When we set out, we’re invited to ride in the center of the caravan instead of behind it. Antonius rides with us from time to time, as his duties allow. In the late afternoon, we stop near the town of Bethel. The road is flooded with people making their way to Jerusalem for Passover and, although they move aside as the Romans approach, they’ve slowed our progress to the point where we can’t make Jerusalem by nightfall. Antonius decides to encamp here for the night and enter Jerusalem after dawn.
Although they’re an occupying army, the Romans also represent a major source of commerce for the people of Israel, so vendors start to wander to the edge of camp to sell things. Martha and I take a small amount of money and put the rest of our belongings into the care of the Centurion’s guards then, make our way to the vendors.
“We have plenty of food. What do you want to buy?” Martha asks.
“The last time I was here, I found that sometimes it’s best to look like a Roman, while at other times it’s better to blend in a little more. I thought we should get some local cloaks so we can cover our togas when need be.”
The Romans never buy the local garb, so none of the vendors are selling any and we end up entering the town to seek what we need. Most people buy cloth and sew their own clothes, so all we find are weavers. I’ve been asking people in the street if anyone sells cloaks, when a voice over my shoulder calls out in Aramaic.
“Perhaps the Roman wolves should buy sheepskins to disguise themselves, instead of Jewish robes?”
I turn to see a man I’ve never met. He’s surprised I understand Aramaic. His right wrist and hand are tightly bound. There are three men behind him and more joining to see what’s happening.
“Or perhaps these are the sheepskins that are allowing us to hide among the Roman flock?”
My response prompts a look of curiosity.
“She broke my hand.”
He nods to Martha.
“It’ll never be right again,” he says.
“I’m sorry for that, but doesn’t the hand that steals deserve to be broken?”
“You dress like a Roman, but you sound like a Pharisee.”
The people who have gathered laugh.
“They tell us to appease the Romans, and grow fat in the great temple while we starve.”
“So the Romans are poor at feeding your body and the Pharisees are poor at feeding your soul? Were you stealing the swords to kill Romans? Or Pharisees? For which do you carry more hate: government or religion?”
“Government and religion are the same. They’re inseparable.”
Two thousand years from now, this man’s words will have come full circle. The government in my time is a religion: the religion of atheism. If Aislin and Garai get their way, it will become a government of Christianity and nothing will have changed in over two thousand years. Religion will have been used, once again, as a means to take power. If the separation of church and state means ‘religion out of the government,’ then it must - by necessity - also mean ‘government out of religion.’ The two must be separated, including unmasking atheism for the religion it’s become.
“I agree. They must be separated,” I say. “I’m going to Jerusalem to see a man who understands we must pay to Caesar the things that belong to Caesar, while we give to God the things that belong to God. I think you should come to Jerusalem and meet Him. His name is Jesus of Nazareth and He’ll teach you to give your heart to God, instead of Pharisees. Once you do that, you’ll see the things of Caesar are not important.”
The man with the broken wrist seems to have softened his heart, but those around him still have eyes full of malice. We still look like two helpless Romans surrounded by angry residents, and many seem to be spoiling for a fight. Martha can sense the mood of the crowd, even without understanding what has been said, and is preparing to fight.
“Petrus,” comes an angry voice from behind the crowd.
People make way and a small contingent of Roman soldiers march into view. It’s the young leader whose lines were penetrated by the robbers.
I’m sure a look of relief floods my face, but he erases it with a slap across my face hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“Petrus. You and this woman are under arrest. You will follow us.”
The crowd parts for the Romans and the townspeople laugh, assuming that we’re to be imprisoned for something.
As we pass back through the Roman lines, the young soldier turns to me.
“You wouldn’t believe how many friends I’ve arrested to get them out of a crowd. The Centurion has asked for you.”
“What’s your name, soldier?” I ask.
“Cato.”
We wait outside the Centurion’s tent, expecting to be summoned inside, but instead he emerges.
“Petrus, Martha, follow me.”
He’s a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed without question, so we fall into line behind him.
We walk to the edge of the camp and stop where the two robbers we helped catch are tied to posts. People from town have come to watch, including the man with the broken wrist.
“I’m told you speak Aramaic, Petrus. While some of the people here understand Greek, I would prefer for you to translate my words into their language.”
“I’m authorized to determine their punishment,” Antonius yells to the crowd. “I can be lenient and just have them whipped, I can order their thieving hands cut off, or I can order them killed. It all rests on my command. These men were caught with the help of this Roman citizen and his slave, so I’ll consider his advice in my decision.”
My advice? That’s strange.
I explain the situation to Martha. We both feel like we’re part of some game the Centurion is playing. Is he trying to put the ire of the Jews onto us? Or is he trying to find a way to be merciful, without appearing weak?
“What’s the purpose of this punishment?” I ask in both Latin and Aramaic.
“To teach the price of stealing from Caesar,” he replies.
“If they’re killed, then what have they learned?”
Antonius smiles at my question.
“I never said it’s only these two thieves who must learn. Their deaths would teach others.”
“When you teach your men to fight, which is the more effective teacher?” I ask. “Watching a fellow soldier die from his mistakes, or watching a fellow soldier who lives? Is the man who lives the better teacher? Or the one who dies?”
Antonius smiles again.
“Ask these men why they want to steal Roman swords.”
I walk to the man I hit in the head. The spot is purple with blood and looks very painful.
“The Centurion asks the question: ‘Why do you steal Roman swords?’”
He tries to spit on me, but refuses to speak. Antonius orders a nearby guard to give the man several tastes of the whip.
“Why do you steal Roman swords?” I repeat.
“To cut your Roman throats.”
There are muted grunts of approval in the crowd.
When I report the answer to Antonius, he laughs.
“Your point is well made, Petrus. Shall I let these men live and make them better teachers of their hate? Or shall they die and teach hatred no longer?”
Wow. That’s not the path I was trying to go down. Antonius made it look like my argument was intended to condemn the men. I need to find a different approach.
“Centurion. When you were a boy, did you ever steal something at the market when the seller was not looking? Perhaps a piece of fruit? Or maybe a sweet treat?”
“Of course, Petrus. All boys do these things.”
“And did you ever get caught?”
“Yes. My own father caught me.”
“And yet you still have ten fingers. Why were they not cut off?”
I hear some murmurs of approval in the crowd.
“My father paid for the bread I stole.”
Antonius smiles. He’s curious to see where I’m going.
“And the seller had mercy?”
“Of course. But I was just a boy, while these are grown men, and there was a way to pay for what I stole. You cannot just pay gold when you steal from Caesar.”
“And what of the mercy? Did the bread seller give it to you freely?”
“He did not. I received mercy only because the debt was paid for me.”
Antonius gets a curious look on his face.
“Petrus? Why are you crying?”
I touch my cheek and feel a cold tear.
“I was thinking of someone who once paid a great debt for me so that I might find mercy in His father’s eyes.”
I pause for a while, as I think of what to say next.
“These men owe two debts for their crime, neither of which can be repaid by gold. First, they owe a debt to Caesar.”
“What is the second debt they owe?” Antonius asks.
“They owe a debt to their God, for it’s written in their own Law of Moses: ‘Thou shall not steal.’ Administer Caesar’s justice as you see fit, Antonius, because it’s the second debt that they should truly fear, rather than the first. Let them pray for a savior who can pay their debt to God for them.”
“But I will not pray for these men,” I add. “Instead, I will pray for Caesar, that he never confuses which debt is owned by Rome, and which debt is owned by God.”
“Twenty lashes each. Leather only.”
As Antonius strides away, there’s a great murmur in the crowd because everyone knows this is a light punishment.
As Martha and I leave, we can hear the screams of the men as they’re whipped. From our perspective, it’s hard to think of this punishment as light.
****
There’s no trouble during the night, and Martha and I wake at dawn as the army starts to clatter about.
“What now?” Martha asks after we eat breakfast.
“Now things get trickier. We need to find the assassins and deal with them without being seen by either them or me. Right now, I’m outside of Jericho on the other side of the river. Tonight I’ll sleep against a tree near Bethany, which is when we need to steal the staff.”
“So we need to follow you, and protect you.”
“Like two guardian angels.”
We walk to the edge of the camp, where the vendors have again set up to sell to the Romans. The men who were whipped are still tied to their posts. Their backs have stopped bleeding, but are oozing and raw, and covered with flies. There are women who are set to treat the wounds, but the soldiers are keeping them back until they receive orders to the contrary. The man with the broken wrist is standing at a distance, watching.
I approach the guards.
“Are these men to be released?” I ask.
“Yes, Petrus. When we march, we’re to leave them here.”
People are learning your name. That’s not good.
I see a bucket of water with a ladle.
“May I?”
He nods, so I pick up the bucket and walk to the whipping posts.
“Drink,” I say in Aramaic.
I hold the ladle to the lips of man who yesterday tried to spit on me. He can only open his eyes as far as narrow slits, but I’m sure he recognizes me. His lips look dry and cracked from thirst, and he takes the water greedily.
“The Romans will be gone soon. Your debt to them is paid and you’ll be freed. Your debt to God will not be so easy.”
He looks at me and speaks in a rough whisper.
“The priests ask us to do this. They say to resist the Romans is the will of God.”
For the next two millennia, every major religion, including Christianity, will be twisted at one time or another so that men can excuse murder by saying: “I did it for God.”
“Then the priests will someday pay this debt alongside you,” I reply.
I give the other man water, and return the bucket to the soldiers without a word. A dozen or more people, including Martha, watched me give the men water in silence. The man with the broken wrist moves to block our path back to the camp.
“You are no Romans.”
“You’re correct.”
“That man - the one who spat at you yesterday - is my brother. You said he owes two debts, but I believe he owes three. You saved him with your words to the Centurion and he owes you his life.”
“Would you like to pay this debt for your brother?”
“I am no man’s slave.”
We shall see about that.
“Of course not. Here is what I ask. On Monday, go to the great temple in Jerusalem and seek a teacher named Jesus of Nazareth. Listen to Him and ask Him to heal your broken hand. If you see me in the city by myself, do not speak to me. If you see me with Martha, then speak to me.”
“That’s all? Listen to a man teach?”
“One other small thing. Please tell me your name.”
“My name is Yared. On my brother’s life, I’ll do as you ask and listen to Jesus of Nazareth. And I also have these for you.”
He takes what looks like a bundle of rags off his back. The rags turn out to be two hooded cloaks.
“They’re old and worn, but getting cloaks seemed important to you.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “From here, it’s important we travel unnoticed and these will help a great deal.”