I, too, know what it means...
Long afterwards, the centurion would often think about that strange day. It had started the evening before. It had been a perfect spring day for that small provincial town. He had never seen such a day in Rome, not even his wedding. He had finished his day's duty, scampering home as if he had lounged the whole day long. He had ordered a simple evening meal, and dismissed the servants so as to enjoy the sunset with his wife.
"This is good wine," she said, smiling as the sun touched the horizon. He raised the cup and they drank again. They sat in silence. He considered the woman beside him, tearing off a morsel of bread, she whose name was almost a Roman legend. She ate the bread, handing him a fragment and gazed on him with honest love - an honorable man who lived as the great ones in Greek stories - a man who had risked his life for her father - a man to whom she had been given in wedlock (and happy she was to be given, as if there could be someone else she could have desired more, even the Emperor himself). In only one matter were they as yet disappointed: they both yearned for a child. They proceeded to the main course. "Junius had to wait a long time in the market for this lamb," she told him. He chewed and swallowed, recalling the time Junius had almost died, the embarrassing time with the Jewish authorities, and the reassurance of dealing with that rabbi on the road... He had used an interpreter, then, for the sake of appearances, though he was able to speak decent Aramaic. He remembered the flash in the eyes of the rabbi, as if he understood without the need of a translator, when he explained his understanding of authority. He sipped the wine and smiled at her. "Junius loves to stand in line." They laughed.
The sky was darkening though fantastic lights still shone in the west. "There's a big crowd in town for the holy day, but we don't expect anything out of the ordinary. Pilate ordered the usual extra patrolmen. I'm due in for the dawn shift."
"Will there be another dawn? Or is that the first dawn in the west?"
"There was never a night like this. It makes you all the more beautiful."
"There may be no dawn, there may be myriads, but I know one thing there is..."
"...You and me.
"Oh..."
Long afterwards, the centurion would often think about that strange day. It had started the evening before. It had been a perfect spring day for that small provincial town. He had never seen such a day in Rome, not even his wedding. He had finished his day's duty, scampering home as if he had lounged the whole day long. He had ordered a simple evening meal, and dismissed the servants so as to enjoy the sunset with his wife.
"This is good wine," she said, smiling as the sun touched the horizon. He raised the cup and they drank again. They sat in silence. He considered the woman beside him, tearing off a morsel of bread, she whose name was almost a Roman legend. She ate the bread, handing him a fragment and gazed on him with honest love - an honorable man who lived as the great ones in Greek stories - a man who had risked his life for her father - a man to whom she had been given in wedlock (and happy she was to be given, as if there could be someone else she could have desired more, even the Emperor himself). In only one matter were they as yet disappointed: they both yearned for a child. They proceeded to the main course. "Junius had to wait a long time in the market for this lamb," she told him. He chewed and swallowed, recalling the time Junius had almost died, the embarrassing time with the Jewish authorities, and the reassurance of dealing with that rabbi on the road... He had used an interpreter, then, for the sake of appearances, though he was able to speak decent Aramaic. He remembered the flash in the eyes of the rabbi, as if he understood without the need of a translator, when he explained his understanding of authority. He sipped the wine and smiled at her. "Junius loves to stand in line." They laughed.
The sky was darkening though fantastic lights still shone in the west. "There's a big crowd in town for the holy day, but we don't expect anything out of the ordinary. Pilate ordered the usual extra patrolmen. I'm due in for the dawn shift."
"Will there be another dawn? Or is that the first dawn in the west?"
"There was never a night like this. It makes you all the more beautiful."
"There may be no dawn, there may be myriads, but I know one thing there is..."
"...You and me.
"Oh..."
* * *
It was a full moon that night. His dreams were strange: a wooden horse and a town in flames, then there were three little boats crossing the dark sea and a far-off gleam of light in the west. Then, a pleasant, homely place in which sat a very large man drinking beer, with some kind of tiny sword in his hand; black drops flew from it as he jabbed it in a strange sign. After this, the centurion dreamed he was standing on the parade ground, and called the orders, but instead of his men, he commanded an immense array of great spheres of fire. On his directives, they moved in a vast and flawless spiral. He turned to salute the Emperor's booth, and saw instead a gaping cavern, within which came a flash as if the sun had burst. Waking uneasily, he shifted in his bed, and touched his wife. After this, his dreams were as a continuation of their dinner, happy, intimate, and satisfied.
* * *
It was a hot, sticky dawn. All the pleasant air of yesterday had been replaced by a thick haze. Strapping on his weapons, he dashed water on his face, but it made him feel worse. He had received the reports from the previous shift; it had been a fairly typical festival night. He looked over the log, wishing there was some kind of standard penmanship. Why couldn't he make out that one entry? An auxiliary shuffled over to him: "You're to see Pilate." Well, that was nothing new. He always saw Pilate at the shift change. He nodded and went out the door.
Pilate squirmed in his seat, one hand to his head. "Go to Joppa. There's a Roman galley waiting there. Deliver this letter to the captain immediately." Pilate handed him a sealed scroll, and closed his eyes. "Hurry back. I need you here, but this message is of the highest urgency, and I can trust no one else." Shaking somewhat, he waved his hand in dismissal, and the centurion strode from the hall.
Pilate squirmed in his seat, one hand to his head. "Go to Joppa. There's a Roman galley waiting there. Deliver this letter to the captain immediately." Pilate handed him a sealed scroll, and closed his eyes. "Hurry back. I need you here, but this message is of the highest urgency, and I can trust no one else." Shaking somewhat, he waved his hand in dismissal, and the centurion strode from the hall.
* * *
The sun was nearing mid-sky as he rode back into the barracks. "It's a good thing you're back - we've been waiting. There's to be an execution today. You're to handle the detail yourself, since he expects some trouble. They all have their assignments, and we're ready to go." On his way out he grabbed a half-loaf of bread and a small skin of wine.
Mounting on a fresh horse, he chewed a mouthful of bread, but soon put the remainder back into his pack. This was going to need all his attention - he could hear the rabble beginning to gather. The lieutenant came up to him. "All the paperwork is complete. The requisition of workers and supplies is correct. Platoon Theta is dispatched to ride escort." They set off from the garrison, down through the city to the skull place.
He looked back as the slow march proceeded. One of the condemned had fallen. There seemed to be rather more women visible along their path than usual for such a spectacle. On a signal, they started again, but there was another halt or two. This was typical, but there somehow seemed to be an unusual tension in the air. There almost seemed to be two factions along the road, one vocal and approving, another sadly enduring in silent resistance. It was not like anything he had ever experienced.
They arrived at the execution site, and he took his horse down to the little spring at the back of the hill. He lingered there in the heat, drinking the clear, cold water. Hammer blows sounded in the sullen haze. He tethered his horse under a stunted tree, and walked up the hill again. Then came a choked cry.
"I can't do it. His hand looks like mine!" came the whine of the executioner. The centurion looked down. The two hands might have been mirror images. A mallet and six inch nails lay on the ground nearby.
"Guess he's a carpenter, like you." The centurion gave him a nudge. "Just go ahead, it's just another job. You've got your orders." Then he looked down the arm to the face. Did the earth move then? Did the sum dim? In the condemned's eyes, that same strange spark which understood, even though the centurion spoke in his native Latin. He picked up a nail tossing it in his hand, and a sword-thrust seemed to penetrate him as he again heard his own words, but yet in the voice of another: "I too know what it means to be under authority..." He handed the nail to the carpenter, and looked away as the knocking came.
Mounting on a fresh horse, he chewed a mouthful of bread, but soon put the remainder back into his pack. This was going to need all his attention - he could hear the rabble beginning to gather. The lieutenant came up to him. "All the paperwork is complete. The requisition of workers and supplies is correct. Platoon Theta is dispatched to ride escort." They set off from the garrison, down through the city to the skull place.
He looked back as the slow march proceeded. One of the condemned had fallen. There seemed to be rather more women visible along their path than usual for such a spectacle. On a signal, they started again, but there was another halt or two. This was typical, but there somehow seemed to be an unusual tension in the air. There almost seemed to be two factions along the road, one vocal and approving, another sadly enduring in silent resistance. It was not like anything he had ever experienced.
They arrived at the execution site, and he took his horse down to the little spring at the back of the hill. He lingered there in the heat, drinking the clear, cold water. Hammer blows sounded in the sullen haze. He tethered his horse under a stunted tree, and walked up the hill again. Then came a choked cry.
"I can't do it. His hand looks like mine!" came the whine of the executioner. The centurion looked down. The two hands might have been mirror images. A mallet and six inch nails lay on the ground nearby.
"Guess he's a carpenter, like you." The centurion gave him a nudge. "Just go ahead, it's just another job. You've got your orders." Then he looked down the arm to the face. Did the earth move then? Did the sum dim? In the condemned's eyes, that same strange spark which understood, even though the centurion spoke in his native Latin. He picked up a nail tossing it in his hand, and a sword-thrust seemed to penetrate him as he again heard his own words, but yet in the voice of another: "I too know what it means to be under authority..." He handed the nail to the carpenter, and looked away as the knocking came.
* * *
There had been an earthquake, and the sky had darkened, and he had felt moved as if the world had come to some climax. But the sun had set, and he went home. His wife was asleep,and he had no stomach for food. He had little sleep that night. The next workday passed quietly, as holydays always did. The next night was heavy upon him. Still he had not eaten. Though the weather had changed, the tension in the air was, for him, unlike any storm or any battle he had ever experienced. His wife seemed quiet in their bed, sleeping, yet with some slight smile on her lips as her hand touched his. He looked at his free hand, again hearing the mallet blows. He felt again the strange resistance as his short spear penetrated the heart of the executed. Again loomed up in his mind the image of the empty cavern, and the town in flames. He heard verses which had been recited at his wedding banquet - Virgilian verses which no one could understand. Looking out their window, he heard the birds announce the coming dawn, and got out of bed. After delicately kissing his wife, he nibbled at some dried bread, sipped the last drops from the flask of their simple supper two nights ago, and went out.
At headquarters he checked the log. "What's this `tomb detail' for Platoon Alpha?"
"Pilate assigned that one himself. The Temple is on alert with them, or so they said."
"What? That's crazy. What kind of problem can there be with a tomb?"
"Nothing. It's not the tomb, but possible visitors we're concerned with."
"Sounds nuts."
"Yeah, but that's what the chief wanted."
He sighed, feeling the weight of obedience, and was about to leave... "Wait. Where's that tomb?"
"Oh, just down from the skull place, to the right of the spring. There's a garden beyond the hedge, it's in there. It belongs to one of their senators, I think."
He was almost running when he came to the skull place. The hilltop was dark, though he knew it could not be long until dawn. Just then there was a tremor, and looking down the hill, he saw straight to the garden, in which a great stone lay against a low natural hill covered with trees. As he continued to gaze westward, the dawn burst from under the earth and as he stood there lost in thought the rising sun cast his shadow on an empty tomb.
At headquarters he checked the log. "What's this `tomb detail' for Platoon Alpha?"
"Pilate assigned that one himself. The Temple is on alert with them, or so they said."
"What? That's crazy. What kind of problem can there be with a tomb?"
"Nothing. It's not the tomb, but possible visitors we're concerned with."
"Sounds nuts."
"Yeah, but that's what the chief wanted."
He sighed, feeling the weight of obedience, and was about to leave... "Wait. Where's that tomb?"
"Oh, just down from the skull place, to the right of the spring. There's a garden beyond the hedge, it's in there. It belongs to one of their senators, I think."
He was almost running when he came to the skull place. The hilltop was dark, though he knew it could not be long until dawn. Just then there was a tremor, and looking down the hill, he saw straight to the garden, in which a great stone lay against a low natural hill covered with trees. As he continued to gaze westward, the dawn burst from under the earth and as he stood there lost in thought the rising sun cast his shadow on an empty tomb.
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