The Galilean Secret: A Novel (32 page)

“You should have listened to me, Dismas!” Gestas was continuing some inner dialogue—a fight with Dismas that he was replaying in his mind. The words stabbed Dismas. Gestas’ meaty features were animated. As if unable to stop, he roared on, “I told you that soldiers would be watching the Temple at Passover. It was worse this year because of that rabbi from Nazareth. The Romans think he’s one of us. His fame and your stupidity landed us here.”

Dismas scowled back, but held his tongue. Hearing Gestas mention Jesus of Nazareth sent a chill through him. Maybe his letter had been right. Maybe lust and greed and violence destroyed the soul, and maybe Jesus did offer inner freedom. Only now did Dismas realize that he wanted what Judith had—release from the guilt and shame of betraying Gabriel.
I will get out of here and start a new life,
he told himself.
I will leave the Zealots, beg Gabriel to forgive me and win Judith back. We have to escape!

He heard footsteps. Two soldiers wearing breastplates and red-plumed helmets appeared outside the cell. “Barabbas! We have come for Barabbas!”

“Here I am,” Barabbas said, a note of defiance in his voice. The soldiers opened the barred door and approached quickly.

Dismas eyed them, ready to strike. When they came within an arm’s length, Barabbas yelled, “Now!” Barabbas and Gestas dove at one soldier’s legs. Dismas rushed the other guard and began to choke him as the Roman’s partner cried for help. Caught flat-footed, the soldiers reeled back and fell as the other Zealots piled on. Dismas grabbed the keys, but as he reached to free Barabbas and Gestas, reinforcements arrived. Using their javelins, a dozen cursing soldiers drove the prisoners back against the wall. Two of them wrestled the keys from Dismas, while another held a sword to Barabbas’ throat. “Did you really think you could escape a Roman prison?” The tall soldier laughed. “If Pilate didn’t want you alive, I would kill you myself.” He drew a trickle of blood from Barabbas’ arm and then turned to Dismas and Gestas. “You two will die soon enough.”

The soldier unlocked Barabbas’ chains. “This is your day of fortune. The crowd wants the rabbi from Nazareth crucified instead of you.” He turned to Dismas and Gestas. “No one but the gods can save you two.” The soldier sneered and led Barabbas out of the prison.

J
udith heard pounding feet and bodies crashing against each other in the cell down the corridor. Men were yelling, and she recognized two of the voices: They belonged to Dismas and Gestas! She tugged futilely at her chains as she realized what was happening. Dismas, Gestas and Barabbas had tried to escape; now Barabbas was being freed, and Jesus, Dismas and Gestas would be crucified
. Oh God, oh God, oh God,
she thought
. How can this be happening? Don’t let the Romans do it. Please help me, God!

Never had she felt so alone, yet through her fear and rage, the serenity she had known in Jesus’ presence never left her. She prayed and remained quiet for some time, until she heard the guards approaching. When they threw the door open, she gawked in disbelief.

There stood her father and Gabriel.

They burst in and embraced her.

“We went to Pilate and told him who you were,” her father said. “He demanded a large bribe, but since Nicodemus brought no charges, he agreed to release you.”

After the guards had freed her, she faced Gabriel, wiping away tears. “I am so sorry for what I did to you. It was cruel. Can you ever forgive me?”

Gabriel, anguish glinting in his teary eyes, said, “Only with God’s help.”

As they left the prison, Judith rubbed at her wrists and ankles. The streets were flooded with people flowing out of the city.

“What is going on?” Gabriel asked the first man he passed.

“Pilate has sentenced Jesus of Nazareth to be crucified at Golgotha,” the thin elderly man answered matter-of-factly.

Although Judith had expected this, actually hearing it brought acrid bile to the back of her throat. She nudged Gabriel along the street. “Jesus was in prison with me last night. Dismas will be crucified with him. We must go to be with them.”

Gabriel took her hand and joined the procession to Golgotha. Her father tried to stop them, but she shook loose and said, “I could not live with myself if I did not go.” Nathan frowned disapprovingly and turned toward home. In spite of her exhaustion, she pressed on.

T
he soldiers dragged Dismas out of the cell, followed by Gestas, and wrestled them toward the courtyard. There they encountered more soldiers, several holding whips. The soldiers were unchaining a tall, broad-shouldered man from the whipping post. Gangly in appearance, he had long, dark hair and intense, penetrating eyes. Dismas had never seen a man in such physical condition, the skin hanging off his back in sections, the tissue and bone exposed.

Yet the man held his chin high, asserting a personal authority that violence and pain could not challenge. He refused to divert his gaze from those of the soldiers, his silent defiance strangely victorious.

Dismas’ knees buckled. The soldiers steadied him, tied him and Gestas to the posts, and began to flog them. Dismas tried to steel himself against the impact of the bone and metal at the ends of the leather cords, but to no avail. The first blow sent white lightning ricocheting through his brain. The sun exploded on his back. He cried for mercy, but lash after lash continued to pummel his back.

The next thing he remembered was the soldiers forcing him to pick up and carry the wooden crossbar to which he would be nailed. He bore it on bloodied shoulders, mocked and spat on by the crowd lining the street. Some of the people were shouting words of sympathy to the man who had been flogged before him. As Dismas stumbled behind him, he heard the man’s name.

Jesus.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THE WEED-STREWN FIELD BECKONED JUDAS AS IF IT WERE A POOL OF REFRESHING WATER. He stopped running and bent over, hands on his knees, lungs heaving, sweat streaming from every pore. He fought to catch his breath between sobs. Because he was gasping for air, the sobs sounded like retches. The morning’s brilliance mocked the darkness that shrouded his heart. Seeing Jesus condemned by the Sanhedrin and led away to Pilate had overwhelmed him with guilt. He fled the city and came to this rocky patch of land called the Valley of Hinnom, rope in hand.

Through watery eyes he saw a sturdy olive tree thirty feet away. He gripped the rope and stumbled toward it. The tree’s lowest branch stood ten feet above the ground. He used the large knots on the trunk to support his weight and climbed up. As he tied the rope to the branch and formed a noose on the other end, a memory played in his mind.

He was meeting Jesus for the first time, on the Plain of Gennesaret, watching him bless baskets of bread and fish and pass them to his friends. Thin and somewhat awkward, Jesus still carried himself with a serenity and assurance that inspired confidence in others. He addressed each man and woman by name and made sure that everyone had enough to eat. But Judas barely saw Jesus. His eyes were fixed on Mary Magdalene’s fathomless dark eyes, her silken hair and the mystery behind her sensual smile.

On the heels of Judith’s rejection, Judas’ heart burned for Mary. When Jesus’ eyes met his, Judas felt embarrassed by his lustful thoughts. But the thoughts never left him. How he wished he had known they would lead him here, to this desolate place of rock and weed, with a rope in hand. The only person who had tried to understand was Gabriel. He spoke of the female image of God. Of how finding her heals a man and unleashes his joy and creativity. But no true man would believe such a ridiculous idea.

Judas finished securing the rope to the branch and felt his way back to the tree trunk. The earlier memory faded into a recent one: the memory of the arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane. Judas had led Pilate’s soldiers and Caiaphas’ police there and betrayed Jesus with a kiss. As he watched the soldiers take Jesus away, Judas felt as if a chain were wrapped around his heart, growing tighter with each step. The memory brought such pain that Judas nearly lost his balance. He clung to the tree with one hand and the rope with the other. More memories intruded.

Caiaphas questioning Jesus.

The Temple police taking Jesus to prison.

Judas roaming the streets all night like a madman, wracked with guilt.

Jesus being handed over to Pilate in the morning.

The crowd yelling, “Crucify him!”

Judas’ throat ached from sobbing. His ears were ringing and his vision blurry. Returning the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests hadn’t eased the pain. Nor had writing a note to Mary Magdalene and leaving it in the upper room with her name on it. Each beat of his heart had become unbearable, a reminder that he was alive even though his spirit was dead. He had lied to many people, but no lie was greater than the one he had told himself—the lie that Mary Magdalene would eventually love him. Now he knew she couldn’t love any man who had betrayed Jesus.

Judas had no more hope. Climbing halfway down the tree, he gripped the trunk with one hand and the rope with the other. He slipped the noose around his neck and held on to the rope above his head. He wanted to ease himself out so his neck wouldn’t break and he could suffocate peacefully.

When he let go of the tree trunk, he immediately felt the rope cutting into his skin. Flailing in the air, he swung to and fro, gagging. The ground began to spin like a whirlpool, threatening to suck him into the depths. He nearly bit through his tongue. A cacophony of pleas erupted in his mind.
Where are you, God? Do you care? Do you even exist? Why did you allow me to hurt so bad and to hurt others?
Suspended in space, he writhed and spit up blood, almost swallowing his tongue. He nearly passed out and became groggy and disoriented.

His nose bled, his temples pounded; his face was on fire. He managed to reach the rope and pull himself up for an instant, but then lost his grip. The full weight of his body slammed down. A jolting pain shot through his arms and legs. He vomited, unable to catch his breath. The putrid odor nauseated him more. His body became dead weight, his exhausted arms too weak to save him. He was defenseless against the terror.

The noose around his neck was slowly suffocating him.
Forgive me, God. Please forgive me.
His eyes were swelling shut; his body growing numb. Seeing nothing but darkness, he tried to cry out but could only whisper, “Mary Magdalene . . . Mary Magdalene . . . Mary. . .”

The strain on his neck increased.

He heard a loud snap.

The darkness became absolute.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Present Day

The dream of perfect love is just that—a dream. Only the love that flows from the heart of God is perfect. No fallible human being can meet all needs and cause no pain. As flawed people living in a broken world, we can’t avoid times of conflict, alienation and loneliness. But we can keep the pain in perspective by finding constructive uses for it. Never forget that God is working to redeem and transform our imperfect love into a glorious fulfillment. When two souls become one, they hasten the dawn of all things made new.

—Brother Gregory Andreou’s Journal