrel.

“That is Gestas Semaras. An actor in the theater.”

“No wonder,” muttered Longinus. “An idle mind immersed in fantasy. An easy target for dissatisfaction and sedition.”

He flipped to the next parchment.

“That is his brother, Demas. A bestiarius in the ring.”

Longinus sighed with contempt. “Circus performers.”

“Demas is quite famous,” said the optio. He momentarily forgot his fear of Longinus as he called up his memory of Demas. “He recently conquered four wild beasts in the arena. I would not doubt if it was he who slew all four of the guards at the holding cell.”

“Let us see how he fares with a real warrior, not animals and bumbling prison guards.”

Longinus flipped to the last parchment containing the image of the fake prisoner that the fake centurion used for their façade. His eyes opened wide. His breath faltered. The long wavy black hair, the unshaven wide jaw, and that scar down the cheek.

“Barabbas,” muttered Longinus.

“Who?”

Longinus ignored the fool. He also didn’t notice the half-dead soldiers, finished with their punishment, being dragged away to the healing ward.

This revelation of Barabbas’ activities changed everything for Longinus. His annoyance with this case just turned into renewed hope. He had been trying to track down this brigand leader for some time now. Barabbas had first begun by robbing Herodian transports and attacking small Roman outposts with his growing band of outlaws. Longinus had hunted him, and the trail had gone cold. But it had just returned to the centurion with a flaming vengeance.

Longinus said, “Show me the home of these entertainers.”

Longinus left his century of a hundred legionaries in their camp outside the city as he went to examine the premises of the Semaras estate. It was a large village house near the edge of the city which the brother “entertainers” had inherited from their deceased adoptive parents. The couple had adopted the boys after the destruction of Sepphoris years ago. At least, that was what Longinus got out of their servant Micah, who had been left without knowledge of the brothers’ whereabouts.

The actor’s room reflected vanity with its many mirrors and over-abundance of clothes.

Longinus asked the servant, “What of his social life?”

Micah replied, “He had not been in the company of much society in recent months.”

“Why not?”

“He had sought marriage with a Herodian princess and was spurned. He seemed quite angry and began to visit secret meetings in the evening.”

“What did he talk about after returning from the meetings?”

“The injustice of the Herodian ruling class and the right of the Jewish commoner to live under their god without oppressive taxes.”

Longinus shook his head.
The fool. This actor could not be more predictable in his vainglory and self-interest.
His involvement in revolution was nothing more than the jealousy of being jilted by the upper class to which he groveled and whored himself.

“Where is the other brother’s quarters?”

“On the other side of the villa.”

Micah took him there.

The first thing Longinus noticed was the sparseness with which this one lived, in contrast with his soft and indulgent sibling. A bare bed, with minimal changes of clothes and various weapons lining the room. No decoration, no vanity. This one was dangerous. He didn’t care what the world offered him. As a bestiarius, he no doubt made good money in the arena, but he evidently did not care to spend it on himself.

Micah answered Longinus’ thoughts without knowing it. “He gave most of his wages to charity.”

So, he killed for the thrill of killing. Little concern for his own safety.

Longinus asked, “Did he have a lover?”

“His wife died several years ago.”

Now Longinus knew his prey as well as he knew himself. He too had lost his wife in the midst of his long years away from home in the service of Caesar. He knew the darkness of hopelessness and despair.

He concluded that it was time to visit Herod Antipas, the tetrarch over Galilee. Antipas had captured the troublemaker Essene, called John the Baptizer, who had caused a ruckus about a coming Messiah king and the sins of the Herodians. Perhaps this Baptizer was connected to Barabbas and his anti-Herodian conspirators, the Semaras brothers. Perhaps Antipas had information on the whereabouts of one of those brothers, the actor, who sought to infiltrate Herod’s circle.

Demas and Gestas had grown out their beards and disguised themselves as traveling day laborers. It allowed them the flexibility to travel and the anonymity of poverty.

They arrived in Capernaum in search of the Nazarene because they had learned it was the headquarters for his Galilean ministry. It was also a bustling center of commerce at the crossroads between Damascus in the north-east and Caesarea Maritima on the coast, along with a large fishing community on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Such high economic and merchant activity made it dangerous for the brothers. They might be spotted by travelers. Worse yet, a detachment of Roman soldiers was quartered in the city because it was a Roman tax polling station. It was the worst town in Galilee for these wanted outlaws, but it was their only bet. They had to find Simon ben Josiah, and he was with the Nazarene. They could only hope that word of their escape from Scythopolis had not made it here so that the Romans would not be on the lookout for them.

They came upon a town gathering with a local centurion upon the dais in the marketplace. He was in mid-speech when the brothers arrived at the back of the crowd. His voice carried over the crowd with conviction. “Their leader has a scar across his left cheek down to his chin. They may be all three together or have split apart to avoid detection as one or two together.” He lifted up a couple drawings. “Please come forward afterward and take a look at these images drawn of the suspects. If you see anyone suspicious or any travelers without purpose in our town, report them to my station.”

The brothers looked at each other in alarm. Then Demas saw a Roman soldier at the edge of the crowd watching them with interest. It unnerved him.

Gestas muttered to the person next to him, an old fisherman, “These revolutionaries will bring the Roman fist down upon us and ruin our country.” The best way to avoid suspicion was to join the crowd and blend in
.

The old fisherman shot back, “Gessius will not be harsh on us. He helped build our synagogue, and I even heard his servant was healed by the Nazarene at Simon Peter’s home.”

Gestas filled with hope. Gessius was apparently the centurion up front who also resided in the city. And now they knew where to find information about the Nazarene. But where was the home of this Simon Peter?

“Which Simon Peter?” repeated Gestas. It was a common enough name.

“The fisherman,” said the old man.

Demas’ nervous look back at the soldier drew the Roman’s attention. The suspicious legionary started to move through the crowd toward them. Everyone began leaving or moving up front to see the drawings of the outlaws. Demas grabbed Gestas and whispered, “We have to go.”

He pulled his brother away and into the moving masses.

They dodged out of the crowd into an alleyway. Demas told Gestas about their follower. His brother breathed a sigh of relief at having evaded the suspicious Roman.

They turned a corner and stopped dead in their tracks. The Roman soldier stood ten feet away, looking straight at them.

“Halt! You two there.”

They played calm. The legionary spoke as he approached them. “I do not recognize you as locals. What are you doing here?”

Gestas took the lead with his superior acting skills. “We are day laborers. Here to help with the fishing.”

“When did you arrive in the town?”

Gestas said, “Over a week ago.”

The soldier thought a moment. “Oh, did you help out with that big dragnet haul?”

“Yes,” said Gestas. “We were contacted by Simon Peter. We were just on our way to his home.”

“You were?” said the soldier.

Gestas and Demas nodded their heads. The soldier quickly withdrew his sword and thrust it up to Gestas’ throat. “Well, now that would be odd, considering Simon Peter lives beside the synagogue in the opposite direction of which you are going.”

Demas tensed up. He began calculating in his mind, searching for his moment to make a move.

“I can explain” said Gestas.

“I am sure you can, liar,” said the soldier. “And you will also have to explain why you helped at the dragnet haul that never happened.”

Gestas sighed and closed his eyes with failure. Caught red-handed.

“Who are you two, and why are you here?”

Gestas recovered quickly, “We told you, we are day laborers. We were working in Bethsaida and our wages were withheld. So, we beat up our employer. I am sorry for lying, but we were afraid of being found out. We never stole from him, that is the honest truth, sir. We worked for three days straight and the man never paid us our lawful wages.”

The soldier stared at Gestas trying to figure out if he was lying again.

“You two are coming with me to the centurion station.”

Demas was about to make his move, but his brother beat him to the punch.

Gestas stepped inward to the chest of the soldier, grabbed his sword arm and flipped him into the dust, removing the sword from his twisted hand. Gestas spun around and thrust the sword into the soldier’s throat. The Roman couldn’t scream out. He just gurgled through his blood and died.

Demas was amazed at Gestas’ skill. Gestas looked up at him and said, “I learned the move for the Hercules play. Done it a thousand times. Change your mind about acting?”

Demas replied, “Let’s get this body out of here and go find that synagogue.”

After depositing the body in a pile of garbage, Demas and Gestas went to the southeast corner of the city where they could see the synagogue towering above the smaller homes around it. Right next to it was a large villa that had Simon Peter’s name inscribed on the outside. They knocked on the door and a young man with a hair lip answered it.

The brothers were a bit thrown by the unsightly birth deformity. Gestas was about to speak, but this time Demas surprised him. “We are here for Jesus of Nazareth.”

Gestas gave him a side glance, trying to hide his surprise in front of the stranger.

The young man spoke with a lisp through his hair lip, “Pleathe come in. You are late. The dithcuthon already thtarted.”

Demas whispered to Gestas, “You are not the only one who can act.”

They followed the young man through a large north court and into a meeting room filled with about sixty of the locals. The curtains were drawn over the windows to keep their meeting clandestine.

They looked around the group for Simon or the Nazarene, but could not see anyone who matched the descriptions they had been given.

A middle-aged man stood with one arm held tightly around what seemed to be his wife and the other around his twelve-year old daughter. From his dress, it was apparent he was a synagogue ruler. He was mid-story, speaking with a hushed tone. “While I was pleading with him, a messenger came and said, ‘Do not trouble the rabbi any further.’” He choked up. “‘Your daughter is dead.’”

The ruler looked down at his daughter, obviously alive now, and kissed her head with adoration. He continued. “But Jesus told me, ‘Do not fear. Only believe.’ I led him with Peter, James and John to my house. There was already much weeping and wailing by the crowd. And then he said, ‘Why are you making such a commotion?’” This time the man choked up with amusement. “‘The child is not dead, but sleeping.’”

Demas listened intently.

Gestas looked around the room, intrigued by the mixture of upper and lower classes that were here. He had never seen such a thing. This synagogue elder was surrounded by fishermen and other plebeians, including what looked like a harlot. But he also saw several other ruling class leaders. What could bring together in secret such divergent classes of people who would not otherwise be seen together in public?

The man continued. “So Jesus put them all outside, and took me and Mary,” he looked down at his wife and hugged her, “and several others of you.” He looked around the room at several people. “You were there. You saw it.” They nodded their heads. “He took Rebecca’s hand and said, ‘Little girl, I say to you, arise.’”

The man stopped. He choked up again, and could barely continue. But he pushed through. “And Rebecca got up. Jesus brought her back to us.”

The brothers heard a peppering of “hallelujahs” from the people in the crowded room. One said, “Yahweh saves!” followed by amens. “Yahweh saves” was the meaning of the name Yeshua, which was Jesus’s Hebrew name.

Demas felt weird. He was in a secret religious cult surrounded by members under a spell. They actually thought the Nazarene raised this little girl from the dead? She had obviously been so sick as to appear dead. But these poor fools had convinced themselves that the Nazarene was some kind of a god. The words of Aeschylus rang through Demas’ mind like a whisper, “Once a man dies and the earth drinks up his blood, there is no resurrection.”

An elderly lady stood. She appeared to be the matron of the household. She said, “Thank you for your testimony, Jairus. And I thank you all for coming to my home to share with us how your lives have been dramatically impacted by Jesus of Nazareth. As you all know, he healed me of a fever, so that I could serve his disciples dinner for my son-in-law Peter.” A smattering of suppressed laughter brought some light into the dark seriousness of the room.

A centurion appeared in the doorway with two soldiers behind him. A hush of surprise washed over the crowd.

Demas and Gestas grabbed the hilts of their swords beneath their cloaks. It was the centurion from the marketplace. He had tracked them down. Did they walk into a Roman trap?

Peter’s mother-in-law spoke up, “Many of you know Gessius and how Jesus healed his servant, Joram.”

The centurion added, “With only his words—and from a distance.”

Murmurings of approval covered the brothers’ startled exchange of glances. They remembered what the stranger in the crowd had told them about the centurion, the information that had brought them to this house in the first place. Would he recognize their faces from the drawings? They tried to keep their heads low.

The old woman looked around the room. “And Jesus cast demons out of several of you.”

“I was blind and mute by a demon,” said a man, who was obviously seeing clearly and speaking freely.

Demas thought,
A demon or your own captivating fears and madness?

Peter’s mother-in-law added, “And there were those tormented by long maladies.” She pointed at a middle-aged woman. “Sarah, you had an issue of blood for twelve years.”

Sarah spoke out, “Yes! I simply touched his garment and I was made well.”

Peter’s mother-in-law continued, looking at two men in the corner. “And Josiah and Daniel. We all know you were blind until a week ago.” More amens where whispered.

Demas could see the two men were obviously not blind, but were quite normal. He began to feel suffocated by the delusions of this maddening crowd. He wanted to leave.

Gestas, on the other hand, was amazed by it all. The stories sounded like the fantastic legends he would act out in his pantomime plays. But these were real stories. The people claimed to be eyewitnesses or actual recipients of the miracles. They couldn’t all be lying, could they?

Both brothers wanted to leave before the centurion recognized them.

The woman continued, “Let us now pray for the ministry of Jesus and the disciples in the district of Tyre and Sidon.”

The brothers looked at each other. They knew their next destination. They bowed their heads, thankful that it would keep their faces from visibility.

After the prayer, the brothers mulled about, trying to avoid the gaze of the centurion, looking for their opportunity to slip away. The centurion did not seem to notice them. Apparently, the drawings were crude enough and different enough from their newly bearded faces to avoid detection.

They saw some people leaving and used the opportunity to join them without drawing attention.

“Brothers,” came a voice from behind them. It was the centurion.

They were discovered. They turned to look, ready to draw their weapons and kill who they must to survive.

The centurion surprised them. “The blessing of Messiah be upon you.”

Demas went blank. Gestas was quick. He replied, “And also upon you, brother.”

Gestas pushed the stunned Demas out the door.

Once they left the house, Gestas whispered to Demas, “Amazing. They consider each other family. Roman, Pharisee and pleb.”

Demas muttered, “A Roman soldier looking for
our
Jewish Messiah? What is this madness?”

Gestas responded, “Apparently, they believe the Nazarene
is
the Messiah.”

Demas countered, “The Nazarene is dangerous. He has the ability to bewitch entire crowds.”

Gestas protested, “All these people could not be under the same spell. They have lived and worked with each other all their lives. They could not get away with such lies.”

“With such magic tricks,” said Demas.

They found their horses and untied them, walking them through the side streets toward the northern end of town.

Gestas said, “So you believe he is merely a magician?”