LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “That is not a legal conviction. Apparently, no crime was committed, or proof would have been offered, instead of the ranting of a mob. You are executing an innocent man, which makes you are a murderer, Centurion.”

      Adas was shocked at the accusation. “I do not question my orders, Sir! Who are you to accuse me? Accuse those who sentenced him.”

      “Oh, I will, in due time. I find fault with everyone. However, you are the one carrying out a false conviction. I see the banner.” He pointed to the sign nailed at the top of the beam. “It plainly states ‘Yeshua of Nazareth, King of the Jews.’ Yet, you use crucifixion, which is reserved for the lowest criminal. Likewise, I’ve never seen a man so severely scourged. Is this how you treat a king?”

      “I obey my orders! Leave or be arrested.” Adas, again, turned his back and walked away.

      The other three soldiers stepped closer as the stranger approached them. He spoke softly as he gestured toward the centurion who was out of earshot. The soldiers leaned in, eager to hear the peculiar man’s criticism. His voice was hypnotic.

      When Adas saw the intruder talking to his men, he confronted the merchant. “As I said, you need to leave. Now! You have no business here!”

      The merchant chuckled softly. “Not true. I have business everywhere, but my work here is done.” He threw a sidelong glance up at Yeshua, but dropped his gaze quickly when the Nazarene locked eyes with him. Yeshua and the raspy-voiced intruder had previously met. It had been a very long meeting. The silk merchant started to confront the centurion again when he saw an approaching mounted patrol. He spotted a group of Pharisees heckling the Nazarene and joined the group. He introduced himself. They gathered closer to listen.

      The patrol halted near the Pharisees. Adas approached the lead decurion, a cavalry officer. “Longinus, you only have one squad? You should have more men.”

      “Not the usual protocol, is it?”

      “No, especially with the Nazarene. I can’t believe there isn’t a full scale riot, as popular as he is—was. Want us to stay? We’re coming off shift, but we can spare you an hour.”

      “We were also about to go off duty when Valentius snagged us. We’re tired, but we’ve got it covered. Gratias.” The patrol lingered a short time, and then left.

      Jamin kept a wary eye on the three legionaries as the centurion talked with a decurion. One of the legionaries pulled out a pair of wooden dice from his belt pouch. It was a common practice to gamble for executed prisoners’ garments. The clothes of the three prisoners were piled on the ground before them.

      “Centurion,” called one of the soldiers, “the Nazarene’s tunic is high quality, no seams. Do you want a turn with the lots?” Adas shook his head.

      One of the legionaries, named Falto, threw the dice, laughed and snatched up a sandal. He shook it in the face of the legionary who won the first sandal. Falto was no one’s friend, but everyone’s fool. He was a large man with a small mind, a dangerous combination. The men called him Mustela, Weasel. Some had even forgotten his real name.

      Falto grinned at the winner of the first sandal. “So Lucius, how far will you get with only one sandal?” He dangled it in front of the others and reached for his wineskin.

      Lucius Equitius Octavean slapped the wineskin out of Falto’s hand. “Far enough to take that one away from you! I saw you cheat. You couldn’t trick a gaggle of old women.”

      Few men would have insulted a fellow soldier so blatantly, but Lucius’s heavily muscled physique enabled his volatile temper. He was known as the Lion, and not only because his initials were LEO. He was only thirty-four years old, but had belonged to the Roman Imperial Army for twenty-six years. Women considered him handsome, but the abuse of wrath and warfare was taking its toll. His blonde hair was already peppered with gray, matching his pale eyes. A graphic scar ran down the side of his face. Jamin thought he looked familiar.

      Falto was too drunk to be offended. He jutted his chin forward and offered to give up the second sandal in exchange for Lucius’s wineskin.

      “How ‘bout I just beat it out of you?” Lucius snarled.

      Even drunk, Falto knew he had pushed too far and turned his attention on Yeshua. “Ohe, you there! King of the Jews! They say you healed people. Prove it! Take that ugly scar from Octavean’s sour face!” Falto snickered, missing the annoyed flash in Lucius’s eyes.

      The third soldier, a brown-haired, brown-eyed Greek named Hektor, interrupted the brewing fight with a suggestion. “Why don’t you throw the lots again? Winner gets the pair.”

      He knew Falto had cheated, but saw no reason to side with Lucius. As was his habit whenever he was assigned to a crucifixion detail, Hektor took bets on how long the criminals would survive. Yeshua was famous, and the more famous the criminal, the higher the betting. Hektor expected to make a great deal of money.

      Lucius stood with his feet wide apart and his hands on his hips, giving Jamin a better look at his features. It was the soldier who had been at the river when John baptized Yeshua over three years ago.

      Taking up with the hecklers, Lucius vented his bad humor. “If You are the King of the Jews, save Yourself!” His words were slurred from drunkenness.

      Centurion Longinus stood apart from the legionaries. He ran his fingers through his raven-black hair. His square jaw and high cheekbones gave him an aristocratic appearance, but his expression lacked arrogance. He was average in height, but had a well-defined build. Adas was awarded the centurion title two years previously, and transferred to Jerusalem. He was at the lowest status and the youngest centurion in the entire 10th Legio.

      A minimum of sixteen years of military service was a basic requirement before earning the title of centurion. Adas had only served nine years. A boy could begin army training at eight, but would not become a legionary until the age of seventeen, making the youngest centurion thirty-three years old. Only highly experienced, battle-tested soldiers from high-ranking families were awarded the title, a mark of status, not rank. Even though Adas had the makings of a centurion by his own rights, his father, Consul Aquila Clovius Longinus, was offered the title for his son by Emperor Tiberius. Without even discussing the offer with Adas, Aquila accepted. Unfortunately, Aquila had no idea he had put his son in danger, not only from enemy combatants, but also from the legionaries of his own cohort and the other centurions.

      A Roman legion was divided into units called a cohors. Each cohors was divided into six centuriae. Each centuria usually consisted of a hundred legionaries. The primus pilus centurion commanded the 1st cohors, 1st centuria and was the highest ranking centurion in the legion. The other nine cohors were commanded by pilus prior or cohort centurions. All of the remaining fifty centurions had no other title. As the lowest ranking centurion, Longinus commanded the 10th cohors, 6th centuria.

      Adas shouted, “Octavean, shut your mouth! You may be drunk, but don’t defile any honor you might have by taunting a defenseless man. I know you are not a coward. Don’t pretend to be one.”

      “Yes, Sir!” Lucius’s mouth tightened as his gray eyes narrowed with resentment. He rejoined the other soldiers. Falto and Hektor exchanged glances, but didn’t dare make a comment. Jamin could see that the centurion was genuinely angry at the legionary’s disrespect. Unlike the other soldiers, the centurion was not drunk, not gambling, and not ridiculing the criminals.

      Curious, Jamin watched him. The centurion stepped a few feet away from his men. Guardedly, Jamin looked at the soldier. The centurion’s eyes had an unsettling appearance, deep-set with a piercing stare, not dark, but not pale. Jamin lowered his gaze.

      Adas fingered the handle of his dagger. Even though he hated this part of his job, he accepted it. His usual tactic was to focus on the crime of the condemned, rather than the person. Today, none of his coping skills were working. His growing anxiety made him irritable. Looking for a distraction, he glanced at Jamin.

      Adas looked from Jamin to the thief on the right and saw the same features. All the soldiers knew

Скачать книгу