“So. David ben Lazarus. Your sister has spoken of you, David. May I call you David? She told me of your disdain for her … for our … friendship.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss my sister, Centurion.” I ignored his appeal to my name and waited until he drank before I sipped very bad wine.
“You are a Jew. A religious Jew. Your sister once told me you would not be caught dead entering the abode of Gentiles.” He waved his hand around the room. “Yet here you are.”
“The ancient garments of the high priest are held captive here. And many righteous men and women are shackled to these walls as well. Their presence makes my reason for coming here a holy purpose.”
He considered my words, took another sip, and placed his cup aside. “Our cup in this place is very bitter.”
“Yes. Many will bear witness to that.”
“What can I offer you instead?” he asked.
“Information,” I replied.
“Sometimes information is also a bitter cup to drink.”
“Better than dying of thirst.”
He spread his palms and shrugged a Gallic shrug. “So? Ask me.”
“The family of Perez? Judah ben Perez. His mother and sister?”
Longinus fell silent. He appeared uneasy, which was unusual for a Roman centurion unless being reprimanded by a superior officer. In the case of Marcus Longinus, his only superiors in Judea were a military tribune and Governor Pilate himself.
The Roman seized the goblet and drained it, then set it down with more force than needed. “They are dead.”
“I don’t believe it,” I challenged.
Longinus frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Ben Lazarus, do you have any other family?”
The remark caught me off guard. “Only my sisters … why?”
“Because it is better for you … and for them … to believe what I say about the House of Perez. Let it alone.”
“Is that a threat?”
The officer shrugged. “Call it a warning.” Longinus seized the jug and refilled his cup, offered me another, and when I refused, emptied his in a single, long swallow. He met my eyes squarely. “I have nothing against you, ben Lazarus. In a different time and place we might have been friends. But hear me: I had nothing to do with the fate of Judah ben Perez or his mother or his sister. But neither can I do anything to aid them. Nor can you. All you will accomplish is to bring the wrath of Rome down on your head, and Jove help you if that happens, for even your god with the unutterable name won’t be able to.”
Emotion swelled in my chest, threatening to choke me. “Judah’s my friend, Centurion! Almost a brother. And he’s innocent.”
Longinus clenched his jaw, then raised his square chin until our eyes locked again. “I know that,” he admitted. “And I admire you for your loyalty and courage. But leave it alone, for now. If there comes a time when anything … anything at all … can be done for them, I give you my solemn oath I will attemptit, but until then, let it go. For Mary’s sake, you understand? Will you agree?”
Numbly I nodded, then left without speaking again.
I met with Joseph of Arimathea, the elder, a wine exporter, with ships sailing from Joppa. He had been a great friend of my father and had lived in Rome for a time. He became the chief exporter of Judean goods to the Roman colony in Britannia. Trade with the Gentiles had made him very wealthy.
Joseph had worked closely with Judah ben Perez and was well connected throughout the Roman Empire. With Judah gone now, Joseph stepped in to help those of us who did not have the connections needed to sell our produce. He was in his midfifties and from the tribe of Levi. Though his lineage qualified him for priestly duties, an accident in his youth had left him maimed and ritually unable to serve at the Temple. He wore a patch over his left eye and was missing two fingers on his left hand. He had focused his intelligence on business. His contacts with Gentile merchants gave him the ability to conduct his affairs without
“I didn’t come here to discuss my sister, Centurion.” I ignored his appeal to my name and waited until he drank before I sipped very bad wine.
“You are a Jew. A religious Jew. Your sister once told me you would not be caught dead entering the abode of Gentiles.” He waved his hand around the room. “Yet here you are.”
“The ancient garments of the high priest are held captive here. And many righteous men and women are shackled to these walls as well. Their presence makes my reason for coming here a holy purpose.”
He considered my words, took another sip, and placed his cup aside. “Our cup in this place is very bitter.”
“Yes. Many will bear witness to that.”
“What can I offer you instead?” he asked.
“Information,” I replied.
“Sometimes information is also a bitter cup to drink.”
“Better than dying of thirst.”
He spread his palms and shrugged a Gallic shrug. “So? Ask me.”
“The family of Perez? Judah ben Perez. His mother and sister?”
Longinus fell silent. He appeared uneasy, which was unusual for a Roman centurion unless being reprimanded by a superior officer. In the case of Marcus Longinus, his only superiors in Judea were a military tribune and Governor Pilate himself.
The Roman seized the goblet and drained it, then set it down with more force than needed. “They are dead.”
“I don’t believe it,” I challenged.
Longinus frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Ben Lazarus, do you have any other family?”
The remark caught me off guard. “Only my sisters … why?”
“Because it is better for you … and for them … to believe what I say about the House of Perez. Let it alone.”
“Is that a threat?”
The officer shrugged. “Call it a warning.” Longinus seized the jug and refilled his cup, offered me another, and when I refused, emptied his in a single, long swallow. He met my eyes squarely. “I have nothing against you, ben Lazarus. In a different time and place we might have been friends. But hear me: I had nothing to do with the fate of Judah ben Perez or his mother or his sister. But neither can I do anything to aid them. Nor can you. All you will accomplish is to bring the wrath of Rome down on your head, and Jove help you if that happens, for even your god with the unutterable name won’t be able to.”
Emotion swelled in my chest, threatening to choke me. “Judah’s my friend, Centurion! Almost a brother. And he’s innocent.”
Longinus clenched his jaw, then raised his square chin until our eyes locked again. “I know that,” he admitted. “And I admire you for your loyalty and courage. But leave it alone, for now. If there comes a time when anything … anything at all … can be done for them, I give you my solemn oath I will attemptit, but until then, let it go. For Mary’s sake, you understand? Will you agree?”
Numbly I nodded, then left without speaking again.
I met with Joseph of Arimathea, the elder, a wine exporter, with ships sailing from Joppa. He had been a great friend of my father and had lived in Rome for a time. He became the chief exporter of Judean goods to the Roman colony in Britannia. Trade with the Gentiles had made him very wealthy.
Joseph had worked closely with Judah ben Perez and was well connected throughout the Roman Empire. With Judah gone now, Joseph stepped in to help those of us who did not have the connections needed to sell our produce. He was in his midfifties and from the tribe of Levi. Though his lineage qualified him for priestly duties, an accident in his youth had left him maimed and ritually unable to serve at the Temple. He wore a patch over his left eye and was missing two fingers on his left hand. He had focused his intelligence on business. His contacts with Gentile merchants gave him the ability to conduct his affairs without
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