“The only one leaving is you, Roman.”
The leader of the group lunges forward with the staff and I back up.
“What would you do if I were to leave this woman here alone with you?” I ask the leader.
“I would rape her and kill her.”
“Then, you’ll have to kill me first.”
“That’s my intent - but, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you right away. I’m going to make you watch. And I’m going to make sure it’s as unpleasant as possible for both of you while I do it.”
He lunges again, and when I back up, I’m against the table. He senses the opportunity to catch me off balance and swings his staff. I block, then pivot to put the table between us. As the other two men move up to flank me, I glace down at Martha’s knife on the table.
“That knife won’t save you, Roman. You couldn’t even hit me with the first one when my back was turned.”
“I wasn’t aiming for you. I was aiming for the wall.”
He figures out what I mean a half-second too late. As he turns to look, Martha opens a large gash across the back of his hand with the knife from the wall and he drops his staff. Martha steps back, but I lunge around the table and hit him in the temple with the heavy end of my staff, and a moment later he’s unconscious on the floor.
The two injured men move to back Martha into the corner again, but the man on my left uses the opening to rush me, which throws me back into the table and makes me drop my staff. I’m much bigger than he is, so I throw him backwards and use the moment to grab Martha’s knife from the table.
He takes a step back and I hurl the knife. It enters his right eye socket, cutting out his eye - just as I said in my heart that I would do to these men. I rush forward and grab the knife hilt, giving it a slight twist as I withdraw it, just to increase his agony. The man hits his knees, with his hands over his right eye, and I move in for my opportunity to claim his left eye.
“Stop, Cephas!” Martha says. “It’s over.”
Her voice brings me back to my senses. I look around. The leader and Gershom are both unconscious. The one with the headache and the one with the broken ulna have surrendered and backed into a corner, with Martha’s knife pointed at them. They’re petrified with fear. As I retrieve my staff, there’s a moan and a soft thump as the man I blinded hits the floor, dead. There’s a growing pool of blood forming around his head.
“You didn’t need to kill him,” Martha says. “These two ran for the corner and he was just trying to get out the door.”
I look behind me to find that I was, indeed, blocking the doorway.
“You don’t know what they were saying. They were going to rape you - all of them - over and over again.”
“I don’t need to speak Aramaic to know that.”
Her voice is remarkably calm, which helps me regain control of my emotions.
Her torn toga is hanging on her in tatters. The stress of the situation allowed her to forget she’s still exposed, but now the mention of the word rape makes her conscious of her appearance and she tries in vain to cover herself, while keeping a wary eye on the cornered men. For months, I’ve wanted to see what’s under the toga, and now my only desire is to cover her up. I step over the two men on the floor to help her.
“You.”
I point at the man with the broken arm, who is the smaller of the two.
“Give her your clothes.”
His arm is so pained that his friend has to help him disrobe.
“I wish you’d let us leave. Your friend didn’t need to die.”
I hear a scraping sound behind me and sigh because I know what it is. The leader of the group is awake and is picking up his staff. I spin as he leaps to his feet and prepares to lunge. He’s easy to trip and send back to the floor. I put the head of my staff against his neck and press lightly. He stares at me with pure hatred, but doesn’t try to move.
There’s something familiar about this man.
“Get up and move closer to the light,” I say.
I gasp when I see his face.
“Turn your back on evil and repent to God, I beg you.”
“Why? Are you a prophet? God can keep his prophets. I’d rather have profit.”
“The rest of you. If you follow this man, you’ll end up like him.”
I point to the dead man.
“You’ll kill us all?” asks Ira.
“Not me. God.”
Their leader just laughs.
Martha and I back out of the little shack with our knives still pointed at the would-be thieves and rapists.
“Remember what I’ve said.”
I lead Martha through the dark to the horses, and we take off at a gallop.
****
The Romans lock the city gates of Jerusalem at night and I don’t want to risk running into myself or Esther on the Jericho road in the morning, so I have no idea where to go. Worse, the moon will set soon and leave us in pitch-blackness.
“The gates may be locked, but let’s head towards Jerusalem,” I say. “Maybe we can find a barn to sleep in.”
We make our way through the darkness and soon see the lights atop the city walls and watch towers. The silence between us is as dark as the night. The longer the silence persists the darker my thoughts become. The woman I love just watched me murder a man. There’s no righteous justification possible for this act. I killed him as part of an angry rampage. Part of me wonders if she’ll ever speak to me again.
We reach a city gate that’s closed tight. I’m so lost that I’m not even not sure of which gate it is. To our north and east, I can see what appears to be a wooded hill. The place just has a safe feel, so I head for it, again in agonizing silence. We’ll just have to sleep under the trees until dawn and then look for an inn.
We find a flat spot with soft earth where we can lie down for a while. We unload the packs from my horse without a word.
“We’re safe now,” I say.
It’s like the words are the key to open a floodgate of emotions in both of us. Martha clings to me, sobbing. Every now and then, she pauses and I think she’s going to speak, but the sobbing starts up again. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s a natural-born fighter, but here in my arms, she feels like a helpless child that I need to protect and comfort.
“I’m sorry, Martha. I’m sorry I brought you back in time. I’m sorry I left you alone.”
She cries all the harder.
“Do you remember the first time we went out together? When we went to the Lebanese restaurant near campus?”
“Of course, I remember every moment,” she replies.
“Do you remember how I said that once you have a glimpse behind-the-scenes of who I am, you’ll see a very different story compared to what the public sees?”
“I remember.”
“I want to marry you, Martha. I want to love you forever. But right now, even I have to wonder if I’m anything more than the monster you first took me to be.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her voice is loud enough that it feels like it echoes through the trees.
“You’ve seen enough to reach that conclusion. When we could see each other’s thoughts you saw the lust-filled animal; yesterday you saw the faithless denier; and now you’ve seen the murderer. How many more faces of this monster do you need to see before you run and never look back?”
She clings to me all the tighter.
“That man’s death is my fault,” she says, and starts sobbing again. “But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that it’s also my fault that you have another horrible memory that you can’t escape.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is. I was careless. My head was in the clouds after seeing Jesus. I broke a branch and laid it on the road for Him to ride over. When He rode over it, He looked right at me and smiled. He knew me. He knew my every thought. I collected some of the leaves from the branch and when I was riding back, I just wasn’t paying attention - or I would have seen those men.”
“It’s not your fault. He sent me to save you, and to save those other men. When I found your horse, I prayed to Jesus for help and clouds covered the moon so I could see the light in the house.”
“What do you mean - He sent you to save the other men?”
“The man that you cut - the leader of the group who I asked to stand in the light so I could see his face - I think I was sent to give him a last chance to repent.”
“Then maybe he will.”
“No, he won’t. He’s the thief that’s going to hang on a cross next to Jesus and refuse to repent, even then.”
****
I wake to the sound of happy birds singing as they flit about the trees. Martha and I slept all night with her cuddled against my side, with her head on my chest and my arm protectively around her.
The perfect scene I can see is like something you’d see in a computer-generated virtual reality video in my time. The sky is a deep blue, without a cloud to be seen, and the horses are standing in a green field fifty meters away, grazing.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” Martha says.
She turns her head to look at me, and her eyes match the sky this morning.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she asks.
“No, I haven’t.”
She blushes when she realizes I’m not talking about the scenery.
“I know where we are now,” I say. “Welcome to the Garden of Gethsemane.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. That’s real Gethsemane dirt in your hair.”
“I must look terrible.”
“I was just thinking that Gethsemane dirt is a good color on you.”
“So, what’s the plan now?” she asks.
“Find a Roman bathhouse and wash out the Gethsemane dirt.”
****
With dawn, the gates of Jerusalem are wide open to allow merchants to enter the city. I guide Martha straight to the section of the city where Pilate has a house. As luck has it, I see the young leader, Cato instructing some men on their duties for the day.
“Cato! It’s good to see you.”
“Petrus. What has happened? You do not look well.”
“Martha was attacked and nearly raped by five men near Bethany. We seek a bath and a place to rest.”
“Roman citizens attacked on the road? The centurions will want to hear more about this.”
“Of course; but first, Martha was treated quite roughly. Do you know of a place we can go?”
“Wait here.”
He issues orders to a runner.
We wait for ten minutes before the runner reappears.
“You’re in luck, Petrus. The centurions are meeting in the officers’ baths and have invited you to join them. This man will take you there and quarter your horses in our stables.”
When I was here before, part of me came to think of the Romans as cruel occupiers, but now they seem like some of the friendliest, most generous people I’ve ever met.
The runner escorts us to the stables and then to the baths. I’m not permitted to enter the ladies’ bath area, so I request an attendant be sent to receive my instructions.
A young slave woman arrives. I’d guess she’s from Spain.
“This is Martha. She doesn’t speak Latin, Greek or Aramaic. She’s been attacked by thieves on the road. Her toga has been ripped, and her tunic and cloak stolen. Do what you can to repair or replace her clothing and I’ll pay whatever expense you incur.”
I’m getting better at commanding. Asking a slave, rather than commanding her, would not look right. I turn to Martha.
“This girl is going to attend to you. Stay in the baths until I send for you, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere alone again.”
I enter the men’s area of the baths. I’d love a shower, but it’ll be some time before that’s invented. In Rome, I’m told there are massive public baths, but here there are just six bronze tubs the Romans have carried in to create a makeshift officers’ bathhouse. An attendant directs me to the tub nearest Antonius and begins to undress me when I realize I’m still wearing modern underwear as well as socks and shoes covered by rags. This could be difficult to explain.
“I prefer to undress myself.”
The officers look at me curiously.
“I’ve become accustomed to being attended by Martha,” I say, and the officers all smile.
I remove my clothes and hide all the modern items in my pack. I ask for everything else to be washed and mended. The water is surprisingly hot, considering it must have been heated somewhere else and brought here in buckets. The four officers in the bath laugh as I settle into the water with a deep sigh.
“All the comforts of home, Petrus?” Antonius says.
“It’s not quite all the comforts of my home - but right now, it’s close enough.”
There’s a brush and a cake of soap, so I start scrubbing every square inch of my body. I even dunk my head under and wash my hair, which brings more laughs and comments about how hard everyone tries to wash off the stink of Jerusalem when they first arrive. Only when I reach the point of just relaxing in the water, do the centurions turn their conversation to me.
“Petrus. We heard Martha was robbed and kidnapped near Bethany and you found her and killed ten men before they could rape her. Tell us the tale.”
I laugh.
“I only killed one and hurt four, and even the one didn’t need to die. They should have done as I commanded and let us go.”
“You lied when you said you’re not a warrior,” Antonius says. “When you told me you intend to marry Martha, I could see in your eyes you would kill to protect her.”
“I think I would’ve killed them all, if Martha hadn’t stopped me.”
“You should have,” a centurion named Regulus responds.
“My wife would have insisted that I do,” adds the centurion named Festus.
“Why did she stop you?” asks a thoughtful-looking older centurion named Cornelius. “And why was she by herself in Bethany?”
“She stopped me because Martha is a woman of great compassion, even in the face of evil. She was in Bethany to see a teacher who also teaches great compassion: Jesus of Nazareth.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Cornelius says. “He caused quite a stir when he came into Jerusalem. Some are calling him the ‘King of the Jews.’ Many believe he’s their long-promised Messiah.”
“You should go hear Him teach,” I say.
“I wish I had the time,” Cornelius says. “With Antonius here to relieve me, I’ve been reassigned to Caesarea. Perhaps one day I’ll hear more of him.”
From there, the centurions turn to military matters. They ask me about the mood of the people in the countryside; the numbers of men I’ve seen; and whether I’ve seen any weapons. I think the Romans would be content to sit in the bath and talk for hours, but we all have duties to which we must attend. The slave returns with my clothes, which have been cleaned and mended. The toga is still a bit damp, but it’s a warm morning, so I don’t mind. I send a messenger to let Martha know I’m ready.
The centurions take much longer to dress, since they’re putting on their armor, but I choose to wait for them because I need to speak with Antonius.
“You’ve been most kind since we first met, Antonius. I have an errand that needs to be done, but I promised Martha I would not leave her alone.”
I dig through my pack and bring out the gemstones Martha and I pried from Jocie’s cross.
“I need the help of a trustworthy jeweler.”
****
We all walk out of the officers’ bath together, and when we reach the turn for the ladies’ bath, our heads all turn in unison. Martha is standing in a sunbeam, dressed in a brand new toga, and her blonde hair is virtually glowing in the light.
“Like a perfect statue of Venus,” Festus remarks.
“I can’t believe you killed just the one, Cephas. When I was young, I would’ve killed one hundred for her,” Cornelius says.
Antonius claps his hand down onto my shoulder.
“Were I not married, you might need to kill me next,” he says. “Come translate. I’d like to say ‘hello.’”