When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,18
you question me and mock me. What are your names? I will report to him …”
The mocking fell silent. They exchanged uneasy looks and became suddenly docile. “Now see here. How are we to know … you, a Jew and all, riding up and making demands from atop your horse?”
The change in their demeanor strengthened my resolve. I said fiercely, “I don’t believe the centurion is on patrol. And if he hears I have come, and you have turned me away …”
The two men blinked at me for a moment, then one said to the other, “We … perhaps are mistaking who rode out this morning.”
“I thought it was Longinus.”
“Aye. Looked like him.”
“But it was at a distance.”
I mounted my mare and stared them down defiantly. “Go see if he is here. Tell him David ben Lazarus is at the gate on his horse.”
My heart was pounding. Minutes passed before the first sentry returned meekly following a muscled, compactly built officer with close-cropped reddish-brown hair and the fair skin of the people of the far north but sun-bronzed from his military service. He glanced at me with suspicion. From his accent I deduced he was a Briton by heritage. I understood now why my sister Mary found him exotic and handsome.
“Shalom, Centurion,” I said quickly. “My sister Mary sends her greetings.”
“Ah.” He scratched his temple. “Mary’s brother. Good man … David.”
“Yes. I received a letter from her this morning.”
“She is well? My Mary?”
I swallowed hard. “Our Mary … yes. She is well. I have news …”
“Welcome. Follow me to my quarters.” He snapped his fingers, commanding the sentry to hold my horse as I dismounted.
I followed him across the cobblestone paved central court of the fortress. On my left was an open door, revealing a blood-spattered flogging post amid other devices of torment. I imagined my friend being dragged across this space. I thought of Jemima and Judah’s mother in the dungeon beneath the fortress. I was also keenly aware that the ancient garments of the high priest of Israel were locked up within the Antonia and only permitted to be used on certain high holy days. It was as though even our religion was held captive by our conquerors.
Entering the stark foyer of the stronghold, I looked up to see the images of the emperor on shields adorning every wall. These shields, when first displayed publicly in Jerusalem by Pilate, had nearly caused a riot. So, I thought, Pilate learned a lesson and kept the images of the Emperor-god Tiberius hidden from sight of the people.
I repressed a shudder at the thought of dead bodies strewn across the Temple Mount. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of the centurion’s head.
Passing through a long corridor, we climbed steps to a chamber overlooking the Temple. The songs of the choir and the bellowing of sacrificial animals were heard clearly.
Marcus Longinus closed the door and indicated with a wave of his hand that I should sit. He poured a cup of wine and offered it to me, then poured one for himself. “So. David ben Lazarus. Your sister has spoken of you, David. May I call you David? She told me of your disdain for her … for our … friendship.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss my sister, Centurion.” I ignored his appeal to my name and waited until he drank before I sipped very bad wine.
“You are a Jew. A religious Jew. Your sister once told me you would not be caught dead entering the abode of Gentiles.” He waved his hand around the room. “Yet here you are.”
“The ancient garments of the high priest are held captive here. And many righteous men and women are shackled to these walls as well. Their presence makes my reason for coming here a holy purpose.”
He considered my words, took another sip, and placed his cup aside. “Our cup in this place is very bitter.”
“Yes. Many will bear witness to that.”
“What can I offer you instead?” he asked.
“Information,” I replied.
“Sometimes information is also a bitter cup to drink.”
“Better than dying of thirst.”
He spread his palms and shrugged a Gallic shrug. “So? Ask me.”
“The family of Perez? Judah ben Perez. His mother and sister?”
Longinus fell silent. He appeared uneasy, which was unusual for a Roman centurion unless being reprimanded by a superior officer. In the case of Marcus Longinus, his only superiors in Judea were a military tribune and Governor Pilate himself.
The Roman seized the goblet and drained it, then set it down