The Third Day (9 page)

When he saw me, he signaled toward a small slit in the rock, barely visible about a hundred yards in the distance.  We both crept toward it without speaking. 

We had only gone a short distance when we saw a bright flash.  A man in a robe jumped to his feet and started frantically casting about. 

Markowitz. 

“Robert?  Bill?  Where are you?” he called out.  

Lavon rushed forward and tackled him.  “For God’s sake shut up.” 

We sat there for about a minute, listening and hoping no one had heard us, before we crept closer to the cave.  I hesitated at the entrance, though Lavon reminded us that the state of the Professor’s bones meant that whatever had happened to him, a wild animal lurking inside had not torn him apart. 

Silly me. 

Once we had gone in, I could tell that the cave broadened considerably, though without a portable source of light, it was impossible to tell how deep into the hills it went. 

I had just begun running through my own mental checklist when we saw another flash about twenty-five feet in front of the cave entrance. 

“They’re getting more accurate,” whispered Lavon, who chirped a quiet ‘psst’ and helped Sharon into the cave. 

Her eyes bulged with disbelief.  I asked her, as a joke, how things were back in Boston, but she was too stunned to speak. 

We didn’t have long to gather our wits, though.  As she eased herself into a comfortable spot, Lavon continued to stare out the narrow slit with an expression of total concentration. 

Something
was out there. 

All I could see in the early dawn light were rocky, scrub-covered hills that ran on for some distance.  But Lavon’s senses proved correct:  not long afterward, we heard bleating and watched a shepherd drive a small flock of about two dozen animals into a narrow ravine a quarter mile away. 

He was in a hurry, too.  Just behind him, two other people moved quickly to catch up; one of them a small child whose legs struggled valiantly to maintain the pace. 

I would have laughed at the little munchkin – he was trying so hard – but moments later, we heard a distinctive clanging sound, one that even I, with my Army damaged ears, could hear plainly.  It was the sound of equipment, and armor. 

Soldiers
, I mouthed to Lavon, who nodded. 

Sharon started to peer outside, but he pulled her back – just in time, too – for a few seconds later, a primeval shout broke the morning’s quiet, followed immediately by the impact of stones against shields. 

I muttered a silent expletive.  This was an unpleasant turn of events. 

We couldn’t do much but lie flat on the ground and listen as the clashing of swords accompanied the screams of men as they were hit.  Making matters worse, the first casualties started trickling past. 

Sharon blanched at the sight of a man hobbling by, though she had the presence of mind not to make a sound.  It couldn’t have been easy:  the man’s left arm had been nearly sliced off at the elbow and his knee length tunic was soaked in blood. 

By some miracle, he didn’t seek shelter in our cave.  Either he didn’t know of it, or, more likely, he suffered from the tunnel vision so common to wounded men in headlong flight. 

As time went on, the images outside failed to improve.  Two bearded men passed by next; one helping the other, who held his hands over his belly, struggling with only limited success to keep his own entrails from falling to the ground. 

That one wouldn’t make it very far, I knew.  Whatever these people had planned, it had gone badly wrong. 

A stream of men followed, all dressed in similar beige tunics, scrambling down the hill as fast as they could.  A few still held onto their swords, but most had either lost their weapons or thrown them aside in their haste to get away. 

I heard a splat as another wounded man fell flat on his face only about ten yards from our position.  It was then that we got our first glance at their enemies.  Seconds later, a Roman soldier ran the injured man through with his sword. 

Though Sharon and Markowitz had turned their faces away, I didn’t think either of them would forget the hideous gurgling as the Roman kicked his victim to free his weapon from the man’s ribs. 

I was concerned that the soldier would spot us, but after dispatching his adversary, he charged forward, looking for others.  Moments later, two more squads of Romans ran past.  Like the first man’s, their weapons glowed red; and it wasn’t long before we heard additional screams coming from down the hill to our left. 

After that, no one passed by for several minutes, so I began to relax.  However, my relief was premature.  I heard Lavon swear quietly and glanced up in horror as a lone man, about fifty yards away, ran straight toward the cave at full speed. 

The runner had reached a point only about twenty feet from the opening when a brilliant light flashed directly in front of him.  We heard the collision before our eyes could adjust.  When they did, we saw both parties sprawled on the ground, momentarily stunned by the blow. 

Unfortunately, the Romans saw it, too.  One drew back his spear. 

At the sight of the soldiers, the two staggered to their feet.  The first man took off running in the opposite direction, and I could only watch as a legionnaire, as if by instinct, tossed his long
pilum
. 

I couldn’t see exactly what happened, but the sound of a thud, followed by a sharp cry of pain, told me enough.  That runner wouldn’t be going home tonight. 

The other man staggered into the cave and collapsed, groaning and holding his bleeding nose.  Though he had grown a short beard, Henry Bryson hadn’t otherwise changed in the last three years. 

I dragged him back into the darkness and cautioned him to be silent. 

He was, for a few moments at least.  As he recovered his wits, though, his curiosity got the better of him.  He knew he had seen me before; he just couldn’t figure out where.

“Who are you?” he finally asked. 

“People trying not to get killed,” I replied.  “Not that you’ve helped much.” 

“How did you get here?” 

“Your wife sent us.” 

“My wife?  Juliet?  Why would she do that?” 

My eyes, however, had turned to the Romans approaching the cave’s entrance. 

“Be quiet,” I said.  “Your new friends are coming to visit.” 

Now I’ve been in some hellish scrapes during my fifty-plus years on this planet, but in spite of all that followed, I can’t think of a time when I felt as much absolute raw terror as I did that morning in the cave. 

Lavon, too, had turned pale, as well he might.  That the others hadn’t was only due to their blessed ignorance of the typical fate of Roman prisoners. 

About twenty feet away, three soldiers stepped cautiously toward the entrance with their swords drawn and their shields held high.  The rising sun shone straight into their eyes and I could tell they were hesitant to go charging into the darkness, not knowing what dangers might lurk inside. 

That was the only thing keeping our merry little band alive, but it wouldn’t last long.  We had to figure something out, and fast. 

It’s strange, the thoughts that come to mind in times of mortal peril.  I recalled a BBC interview I had seen many years before, featuring a survivor of the
Piper Alpha
oil rig disaster in the North Sea.  The man had jumped over a hundred feet into freezing water.  When asked why, he said the choice was simple:  the rig was on fire; certain death lay behind; only probable death lay ahead; so he jumped. 

I glanced back toward the interior of the cave.  I couldn’t see how far it ran, but it surely came to an end.  If the Romans came in after us, they would kill everyone and sort it out later.  We had no real options. 

I leaned over to Lavon and whispered, “Can you tell them we’re travelers, that we’re not their enemies?” 

He had reached the same conclusion.  He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted in Greek. 

The soldiers stopped, though they did not lower their swords.  One, however, called out and moments later, a senior man appeared.  The red transverse crest of a centurion topped his helmet. 

“Come out,” the officer ordered. 

As Lavon translated, I took stock of our odds.  Both he and Markowitz were clean shaven, while the Romans’ enemies that morning all had beards – Jewish Zealots, I guessed.  We had a plausible chance. 

“Tell him not to kill us,” I said.  “Tell him we’re not Jews.” 

Markowitz spoke for the first time.  “I’m Jewish.” 

“That’s not something I would advertise right now,” I grunted. 

Lavon spoke once more in halting Greek.  Nothing happened for a second or two, but then the soldiers lowered their swords.  Though the Romans continued to hold their shields high, this was at least a step in the right direction. 

We had one last card to play.  I tapped Sharon on the shoulder and instructed her to say, in loud English, “We’re a peaceful people.  Don’t hurt us please.” 

She protested.  “They won’t understand a word.” 

“Just do it,” I said.  “Let them hear a woman’s voice.” 

This had the intended effect.  The soldiers finally lowered their shields, even though their wary expressions did not entirely disappear. 

I turned to Lavon again.  “We’re going to have to go out.  Tell them we have no weapons.” 

He did so; then he lifted Sharon to her feet and pulled back her shawl to expose her blonde hair.  After a quick instruction not to resist in any way, I gently nudged her toward the cave’s mouth. 

At the sight of her, the centurion visibly relaxed and ordered his men to take a few steps back. 

That
was progress, I thought.  We might live to see the end of this day after all. 

She walked slowly toward the Roman with her hands held shoulder-high.  As she got close, the centurion pointed to a spot of flat ground off to his right and motioned for her to sit. 

Sharon followed these instructions and sat upright, with her arms around her knees.  A junior soldier hovered over her, but he made no overtly hostile move. 

After watching for a few more seconds, Lavon glanced back and took a deep breath.  “Well, here goes nothing.” 

He stepped out of the cave with his hands in the air and received the same instruction.  This time a Roman pushed him to the ground, though Lavon quickly collected himself and crawled to Bergfeld’s right, where he sat upright in a similar fashion, with his hands easily visible. 

The rest of us followed, and after being frisked – none too gently, I might add – we found ourselves seated on the ground, facing the cave’s mouth. 

A couple of the soldiers began to rummage through our bags, but found no weapons other than my small folding knife.  One of them opened and closed the knife with great curiosity, but the centurion soon ordered him back to his duties. 

A second soldier pulled a sack of coins from Markowitz’s bag.  The centurion once again shook his head, so the legionnaire replaced the money and joined his comrades – reluctantly, I could tell, since I don’t think their morning’s exertions had brought them much in the way of loot. 

I could see right away that our centurion was an old pro.  A few minutes later, he called for a torch and sent two men into the cave, just to be sure.  They emerged after a short time, shaking their heads, and at that point, the immediate tension abated.  Whoever we were, he could see that we were not Zealots. 

The soldiers had not yet completed their tasks, though.  The officer glanced up the hill and signaled to a legionnaire standing next to their supply wagon.  Then he turned and motioned for us to stand up and follow him. 

As we trudged up the slope, a handful of nearby Romans searched through the scrub for wounded enemies hiding in the brush.  Those they found, they either finished off with swords or crushed their skulls with their heavy shields. 

At each splat, Markowitz and Bergfeld gasped, without understanding the kind hand fate had dealt these men.  That may seem an odd type of kindness to the uninitiated, but everything’s relative, as we all would see shortly. 

When we got up to the road, a soldier directed us to sit off to one side, across from their supply wagon.  The centurion and Lavon got into a conversation, and I watched him point to a short stick about five feet to his right and gesture to the Roman in supplication. 

The centurion nodded.  Lavon picked up the stick and scratched something in the dirt that looked like a map, as several other legionnaires watched with great interest.  For his finishing touch, he drew three large triangles near the bottom right-hand corner of his diagram. 

The Roman officer stared at the ground for a minute; then he burst out laughing and directed Lavon back over to join us. 

I couldn’t tell what the man found so humorous, but I thought it best to remain silent for the moment.  Aside from a few leering glances toward Sharon, the soldiers paid little attention to the strangers in their midst.  I wanted to keep it that way.