do that for?” Falto shouted.
“No, not with a dagger.” Lucius panted. “I have a better idea.”
As he stood staring down at the unconscious centurion, euphoria from the opium overcame him. Gratification crossed his face as he rubbed his fist. “How did that feel—boy!” Lucius gingerly touched his jaw, bruised by Adas’s fist the day of the crucifixions. The permanently etched lines of anger in his face eased. “Looks like we won’t need to cower behind Valentius’s shield, after all.” Lucius retrieved his sword.
Watching from the rocky outcrops, Jamin and Cleopas both gasped in horror. “We’ve got to do something,” Jamin whispered. “If they kill him, I’ll never know what Demas said.” He started to move, but Cleopas pulled him back.
“No. Wait. Look! There’s someone else hiding above the tombs, and he has a sword. He’s moving.”
Hektor watched Lucius snatch up his knapsack and start for the garden gate. “Lucius, have you lost your mind? You can’t leave now! You have to finish him off, or have you lost your nerve like you did when the Nazarene died? You couldn’t even spear a dead man.” Falto clumsily got to his feet and backed away, not sure who would take control.
Lucius rounded on Hektor. “What are you talking about? The only one who lost his nerve is this pathetic boy. He could have killed both of us just now! But we can’t kill him with our weapons! We have to make this look like zealots attacked him.”
Hektor doubtfully eyed Lucius. “Tell me. What happened at the crucifixions when you had the spear in your hands?”
“Longinus hit me for defying him.”
“You weren’t defiant. You were afraid, my friend.”
Lucius’s eyes closed to slits of icy silver. “Really? What do you think I was afraid of?” He grasped his dagger. “And I’m not your friend.”
Hektor backed away. “What do I care, anyway?”
Lucius released his dagger. “Good answer, Hektor. You might live another day.”
Hektor pointed at the unconscious centurion. “Well, we can’t let him live another day.”
“Don’t worry. We won’t. Hitting him with the rock gave me an idea. We stone him to death. We say Longinus sent us to buy food and when we returned, we found him dead, surrounded by rocks. It’ll look like zealots killed our noble centurion so they could steal the Nazarene’s body.”
“You’re smarter than you look, Lucius. I guess we’ll need more rocks.” He picked up the rock stained with Adas’s blood and put it in his knapsack. “There’s one,” he laughed. “I’ll show it to Valentius when we make our report. Come on, Weasel. Grab your knapsack.”
“I’ll stay here. Hurry! It’ll get dark soon,” called Lucius. The two soldiers left the garden. They headed north on the road, searching for fist-sized stones. Jamin and Cleopas saw the other observer moving among the outcrops. They decided to even the odds and follow the rock-hunting soldiers.
Lucius smirked as he knelt down. “So, Centurion Longinus, what do you have that I want?” He dismissed the fine metal armor. It would be too dangerous to have it in his possession. The sword and dagger were elegantly crafted and obviously expensive. He picked up Adas’s dagger and admired the sharpness of the blade and the ornate handle. The dagger was adorned with the head of a wolf at the top of the handle, fashioned in brass. The eyes consisted of opaque golden amber. Heavily arched brows hooded the eyes and a downward tilted head gave the wolf an aggressive stare. The jaws were slightly apart and the lips were curled in a permanent snarl. The ears were turned to either side giving them a horn-like appearance. The handle was covered with leather to increase its comfort and efficiency. The blade was wide at the hilt, tapering down to a deadly point.
Lucius set the dagger down and disconnected the sheath from Adas’s belt. The sheath was made of leather-covered wood decorated with an amber-eyed wolf head etched in a brass plate. There was an inscription etched in the plate under the wolf which read: “Son of the Father, Longinus.” He slid the dagger into the sheath. Lucius knew his entire salary for several years would barely be enough to buy a weapon like this one.
Lucius picked up Adas’s sword. The handle of the sword also boasted a wolf head. The amber eyes were larger, but gleamed with the same luster of sunlight-yellow flames, with one difference. At the center of each eye was an irregularly shaped black object. The shapes were each half of a small black beetle petrified in the amber. The pair of eyes came from the same piece of amber, cut in half. The distorted black pupils gave the golden eyes a malevolent appearance. The blade was highly polished, very sharp, and looked as if it had rarely clashed with another weapon or shield. Lucius reasoned that Adas must have little battlefield experience. He placed the sword on the palm of his hand. It was perfectly balanced. Rotating his wrist, he twirled the sword in figure eights. The blade sang with an undulating hum. Stabbing and slashing, Lucius reconsidered his initial assessment of Adas’s battle experience. With a weapon like this, the enemy might not live long enough to defend himself.
Lucius set the sword down and unfastened the leather-covered scabbard from the centurion’s belt. There was another inscription. It read: “Loyalty Above All. Son of the Father, Longinus.”
Lucius thought of his own father and grimaced. Loyalty was a virtue he had never understood. It seemed others demanded it of him, but used it against him in the end. Everyone Lucius had ever trusted betrayed him, especially his own father. The legionary wondered what it was like, growing up in Rome as a pampered son of a high-ranking man of authority. Assuming Consul Longinus gave these extravagant weapons to his son, were they given to reward loyalty or to demand it?
The legionary returned the sword to the scabbard. He put both weapons in Adas’s knapsack, and put it into his own knapsack. He pulled his own dagger from his belt and scrutinized it. The handle bore no ornamentation and the blade was dented and dull from long use. The simple wooden sheath was cracked down the front. His sword was in worse shape than the dagger. The sword had many previous owners before Lucius took it off a dead combatant.
Lucius felt as battered and cheap as his few possessions. All his life he worked to acquire just a morsel of security, but never succeeded. Then there were men like Longinus who were given all these things, with no effort. He looked down at Adas. The gash on his forehead had dried, but his hair was matted and the side of his face and neck was stained with blood.
Lucius remembered what the silk merchant whispered in his ear the day of the crucifixions. The stranger pointed out how the privileged centurion was given so much while the legionaries did the work for little pay and no respect. The man’s words spurred an intense jealousy that coursed through Lucius’s heart like venom. His heart rate increased. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The opium was fully digested now, enhancing his confidence. Lucius made a low growl as he grasped his dagger in his fist. He pressed the blade against the side of Adas’s throat. A narrow cut, just under the jaw, from ear to chin, appeared beneath the blade. Lucius could hear his own breath coming faster. His mouth went dry. His hand grew sweaty, and stinging sweat dripped in his eyes. Temptation crept into his heart as if it were a living thing. Clenching his teeth, Lucius tried to press the dagger deeper but his mind and heart were locked in a stalemate of indecision. His heart sought the gratification of a death believed to be justified, but his mind resisted, fearing the consequences of punishment.
Lucius remembered what Adas said the day of the crucifixions. “I know you are not a coward. Don’t pretend to be one.” His hand shook as he tightened his grip on the dagger. His fingernails bite into the palm of his hand.
