When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,64
trying to appear unconcerned as the approaching Roman officer watched my every move. Barely moving my lips I said, “Where is he? In the cottage?”
Samson shook his head.
“God be praised, then. He’s not here. We’ll have a chance to warn him.”
Samson hung his head. “No, we won’t.”
Now I looked around openly. “Where is he, then?”
Samson gestured toward a ladder’s upright posts jutting out of the cistern. “He’s plastering the walls.”
I took in the situation. “Keep quiet and let me deal with this,” I urged.
Then the squad of soldiers arrived and stamped to a halt.
The decurion, a swarthy man with a twice-broken nose and a cast to his left eye, greeted me. “You are David ben Lazarus, owner of this property?”
“I am.”
“You have a slave named Patrick who has some skill with metal work? And we hear he worked out a way to turn back a plague from your vineyards. Clever fellow, we hear. Where is this slave?”
“He’s now a free man,” I replied. “No concern of yours.” I felt myself begin to sweat.
The officer tipped the front of his helmet back on his low forehead and brought his right eye to bear on my face while his left wandered over the vineyard. He looked surprisingly pleased at my answer. “See, it’s this way. Rome can requisition any freeman or any slave for the good of the empire. This Patrick is needed for the good of the empire’s forges. But I don’t have to explain anything to you. Where is he?”
“I haven’t seen him,” I replied cautiously.
“He has been seen coming to this location every day this week.”
Who among my neighbors was spying on me for Rome?
I shrugged and said nothing further.
“Search the house,” ordered the decurion. Five of the ten men surrounded the cottage to guard against escape, and the other five entered with short swords drawn.
The officer regarded me critically. “You wouldn’t be trying to hide him from me, would you?”
“I said, I haven’t seen him. Listen, Decurion, this is a mistake, and Centurion Marcus Longinus won’t like it.”
“Oh, ho,” the Roman chortled. “Longinus, is it? Not a good time to use that name. He’s in bad odor with the higher-ups, is Longinus. Stripped of rank and sent off to the wilds of Galilee to chase bandits, I hear. No, preaching to me of Longinus won’t help you here.”
The troopers emerged from the cottage. How long could it take to search a two-room cabin?
“No sign of him, sir,” the leader of the squad reported.
I felt myself holding my breath. A few more minutes and they would march away. After dark we could rescue Patrick and send him away … where? To my sister’s estate in the Galil, perhaps. Somewhere until this could be straightened out.
“Look, Decurion, why don’t I pay the bounty for you to hire a substitute?”
The Roman scratched the stubble on his chin and squinted at me with his left eye. “Not up to me. I’ve got my orders.”
Leaning close enough to the decurion’s powerful odor almost gagged me, but I said in a confidential tone, “Would it be better if I paid the bounty directly to you, Decurion? Cleaner and quicker that way?”
The Roman swayed, clearly tempted by the offer. I jingled my money pouch to indicate my willingness to shell out a bribe.
But the officer shook his head. “New chief centurion is a right unpleasant chap. Had the skin flogged off one of my mates for having a spot of rust on his armor at inspection.” He looked regretful but determined. “Nope, can’t chance it. I’ve got my orders. ‘Bring in Patrick the smith,’ and that’s what I aim to do.”
“Just not here and not now,” I returned, trying to sound agreeable. “Look, it’s a warm day. Why don’t you and your men come inside for a moment? I have nothing to offer you but water, but you can have that before you march …”
As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I saw my error, but it was too late. First one of the decurion’s eyes, and then the other pivoted from well to cistern, taking in the ladder rails protruding above the rim.
Before I could blink, he whipped out his sword and held the point to my throat. “Search the cistern, men,” he commanded.
As they marched Patrick away, a prisoner surrounded by guards, the decurion was laughing. “Don’t need a cell for this one,” he chortled. “Take away his peg at night, and he’s good as pinned. Can’t run far, now,