LITMIR.BIZ

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young Hebrew who had lost his mind. A few were skeptical enough to suspect it was a trick to get inside the garrison. The others retorted that if it was a trick, it was a very stupid trick.

      “Is he your relative?” Adas asked. Jamin was amazed he spoke to him in Hebrew, and nodded in answer. “Do you wish to give him something to drink?”

      Jamin thanked him, took a sponge from his knapsack and secured it to his stick. He poured wine into the sponge. “He’s my little brother.”

      Lucius looked up from his gambling and frowned at Adas. “Is there something you want to say, Octavean?”

      Lucius came to his feet at attention. “No, Centurion. I have nothing to say.”

      “Then get that sneer off your face.”

      “Yes, Sir.” Lucius sat down. He clenched his fists, but his expression turned stoic.

      Hektor wondered why Lucius went out of his way to antagonize Longinus. It was foolish at best, dangerous at worst. Yet, Hektor knew Lucius was no fool. Something odd was going on. He wondered if a profit could be made. Taking bets on a fight to the death between Longinus and Octavean would garner a great deal of money. The risk of such a scheme would be substantial, but Hektor was a gambling man. He never could resist a good wager.

      Chapter 2

      Lucius tossed his wineskin down. Since it was nearly empty, he didn’t bother to reseal it. “By the gods, I will teach that fraud of a centurion a lesson someday. I hate sitting here with flies and heat waiting for these convicts to die, especially under his command. Valentius pulls Longinus out of rotation for the worst assignments, and us along with him. As long as we’re in his centuria we’re going to suffer.” The other two soldiers nodded in agreement.

      As Jamin tended to Demas, Adas walked a short distance away, giving the brothers some privacy. Adas didn’t hear what Lucius said to the other two soldiers, but Jamin did. It surprised him to hear dissention in the ranks. He thought Romans were always brutally well organized.

      When Demas could take no more wine, he turned his head away. Jamin lowered the stick and retreated to his place on the sand. Lucius watched, disgusted that the thief was allowed to receive aid. He could be punished for insubordination, but in his drunkenness, he didn’t care.

      “Centurion Longinus, Sir! Do you wish us to give comfort to the other two as well? If we ignore them it might stir up a riot.” If he had been sober, Lucius would never have called the centurion’s judgment or courage into question.

      Adas bristled with anger. “Are you mocking me, Octavean? Are you too stupid to know it makes no difference what you think of me? I can order your execution, and it will be done.”

      Lucius leapt to his feet. He wanted to say, “Are you sure about that?” Instead, he caged his temper and apologized. “I meant no harm, Centurion. Pilate has made it clear he does not want another riot. The criminal in the center is popular with the people. They may rally against us, and there are only four of us.”

      “Your feigned concern doesn’t fool me! Offer the wine to the other two men.”

      While Lucius obeyed, Hektor whispered to Falto, “Want to wager on a fight to the death? Octavean or Longinus?”

      Falto nodded. “Put me down for ten denarii on the Lion.”

      Lucius often got into fights, but always with people of lesser status to avoid severe punishment. But with this young centurion, he seemed to be purposely baiting him. The two legionaries were unaware of what motivated him to play this dangerous game, but they figured the end result would be entertaining.

      Adas again fingered the handle of his dagger and glared at Lucius. He was tired of the legionary’s questionable attitude. Adas tried to focus on anyone other than Lucius and his eyes fell on Yeshua. The man watched him with the most unexpected expression—sympathy. Yeshua had been silent for some time, but now he spoke with clarity. The centurion stared in shock. The other three soldiers stopped what they were doing and frowned at Adas.

      “Centurion, what did he say?” asked Hektor, surprised at the astonishment on his commanding officer’s face. Adas did not respond at first, but then he translated.

      Lucius shrugged his shoulders. “Forgive us? For what? We’re following orders. He tells his father to forgive us. Who is his father? Where is he?” He scanned the crowd of spectators. “I don’t see anyone who could be his father.”

      Adas tugged on his armor as if the metal chest-plate was uncomfortable. The legionaries returned to their game, but Lucius shouted no more insults at the Nazarene. Adas studied Yeshua as shame pierced his heart. The heat was making him slightly sick, or at least, that is what he told himself as he sat down on the sand. However, his persistent nauseous feeling was getting worse. He tried to imagine he was somewhere else, anywhere but here. Nothing on this day was as it should be. His fellow soldier was his enemy, and the Nazarene, who should have cursed him, had instead forgiven him. The eerie darkness which started as soon as Yeshua was on the cross only increased the dread he felt as soon as Valentius assigned him the executions.

      A childish voice interrupted the centurion’s thoughts. “Soldier, why are you sitting there with your eyes closed? Don’t you like to watch criminals die?” A Roman boy of nine years old stood next to Adas with his small hands on his hips. Annoyed with the intrusion, Adas snapped his eyes open and glared at the child. Startled, the boy stepped back.

      A man yanked him away. “What did I tell you about wandering off? It’s not safe, especially here.” The boy’s father spun away, dragging his son after him.

      Adas watched them disappear into the crowd. A particularly unpleasant childhood memory surfaced. His father had reprimanded him for the same reason, but with a different result. He signaled for Lucius to approach. “Octavean, your behavior is inexcusable. I will report it to Centurion Valentius.” Adas curtly dismissed him.

      The legionary turned away quickly to hide his calculating expression. Involving Valentius was what Lucius wanted. As a legionary, he was not allowed to initiate direct contact with any cohort centurion, but Lucius had an understanding with Valentius. Pretending to be concerned by the reprimand, he rejoined the other two legionaries. He inspected the last item of clothing and picked up the dice.

      “Ohe! I want this tunic with no seams. Let’s cast the lots and see who gets the highest number.” The other two nodded agreement, relieved that Lucius’s temper had cooled.

      Lucius had never been promoted above the rank of legionary, in spite of his intelligence, battlefield prowess, and regal stature. A daunting curse seemed to hang over his head. His father gave him to the army when he was eight years old, hoping his son would acquire the best benefits the Roman army offered. His hope was more than possible since Lucius excelled at his training. His superior strength, quick reflexes, and fast thinking made him the most feared sparring partner among the boys in training.

      Junio, the chief training officer, set Lucius on a special program since he showed the most promise. Lucius was eager to please his training officers, but mostly, he wanted to please his father. Lucius understood that his parents let him go so he might have a better life. But the dream was shattered when he, at the age of eleven, killed a man. That man was Rufino Equitius Octavean, his own father.

      It was a double tragedy. Not only did Lucius lose the father he dearly loved, he never saw his mother, Sevina, again. She never remarried, but lived in Rome, sharing her time between the homes of two daughters. Lucius sent a portion of his pay to her every month, and she accepted it. He made no attempt to see her, neither did she ask to see him, nor did she acknowledge his financial support. Worried the pay claims weren’t getting to her, he sent letters to his sisters. They confirmed their mother received them every month. However, guilt for his father’s death made his heart grow as cold and unforgiving as the blade of a sword. His only goal was to stay alive longer than the next man.

      Adas Clovius Longinus was on the opposite end of life in the Roman world. His father, Aquila, was a wealthy land owner and architect who bore the title of Consul,

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