Second Touch (4 page)

Marcus scrambled down the spiral staircase to the barracks. Where was ¬everybody? he wondered. He expected to lead at least a decuria of ten legionaries out to the sheep pens. Why were the Antonia’s barracks deserted? From the darkest corner of the bunkroom came a sonorous snore, like a camel bawling. On the bottom of a three-tiered rack of rope-lattice bunks was Guard Sergeant Quintus, sound asleep. Marcus poked his old friend with his foot. “Get up, you drunk! Thirty-nine of the best for sleeping on duty!” he bellowed. The old campaigner ¬didn’t fall for it. “Off duty,” he retorted, opening one eye. “After being up all night, as the centurion would know if he hadn’t slept so late.” “Where is ¬everybody?” “New order from Pilate. More pilgrims in town today than at ¬Pass¬over. Get ¬everybody out on the street in full uniform. Stop any trouble before it starts. So I gave the orders . . . and turned in.” “Well, turn out again,” Marcus demanded. “It’s just you and me, then.” The urgency in Marcus’ voice must have instantly alerted Quintus. It was an instinct that had kept him alive through wars against German tribesmen and Parthian archers alike. “What?” “Trouble right outside our own door. Come on.” “Armor?” “No time. Your sword.” Moments later the two soldiers were down the steps of the eastern exit from the fortress and ¬only yards from the sheep pens. The smell of sheep and sheep dung made the still, ground-level air thick to breathe. Marcus worried he was already too late. Had Yeshua been arrested by Antipas’

men . . . or worse? But no: There was Yeshua, hemmed in by a gesticulating crowd. “For judgment,” Yeshua said, “have I come into this world, so that the blind may see . . . and those who see may become blind.”3 The Teacher was flanked by Zadok the shepherd and two of the more reasonable Pharisees, Nakdimon ben Gurion and his uncle Gamaliel. On the other side of Yeshua was a handful of His talmidim, stout fishermen from Galilee. Opposite these was a semicircle of others, neither reasonable nor calm. “Are we blind then too?” Marcus heard one red-faced, fist-waving Pharisee demand. Marcus recognized him: Simon ben Zeraim, from whose house Miryam had been barred by an overzealous servant until Marcus intervened. And Eglon? Marcus spotted the ferretlike face of Antipas’ bodyguard on the far side of the sheep pens. He had posted a ring of his men around the animal enclosures and was closing in. “If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin,” Yeshua replied to Simon. “But now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains.”4 A renewed uproar burst from the embarrassed and offended Pharisees. How dare this upstart preacher accuse them of sin and hypocrisy? They shook their fists in Yeshua’s face. His disciples looked anxious, Nakdimon angry, Gamaliel aloof and noncommittal. Zadok brandished his staff as if ready to bash the whole lot of Yeshua’s enemies. Able to do it too, Marcus judged. “Found the new riot, have we?” Quintus asked dryly. “No armor?” “This ¬doesn’t worry me,” Marcus corrected. “But that does.” The centurion pointed to Eglon and a half dozen of his men clambering over the first of several stone barricades. They waded through the flocks on a direct course toward the Teacher. Yeshua apparently saw them too and offered a restrained smile. “I tell you the truth,” He said wryly. “The man who ¬doesn’t enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in some other way is a thief and a robber.” Laying a restraining hand on Zadok’s shoulder, He added, “The man who enters by the gate is the shepherd of his sheep. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. His sheep follow him because they know his voice.” Then in louder, unyielding tones He continued, “But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him.”5 Marcus fervently wished Yeshua was more alert to the danger He was in and ready to do a little running away Himself. Eglon was perfectly capable of slashing his way into a crowd to start a panic, then killing Yeshua in the commotion. “Come on,” Marcus ordered Quintus. “We’ll head them off. You watch my back.” “Done,” said the guard sergeant grimly, drawing his short sword. Quintus would not expend a drop of sweat, much less blood, defending a Jew, no matter how holy. But he would die protecting his centurion if the need arose. Marcus crossed a stone wall himself, wanting to intercept Eglon before

Antipas’ hired assassin got any closer to Yeshua. Lambs scattered, crowding into corners. Shepherds remained attentively distant. Yeshua continued speaking in unhurried fashion, as if teaching in the Temple courts surrounded entirely by admirers. “David, who was himself a shepherd before he was king of Israel, sang this song, ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’ ”6 Simon challenged Him. “You compare yourself to David?” Yeshua replied, “I AM the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”7 Not today! Not today! Marcus fervently hoped. With Quintus guarding his left flank, Marcus strode unflinchingly toward the oncoming Eglon. Sheep bawled and scattered before them. “Eglon! That’s far enough.” Marcus planted himself, arms folded across his chest. The noise of bleating lambs, the trapped heat, the oppressive stench formed one last barrier between the opponents . . . a blade’s sweep apart. “What right’ve you got here, Roman?” Eglon spat. “Watch your tone!” Quintus barked, advancing menacingly. “This is Centurion Marcus Longinus.” Eglon looked left and right, licking his lips in indecision. Seconds earlier he’d been in control, eager for the kill. Now he was uncertain how he’d lost the initiative. Behind him Yeshua continued, “I have other sheep who ¬aren’t of this sheepfold. I’ll bring them with me also. I must bring them. They’ll listen and hear my voice when I call them. There’ll be one flock. One shepherd.”8 “The centurion’s out of uniform,” Eglon growled. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “How was I to know? Besides,” he resumed, motioning for his men to close in, “¬I’m here on official business for—” “Doesn’t matter who is your . . . master.” Marcus’ manner conveyed he was addressing Antipas’ dog. “Be off with you. ¬I’m in charge.” Though the simple gray tunic he wore clung to his body, Marcus squared his shoulders as if for full dress inspection. “You,” Eglon said, screwing one eye shut. “You killed . . . you’re the one . . . killed Vara.” Marcus dropped his hand to grasp his sword hilt. “True. And ready for anyone else who causes trouble. Tell that to your master, eh? And I know you, Eglon. The city is full of pilgrims again, but there won’t be any corpses for you to pick over today.” Eglon cast a hard look toward Yeshua. Marcus saw murderous thoughts flash through his eyes. Eglon had been sent to murder Yeshua—that was plain enough. Yeshua also seemed aware of the purpose of Eglon’s visit. He turned His eyes full on Eglon, who suddenly grew pale. Yeshua’s next words were a challenge to the political and religious authorities who doubtless were watching the confrontation from their windows. He was calm, fearless, matter-of-fact. “The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again. No one takes it

from me. I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father.”9 What could that possibly mean? Marcus wondered. There were so many things Yeshua said that required explanation, but this was not the time to be distracted. “Leave,” Marcus ordered Eglon, “before I arrest you for disturbing the peace.” “The tetrarch won’t like this interference,” Eglon rumbled. His men had already backed away from the fight. No one wanted to end his life spiked to a Roman cross for disturbing the peace or disobeying a Roman officer. “Governor Pilate’ll hear about this.” “Yes. You can count on it.” Marcus gave no sign of concern. “Take your curs with you. I give you two minutes. After that I’ll flog any of them still within sight. And that includes you.” From the clench of Eglon’s jaw Marcus knew the man was near exploding. This was the moment things could go either way. Without giving any other sign, Marcus clasped the sword hilt, making certain it would draw smoothly if needed. Eglon stood rooted in place for a moment more then withdrew. Antipas’ men and the Temple Guards followed him. The jabber of Pharisees was even louder than before. “He’s demon— possessed,” Simon ben Zeraim asserted. “Raving mad. Why listen to him?” Marcus heard Gamaliel respond, “These ¬aren’t the sayings of a man possessed by a demon.” To which Nakdimon added, “Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?”10 Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Marcus glanced over his shoulder and got a reassuring nod from Quintus. Eglon’s company was in retreat back through the herd. Marcus turned round. Yeshua, Zadok, and Yeshua’s talmidim were gone, leaving the Pharisees wrangling among themselves.

When High Priest Caiaphas reached his library in Nicanor Gate, he found Tetrarch Herod Antipas impatiently present. Visibly irritated. Standing beside the chair of the bloated and sallow ruler of Galilee was the grizzled and unkempt chief officer of his guard and deputed assassin, Eglon. Caiaphas looked expectantly from one to the other as his priestly assistant brought in the vestments: headgear, breastplate, and blue ceremonial robe of the high priest. “You’re late, Caiaphas.” Antipas blew his nose on a silk kerchief. “You’re early, Antipas,” Caiaphas countered. “I ¬haven’t been to bed. Dreadful night. Herodias hardly slept. Everything in an uproar.” “Spirits haunting the palace? Only significant details, please. I have things to do.” Caiaphas arched his brows. “Well, then? What news have you

brought? Another prophet’s head on a platter for breakfast?” “Tell him.” Antipas waved an impatient hand at his henchman. “Tell our high priest the latest news about our Messiah.” The words dripped sarcasm. Embarrassed, clearing his throat, Eglon obeyed. “I failed,” he said. “I almost had him in Beth-Anyah, but some of his talmidim returned unexpectedly. This morning my men and I surrounded him near the Sheep Gate, but Centurion Marcus Longinus interfered.” Antipas grunted. Rome’s involvement complicated things. Caiaphas was religious head of the ¬Jewish nation. His position had been bought and paid for. Herod Antipas was overseer of a fourth of Herod the Great’s former kingdom. He was eager to reacquire the rest. These two rulers of Israel disagreed about most things. On ¬only one thing did Caiaphas and Antipas fully concur: Yeshua of Nazareth was a threat and must be silenced. Herod Antipas had already decided that assassination was the simplest approach. Yochanan the Baptizer had been trouble enough. Now this Galilean preacher—a nobody, a carpenter’s son—was being spoken of as if He were Yochanan come back to life! In Galilee there were rumblings that Yeshua would make Himself a king! For his part Caiaphas spread the notion that Yeshua was a sorcerer and demon-possessed. He had tried to trap Yeshua with charges of breaking the Sabbath, of promoting immorality, of failing to properly recognize Rome’s authority. When all those attempts at character assassination failed, he issued the formal edict, making any favorable comment on Yeshua cause for excommunication. This threat seemed to have a good effect on the people. To be cast out of the synagogue for speaking favorably about Yeshua meant an end to all commerce. Loss of business. Loss of home and family. “¬I’m building a case against Yeshua,” Caiaphas confided. “Testimony. I sent a summons to Capernaum, to Simon of the sect of the Pharisees. He entertained Yeshua and his talmidim some months ago. Yeshua claimed to have the power to forgive sins. Such details are important. Simon wrote me after the incident. He’s coming to Yerushalayim to add his testimony to the others.” “Well and good.” Antipas sucked his teeth. “Testimony means nothing in the face of what happened yesterday.” The whispers about Yeshua had certainly become more cautious. That is, until this matter about the blind beggar named Peniel. Ultimately Caiaphas favored a permanent solution. A knife across the throat of Yeshua would end his arrogant babble! “Yes. You’re right. So where is Yeshua?” Caiaphas asked. “By now I ¬don’t know,” Eglon admitted. “There’s a rumor he’s going back to the Galil.” If true, this change was satisfactory to Caiaphas for the time being. Everyone living in Jerusalem regarded Galileans as hayseeds and brigands anyway. Let Yeshua get killed out in the countryside. By the time the news reached the capital it would scarcely raise an eyebrow, much less a riot.

Besides, anything happening in the Galil was Antipas’ problem. “Well,” Caiaphas said in a conciliatory tone to Herod Antipas, “the Galil. Your territory. You’ll just have to pursue him there.” Caiaphas sat down, shifting the ritual turban so sunlight streaming in the window did not bounce into his vision off the brass plate forming the headband. Holiness unto Yahweh was lettered across it. Repressing an urge to smile, he gently nudged the headpiece so the shaft of light annoyed Antipas. Squinting, Antipas interposed a fleshy palm. “Already ordered. But Yeshua is not the ¬only problem, as I hear it. What are you going to do about Chief Shepherd Zadok in Beth-lehem? Trouble, that old man. Nothing but trouble. Brings up . . . certain unpleasant memories about my father, Herod the Great. That unfortunate incident with babies in Beth-lehem. Thirty years ago. Damning to the royal family. I hear Zadok spoke out openly in the council in favor of Yeshua. Urged the Sanhedrin to recognize this imposter as Messiah. The Romans will cut all our throats if we ¬don’t nip this sort of thing in the bud.” Stiffly Caiaphas retorted, “Zadok is chief shepherd of the flocks of Israel. A hereditary position. But he’s also a religious official ¬under my authority. We discussed his case in council last night. You may leave him to me.” Antipas grunted and shifted his bulk ponderously in the chair. “And what about the latest supposed healing . . . the blind beggar? We ¬can’t have the common people—the am ha aretz—spouting nonsense about miracles and fulfilled prophecy, can we?” “What do you suggest?” Caiaphas inquired sarcastically, knowing full well what was meant but willing to force the tetrarch to say it. “Why not put out the beggar’s eyes?” Eglon eagerly contributed. “If he’s still blind, that’ll prove Yeshua’s a liar.” Both rulers stared at the officer and Eglon subsided. “Just an idea,” he mumbled. “And if Yeshua should heal him again?” Caiaphas drawled. High priest and tetrarch stared into each other’s face, knowing what the other was thinking: Both men believed Yeshua of Nazareth ¬really did have the power to perform miracles. That said, His wonder-working was irrelevant beside the needs of the rulers to retain their authority. “I think,” Antipas conceded, “a permanent solution should be arranged for the boy as well. Peniel. Yes. Peniel. That’s his name, ¬isn’t it? How hard can it be to locate a beggar if all Yerushalayim is talking about him?”