A Stray Drop of Blood (39 page)

“
Into your hands I commit my spirit.” Titus watched the serenity descend upon the man’s countenance, watched him seize in pain and cry out, “It is finished!”

The shaking this time was not in Titus. The earth beneath him trembled as he watched Jesus breathe his last, the skies split open into a terrible peal of thunder that echoed over the land as if it were protesting the absence of this man’s soul. Titus watched half the crowd take flight and run, the other half shifting uncomfortably, as if ashamed to leave but afraid to stay. The tremors in the ground did not last long, were not intense, but were enough to put fear into every face.

“
He truly is the Son of God.” Titus looked in awe at the corpse that hung above him, closed his eyes when tears surged into them. When he opened them again, his fellow soldiers were staring at him with the same look of disbelief on their faces that he felt on his. They all knew him, though not well. The not well was because he was known to be unapproachable, unfeeling, and unfriendly. He could barely imagine what they must be thinking now. If anything close to what was going through his mind, it was unbelievable.

Their eyes followed his to where the Christ was hanging. He heard them all murmuring. One proclaimed Jesus a righteous man, another agreed, a third said he had never seen a man so perfect.

“
Who is in charge?”

Titus turned to the man who had spoken. His garb said he was one of the elders of the synagogue. “I am.”

The man motioned anxiously to the three on the crosses. “Sundown in approaching, and it will be our Sabbath. They cannot be hanging then. Break their legs and take them down.”

Titus nodded. “It will be done. Musianus, Luke.” He pointed them to either side, then motioned to Jesus. “This one is already dead.”

“
Dead?” The man’s brows lifted. “So soon? Impossible.”

“
Tell him that.” Titus spun away. He was anxious to be away from this scene, to leave his companions and the crowds and have time to think through what he had seen, what he had felt. He had to decide what to do about it.

The crowd was thin now, only a handful remaining on the hillside where before hundreds had been gathered. Titus looked at them for the first time, wondering what had brought them and what kept them. Were some of them the relatives of the criminals? Were some of them the followers of the King of the Jews? If he shouted out his questions, would there be anyone to answer them?

As if this mysterious God was directing him, his eyes fell on one figure, who was curled up in a small ball of pain. He set his jaw in resignation and determination.

~*~

When the skies opened, when the earth shook, something tore within Abigail too. The pain was unbelievable, coiling at the small of her back and then springing forward. Her entire body responded, stumbling to the ground. She knew that it was her baby, ready to make his appearance. But the pain of the contraction was so great she could not move, she could not get up, she could only moan and bite down until her jaw hurt.

Her eyes searched for the face of Jesus, but she saw that it was lifeless now, and her heart wrenched. Her gaze fell. The people who had been in front of her had left, and she could see the activity at the foot of the cross. The centurions were there, three of them looking at the other as he mouthed a few words, his eyes on the cross.

She knew the man. She knew what he said. She felt the echo of the statement within herself. Jesus was the Son of God, Christ, the messiah, and she had just watched him give up his life. The thrill, the terrifying panic, and the underlying peace all settled within her. She still lay where she had fallen, but as the contraction passed, she relaxed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

When she looked again, Titus strode toward her. She was still too weak to so much as sit up when he knelt down at her side.

“
What did you see today?” He brushed an escaped lock of hair back from her face.

The question did not seem odd to Abigail. She smiled peacefully, and the evening sun broke through the clouds in a mirror of her expression. “I have seen the messiah, sacrificed for the sins of the world. I have seen God made man.”

Titus nodded, then sent his gaze over her. “You are in pain.”

“
It is passing.” The ache in her back was so bad she could not straighten it out.

“
The baby?”

“
He is coming.” She pressed a hand to where the child had dropped and squeezed her eyes shut. “I need to get home. I tried to leave when you told me to, but the crowds–”

“
I understand. I will help you home.”

~*~

When she struggled to sit up, Titus saw that she needed more than a little assistance. He scooped her up. Over his shoulder, he said to his fellows, “I am leaving.”

“
But there is still work to attend to!”

He turned so that Abigail was visible to them, her face turned into his shoulder in pain, her stomach looking large against her slight frame. “Jason’s child is on its way.” He knew the name of their fallen friend would carry weight. Jason had been known and loved by most of the members of the garrison. “I am taking her home.”

This time, he was met with nods instead of objection. Titus turned again and headed for the city.

“
Thank you.” Abigail tried to stifle a whimper in his shoulder. “Why does the pain not ebb?”

He did not know, and the question ignited another trace of fear within him. Many women died in childbirth, many children with them. He knew that, but he could not believe it would happen to her, or to Jason’s child. “Your and your babe will be well. By tomorrow, you will be a mother, and you will have a child to inherit Jason’s legacy.”

“
Jason believed.” She raised her head a few inches to look up into his face. She undoubtedly saw the way his eyes widened. “He listened to Cleopas, about the stories of Jesus. When no one else heard him, Jason did. I did not understand, but I do now. There is so much I wish I had paid attention to.”

Something clenched up inside. A strange pride, perhaps even relief. It coupled with determination. Once again, Jason had led the way. This time, he would follow. “We will learn. We will both find someone to tell us of this Christ. When he looked at me, when he touched me–I will never be the same, Abigail. Only now do I realize how much I needed to change. But I know not how.”

“
He did not come to change the commands of Jehovah, but to fulfill them. That is what Cleopas said. The Laws are still our guides.”

Titus, still walking forward as quickly as possible, looked down into the beautiful face that was pinched with anguish. Even with her added burden, she was light in his arms, looking fragile and delicate. But in her mind was the knowledge he lacked, the wisdom he had heard from her before but dismissed. She was a woman, she was a Jew, she had been a slave. But she had the advantage over him. “Will you teach me? I cannot obey laws I do not know. And I need to obey them, Abigail, I know that.”

Abigail studied him for a moment, and he remembered the time only a few days before when she looked at him like that and found him wanting. This time, he was relieved to see her face soften as she nodded.

“
I will share what I know, in the time we have. You leave for Rome in a week?”

“
I do.” Suddenly he was loath to board the ship that would return him to a world away from this one, far from all teaching and Messiah and peace.

Abigail’s muscles tensed, her face echoing pain though her teeth were clenched against it. Titus picked up his pace.

She panted as the tension eased. “They come too quickly. It should take hours for them to be so close, and I had no pains until minutes ago. Pray nothing is wrong, Titus. Pray for Jason’s child.”

Titus had never uttered a prayer in his life. He had always performed lip service to the Roman gods, enough to appease his mother and keep away the wrath if the deities happened to exist. He did not know how one should go about earnestly beseeching a God who held all power, who was above all reproach, who held justice in his hand. But then he remembered the merciful visage of Jesus, and a calm descended on him.

“
In the name of your Son,” Titus whispered, “I ask you, God, to touch Abigail and her child. Keep them well, Lord.”

“
Amen.” Abigail sighed and buried her face in his shoulder to try hide her tears of pain.

Something surged inside him, unfurling. Had he ever protected anyone before? He did not think so. No one had depended on him for anything but a nice evening, no one had put trust in him to see them to safety. It humbled him even as it made him aware of his strength.

By the time they reached her home, Abigail was unable to hold back the moans. Titus approached the kitchen door because it was closest, and it was open. He walked in expecting to find a slave to tell the situation to, but there was no on there, no fire in the hearth, no sounds of life. He walked through the house, going in the direction he knew Jason’s room to be in. That door, too, was open but empty.

“
Here we are.” He placed her on the soft mattress of the bed. “I will go find help.” He left her again, moving through the rest of the house. There was broken pottery in the kitchen, but nothing of value was missing, so he assumed it to be a result of the earthquake rather than thieves. The curious thing, though, was why there was no one else in the house, and no sign of where they could be.

He was headed back to the bed chamber when he heard the shrieking drawing nearer. The word was in Hebrew, the voice obviously a child’s, and within seconds he saw a growingly familiar blur moving down the hall. It came to a halt in front of him. Samuel, with tears streaming down his cheeks and trembling lips.

“
Where is she?”

Even this was new, this warmth that mounted when he saw the boy’s love of his mistress. He motioned to the room. Samuel flew past him and into the chamber, throwing himself onto the bed even as Titus cautioned, “Careful! She is in pain.”

He need not have spoken. Samuel did not jump on Abigail; he merely curled up adjacent to her, his head touching hers, and ran tiny fingers over her face, crooning the same word he had been shouting moments before, then translating it into Greek. “Mother. Mother. You left me.”

Abigail opened her eyes and pulled him near, running a hand over his curls. “I am here. I am home, my son. I will not leave you again.”

“
Samuel.” Titus tried to make his voice gentle. He had no experience with children and could not remember ever being so small himself. So he imitated Abigail. “Do you know where the others are?”

“
They left,” Samuel said between his sobs, his face buried in Abigail’s bosom. “I would not go! Not without you. They could not make me!”

“
Do you know where they went?”

Samuel shook his head. “The doctor took them away. They would not wait.”

Abigail’s features constricted again. She would be concerned for Ester, he knew, but she got out no words. Her back arched against another pain, and she held her breath until it passed.

Titus looked around in consternation, willing a solution to materialize. All he received was the certainty that he alone could help. “I am going for a midwife. Will you be all right for a while, Abigail? I will not be long.”

Abigail nodded wearily. Samuel proclaimed, “I will take care of my mother.”

Titus nodded. “I believe you will. I will hurry.”

The streets were chaotic, a combination of usual pre-Sabbath rush and the added excitement of Passover, an execution, and a small but startling natural disaster. And what made it worse was that he had no idea where to go to find a midwife. He attempted to ask a citizen, but they all went out of their way to avoid him; it was the first time he really noticed or cared, and Titus knew prodigious frustration. He was about to just grab someone and demand an answer when a familiar movement caught his eye, the flash of a cloak, the bounce of a step.

Titus froze. He stared. He beheld with complete disbelief the figure in the distance, knowing he must be going mad. Jason was dead. He had seen his death with his own eyes, he had watched them entomb him, he knew for a fact it could not be his friend that was standing on the end of the street and watching him.

But it was. Every sense and every fiber told him it was. The man looked like Jason, was dressed in the garments he had been buried in. He smiled like Jason had smiled and lifted a hand in the very way that Jason had beckoned.

Titus knew he was going mad, yes. But still, he followed. After all, if his mind was conjuring up images of the dead, perhaps it would have said image lead him somewhere useful.

Jason led him, but Titus found it impossible to draw near. If he ran, so did Jason. When he stopped, the figment did as well and would turn and wait and gesture again for him to follow. Titus did so, wondering where they were going, and wondering too why it was that the others in the street got out of the way of
his
vision. He was led down a street he had never had cause to visit before, and then the man before him was gone. Titus looked around in confusion, ran the length of the street to look for him on the other side, and found nothing. Giving an exasperated growl, he turned again.

“
You are a long way from the garrison, soldier.”