“That was weird!”
Aurelius didn’t answer. But the look in his eyes told Marcus that he shared the feeling. This day’s events were more than weird. They were scary in ways that shook the squad of war veterans to their core. They had been through a lot together. More than once they had been certain that their own deaths would be the only possible outcome of a particular battle.
This… This was supposed to be a light duty situation. For the most part, it was. There were no major military forces rallying against them. They had requested this post. The other squads had laughed at them when “The Fearsome Foursome” put in for a transfer. They wouldn’t even have known that this god-forsaken territory existed if it hadn’t been that Julius’s sister was servant to Pilate’s wife.
The report that they heard said that Pilate was being assigned to the armpit of the Mediterranean: Judea. Pilate was assembling a division, a small division, that would be basically just a police force. Nothing dangerous, nothing scary, just playing nursemaid to a new territorial governor who wasn’t quite sure what he was facing. But, as representative of the Emperor, he had to have enough clout to keep the rabble in line.
There wasn’t too much scuttlebutt about their new assignment. They had heard, however, that the locals were religious. No, more than religious, almost radically religious. They were basically pagan atheists. They would rather die than bow to the Emperor as god. One of the retiring soldiers had looked so tired. He had put in fifteen years in Judea.
“Those people are unbelieveable!”
Remus couldn’t get much out of the old warrior, but, the place sounded so different that he was very enthusiastic when he presented the idea to the other three. A couple flagons of wine, a good meal, and the urging from a trusted friend, and the next thing they knew they were barfing over the rail on a ship headed from Rome to Jaffa, with a whole lot of other soldiers – and civilians – laughing at their plight.
Ten years ago…
That was ten years ago. There was nothing new happening in Judea. Pilate was a fair governor. He treated his troops well. The locals were mostly tolerable. Once in a while some troublemaker would gather a gang and try to roust the Romans. They were laughable. Sure they might inflict a few casualties if they sneak up behind some drunken soldiers, but for the most part, even a drunk soldier could cut down three or four of them and send the others running back to the rock they crawled out from.
Dead Jews didn’t need their clothes. Living soldiers, however, did need rags to polish swords and other equipment. Three Jews about to die provided a good supply of rags to the squad. But when Aurelius noticed that the tunic was a special design, and that it wasn’t blood stained, “Hey, guys, this is good workmanship! How did these idiots ever learn to do this kind of quality? I’d like to keep this.”
The others came over and marveled at the weaver’s skill. They all were impressed and expressed interest in having it for themselves.
Remus’ expression changed to mock fear and he tried to sound scared as he spoke, “ Wait, if you wear this, won’t it turn you into one of them?”
After a good laugh, someone pulled out some dice and they started gambling to find out who would wind up with the garment.
“Any time today!” The Centurion, was standing about six meters away watching ‘the fearsome foursome’ with less than humor in his voice and demeanor.
Aurelius quickly stuffed his “new” tunic into his pile of gear and scrambled with the others to the crosses as they began the actual process of the execution.
Sunset found all three prisoners dead. The bodies of the first two had been unceremoniously dumped in the Tophet Valley. That place really stunk. The other one – the one the tunic came from – had been carried away by some locals to be buried. That was weird. But, lots of things had been weird that day.
“Where are you going?” He couldn’t make out whose voice it was. It was a couple hours till sunrise.
“Out. I gotta think, man! Something is going on here, and… and…” Aurelius didn’t complete his thought. He couldn’t, actually. He didn’t even know what he was thinking. It was three A.M., the moon was bright. The city was quiet. He still had the tunic in his hand. He had barely laid it down since…
He always kept his ears and eyes open to noises that might warn of some idiot Jew that wanted to kill another Roman. But, beyond that, he wasn’t paying attention to much. When he realized that he was headed toward the execution hill, he stopped and nervously headed off in a different direction.
The jangling of military armor found him at full alert with his sword halfway out of it’s sheath. Watching from the shadow, he saw a squad of Jewish Temple soldiers heading out, so he quietly slid the sword back into it’s place and followed them.
They headed out to a tomb, of all things, posted a warning and a seal on the stone door, and took guard positions like they were protecting some great dignitary. After a while they built a fire and took turns standing lookout.
Aurelius knew that four ordinary Jewish citizens would be no great threat, but he wasn’t as sure that he could best these four. He leaned against a tree, watching and listening. His hands absently fingered the tunic. He had brought it with him. It was part of what had created such turmoil in his heart.
It was cold. The moon was so bright that the Temple Guards would have had no trouble seeing him if he wasn’t under the tree. The conversation at the fire told him that the Jewish leaders were more freaked out about this particular executed prisoner. The guy had actually claimed that he would come back to life in three days. Afraid the guy’s followers would stir up some insurrection, they posted these guards so that they couldn’t take and hide the body, while claiming that he had come back to life.
Not much chance of that. Aurelius had killed a lot of people in his time as a soldier. He knew that that particular dead man was not coming back to life.
Who the h-? They all saw him. This isn’t an ordinary man! That stone would have take three of four strong men to roll back. This… this… whatever he was – is – pushed it back with one hand, turned around, sat on the stone, and just looked at the soldiers. Their eyes were open, but they were sprawled on the ground not moving. Aurelius slumped to a sitting position on the ground, staring.
“May I have my tunic back?”
Aurelius knew that voice.
He couldn’t move.
He had heard that voice tell one of the other prisoners that they would be – not dead, but – in Paradise with him that day. He had heard that voice say, ‘Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.’ He had heard that voice say, “It is finished!” And now that voice, so definitely dead, was very much alive and asking for his tunic back.
An imperceptible nod was the only response he could muster. The tunic slipped from between his fingers, as consciousness slipped from his eyes.
-George Weitemeyer, April 3, 2015, 09:42