Читать книгу Journey of the Pearl - A. E. Smith - Страница 6

God stretched out his hand and took hold of the sun. He shrouded the blazing star with an impossible darkness. The beauty of the world faded. The colors of nature withdrew into shades of gray. Death kept watch, waiting to hear the words, “It is finished.”

A young man named Jamin was awake all night, dreading the coming day, but he finally fell asleep just before sunrise. His mind was blank when he first awoke, but with gut-wrenching agony he remembered his younger brother was to be crucified along with Yeshua, the Nazarene. Jamin’s lean face was lined with grief and regret.

The young Hebrew looked from the rooftop of his employer’s house in Jerusalem where he slept. He thought Cleopas and his wife, Mary, must be gone since no one had awakened him. Out of habit, he shielded his eyes to determine the position of the sun. It was overhead, noonday, but something was terribly wrong. The sun was darkened like a black cloth draped over a lantern. Sick with anxiety, he lowered the ladder and hurried down.

Jamin entered the house and grabbed his knapsack, a wineskin, and a stick. He left the house and tried to hurry through the twisting dirt roads crowded with visitors, donkey carts, street merchants, and beggars. His progress was slow. About a million people were in Jerusalem for Passover, even though the city was home to only twenty-five thousand. He pushed his hair back and peered at the sky. He didn’t bother to shield his eyes. Jamin knew the darkness could not be an eclipse. From boyhood lessons, he knew a solar eclipse could only occur with a new moon and it never lasted more than a few minutes. Passover was celebrated during a full moon.

He bought a loaf of bread in case the soldiers let him give some to his brother. “Sir, how long has the sun been black?” he asked the street vendor.

“For hours!” The merchant gestured at the sky. “It started at the 6th hour and now it is past the 8th hour. This was foretold in The Book of Psalms. It is the end of the world!”

Jamin thrust the bread into his knapsack as he scurried across another intersection. The absence of a breeze gave the air an oppressive weight. He choked on dust and tripped over a street beggar. The man cursed, but Jamin didn’t bother to respond. Blocked by a throng of people staring at the sun, he shoved his way forward. Expressions of fear rippled from person to person.

Jamin fingered his robe. No matter how closely he held the cloth to his eye, the red and yellow stripes appeared to be dark and light gray. He scanned the sky in all directions. The intense blue of the Jerusalem sky was the color of ash. He caught a blur of motion just in time to avoid a Roman soldier struggling to control his frothing horse. Jamin wished he could steal the man’s horse, but stealing was why his brother, Demas, had been sentenced to death.

The circumstances surrounding the execution of his brother were highly unusual. Jamin was horrified when Demas told him of his plan to surrender and confess his crimes. Jamin tried to talk him out of it. When Demas explained how Yeshua convinced him to confess, Jamin was furious. Demas explained that it was the right thing to do, but Jamin could not understand why he would willingly forfeit his life. The rest of his family was dead. Jamin would be alone.

Many people believed Yeshua was the promised Messiah, but now that he was being executed, they knew it was false hope. Surely, the real Messiah would free his people from the Romans, and reinstate the Kingdom of David, not die like a lowly criminal. This overthrow of the Romans seemed imminent only a few days before when Yeshua arrived in Jerusalem. The people shouted praises to him and placed palm fronds before him.

Yeshua said, “He who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life.” But the same man who promised eternal life was about to die. Jamin hated himself for believing the outrageous statement. He thought when Yeshua established his kingdom, he and Demas would have places of honor. Jamin wondered how he could be so naive.

Jamin recalled the words of the prophet Isaiah: “The rising sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light. Therefore I will make the heavens tremble; and the earth will shake from its place at the wrath of the Lord Almighty, in the day of His burning anger.”

When his father made him memorize this passage, Jamin thought it was merely symbolic. Could it be possible the centuries-old prophecy had a literal meaning? Jamin reached a shortcut and slipped out of the crowds. He prayed he would get to his brother in time to drive away the carrion birds. He would need to collect rocks to throw. The limestone blocks of the city wall behind the crosses were chipped by thousands of rocks thrown for this purpose.

Jamin passed through the east gate of the main city wall. He could see the low hill of Golgotha pockmarked with stipes, the wooden beams permanently installed to form crucifixion crosses as near to the main road as Jewish law allowed. If the Romans had their way, the entire road would be lined with stipes. Leaving the beams was not only for convenience, but to be a constant reminder of Roman authority. Anyone standing in nearly any part of the city would be able to see Golgotha. Since the crucified criminals were left to rot on the crosses leaving skulls and bones scattered on the ground, it was known as Golgotha, The Place of the Skull.

Jamin turned north to the sloping path of Golgotha. The air held the acrid smell of hot sand, animal dung, and cooking fires. The bitter taste of dust stung his tongue. Jamin coughed and tried to clear his throat. He started to drink from the wineskin, but stopped, remembering that he needed to save the wine for his brother.

As he hurried further up the path, the full line of upright stipes came into view. It was the crossbeam or patibulum, that the prisoner was forced to carry from the Antonia to Golgotha. Jamin saw the men hanging from three crosses. People were shouting insults at the dying men. Anger seared his heart as spectators entertained themselves at his brother’s misery. How could they not understand the courage it took for Demas to confess his crimes, knowing he would be sentenced to death? Jamin picked up a rock to throw at a particularly vocal offender, but then he realized the scoffers were baiting only the man on the center cross.

Jamin dropped the rock. He had been so intent on the crowd of hecklers, he had failed to acknowledge his brother. Demas was on the cross to the right of the center one. Jamin cringed in despair when he saw his little brother watching him. His heart burned with shame as he stared up into his brother’s face, shadowed with pain and exhaustion.

Jamin croaked, “I am here, Demas. I am here.” But Demas couldn’t hear him.

Jamin sat in the sand, cross-legged, holding his knapsack in his lap. He was relieved the birds were keeping their distance. Still, he began collecting small stones. It wasn’t until then he realized the man on the center cross was Yeshua.

A few hecklers challenged him. “He saved others; Himself He cannot save. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, descend now from the cross, that we may see and believe,” said one after another, each thinking his insult was unique and clever.

Jamin was going to shout his own insults when he saw Yeshua’s followers nearby, including Mary, the mother of Yeshua. He remained silent out of respect for Mary. He was losing his brother, but she, already a widow, was losing her beloved first-born child.

When Demas and Jamin were teenagers, they lost their entire family. Eventually, the brothers made their way to Jerusalem and found work with a metal engraver named Cleopas. He and his wife, Mary, took pity on the brothers and invited them to live at their house. While staying in Jerusalem, they heard about a man called John the Baptist and his message of hope. Jamin wanted to hear John, but Demas was reluctant.

Demas declared, “This John the Baptist is another crazy man claiming to be the Messiah. You know the Messiah will never come, not the real one. Why do you believe the ranting of some long-dead men who called themselves prophets?”

“Don’t say that, Demas! God can hear you.”

“God can hear you,” mimicked the younger brother with a sneer. “If God is so great why did he let the Romans kill our parents and sisters? You feel the same; you just won’t admit it. The God who let our family die was the same God who claims to love us. How does that work?”

“God isn’t mistreating us, Demas. It is the way of the world. Don’t you listen when they read the scrolls in temple? Ever since God brought us out of Egypt, we have trusted other nations instead of him. They have always betrayed us.”

“I don’t want to hear it. We trusted in God and look what it got us. The soldiers sold us into slavery. We were getting shipped off to who knows where. Have you forgotten? We’re just lucky we escaped.”

“There’s no such thing as luck,” grumbled Jamin under his breath.

They joined the crowd listening to John. He sat on a rock and spoke to the people as they gathered along the river bank. He began baptizing new believers in the river.

His words rang out. “The living Word of God will baptize you with the Holy Spirit. He will gather his wheat into the barn and burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire. His judgment will be true and final.”

“This is ridiculous, Jamin! He’s talking about harvesting wheat. Can we go now?”

Jamin didn’t take his eyes off John. “Little Brother, he is talking about harvesting wheat and burning the chaff. I do not wish to be the chaff, do you? And he’s not the Messiah, but he’s talking about the Messiah. Listen!”

Listeners began questioning John, wanting to know how to avoid condemnation. Even a Roman soldier with his squad spoke up. He had short-cropped, blonde hair and pale gray eyes. His face was marked with a scar from the right temple down to the jaw. He was an unusually tall and powerfully built man.

The Roman gestured at himself and his men. “And what shall we do?”

John answered, “Do not intimidate anyone or accuse anyone falsely. Be content with your wages. Enforce your laws justly.” The Roman did not reply, but spoke harshly with his fellow soldiers. He started to leave until he noticed the other soldiers were not following him. One of the soldiers started to walk toward the river, but the man with the scar called to them angrily, and they left.

A man brushed past Jamin and Demas. He was average height, wearing simple clothing, but that could not hide his aura of authority. The man stepped into the river and approached John. No one could hear what he said, but John’s shocked reaction was unmistakable.

John put his hand on the man’s shoulder and they both bowed their heads. The man knelt down until the water covered him. At the exact moment he came out of the water, Jamin saw a small bright light fall from the sky and settle on the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he heard the voice. It was a powerful, resonating voice that came from everywhere at once. He glanced at his brother to see if he heard it, too. Demas was staring with wide eyes; his mouth hung slack.

The mysterious voice declared, “This is my Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased.” Everyone gasped and looked around, trying to locate the speaker.

“Did you see it?” exclaimed Jamin. “Did you see the beautiful light settle on him? It was as beautiful as a snow white dove. And the voice, did you hear it?”

“The light was brilliant, yet it didn’t hurt my eyes. I heard the voice, too,”

A stranger grumbled at the brothers. “Are you drunk? It was just thunder.”

“Then where are the storm clouds?” Demas demanded.

The baptized man walked out of the river. A hush fell over the crowd as they made room for him. Jamin turned to his brother. “Come on. I want to find out who he is.”

“I don’t see him anymore,” said Demas, scanning the crowd.

Jamin pointed at John. “Then let’s talk to him instead.” Jamin only intended to find someone who would convince his brother to stop stealing. He never thought this first conversation with John the Baptist would lead Demas to his execution.

An intruder interrupted Jamin’s thoughts. A man wearing a fine linen tunic and an elegant gold-accented silk toga separated himself from the crowd of hecklers. His pallid skin was tightly stretched over his dominant cheekbones and forehead giving his face a skull-like appearance. His clothes hung loosely as if draped over bare bones. His sunken, pale eyes were surrounded by dark shadowing, which emphasized his penetrating gaze. The stranger approached a Roman soldier who wore the belt, caligae, and lorica musculata of a centurion. Only centurions wore the metal, muscle-contoured armor. The caligae, sandal boots, were a distinct mark of a Roman soldier. The centurion’s gladius and pugio were weapons of the highest craftsmanship, which only a privileged officer could afford. When the richly attired man drew near, the soldier turned his back.

“Centurio!” said the stranger in a whispery voice. “May I speak with you?” Fingering his many gold necklaces, the stranger said, “Excuse me for interrupting your grand actionis militaris. I am a merchant of purple silk from Rome. The inscriptions say the men on the right and left crosses are thieves. The inscription over the center cross is not a crime if it’s true. What proof is there that he is not the Son of God?”

Centurion Adas Clovius Longinus answered curtly, “I wasn’t present at the trial. I only know his conviction was demanded by the people.”

“That is not a legal conviction. Apparently, no crime was committed, or proof would have been offered, instead of the ranting of a mob. You are executing an innocent man, which makes you are a murderer, Centurion.”

Adas was shocked at the accusation. “I do not question my orders, Sir! Who are you to accuse me? Accuse those who sentenced him.”

“Oh, I will, in due time. I find fault with everyone. However, you are the one carrying out a false conviction. I see the banner.” He pointed to the sign nailed at the top of the beam. “It plainly states ‘Yeshua of Nazareth, King of the Jews.’ Yet, you use crucifixion, which is reserved for the lowest criminal. Likewise, I’ve never seen a man so severely scourged. Is this how you treat a king?”

“I obey my orders! Leave or be arrested.” Adas, again, turned his back and walked away.

The other three soldiers stepped closer as the stranger approached them. He spoke softly as he gestured toward the centurion who was out of earshot. The soldiers leaned in, eager to hear the peculiar man’s criticism. His voice was hypnotic.

When Adas saw the intruder talking to his men, he confronted the merchant. “As I said, you need to leave. Now! You have no business here!”

The merchant chuckled softly. “Not true. I have business everywhere, but my work here is done.” He threw a sidelong glance up at Yeshua, but dropped his gaze quickly when the Nazarene locked eyes with him. Yeshua and the raspy-voiced intruder had previously met. It had been a very long meeting. The silk merchant started to confront the centurion again when he saw an approaching mounted patrol. He spotted a group of Pharisees heckling the Nazarene and joined the group. He introduced himself. They gathered closer to listen.

The patrol halted near the Pharisees. Adas approached the lead decurion, a cavalry officer. “Longinus, you only have one squad? You should have more men.”

“Not the usual protocol, is it?”

“No, especially with the Nazarene. I can’t believe there isn’t a full scale riot, as popular as he is—was. Want us to stay? We’re coming off shift, but we can spare you an hour.”

“We were also about to go off duty when Valentius snagged us. We’re tired, but we’ve got it covered. Gratias.” The patrol lingered a short time, and then left.

Jamin kept a wary eye on the three legionaries as the centurion talked with a decurion. One of the legionaries pulled out a pair of wooden dice from his belt pouch. It was a common practice to gamble for executed prisoners’ garments. The clothes of the three prisoners were piled on the ground before them.

“Centurion,” called one of the soldiers, “the Nazarene’s tunic is high quality, no seams. Do you want a turn with the lots?” Adas shook his head.

One of the legionaries, named Falto, threw the dice, laughed and snatched up a sandal. He shook it in the face of the legionary who won the first sandal. Falto was no one’s friend, but everyone’s fool. He was a large man with a small mind, a dangerous combination. The men called him Mustela, Weasel. Some had even forgotten his real name.

Falto grinned at the winner of the first sandal. “So Lucius, how far will you get with only one sandal?” He dangled it in front of the others and reached for his wineskin.

Lucius Equitius Octavean slapped the wineskin out of Falto’s hand. “Far enough to take that one away from you! I saw you cheat. You couldn’t trick a gaggle of old women.”

Few men would have insulted a fellow soldier so blatantly, but Lucius’s heavily muscled physique enabled his volatile temper. He was known as the Lion, and not only because his initials were LEO. He was only thirty-four years old, but had belonged to the Roman Imperial Army for twenty-six years. Women considered him handsome, but the abuse of wrath and warfare was taking its toll. His blonde hair was already peppered with gray, matching his pale eyes. A graphic scar ran down the side of his face. Jamin thought he looked familiar.

Falto was too drunk to be offended. He jutted his chin forward and offered to give up the second sandal in exchange for Lucius’s wineskin.

“How ‘bout I just beat it out of you?” Lucius snarled.

Even drunk, Falto knew he had pushed too far and turned his attention on Yeshua. “Ohe, you there! King of the Jews! They say you healed people. Prove it! Take that ugly scar from Octavean’s sour face!” Falto snickered, missing the annoyed flash in Lucius’s eyes.

The third soldier, a brown-haired, brown-eyed Greek named Hektor, interrupted the brewing fight with a suggestion. “Why don’t you throw the lots again? Winner gets the pair.”

He knew Falto had cheated, but saw no reason to side with Lucius. As was his habit whenever he was assigned to a crucifixion detail, Hektor took bets on how long the criminals would survive. Yeshua was famous, and the more famous the criminal, the higher the betting. Hektor expected to make a great deal of money.

Lucius stood with his feet wide apart and his hands on his hips, giving Jamin a better look at his features. It was the soldier who had been at the river when John baptized Yeshua over three years ago.

Taking up with the hecklers, Lucius vented his bad humor. “If You are the King of the Jews, save Yourself!” His words were slurred from drunkenness.

Centurion Longinus stood apart from the legionaries. He ran his fingers through his raven-black hair. His square jaw and high cheekbones gave him an aristocratic appearance, but his expression lacked arrogance. He was average in height, but had a well-defined build. Adas was awarded the centurion title two years previously, and transferred to Jerusalem. He was at the lowest status and the youngest centurion in the entire 10th Legio.

A minimum of sixteen years of military service was a basic requirement before earning the title of centurion. Adas had only served nine years. A boy could begin army training at eight, but would not become a legionary until the age of seventeen, making the youngest centurion thirty-three years old. Only highly experienced, battle-tested soldiers from high-ranking families were awarded the title, a mark of status, not rank. Even though Adas had the makings of a centurion by his own rights, his father, Consul Aquila Clovius Longinus, was offered the title for his son by Emperor Tiberius. Without even discussing the offer with Adas, Aquila accepted. Unfortunately, Aquila had no idea he had put his son in danger, not only from enemy combatants, but also from the legionaries of his own cohort and the other centurions.

A Roman legion was divided into units called a cohors. Each cohors was divided into six centuriae. Each centuria usually consisted of a hundred legionaries. The primus pilus centurion commanded the 1st cohors, 1st centuria and was the highest ranking centurion in the legion. The other nine cohors were commanded by pilus prior or cohort centurions. All of the remaining fifty centurions had no other title. As the lowest ranking centurion, Longinus commanded the 10th cohors, 6th centuria.

Adas shouted, “Octavean, shut your mouth! You may be drunk, but don’t defile any honor you might have by taunting a defenseless man. I know you are not a coward. Don’t pretend to be one.”

“Yes, Sir!” Lucius’s mouth tightened as his gray eyes narrowed with resentment. He rejoined the other soldiers. Falto and Hektor exchanged glances, but didn’t dare make a comment. Jamin could see that the centurion was genuinely angry at the legionary’s disrespect. Unlike the other soldiers, the centurion was not drunk, not gambling, and not ridiculing the criminals.

Curious, Jamin watched him. The centurion stepped a few feet away from his men. Guardedly, Jamin looked at the soldier. The centurion’s eyes had an unsettling appearance, deep-set with a piercing stare, not dark, but not pale. Jamin lowered his gaze.

Adas fingered the handle of his dagger. Even though he hated this part of his job, he accepted it. His usual tactic was to focus on the crime of the condemned, rather than the person. Today, none of his coping skills were working. His growing anxiety made him irritable. Looking for a distraction, he glanced at Jamin.

Adas looked from Jamin to the thief on the right and saw the same features. All the soldiers knew that Demas had confessed. They could not believe anyone would willingly surrender himself for crucifixion. They joked about the young Hebrew who had lost his mind. A few were skeptical enough to suspect it was a trick to get inside the garrison. The others retorted that if it was a trick, it was a very stupid trick.

“Is he your relative?” Adas asked. Jamin was amazed he spoke to him in Hebrew, and nodded in answer. “Do you wish to give him something to drink?”

Jamin thanked him, took a sponge from his knapsack and secured it to his stick. He poured wine into the sponge. “He’s my little brother.”

Lucius looked up from his gambling and frowned at Adas. “Is there something you want to say, Octavean?”

Lucius came to his feet at attention. “No, Centurion. I have nothing to say.”

“Then get that sneer off your face.”

“Yes, Sir.” Lucius sat down. He clenched his fists, but his expression turned stoic.

Hektor wondered why Lucius went out of his way to antagonize Longinus. It was foolish at best, dangerous at worst. Yet, Hektor knew Lucius was no fool. Something odd was going on. He wondered if a profit could be made. Taking bets on a fight to the death between Longinus and Octavean would garner a great deal of money. The risk of such a scheme would be substantial, but Hektor was a gambling man. He never could resist a good wager.