The Centurion

PROLOGUE

EVERY RELIGION HAS a secret... and all secrets lead to the past. So it was that the land was awash with blood. The Romans embarked on their task of exterminating the Jewish rebels with pronounced zeal. After the massacre of the Roman garrison in Jerusalem, the tearing down of all imperial symbols, and the humiliating spectacle of the Divine Emperor’s own standard being dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, the authorities took action.

Titus Flavius Vespasian was commissioned by the Emperor to deal with the insurgency. Under the command of Cestus Gallus, the Roman legate in Syria, the first army sent to deal with the rebels suffered an ignominious defeat. Gallus had underestimated the strength of the Jewish resistance, and Gallus had been defeated. Only Rome’s most able general could be entrusted with the task of dealing with the rebellion.

Vespasian would make no such mistake. He assembled four veteran legions and marched upon Judea. It was a vast army, more than enough to bring the Jews to heel. Even so, the battle was fierce—as fierce as had not been seen since the times of old. The Jewish resistors fought, seeking no quarter and giving none. And the Romans reciprocated.

Throughout antiquity, there had not been a more stubborn and stiff-necked people than the Jews. Since their absorption into the empire by the Great Pompey, they had proven to be a calamitous dependency. They had been allies of Rome, but Judea had also been its most contentious province. To Rome, they were a superstitious and exotic people, with confounding rituals and even more confounding customs.

There was a strangeness about them that could not conform to the Roman norm. The Empire sought to rule its subjects with the least difficulty. All it asked was that they pledge loyalty to Caesar and pay their taxes. This was the essence of the Roman Peace. From Britannia to Africa, a just and stable order was made to endure.

Judea had become the hellhole of the Empire. Although Rome had accorded its inhabitants the most lenient privileges as compared to other nations, its people would neither submit nor reason. There were no restrictions on their religious festivals or observances, and the Romans were most careful in not intruding upon their daily habits.

The Romans allowed them to continue observing the custom of not working on their Sabbath day. In all this, Rome had compromised, and much more. Being a practical people, the Romans sought to minimize conflict when imposing its rule. Customarily, the deities of all subject states were incorporated into the Roman pantheon of gods, which joined the subjects with the power and benevolence of Rome.

The Jews would have none of it. From the very beginning, they kept themselves apart. They would not countenance any association with the pantheon of the gods. Their god was separate, aloof, and even more powerful than Jupiter, or the Divine Emperor himself, they claimed. This obstinacy did not serve them well.

With an odd belief in what they term a Messiah, a deliverer who would rescue them from Roman rule, the Jews embarked on their disastrous revolt. By that time, Vespasian had been proclaimed Emperor by his army and the task of subduing Jerusalem fell to his eldest son, Titus, who finished the work his father had begun with exacting efficiency.

Massive earthworks were built to accommodate the giant ballistae, which hurled heavy stones and fireworks into the city. Titus brought huge battering rams to batter the walls and entrance gates. The Romans laid siege, allowing starvation to do its work within the city walls. Having conquered the surrounding countryside, their army did not allow foodstuffs into the beleaguered city.

When they launched the final assault on the walls, the carnage was terrifying. After days of numbing isolation, the Jews fought back with equal ferocity. Yet they could not overcome Roman resolve. Legionaries found themselves fighting on every street, in every corner, in every house, with resistance coming at them from the front and rear. They were fighting an army of the enraged masses, where the youngest rosy-cheeked youth and the oldest man became were combatants. Young maids and old crones hurled themselves at the soldiers, scratching with bare hands, screeching and kicking until they were cut down by Roman swords. The legionaries found they were safe nowhere, for the enemy was all around—Jewish Zealots, violent Sicarii, hate filled Idumeans, all converging upon the Romans with the desperation of the doomed.

The Romans cleared the streets, like a huge scythe of death, until they stormed the Fortress Antonia, suffering many casualties. The defense was more rabid there, since the rebels knew that if the Antonia fell to the Romans, then the way was open to the Holy Temple, first built by Solomon. This they could not allow.

The rebels fought as tigers, scorpions and jackals, attacking from all sides, exacting a measure of blood for every parcel of ground lost to a Roman.

Not one defender in the fortress was left standing. The remnants of the victors—for they too had paid dearly for this conquest—fought their way into the forecourt of the Temple. Then they rushed onto the huge platform of the sanctuary, smearing the white stone and Corinthian pillars red with the blood of invader and defender alike.

The Romans entered the Holy of Holies, lined with gold, where no non-Jew had been allowed to enter on pain of death. There, they slew all the high priests and their attendants. Then they set fire to the sacred scrolls and tore down all the holy objects within. Afterwards, Titus exhibited the objects during a triumphant procession in Rome for the benefit and enjoyment of the populace. To ensure that this great victory would be commemorated for all time, he erected an imposing arch in the Roman Forum in honor of the great general. It is still there for all to see.

Jerusalem, as a renowned citadel, was no more. The Romans vanquished its people and its Temple destroyed. The stench of the dead and dying permeated the broken rubble of a broken nation. Throughout the land, the only coin offered the Jew was lamentation and ruin. No promised Messiah had come to deliver them from the Roman yoke; no great victory came to ensure that the Son of David would again reign in the land.

But another sect, who called themselves Nazarenes, and came to be known as Christians, since they followed the teachings of one Jesus, who called himself the Christ, maintained that the Messiah had come; and that this was Jesus, the Son of God. This Christian-Jewish cult, unlike our present day cult of Isis, began to spread among the least-educated and most despondent.

In time, it gained a sizeable number of adherents. This Jesus, born Yeshua bar Yosef, the son of a simple carpenter, who preached in Galilee, was eventually charged with sedition and brought before the court of Pontius Pilatus, then Roman procurator of Judea. Jesus was convicted and, in the Roman manner, crucified, along with two other common criminals.

His death did not diminish the myth, since his followers believed that, as the Son of God, Jesus would return to fulfill his prophesy on earth. Their belief increased the animosity between the Christian-Jewish cult and their more traditional brethren.

With the fall of Jerusalem, the children of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were dispersed throughout the lands of the empire, and the Jewish-Christians went underground.

From the chronicles of

Septimius Valerianus Legatus,

Roman historian, and

Consul of Rome

born: c. 12 C.E.

died: c. 87 C.E.

From the funeral peroration for Marcus

Valerianus, citizen of Rome, son of Lucius

Valerianus, and Licinia from Ferentinum,

member of the first class, eques, of the

tribe Cornelia, former member of the 10th

Legion, Augusta, veteran of campaigns in

Gaul, Germania, Greece, Syria, and

Judea, recipient of the Corona Civica for

bravery, the Corona Muralis and the

Corona Vallaris for service above and

beyond the call of duty, and commendations

for valor from the Senate and People

of Rome

Friends, you know who I am. I am the daughter of Marcus Valerianus, the man we have come to honor and remember and commemorate. My father was a simple man, a humble man. A man for who honor to his calling was paramount. He was true to Rome, and he was scrupulously honest—trait that can be both a benefit and a detriment.

But I must tell you more. Yes, I have discovered more about this man who was impartial to all but who held his secrets dear. And I must speak about this man and recount a time not long ago when everything changed. . .

BOOK ONE

___________

JUDEA

CHAPTER ONE

THE SCORPION SAT on a blistering rock, and it scattered when the column of men approached. Leading the column was Marcus Valerianus, trudging along on his horse, trying to keep the animal on an even pace in the deadening heat. Marcus took a visual circuit of the hills baking in the distance perceiving no movement in the waterless valley—except the sweat that stained his tunic beneath the plates of armor, and he could feel his shin guards searing into his skin. Even the vine stick he carried, the symbol of his authority, was hot to the touch.

He twisted in his saddle, glancing at Malko, his second-in-command, riding behind him. He wondered if Malko felt the same discomfort. Obviously he did, but he wouldn’t admit as much, most of all to Marcus.

Behind Malko, came the men, legionaries on foot, lugging their leaf-shaped spears and large rectangular shields. Naturally, they had it worse than the centurions, their brains boiling inside their helmets, their heads slumped down and smeared with desert dust and their leather straps and armor caked with grainy sand. Their arms and legs were browned from the sun, while some were badly sunburned. Marcus allowed them to carry their spears down, level with their arms, instead of holding them upright, as required in marching order. But even this practical concession to nature had not helped much. Already one man had fainted from the heat.

As he peered into the distance, rivulets of torrid air arose from the sand, obscuring the hills that bordered the valley. He had a premonition that it was not going to be a good day. He was proven right when Malko galloped alongside, breaking his silence.

The men are dragging! We got stragglers.

I know we got stragglers, Marcus said, looking straight ahead to some expanse of rock.

We’re running short of water, Malko complained.

I know, Marcus affirmed. He turned to Malko. Our mission is to reach the plain of Zoar and we can’t turn back. Tell the men that, as of now, we’re on water discipline. I want you to go back and bring up the stragglers. Tell them to keep up. I’m not going to lose any man to this desert.

As you wish.

Malko pulled back on the reins, steering his horse to the back of the column as Marcus focused his attention on the desolate valley, knowing it would give way to more bare mountains. This mission had become a fool’s errand, he lamented. On top of that, he was saddle-sore.

He noted they were getting closer to another set of ancient rocks. And then he saw it—the stag, a male deer, running for its life while being chased by a spirited and hungry lion. His horse almost bolted at the sight of the lion, not thirty yards away. Marcus held onto the reins, stroking the horse’s mane, trying to keep the beast calm. The men behind stopped to watch the lion gaining on its prey.

From his horse, Marcus hollered to his men to keep formation and to ready their weapons in case the lion got tired of chasing a stag and decided to head for them.

Then one of the men held out his spear. Look!

What is it?

Marcus shifted his gaze to where the man was pointing.

I see it, too! another man clamored.

The stag had careened up a ravine and disappeared among rock and broken stone. The lion had not given chase. Instead, it stopped short of going up the ravine. Just a few yards away, it spied another target, a lone figure kneeling before a broad fissure of hillside caves.

Marcus squinted in the sun, trying to make out the figure. It looked like a small man, motionless, on his bare knees.

What in Hades!

His horse reared up and trotted around in an agitated circle. Marcus grabbed tighter on the reins, trying to keep the steed in control.

Easy... easy... he soothed.

The horse quieted. By then, Malko had galloped up front, seeing the stationary figure not far from them.

What have we got here? he asked.

I don’t know, Marcus answered.

Malko sat higher on his saddle, trying to get a better look, cupping a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

If he doesn’t move, he’ll be mincemeat.

The lion had put distance between itself and the horsemen since it was stalking the new prey, inching closer to the kneeling figure by the rock caves.

The lion halted a few yards from the kneeling man, as if taking stock of the new opportunity. The victim remained in place, immobile. He seemed oblivious to the danger. The lion sniffed closer.

Marcus jumped from his horse, calling for one of the men to take the reins. Next, he commanded a portion of his troops, about eighteen soldiers, to hike forward at a quick double-time pace, their spears outstretched.

Malko, sitting atop his horse, scrutinized the situation.

Jogging ahead of the others, Marcus stopped ten feet from where the lion surveyed the kneeling figure.

He flicked his eyes from the kneeling man to the lion and back to the kneeling man again. The lion seemed to have no interest in Marcus and his soldiers, who now spread out in a semi-circle behind him, their spears leveled with their waist.

The lion pawned forward with one leg, then growled at the intended prey, a few yards away.

The kneeling figure didn’t move. The long gray robe draped over his shoulders and covered his face and head. The man seemed to be hunched down, as if in prayer.

He’s fucking mad! Marcus heard from one of the men behind him.

The lion will surely get him, said another.

The lion surged back, tensing his rear legs.

Certain the lion was going to pounce, Marcus transferred his sword from his right hand to his left and pulled out his dagger. He flipped it so he could grasp the blade end, and he snapped a throw at the lion. The dagger missed its mark, as the lion swerved to one side. The blade flew past its head, and bounced off a mound of rocks. Marcus and his men trounced forward. The lion turned about and scampered away, escaping up a hilly incline into the massive boulders beyond.

Marcus was the first to reach the kneeling figure. He tore off the man’s robe, exposing his head.

You stupid fool!

Staring back at him was the face of a boy. Marcus went blank for a moment, blinking down at the youth.

What in Jupiter’s name?—

The boy had a smooth face, with high cheekbones and full lips.

Are you out of your mind? Marcus snapped.

The boy looked at him and past him, as if Marcus were not there. His eyes shone white and wide.

Are you all right? Marcus asked, clutching the boy’s shoulder. What are you doing here?

My Father has come, the boy murmured.

His eyes rolled up into his head as he crumpled. Marcus grabbed hold of him before he hit the dirt. He cushioned the boy’s head on the ground and forced open his mouth pulling at the tongue with his thumb and forefinger to prevent the boy from swallowing it. The boy’s breathing came fast and hard as a tremor consumed his body.

The other legionaries had witnessed the strange sight.

Who is he? one asked.

I don’t know.

Marcus held the boy’s head in the crook of his arm, noting that his skin was hot, searing.

I think he’s got a fever.

It’s madness to be out here in the middle of nowhere, another legionnaire remarked.

He must be mad, another added.

What do we do with him? one of the veterans asked.

I don’t know.

Marcus examined the boy’s face. He was unconscious, but the trembling had passed and his breathing had become regular and even.

We can’t leave im in the middle of nowhere, the veteran said.

Why not? Malko countered. Wherever he’s from, he’s long way from his village.

Malko had dismounted and had taken a place in front of the other soldiers.

He’s, he’s just... a lad.

"So what? Malko questioned. We have a mission to accomplish. We can’t take on some... wayward Jew."

So you say just leave im here? the veteran asked.

Yes, Malko retorted

The veteran looked down at Marcus.

"Pilus prior, we can’t just..."

Stop. Malko interjected. This kid is probably one of the rebels we’re seeking. And, if he’s not, it’s his own fault for being out here.

"Pilus prior..." the veteran objected, using Marcus’ formal title as the head centurion.

What’s the nearest village from here? Marcus asked, looking down at the youth, who still lay unmoving in the sand.

Nazareth, Malko replied.

Maybe this kid’s from Nazareth, Marcus wondered aloud.

"So what if he is? We can’t take him back."

Why not?

Because that isn’t what we’re here for, Malko answsered, his voice peevish, we’re supposed to be looking for Judas and his bandits. To take this kid back to Nazareth, or wherever, would deter from the mission.

Marcus stood up, still looking at the prostrate boy.

We need water, he said. We can take back this boy, get water in Nazareth, and be on our way.

Are you sure? Malko asked, studying Marcus’ face for a moment. It’s going to delay us more.

I’m aware of that. Marcus insisted. But I’m not leaving this boy here.

He’s just another Jew, Malko objected. What do we care?

We need to get water, Marcus repeated. We’ll get it in Nazareth.

He took a peek at the sun and averted his eyes, and then he remembered. The boy had been looking up at the sun. Only someone who had gone blind, or wanted to be blind, would do that. His men were right—sheer madness.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY CAME OVER the rise on the broad hill facing the village. Sarah was the first to see them, as she drew water from the well. Two men, on horseback, rode at a slow gait, deliberately holding back on the reins so that the rest of the men on foot could maintain the steady legionary pace. Her eyes trailed to the four soldiers behind, carrying a makeshift stretcher comprised of a rectangular Roman shield attached by ropes to two long spears, a Roman soldier on each end of the spear. In the center of the shield, lying on a woolen cloak, was a boy, barely conscious. As they came closer, she recognized him.

Yeshua! she whispered.

She put down the bucket and ran back to get Yosef, but he was outside before she reached the house. He had seen them from the open window of his carpentry shop.

Romans, she murmured And they have...

I know, he replied, squinting out into the distance, noting the detachment of soldiers carrying his son. We’ll have to get water, he whispered. These Romans will be thirsty.

Sarah noticed that Miriam, Yosef’s wife, had also stepped outside.

They have Yeshua, Mariam said.

Yes, Yosef nodded. Go get the boys. Romans get suspicious of any Jew who wanders about.

But they have Yeshua, Miriam repeated.

Woman—do as I say, Yosef continued in an even voice.

He remained standing by the courtyard while Miriam went behind the house to the small plot where her three sons tended to the vegetable garden. They had stopped their work, since they, too, had seen the soldiers coming over the hill. With them, she hurried back to Yosef, while the other men in the village came outdoors. Except for Sarah and Mary, the other women remained indoors.

One of the men on horseback approached cautiously. He sat straight-backed on the saddle and carried the hard, vine wood stick that defined the office of a centurion. Yosef had seen enough of the Roman military in his day to denote those in authority. Even without the swagger sticks, the centurions were easy to discern by their plumed helmet crest, which was planted from side to side rather than from front to back like the tribunes and other officers.

The centurion on horseback trotted slowly up to Yosef where he stood with his wife and three sons and stopped a few feet away. The Roman looked from side to side, taking in the village and its inhabitants outside houses built of sun-dried bricks. He noted the men, especially Yosef, with the long curls on each side of his head and small, brown beard.

After the cursory inspection, he signaled to the other man on horseback to approach. The other horseman signaled to the foot soldiers to come forward, including the four Romans holding the stretcher on each side.

The centurion waited for his comrade on horseback to come alongside before dismounting his horse, keeping his eyes on Yosef and the others gathered about the courtyard.

His companion was no less careful, but more arrogant. He dismounted his horse by swinging his right leg over the saddle and jumping to the ground—unlike the first centurion who had dismounted by the usual fashion—one leg down then the other. This second man is given to grand gestures, Yosef noted, as he had always been suspicious of men given to grand gestures.

When Yosef turned, his eyes met Miriam’s. She shared his apprehension, yet there was a new fear in her. She placed a hand to her mouth, as if wanting to hold back a cry. She swallowed hard and rushed to where the four solders held the stretcher, her three sons following at her heels.

The centurion watched Miriam and her sons huddling around the shield on which the boy lied. Like other Jewish woman, Miriam wore a mantle over her head and shoulders. She is somewhat attractive for a Jewess, Marcus thought, even one with a litter of four. Her sons ranged in age from eight to eleven, or so he reckoned. They all possessed the same Semitic features: dark, with a shock of black hair and, as was the Jewish custom, each wore a skull cap.

After Marcus gave a sign for the men to place the shield on the ground, Miriam knelt next to it, bringing her son’s head close to her bosom.

The second centurion looked at Miriam holding the boy and gave Yosef a quick glance, but he said nothing.

I’m Marcus Valerianus, the first centurion announced, gesturing with his swagger stick to the other man. This is my second-in-command, Malko.

He motioned toward the stretcher where Miriam held her child.

Do you know this boy?

Yes, Yosef answered. He’s my son.

When he moved toward the boy, Malko grasped the hilt of his sword strapped to his right side and barred Yosef’s way.

Can I see him, please? Yosef pleaded.

Marcus nodded to Malko, who slowly stepped aside, his eyes fixed on Yosef as he hurried to his son.

We need water! Marcus rang out in a high voice.

Immediately, village men went indoors and reappeared with gourds and jugs that they filled from water buckets at the well. They handed the containers to the Roman legionaries, who drank in quick draughts.

Yosef’s sons joined in, grabbing bowls and gourds and rushing back to the Roman legionaries. One of the brothers handed a water-filled gourd to Marcus, and he took precious gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sarah joined the others at the well, filling a wooden gourd with water, she ran back to Yosef and Miriam. Yosef splashed a few drops on Yeshua’s brow. Miriam sprinkled water from the gourd on part of her mantel, using it to moisten the boy’s lips.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open as he sought to raise a weak hand. Father, he murmured.

Rest, Yosef said to his son. You must rest.

He patted the boy’s forehead, feeling hot skin. Marcus stepped closer, standing behind them.

We found him in the desert. He must’ve been out there for a while.

Thank you for bringing our son home.Yosef called back over his shoulder.

Marcus glanced down at the boy as Miriam dabbed his face with the moistened end of her robe.

It isn’t often we find someone wondering in the desert. What was he doing out there?

He was... Yosef began, but his eyes met Miriam’s, and he saw her trepidation. He was seeking something.

Marcus sounded incredulous.

"He was seeking something? What?"

I could not explain, Yosef said in an uncertain tone.

The second centurion, Malko, drawing closer, was standing next to Marcus. His expression was stern.

More than once our columns have been attacked in the desert. Your son was not out there just for sport. Was he spying for the Sicarii? Is he in league with the bandit, Judas, and his band of felons?

No, no, Yosef protested, of course not. Our son isn’t a spy. He was in the desert because--- he hesitated, looking at Miriam, whose face showed fear.

Doing what? Marcus demanded.

Yosef waved off the inquiry.

Please... please, our son is ill.

He shifted back toward Yeshua, incoherent and mumbling.

Marcus clutched Yosef’s arm, forcing him to stand up.

Look---what was he doing in the desert?

Marcus’ face had been hardened by the wind and sun of Judea. He was of medium build, with stern eyes and stern features, and holding himself erect, he lent the appearance of one who would brook no nonsense.

Please, Miriam entreated, he isn’t well.

Marcus eyed the boy carefully.

Obviously, he’s not well—he was out in the desert heat, at midday, by himself. That is not normal.

Miriam brushed back a lock of Yeshua’s hair.

Our son is... unique. He often goes out into the desert. It’s his— she said, turning to Yosef, whose expression was grim—he finds solace there.

Hand still on sword hilt, Malko seemed dubious.

Solace? What solace can one find in the desert?

Malko scanned the whole of the village.

I say we search the village, then we burn it.

Yosef tried to remain calm, but the alarm was visible on his face.

We’re here to gather information, nothing more. Marcus retorted.

Malko frowned, not at all pleased.

Yosef bent down, scooped up Yeshua in his arms.

Please, we must tend to our son.

When he rose and started toward his house, Malko moved to stop him, but Marcus grabbed Malko’s arm, holding him back, provoking Malko’s angry glare.

Marcus ignored him, following Yosef and Miriam into the house.

I need answers, Marcus insisted. What was your son doing out in the desert?

Yosef ignored the centurion, ministering to his son, while Miriam went to retrieve a water jug from a corner. Marcus seized Yosef’s arm and spun him about.

I need some answers.

Yosef glared back, defiant..

And I need to tend to my son.

He turned and bent over the boy, brushing his son’s cheek.

When Marcus grabbed Yosef’s arm again, Yosef jerked his arm free. Miriam came between them, holding the water jug.

Please, she said, our son needs us.

Marcus took a step back, eyes locked on Yosef.

Miriam touched Yosef lightly on the arm—an unspoken signal between man and wife. Yosef went to a rough-hewn table in a corner of the room, picked up a small wooden cup, and returned to Miriam. She poured water into the cup and held it to Yeshua’s lips, while Yosef cushioned his head.

Marcus rubbed his forehead and tried in a less aggressive manner.

Listen, I can understand your concern for your son. I’m also a father. But that does not take away from the fact that your son was out in the desert—and not far from where one of our columns was recently attacked. If he is a courier for Judas and his band of felons, I want to know. That is the only way I can protect him.

Protect him from what? Yosef snapped. The Roman authorities?

Our son isn’t a courier or a spy, Miriam insisted in her soft voice. He is no such thing.

She gazed down at the boy.

He is just our son.

And a strange one at that! Marcus sighed. What was he doing out there?

Yosef spoke to Marcus, his voice taking on the soft persuasive tone of Miriam’s.

Have you never ventured out somewhere just to—be?

I don’t understand, Marcus volunteered.

Yosef exchanged glances with Miriam as she cast her eyes downward, saying nothing.

Just be aware, Yosef assured the centurion, that our son isn’t evil, and he would never harm anyone, Jew or Gentile. He simply must do what he must.

Marcus looked down at the boy’s calm, dark face. His eyes were shut as he rested peacefully. He’ll grow up to be a handsome man, Marcus mused, if he can survive his childhood.

I don’t presume to understand any of this, Marcus told the parents. But I know this—you best keep him inside or close to your village. We have patrols out there constantly— he thumbed over his shoulder, indicating the outside. I suggest you limit his jaunts in the desert—at least until this emergency is over.

He paused, his words hanging heavy in the room.

If we come across him again, I won’t be responsible for the consequences—especially if my men have been ambushed by the rebels.

You don’t understand, Yosef objected, my son has a—

Miriam placed a gentle hand on Yosef’s arm, silently pressing him to stop talking.

We understand, she said. We will try to keep him close to the village.

That’s all I ask.

Marcus hesitated as he turned to leave, addressing Yosef.

"When I came upon the boy, he said something about his father. What did he mean?" Marcus

I... I... don’t know. Yosef stammered.

Marcus’ eyes narrowed.

"He wasn’t by any chance waiting for you, was he?"

I was...

Miriam clasped Yosef’s hand.

Our son has a great admiration for his father. Sometimes he wishes his father were with him, even when he is not.

Marcus could not make sense of what the woman was saying.

Whatever, he snapped, giving a final stern look. . . You have been warned.

Yosef rushed ahead of him to open the door. Marcus stopped, examining Yosef from head to toe. The man with the small brown beard looked back at him, ready to follow the Roman out. Sometimes he wishes his father were with him, even when he is not. Marcus shook away the thought and strode out the door.

When he returned to his men, some were lounging about the well while others were sitting on the ground, enjoying an unexpected respite.

The village men had also gathered around, eying the Romans with thinly-veiled rancor. The legionaries ignored it or didn’t seem to care, except for Malko, who watched Yosef through slitted eyes.

Marcus studied the situation before ordering Malko to gather up the men. Yet Malko didn’t move. His gaze remained on Yosef.

Malko, Marcus called louder.

Deliberate, Malko moved to gather the others, barking orders at the men to assemble and form up.

The man in charge of Marcus’ horse handed the reins to the centurion. Marcus mounted the horse and turned to assess his men, aligned in twos, spears upright, shields in place. Malko, who had also mounted, waited for a command, maintaining a grudging silence.

Marcus raised his hand as a signal for his men to follow, leading them back into the Judean plain. Yosef watched them leave, the horse’s hoofs trailing small pillows of dust. Miriam moved alongside him.

They will be back.

I know, Yosef nodded.

This is the first time Romans have come to our village.

Yosef sighed, looking very tired.

"God willing, they won’t be back

Miriam gazed up at her husband, her eyes moist.

I’m sorry.

Yosef caressed her cheek.

Nothing to worry about. The Romans came and they left. And we continue. And our village is safe.

For now… she sighed.

Yosef took a deep breath and exhaled.

Yes... for now.

They watched the column of soldiers marching out into the distance until they became as small as ants.

CHAPTER THREE

FORTRESS ANTONIA WAS the seat of Roman power in Judea. Marcus Valerianus resonated in its power every time he entered the citadel. Yet as his men trailed into the outer courtyard, trying to keep a decent cadence that resembled something like a soldier’s march, Marcus aimed a sidelong glance at his second-in-command. Malko seemed to be sulking—something that didn’t bode well with Marcus. After he ordered a halt, his men formed in rows of twos on the cobblestones facing the vast armory compound. Malko trotted forward, his horse’s hoofs tapping on the cobblestone yard.

Marcus dismounted just as another man approached from inside the armory gate. The man conveyed an easy familiarity with a wide grin on his face.

So, the praetorian guard has returned. Did the noble Marcus and his fellow fellators have fun in the desert?

Marcus handed his reins to one of the slave attendants who had come from the armory to meet the returning column.

Your humor leaves much to be desired, he responded. How have you been keeping busy—by violating desert sheep?

The other man retained his easy smile.

Violating desert sheep is a practiced art in these parts—and only the most noble of lineage can aspire to its perfection.

Marcus made a skeptical sound.

Quintus, if you weren’t the senior centurion here, I swear you would’ve been sent back to Rome in chains years ago.

My dear Marcus, Quintus jaunted, Rome knows better than to squander one of its treasures— he waved his hand to implicate his surroundings,—even if he is confined to this hellhole.

Quintus turned to Malko who had also dismounted.

And, speaking of hell holes, how did you enjoy your time in the desert, friend Malko?

I didn’t, Malko sneered, shooting a look at Marcus.

Quintus could not hide