David Epperson - The Third Day

Pilate, though, was having none of it. “You didn’t answer my question: Is he a Jew?”

“He is not one of these Jews,” said Lavon.

The governor didn’t reply, and we could both see that his doubts persisted.

The archaeologist pressed on. “Our grandfathers tell us that our ancestors migrated long ago from a hot land far to the south. An absurd legend, no doubt, but in the middle of winter in the frozen forests, such stories have an obvious appeal.”

Pilate chuckled, which was a good sign; though again, he didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“Perhaps he mistook ancient fables for the truth,” said Lavon. “He is an excitable young man, and not completely right in the head.”

“Why take him on such a long journey, then?”

“His father ordered us to. He is rich, and we serve him, in our country.”

At that point, I could see Lavon running out of maneuvering room. I stepped forward.

“This man’s father charged me with keeping him out of trouble,” I said. “If there is any fault, it is mine for not discharging my duty.”

Pilate turned to Publius and they spoke briefly, though I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Then he turned back to Lavon. “You’re telling me for a fact that this young man was caught up in the midst of the bandits and forced to go along with them, against his will?”

“Yes, excellency. He is only a traveler from a far country.”

***

I couldn’t tell what Pilate was thinking, but there were obvious holes in our story.

“I will be frank,” he finally said. “A respected member of their high council admitted this young man to their sacred Temple, so if he is not a Jew, some important details are being omitted from your account. He was caught with the brigands and by all rights should share in their punishment.”

Once again, I’ll give Lavon credit. He kept a straight face and didn’t say a word.

Pilate continued, “On the other hand, he does not know their language, and your fellow traveler has rendered us valuable assistance.”

“Yes, excellency,” replied Lavon.

“Since I have no time to investigate the matter further, I will grant him an opportunity to redeem himself, with a simple demonstration of where his true loyalties lie.”

Before Lavon could reply, Pilate barked an order that my earpiece didn’t quite catch. The dungeon guard scurried away while the Roman officers exchanged glances of approval.

Lavon, though, had turned pale.

“What did he say?” asked Markowitz.

“He’s going to let you go,” said Lavon.

“Thank God.” He reached up as if to unshackle the iron collar around his neck.

“There is, um, a catch.” Lavon explained what he was going to have to do.

Markowitz shook his head. “That’s cold blooded murder! I won’t do it!”

Though he didn’t understand the words, Pilate could see Markowitz’s obvious reluctance. He didn’t like it.

“Is this prisoner going to turn down my generous offer?” he asked.

“With all due respect, excellency,” said Lavon, “his error was not intentional. He is merely an impulsive young man who got caught up in a situation beyond his control.”

Pilate frowned. “An impulsive young man, you say?”

The governor pointed to the flogging post at the other end of the courtyard.

“Very well; in that case, I will have him scourged. That should bring him to his senses, and teach him to surround himself with a better crowd.”

Lavon fought to suppress an upwelling of panic.

“No, excellency,” he replied, “this man will not refuse your generosity. His hesitation stems only from the fact that he has never killed before. He is no warrior.”

“All northmen are warriors,” said Pilate.

“And all have long hair, rotten teeth, and paint their faces blue,” said Lavon. “I tell you the truth. This man works as a scribe in his father’s house, to learn the merchant trade so he can carry on when the old man is no longer able to pursue it.”

“A scribe?”

“Yes, excellency.”

“Has he never hunted?”

“Of course,” Lavon lied. “But in the forest, the quarry has a sporting chance.”

That gave one of the Romans an idea. He stepped forward and whispered into Pilate’s ear.

The governor smiled. “An excellent suggestion; the men could use some entertainment. See to it at once.”

As the officer marched away, Pilate informed Lavon of his decision. The archaeologist started to remonstrate, but I tugged his arm. We had pressed our limited luck just about as far as it would reach.

“Ask him if he’ll give us time for preparation,” I said. “Tell him that regardless of what happens, it will make for a more interesting show.”

This struck Pilate as reasonable. “You have one hour,” he said.

“What are they saying?” asked Markowitz. “Are they going to let me go?”

Before Lavon could reply, a soldier walked up with two wooden training swords and a couple of small shields. He handed them to me.

“What are those for?” asked Markowitz.

I smiled as best I could as the guard unchained him; then I led him to the other side of the courtyard.

“Let’s go over here. There are some things you need to learn in a hurry.”

After about a third of our allotted hour had elapsed, I instructed Markowitz to sit down and catch his breath while I went to fetch water for us both. As I did, Lavon walked up to me and spoke quietly.

“How’s the lesson going?” he asked.

I just shook my head. Though I had more subject matter expertise than my pupil, I was still a bumbling amateur compared to anyone who had grown up using these weapons.

The archaeologist must have sensed my doubts. “Does he stand a chance?” he asked.

“It depends on who they bring up,” I replied, “though his real problem is that he hasn’t mentally accepted what he’s going to have to do. Do you know if he managed to kill that lamb in the Temple yesterday, or did the priest have to do it?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him again until we got back here.”

I just stared ahead for a moment, trying to get my head around the insanity of it all. I had always thought that these types of fights were organized ahead of time, though once again, my impressions were wrong. Lavon explained that impromptu exhibitions of this nature were commonplace throughout the ancient world.

“There’s even an example in the Old Testament,” he said. “Two of King David’s commanders got together, and I suppose they were bored. One of them said to the other, ‘let’s have some of my young men fight your young men.’ So they paired up a couple of dozen and went at it.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Each man stabbed his opponent. They all died.”

I sighed; then I glanced up at the sun and forgot all about the water. I strode back to Markowitz and slapped him hard across the shoulder with my wooden sword.

“Get up,” I said. “Hit me.”

He shuffled to his feet and made a halfhearted attempt. I swatted him again, this time hard enough to really sting.

“I said, hit me !”

Though better, his next effort still fell well short of the mark.

I popped him again, and again.

He fell back at first, but finally he let out a loud yell and took a wild swing. Although I deflected the blow with ease, this was progress. For the first time, he attacked as though he meant it.

We sparred for a little while and then I tried to show him how to make the killing stroke. He struggled; the motion was not what he had expected.

“You have to forget every sword fight you’ve ever seen in the movies,” said Lavon. “You’re holding a Roman gladius , not a medieval broadsword. You’re trying to stab your enemy, not lop off his head.”