Centurion's Rise (31 page)

Tonwen leaned back
in his chair away from the table to give his overstretched stomach extra room.  A groan escaped his lungs as he reached for the roof with his arms.  This was his first Passover feast experience and he was coming to the realization that his ability to indulge in fine food and wine was not up to the challenge. 

It was fascinating to be part of the celebration that commemorated the Hebrews gaining their freedom from Egypt, an event in which he personally played an integral
part.  He reached for another piece of unleavened bread and thought it strange how the tradition of eating flat bread could have come about.

The bread was supposed to symbolize the Egyptian slaves fleeing the city in such haste that they did not have time to let the bread prepared for the journey rise.  As Tonwen recalled the events he witnessed with his own two eyes, the Hebrews had an entire day to decide if they wanted to leave the city.  What’s more, when they did
pass through the city walls, Pharaoh did not allow them to take anything, not even the clothes on their backs. 

The only food they had for several days were the millions of dead locusts strewn about the desert sands.  If the Hebrews truly wanted to commemorate the exodus, they all needed to strip down to their bare flesh and feast on dried grass hopper bodies.

The picture of that feast made Tonwen chuckle while reaching for his newly filled goblet of wine.  He much preferred the current tradition to the misery of the actual event.  Gallono’s hand stopped him from drinking the beverage however.

“Don’t get too caught up in the festivities,” Gallono whispered.  “We both need to stay alert and make sure Jesus moves on to the next safe house
on schedule.”

Tonwen bemoaned the fact that Gallono spoke the truth.  Eve
r since his display in the temple, Jesus was a marked man in the city of Jerusalem.  It was one thing to mock the religious establishment out in the wilderness.  It was quite another to march into their seat of power and drive them from their own temple with the crack of a whip. 

It was the worst kept secret in the city that Caiaphas, the high priest, had a bounty out for the capture of Jesus.  This being the case, Tonwen and Gallono made sure Jesus did not spend more than a few hours in one location before moving on to the next.

Tonwen set down his cup with a sigh of frustration and asked, “Where to next?”

“The garden of olives,” Gallono replied.

“Gethsemane?  We were there three nights ago.  Do you not think they will check there?”

“They’re looking for him everywhere,” Gallono rebutted.  “What we need to do is leave the city to let things settle down, but
he refuses.  Our options are growing fewer by the hour.  Come now, it’s time.”

Tonwen made his way around the
long rectangular table and leaned into the ear of Jesus.  “The hour is late and it is time for us to move again.”

“I am but a servant,” Jesus said with an uncharacteristically sullen face.  Tonwen had never seen Jesus so vibrant as the days following the temple incident, but the
man standing before him at the moment looked broken.  The look was gone in a flash, however, and Jesus bid farewell to his host and dinner guests on his way out the back door.  Tonwen and Gallono followed close behind.

“Was it really necessary to interrupt the Passover feast,” Jesus asked.  “If our enemies are the temple leaders, then they are busy tonight.”

“Yes,” came Gallono’s stern reply.  “Tonight, not long before the feast I saw our friend Judas in a back alley speaking with one of the elders.  I heard the clink of silver between them.  This city is turning against you, teacher, even your closest friends are beginning to conspire.”

“Yes,” Jesus said while looking straight ahead.  “They greeted me as the Messiah because they thought I would immediately free them from their oppressors.”

“You cannot blame them for thinking that way,” Tonwen added.  “For centuries they have been oppressed and conquered by almost everyone – Babylonians, Persians, Assyrians, Greeks, Romans, and the list goes on.”

“Now that salvation does not come to match their unreasonable time table, they turn from me,” Jesus went on but came to a halt and turned to face Tonwen and rest his hand on his shoulder.  “Everyone will turn from me, even you my friend.”

Tonwen bristled at the notion.  “Never!  Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will.”

“Truly I tell you,” Jesus answered.  “This very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

The rage Tonwen felt when news that John the Baptist had been killed resurfaced at that moment.  He would not let another innocent man die on his account.  “Even if I have to die with you, I will never deny you.”

The sincerity of his words and the great offense he took at the notion of betraying his friend must have sunk in.  Jesus let those be the last words of the conversation and the three silently proceeded to the garden of olives beneath the Mount of Olives.

When they entered the garden, Tonwen and Gallono immediately found an olive tree twice as big around as a man.  They both sat down and rested their heads against the soft bark.  Quickly, the wine Tonwen consumed at the feast weighed heavy on his eyes and he fell fast asleep.

Moments later, or was it hours?  Tonwen couldn’t be sure
through his sleepy fog.  Either way, he felt a sharp shove to his shoulder that brought him fully awake to see Jesus kneeling in front of him with his face only inches away.

“Look, the hour has come,” Jesus spoke and pointed to the clearing only a few feet away where a mob carrying clubs, swords, and torches approached.  “The son of man is delivered into the hands of sinners.  Rise!  Let us go, for here comes my betrayer.”

Tonwen and Gallono were in the process of scampering to their feet when the mob’s leader came up to Jesus.  In the moonlight Tonwen recognized him as Judas Iscariot, the one Gallono witnessed accepting coin in the back alley.

“Greetings
Rabbi,” Judas said and then kissed Jesus on both cheeks.

“Do what you came for, friend,” Jesus replied
quietly.

Half a dozen men stepped forward to bind Jesus’ hands in rope
and lead him away to his imminent demise.  Tonwen could think of nothing to do.  They were outnumbered a hundred to one, and even Gallono would not be able to fight through those odds.  All he could do was stand by and watch as the first threads of rope touched the wrist of his friend.

At that moment, the prediction of Tonwen denying his friend returned to his mind.  Was standing silent while they arrested Jesus the same as denying him?  Before
Tonwen had time to think, his hand was in motion. He drew a sword from the nearest soldier and swung for the head of the man tying Jesus’ hands.

His target flinched away f
rom the blow at the last second and managed to only lose his right ear instead of his whole head.  The man held his wound and staggered back wailing in excruciating pain.

“Malchus,” the victim’s brother cried out as he ran to his side.  “You’ll die for this!” he declared and drew a sword of his own and squared off against Tonwen. 

Before a duel could ensue, Jesus stepped in between them.  “Put your swords away, for all who draw the sword will die by the sword.  Do you think I cannot call on my Father and he will at once put at my disposal twelve legions of angels?  But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled that say it must happen in this way?”

The action of the moment was paused, but not the emotion.  With a
serenity he had no business displaying, Jesus reached down to the ground and picked up the severed ear.  He carried the bloody object over to its owner and placed it where the ear belonged.  To everyone’s amazement, when he let go the ear remained in place.  As Jesus traced his hand along the man’s cheek and neck, the blood vanished, as though a magical cloth in his hand drew it away.

Tonwen dropped his sword in disbelief.  Had Jesus taken some of the healing ointments while
Tonwen slept in order to heal that man’s ear?   Even if he had, Tonwen could not fathom how it was able to work so quickly.  A severed limb could be reattached or regenerated, but the procedure took time, not mere seconds. 

Before Tonwen had time to ponder the events further, Jesus spoke again, this time to the armed mob.  “Am I leading a rebellion that you have come out with swords and clubs to capture me?  Every day I sat in the temple courts teaching, and you did not arrest me.  But this has all taken place that the writings of the prophets might be fulfilled.”

And then the mob took him away, and pretended like Tonwen and Gallono did not even exist.  All of them that is except the brother of Malchus.  He stared Tonwen down as he walked backwards along with the mob.  He did not press his attack because his brother was healed, but it did not look like he was willing to forgive the assault either. 

Tonwen paid the man no attention as his mind swam in turmoil.  He had led yet another good man to his demise.  He knew it, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it he
realized in despair.

“
Bring those catapults
forward a hundred feet.  They’re out of range to support our assault on their right flank,” Tomal ordered.

While
his subordinate rushed off to carry out the order, Tomal looked out across the grassy field that lay before his army.  A thick layer of fog that enveloped the field in the early morning hours was in the process of cooking off in the sunlight.  The faint outline of Valnor’s opposing force could finally be seen through the thinning haze, giving form to the ruckus and clatter Tomal and his men began hearing several hours earlier.

The field was flat. With the exception of a shallow ditch his men hastily dug the night before, the land carried no advantage for either force.  Tomal cursed himself for allowing his army to
get trapped in such a place.

If he faced any other army he would not have been so concerned, but he had every reason to fear the enemy he faced on the battle field this day.  They were not Gauls armed with pitchforks or untrained kids conscripted into Pompey’s Legions to simply fill the lines.  Valnor’s army was full of seasoned professional soldiers who knew what they were about.  Tomal’s army was badly outnumbered
, lacked proper training and therefore needed to fight from an advantaged position to stand a chance. 

Knowing the numerical deficit he faced, Tomal never intended to give battle.  He planned to slip across the Po River two days earlier and vanish into the surrounding hillsides and regroup later, but Valnor’s advanced skirmishers managed to destroy both bridges before his forces arrived.  Tragically, the water level was high enough and the current strong enough to prevent any attempt at crossing on foot.  Now Tomal was left without options; he would have to fight.

Tomal’s eyes fell upon General Coranus as he rode up on his panting horse. “It’s going to be a glorious day,” the general exclaimed.

“Certainly a bloody one,” Tomal
added in a thoroughly dejected tone.  “We’re outnumbered four to one and have our backs up against an impassable river.  Somehow I doubt the glory of this day will grace this side of the battlefield.”

“Nonsense,” Coranus insisted.  “When y
ou corner a wounded animal is when it becomes most dangerous.  The men know it’s either victory or death from this point, and they will fight like hell to avoid the latter.”

“You forget the men have a third option at their disposal,” Tomal cautioned.  “They can turn on their generals to save their own skin.”

“Bah!” Coranus scoffed.  “Not my men – never.”

Disgusted with the maddening optimism of his general, Tomal looked out into the field once more. His eyes focused on a fluttering white flag floating just above the gray haze still lingering on the field.  It bounded up and down as it drew closer and eventually the shaft of a flag standard and the horseman carrying it emerged from the fog and came to a full stop in
front of Tomal’s battle lines.

“Let him through,” Coranus shouted.

The line of soldiers obediently stepped aside.  Tomal observed the body language of his men as the envoy approached.  Most followed the horseman with a wide, hopeful gaze.  The rest looked in Tomal’s direction with hard lines around their eyes.  Tomal was certain a mutiny was in the works if negotiations did not go well.   

“Good morning, General,” The envoy said as he brought his mount to a halt in front of Tomal and General Coranus.  “The co-Consuls and Senator Octav
ian invite you to friendly parley at the midpoint between these two Roman armies.

“We accept their gracio
us invitation for friendly parley,” Tomal replied, making sure his response carried down to the ears of his men as well as the envoy.  “We shall proceed under your banner of truce.”

With
an affirmative response, the envoy turned his mount around, and the three of them made their way into the grassy field.  The fog was thin enough that Tomal could make out three mounted men making their way to the middle of the battlefield from the opposing side.  Tomal allowed the envoy to move several horse lengths ahead before engaging his general in a brief strategy session.

“What was your read of our men as we crossed through the lines?” Tomal asked.

“I think they’re in good spirits and itching for a fight,” Coranus answered without thought or hesitation. 

Tomal abruptly grabbed the general under his chin and turned the man’s face to look at their battle lines once more.  “You see how they whisper among each other and look toward you and I with venom.  Would you care to recant your prior assertion that the men would never mutiny?”

Coranus shook his head free of Tomal’s grasp.  When he looked at Tomal once more, the brash confidence was gone, replaced by the pale face of a dead man.  “I think they stood aside to let us out, but they won’t be so accommodating when we return.”

“That seems to be the situation,” Tomal snarled.

“We may as well have told the envoy we surrender unconditionally then,” Coranus added.  “Whatever these men demand, we must give them or we’re both dead men.”

“Hah,” Tomal chuckled softly with a sideways grin.  “My army is no match in a battle of swords, but I’m still very much a contender in the battle of wits with these men.  Like you said, an an
imal is most lethal when cornered.”

The doubt in the eyes of Coranus was unmistakable.  Tomal gave him a reassuring slap on the back and
said, “Watch and learn.  Victories come in many forms.”

Tomal then spurred his mount into a slow gallop to arrive at the meeting point with an upbeat and energetic cadence.  He came to a full stop and saw Valnor, and co-Consuls Hirtius and Pansa waiting with bored expressions on their faces. 

Tomal looked past the three men and took in the intimidating size and fury of the army backing up their pending demands: hundreds of catapults, thousands of bowman, ten thousand cavalry, and forty thousand foot soldiers.  These men owned the moment, and they knew it.  Tomal’s only chance at favorable terms was to establish dominion over the conversation and frame the discussion.

“You’re travelling kind of light don’t you think, gentlemen?” Tomal asked with all the bravado he could summon.

“It’ll do the job,” Hirtius said without the slightest hint of amusement.

“That’s possible I guess,” Tomal replied with a more serious tone seeping into his voice.  It was time to take charge. “But what kind of force would that leave you to pursue the real traitor - Brutus?”

“We’ll just have to take it one step at a time and see where we end up,” Pansa stated.

Tomal cracked a brief smile at the statement.  These men were proud and overly eager to boast about their superior standing at the moment.  This was going to be easy Tomal thought as he removed the smile from his lips for his next statement.  “Despite what you may think, gentlemen, I’m no fool.  My army is trapped and we will be annihilated if a battle commences this day.  It is a mathematical certainty.

Pansa was about to say something, but Tomal jumped back in.  “I also know that if you attack, half your men will die in combat and the other half will be left licking their wounds for many months.  I ask you, what will dear Brutus be doing while your army attempts to mend itself?”

Silence hung in the air for entirely too long as Tomal’s three opponents had no response.

“Do you think he’ll sit around his camp fire and sing songs with his men while you rearm?  No, that doesn’t sound right now does it?  Instead, he’ll take his army and run you and your bandaged cluster of cripples right into the sea and return to Rome and claim his prize.  That’s what I see as the eventual outcome of a battle here today.”

Tomal gently jabbed his mount in the side with his he
els to set the animal in motion.  He guided the horse around to the backside of Valnor, Hirtius and Pansa as he continued talking.  “Regardless of which army is left standing at the conclusion of this battle, Brutus will win the war.  Let us not lose sight of who the real enemy is, gentlemen.

Tomal led his mount round to the front of Pansa and continued his lesson.  “Brutus is the real enemy.  He committed a brutal murder in the middle of the senate floor.  My friend, my champion Julius Caesar, died
at his hand and I want nothing more than to see him pay the price for it.  In that we have a common goal, do we not?”

“We do,” Hirtius conceded, “But there is the little matter of treason committed by you against the Republic.”

“Treason?” Tomal repeated as he and his horse crossed in front of Hirtius.  “I attempted to rule in Caesar’s stead according to his wishes.  I freely admit to my complete incompetence in the endeavor, but incompetence doesn’t warrant being pursued by an army, no matter how grave the missteps.”

“You never tried to honor Caesar’s wishes,” Valnor declared.  “You never distributed the funds Caesar designated for the people.  Then when I confronted you to release the
coin to me, per Caesar’s decree, you refused, punched me in the nose, and expelled me from the city.”

Tomal stopped his horse directly in front of Valnor.  When he spoke again it was in the Novan language. 
“You’re not going to let a little thing like that get in the way of our shared hatred of Hastelloy now are you?”

”You forget yourself Tomal; I hate you too,”
Valnor said with a level tone and a hard stare that never left Tomal’s eyes.

“Perhaps,”
Tomal conceded. 
“But you don’t have the luxury of hating us both right now.  It’s time to prioritize.  Do you want revenge against the one who punched you, or against the man who forced you to violate a woman, and submit to Caesar’s sodomy?  Both orders going against the marriage vows I know you hold dear.  Is it really that hard of a choice?”

“Not really, but knowing that when Hastelloy is taken care of I’ll soon find a knife buried in my back by your hand complicates things,”
Valnor rebutted.

“Like Ponsa said earlier,”
Tomal added. 
“You’ll just have to take it one step at a time and see where you end up.”

Valnor shift
ed the conversation back into the common language for all to hear and comprehend.  “I hereby grant your request to join my army as we march on the vile traitor Marcus Brutus under one condition.  The contents of your treasury cart will be transferred to my own and the wages paid to your men will come from my account going forward.”

Tomal bit down on his lower lip, nearly drawing blood,
to suppress an enraged outburst.  Valnor’s condition would undercut the loyalty of his men – eventually.  In the short term Valnor was taking on the liability of paying the men’s wages.  The process of turning the men’s allegiance to their new paycheck provider would take many months, which was longer than it would take to finish off Hastelloy.  It wasn’t ideal, but it beat facing a mutiny when he returned to his own lines.

“I graciously accept your terms,” Tomal said with a forced smile.  “Together we will bring justice to our real enemy.”

The parley ended with both sets of leaders returning to their respective armies to inform their men of the armistice.  Coranus beamed with pride riding next to Tomal.  “That was a truly remarkable turn of fortunes for us.  They actually did us a favor as the treasury cart was nearly empty and we wouldn’t be able to pay the men soon anyway.”

“Victories come in all forms,” Tomal said with a bright smile as the ranks of his men parted to let them back behind the battle lines
; only after hearing the good news of course.