as he could. Jamin turned to Adas to thank him. Now that the sun shone brightly and color had returned, Jamin was startled to see the eyes of a wolf looking back at him. The centurion’s eyes were the color of opaque amber. The grayish-brown rings circling the irises gave the finishing touch. Jamin looked away to hide his distress.
Hours passed. The crowds were gone. Everything was strangely silent and still. It had only been a matter of hours, but Adas felt like he had been at Golgotha for days. He lay on the ground, his knapsack under his head, and his arm thrown over his eyes. He heard galloping hooves and sat up.
A horseman appeared on the path to Golgotha. Adas recognized the big, mahogany bay as Draco, the war horse of Decurion Cassius Sabinus Quintus. Cassius was tall for a Roman, with short dark hair and dark brown eyes. He sat a horse well with his straight back and broad shoulders, but walked with a right-legged limp, a reminder of a Scythian’s arrow.
Cassius reined in his horse. “Centurion Longinus, Governor Pilate sends orders! You’re to break their legs before the sun sets. They must be off the crosses before the Jewish Sabbath begins. Looks like the one in the middle is already dead. That was quick. And there still might be a riot. Some curtain in the temple was destroyed. I don’t know what it means, but they’re in an uproar, as if some old curtain could be the end of the world. Unfortunately, I have more bad news. Centurion Valentius says Governor Pilate wants the four of you to guard the Nazarene’s burial site until sunset on Sunday. There are rumors the Nazarene will come back to life. Some fear the zealots will steal the body. If you catch anyone, Valentius says to take them to the Sanhedrin, the Jewish court of law. Governor Pilate does not wish to be involved.”
“He wants us to guard the tomb?” Adas demanded.
Cassius nodded, but signaled for Adas to approach. He leaned down. “Adas, everyone knows how popular the Nazarene is—was with these people. I’d feel better if you had a few more squads.”
“I don’t understand why Valentius wants us to pull more duty, especially since we were at the end of our shift of night patrol.”
Cassius shrugged. “Those are his orders.”
Adas groaned in frustration. “If the crucifixions had been delayed just a little longer, a squad from day shift would have been in charge, and now we’ve got two more days.”
“Just be careful.” Cassius glanced at the other soldiers. “And what’s with those three? They are the most unreliable legionaries in your whole centuria. Why did you pick them?”
“I didn’t. Valentius assigned them, which is odd.” Adas stroked Draco’s neck. The spirited horse snorted and pawed the ground. “Today has been nothing but strange.”
Cassius lowered his voice. “I need to talk to you about Demitre, Valentius’s slave. I’ll tell you later when we can talk safely.”
“Until then, Cassius.” Adas rubbed the horse’s neck. The stallion stopped fidgeting. “Draco seems to be recovering well.”
“Yes, he is. I believe you saved his life, my friend. I don’t know what I’d do without this brave-hearted beast. He is fearless in battle. I owe you, Adas.”
“I may need to collect on that someday.”
“In the meantime, could you take a look at Tigula? He’s not eating well.” Decurion Quintus loved his dog. He slept soundly every night knowing the mastiff slept against the door. “I would take him to a veterinarius, but you know how Tig snarls at everyone except you.”
Adas turned his back to the crosses. It was hard to talk about common things with death so close. “I’ll take a look at the grouchy old beast as soon as I get back. By the way, the bolt on my door keeps jamming. Do you mind if I borrow your tools? I think I can fix it myself.”
“Sure. You can pick them up when you check on Tigula. Gratias, Adas.” Cassius started to leave, but a runner approached the men.
“Centurion, Governor Pilate summons you.”
Cassius slid from the saddle. “Here, take Draco. I’ll keep an eye on your men.”
Adas leaped into the saddle and urged the horse into a gallop. Jamin watched as the centurion rode away. He glanced at Lucius anxiously, but relaxed when the decurion spoke harshly to the legionaries. It wasn’t long before the centurion returned. Jamin sighed with relief when he dismounted. The centurion talked briefly with the decurion, thanking him for the use of his horse. The decurion ordered Falto to “present” his back so he could climb into the saddle. Adas frowned to see Falto on his hands and knees, knowing that normally only a slave would be expected to “back” a man into the saddle. Without a word, Cassius spun his horse around. Draco’s pounding hooves kicked bits of gravel at the legionaries as he sped away. The soldiers hurriedly turned their faces and waved off the cloud of dust.
Jamin had overheard the decurion and knew his brother’s suffering would soon end, but it would get much worse before it would be over. Falto picked up the hammer. Jamin couldn’t bear to watch Demas suffocate when he would no longer be able to push himself up to exhale. Instead, Jamin concentrated on the order to remove the bodies from the crosses as a blessing. Letting the corpse slowly disintegrate in public view was the epitome of scorn. A new thought occurred to him. If Demas had not surrendered himself when Yeshua said he needed to face the consequences of his crimes, he would have missed the high Sabbath. His body would have been left on the cross until it rotted away.
Lucius snatched the hammer from Falto and faced Adas. “Shall I finish the job for you, Centurion?” Lucius waited as he cradled the hammer in his hands.
Adas fixed a cold stare at Lucius. “Do you think I have never killed a man? I assure you, I have. What of it? It’s easy to take a life. The other thing is much more difficult.”
“What other thing?”
“To put life back into the dead.”
“Those tales are just superstitious rumors.”
“Perhaps, but what if on the third day, Yeshua does come back to life? Such a thing would change the world.”
Lucius curled his lip in disgust. “I don’t pay attention to the ranting of idiots and zealots. Anyone can say anything. It means nothing.”
Adas turned his attention back to the two thieves. “I find it disgraceful to kill a man who can’t defend himself. Since you’re holding the hammer, apparently you don’t mind, Legionary.” He was surprised to see Lucius’s face turn pale. Adas had unintentionally struck a nerve. He pressed the advantage as he eyed the scar on the legionary’s face. “So tell me, why did someone leave his signature on your face.”
Without warning, the memory of killing his own father possessed Lucius. He could still feel the gut-wrenching dread when they dragged Rufino Octavean into the arena, tied him to a post, and claimed he was caught stealing. Training Officer Junio thrust a spear in Lucius’s hands and ordered the eleven-year-old to execute the thief on the spot. Lucius begged his father to explain, but he remained silent. Rufino stood very still, watching Lucius with an expression the boy could not understand. The look on his father’s face would haunt Lucius for the rest of his life. When Lucius hesitated, the training officer shouted, “Octavean, I have given you a direct order! If you can’t obey then you are no use to me!” Lucius saw a blur of motion and a savage pain ran down the side of his face. He flinched, but held on to the spear. Again, Junio raised his dagger. “Obey me! Kill the thief or I’ll kill both
