built like a bull. Both were unwashed and foul smelling.
“He’s unarmed.” The big man wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “What’s your business here?”
I answered, “I am in search of Centurion Marcus Longinus.
He is a … friend … of my family.” The words nearly choked me, but for the sake of Judah I pretended.
“Centurion Longinus? A friend of a Jew?” mocked the thin fellow. “Well, everyone knows Longinus. Famous, he is. But he isn’t here. Out on patrol. Rounding up Jewish rebels and …” He drew his finger across his neck. “Still want to talk to him?”
“When will he return?” I asked. My mouth was dry.
“Weeks, it could be. If you’re a friend, why don’t you know?” the first soldier taunted.
The second soldier’s eyes narrowed as he sized me up and laughed. “Maybe you’re an assassin, eh? Sent to kill him.”
“No. You see I am unarmed. Marcus Longinus will not be pleased at the way you question me and mock me. What are your names? I will report to him …”
The mocking fell silent. They exchanged uneasy looks and became suddenly docile. “Now see here. How are we to know … you, a Jew and all, riding up and making demands from atop your horse?”
The change in their demeanor strengthened my resolve. I said fiercely, “I don’t believe the centurion is on patrol. And if he hears I have come, and you have turned me away …”
The two men blinked at me for a moment, then one said to the other, “We … perhaps are mistaking who rode out this morning.”
“I thought it was Longinus.”
“Aye. Looked like him.”
“But it was at a distance.”
I mounted my mare and stared them down defiantly. “Go see if he is here. Tell him David ben Lazarus is at the gate on his horse.”
My heart was pounding. Minutes passed before the firstsentry returned meekly following a muscled, compactly built officer with close-cropped reddish-brown hair and the fair skin of the people of the far north but sun-bronzed from his military service. He glanced at me with suspicion. From his accent I deduced he was a Briton by heritage. I understood now why my sister Mary found him exotic and handsome.
“Shalom, Centurion,” I said quickly. “My sister Mary sends her greetings.”
“Ah.” He scratched his temple. “Mary’s brother. Good man … David.”
“Yes. I received a letter from her this morning.”
“She is well? My Mary?”
I swallowed hard. “Our Mary … yes. She is well. I have news …”
“Welcome. Follow me to my quarters.” He snapped his fingers, commanding the sentry to hold my horse as I dismounted.
I followed him across the cobblestone paved central court of the fortress. On my left was an open door, revealing a blood-spattered flogging post amid other devices of torment. I imagined my friend being dragged across this space. I thought of Jemima and Judah’s mother in the dungeon beneath the fortress. I was also keenly aware that the ancient garments of the high priest of Israel were locked up within the Antonia and only permitted to be used on certain high holy days. It was as though even our religion was held captive by our conquerors.
Entering the stark foyer of the stronghold, I looked up to see the images of the emperor on shields adorning every wall. These shields, when first displayed publicly in Jerusalem by Pilate, had nearly caused a riot. So, I thought, Pilate learned a lesson and kept the images of the Emperor-god Tiberius hidden from sight of the people .
I repressed a shudder at the thought of dead bodies strewnacross the Temple Mount. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of the centurion’s head.
Passing through a long corridor, we climbed steps to a chamber overlooking the Temple. The songs of the choir and the bellowing of sacrificial animals were heard clearly.
Marcus Longinus closed the door and indicated with a wave of his hand that I should sit. He poured a cup of wine and offered it to me, then poured one for himself.
“He’s unarmed.” The big man wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “What’s your business here?”
I answered, “I am in search of Centurion Marcus Longinus.
He is a … friend … of my family.” The words nearly choked me, but for the sake of Judah I pretended.
“Centurion Longinus? A friend of a Jew?” mocked the thin fellow. “Well, everyone knows Longinus. Famous, he is. But he isn’t here. Out on patrol. Rounding up Jewish rebels and …” He drew his finger across his neck. “Still want to talk to him?”
“When will he return?” I asked. My mouth was dry.
“Weeks, it could be. If you’re a friend, why don’t you know?” the first soldier taunted.
The second soldier’s eyes narrowed as he sized me up and laughed. “Maybe you’re an assassin, eh? Sent to kill him.”
“No. You see I am unarmed. Marcus Longinus will not be pleased at the way you question me and mock me. What are your names? I will report to him …”
The mocking fell silent. They exchanged uneasy looks and became suddenly docile. “Now see here. How are we to know … you, a Jew and all, riding up and making demands from atop your horse?”
The change in their demeanor strengthened my resolve. I said fiercely, “I don’t believe the centurion is on patrol. And if he hears I have come, and you have turned me away …”
The two men blinked at me for a moment, then one said to the other, “We … perhaps are mistaking who rode out this morning.”
“I thought it was Longinus.”
“Aye. Looked like him.”
“But it was at a distance.”
I mounted my mare and stared them down defiantly. “Go see if he is here. Tell him David ben Lazarus is at the gate on his horse.”
My heart was pounding. Minutes passed before the firstsentry returned meekly following a muscled, compactly built officer with close-cropped reddish-brown hair and the fair skin of the people of the far north but sun-bronzed from his military service. He glanced at me with suspicion. From his accent I deduced he was a Briton by heritage. I understood now why my sister Mary found him exotic and handsome.
“Shalom, Centurion,” I said quickly. “My sister Mary sends her greetings.”
“Ah.” He scratched his temple. “Mary’s brother. Good man … David.”
“Yes. I received a letter from her this morning.”
“She is well? My Mary?”
I swallowed hard. “Our Mary … yes. She is well. I have news …”
“Welcome. Follow me to my quarters.” He snapped his fingers, commanding the sentry to hold my horse as I dismounted.
I followed him across the cobblestone paved central court of the fortress. On my left was an open door, revealing a blood-spattered flogging post amid other devices of torment. I imagined my friend being dragged across this space. I thought of Jemima and Judah’s mother in the dungeon beneath the fortress. I was also keenly aware that the ancient garments of the high priest of Israel were locked up within the Antonia and only permitted to be used on certain high holy days. It was as though even our religion was held captive by our conquerors.
Entering the stark foyer of the stronghold, I looked up to see the images of the emperor on shields adorning every wall. These shields, when first displayed publicly in Jerusalem by Pilate, had nearly caused a riot. So, I thought, Pilate learned a lesson and kept the images of the Emperor-god Tiberius hidden from sight of the people .
I repressed a shudder at the thought of dead bodies strewnacross the Temple Mount. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of the centurion’s head.
Passing through a long corridor, we climbed steps to a chamber overlooking the Temple. The songs of the choir and the bellowing of sacrificial animals were heard clearly.
Marcus Longinus closed the door and indicated with a wave of his hand that I should sit. He poured a cup of wine and offered it to me, then poured one for himself.
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