Soldier of Rome: Journey to Judea (The Artorian Chronicles) (32 page)

“I see you’ve brought the great teacher to us,” he said to Justus. “Please, bring him this way.”

The centurion gave orders to the ranking decanus, and the legionaries formed a cordon just outside the main entrance. Valens elected to follow Justus inside. As Justus waited in another room to escort the Nazarene in to see Herod, Valens saw none other than the evil seductress, Salome, walking down the stairs. She immediately noticed him and smiling wickedly, walked slowly towards him.

“Tiberius Valens,” she said with a t
race of mockery in her voice, “The mighty optio of the First Century, First Italic Cohort.”

“Salome, the Herodian
whore,” Valens replied with equal disdain. “You put your mouth to better use when you’re not speaking. A pity I did not have my way with your mother, too, as I assume you had to learn the tricks of your trade from somewhere.”

In the other room, Justus waited for their audience with Herod. He whispered to the Nazarene, “I promise, it is going to be alright.”

Jesus finally spoke, albeit cryptically. “It is fortunate that such power is not yours, Justus.”

“You call me by name,” the centurion said, somewhat confused.

“I have known your name since before you did.
” This last remark baffled Justus, as he surmised that this man was at least a couple years younger than him. There was no time for him to inquire further, as the chamberlain led them into Herod’s chamber, which was filled with members of the court.

“Ah, Jesus bar Joseph!” Herod said excitedly as the men entered. “The most famous man to ever come out of my lands, we meet at last!”

The Nazarene remained silent as Herod approached him, as did several of his assembled priests.

“Is this the man who wishes to make himself king of our people?” one of the men asked.

“I hear he can perform miracles,” another said with a voice dripping of sarcasm.

“Yes, a miracle!” Herod said excitedly, then calling for a cup of water. “I hear you raised a man from the dead, but I will not ask such extreme things from you. Only, can you turn this cup of water into wine like we were told you did at a wedding
this last summer?”

A servant nervously held the cup up to Jesus, who simply glanced at it but said nothing.

“No?” Herod asked with a trace of disappointment in his voice. He slapped the bottom of the cup, sending it flying out of the servant’s hands, the contents spilling all over the Nazarene. Herod then walked slowly around him, eyeing him closely before breaking into a fit of nervous laughter. “Bah! This man is no messiah, nor is he a king. Caiaphas’ men seem to have rattled his brain and his ability to speak. This man is a fool, but completely harmless. Get him out of my sight!”

“Herod has refused to deal with the Nazarene,” Valens sa
id as he entered Pilate’s study, where the procurator was conversing with both his wife and Centurion Artorius. Justus had sent the optio ahead while he escorted Jesus back to the Praetorium.

“What?” Pilate snapped.

“He said that the man is a fool but a harmless one.”

“So he did not acquit him, exactly,” Pilate muttered. “Meaning that he has deferred to me once more. Bastard…”

“My love, please!” Claudia protested.

“Look, I cannot just do nothing,” Pilate retorted, his voice full of irritation. “I have to settle this matter once and for all. I’m going to put an end to this, and after today I hope I never hear about Jesus of Nazareth ever again!”

As Pilate left the office, his temper rising, Artorius turned to Valens. “Summon the rest of the century, and notify Magnus. I want him and his men here as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

The throng of people outside the Praetorium had grown substantially and now numbered in the hundreds. The sight of so many people, all calling for the Nazarene’s blood, unnerved Pilate. He was relieved when he saw Centurion Magnus and Optio Valens leading their centuries, who posted in columns on either side of the steps leading up to Pilate’s chair.

“Excellency,” Caiaphas said, “King Herod has declined to pass judgment on this man, knowing that it is only for you to determine guilt or innocence here. And if guilty, then it takes a Roman magistrate to pass capital sentence.”

“I am well aware of my responsibilities,” Pilate glowered. He glanced over at the Nazarene and then back to the high priest. “You charge this man with three crimes. The first is perverting of your nation. I could give a vat of piss about your religious laws, and so whatever blasphemies you say he has committed mean nothing to me or to Rome. The second charge you say is he has forbidden the payment of tribute. I have several witnesses, including one of my own centurions, who will attest otherwise.
Render unto Caesar
were these man’s words. Therefore, of the first two crimes, I can immediately declare Jesus of Nazareth
not guilty
. The third charge; that of sedition against the Roman Empire is the one I must weigh carefully.”

“The man professes to be a king!” Caiaphas spat. “Your own soldiers heard it!”

“Crucify him!”
a voice shouted from the crowd, which was quickly echoed by several others.

“Enough!”
Pilate boomed as he rose to his feet. “I will speak to this man alone and ascertain the truth.” He then turned and went back into the atrium.

A pair of legionaries led the Nazarene to the secluded area, where Pilate dismissed them.

“Have you nothing to say?” the procurator asked. “I want to help you, but you must help me if I am to save you.”

“It is not I who needs to be saved,” Jesus said calmly.

“Do you not hear that?” Pilate asked, waving towards the Praetorium, where the voices of the angry crowd continued to shout for the Nazarene’s death. “They say you claim to be a king, and as such you seek to subvert the authority of Rome.”

“My kingdom,” Jesus replied slowly, “Is not of this world.”

“So you are a king, then!” Pilate said.

“
You say that I am a king. The reason I came into the world is to testify to the truth. If one is on the side of truth, they listen to me.”

“But what
is
truth?” Pilate asked in frustration. He paused for a moment, and when the Nazarene did not speak he said to him, “Your lack of defense is putting me in a bind. If you would but say a few words of reason on your own behalf, I could pass the final verdict of
not guilty
and be done with this! Yet you leave me with few options.”

“As I said, it is not I who needs to be saved.”

“Damn it, man!” Pilate snapped. Then shaking his head he said, “You leave me no choice. You will be chastised under the lash, and hopefully that will appease this mob.”

As the procurator returned, Caiaphas turned to the
throng and signaled for them to cease in their shouting. He then nodded to Pilate. “What words have you for us, Excellency?”

“I find no fault in his man,” Pilate answered, eliciting a furious backlash from the masses, all screaming for the Nazarene’s torture and execution.

Artorius signaled to Magnus and Valens, who led their men into a semicircle of two ranks on the bottom two steps. Yet even the sight of Roman soldiers behind their shield wall did little to quell the mob’s growing rage.

“Did he not confess to being a king?” Caiaphas persisted.

“The man you call Jesus of Nazareth is of no threat to the Roman Empire,” Pilate replied, trying to keep his voice strong, yet calm and in control. “However, for causing such a disturbance, and for refusing to mount any serious defense of himself…”

“That’s because he has none!” a man in the crowd shouted, leading to him taking a blow to the stomach from the bottom edge of a legionary’s shield.

“And for that,” Pilate continued, “I will have him chastised with the lash. At which time I hope reason and sanity return to your senses!” He then nodded to Abenader, who subsequently led the Nazarene away to where his interrogators would exact the punishment.

“That crowd is getting ugly,” Artorius emphasized once they were back in the atrium.

“I can bring my men up,” Justus added.

“No,” Pilate said, shaking his head. “No more soldiers. We have two centuries already. Any more and I suspect we will have a bloodbath on our hands.”

Ten minutes later, w
hile legionaries kept an uneasy watch on the restless crowd, Artorius ventured down into the pit where prisoners suffered flagellation while tied to a great pillar. The horrifying sight almost caused him to vomit. The Nazarene was barely standing upright, his arms wrapped around the pillar and his hands tied together. His back, shoulders, arms, and legs were all soaked in blood. Countless deep gouges scoured his back, and it was no small wonder that his body had not gone into shock as a result. The torturer was continuing to lash him, only using a large whip covered in barbs that would hook into the flesh and rip it away in grotesque chunks.

“What the hell is this?”
Artorius shouted.

There were several other auxiliaries present, all spitting and taunting the Jewish teacher, whose breath was now coming in short rasps.

“Pilate said to lash him, so we are,” the decurion remarked with a shrug.

Artorius found himself unable to control his fury; inner rage that had long lain dormant manifested itself as he walked over to the auxiliary officer and with every ounce of his strength smashed his fist into the side of his face. The
decurion collapsed onto his side, eyes open in shock.

“Idiot!”
the centurion howled, his wrath fully unleashed. “You were told to chastise, not lash him to death!” He then proceeded to kick the decurion repeatedly. The auxiliaries stood in shock as they watched their officer being beaten by the enraged centurion. But then something happened that no one expected. Artorius suddenly stopped and cried out, as if paralyzed. He looked over his shoulder and saw that it was the Nazarene himself who was restraining him.

No one seemed to question how he’d gotten free of his bonds or that he was even able to stand. The fact that simply placing a hand on the
centurion’s shoulder seemed to physically restrain him was unnerving. Artorius caught his gaze, and the man quietly shook his head.

“Why?” Artorius asked.

Instead of answering, the Nazarene fell to a knee, suddenly weakened by his horrifying ordeal. Blood was pooling in the sand, and it was no small wonder that he had not succumbed already.

Artorius looked to the auxiliaries. “Help him up. Put his robes back on him and bring him to Pilate. Surely he’s suffered enough.”

As he made his way up the steps that led back to the atrium and the Praetorium, Artorius worried that the Nazarene’s injuries were already so fearful that he may not survive them. It was another ten minutes before he was returned, this time wearing not his own robes, but shabby ones of purple. That he was able to walk on his own made Artorius speculate that perhaps his injuries were not as fearful as they’d appeared. What appalled him was a crown of thorns stuck into the top of his head. They dug into his scalp in numerous places, leaving trickles of blood that already added to the macabre spectacle.

“A king needs a crown,” one of the auxiliaries said, before spitting on the Nazarene once more.