David Epperson - The Third Day

“First I must ask you a question,” he finally said. “Who are you? And where are you really from?”

Lavon acted as if he were taken aback, though deep inside his bowels must have been dissolving. I know mine were.

“You know our names, and that we are from Norvia, a land far to north, beyond Germania,” he said.

Publius slammed his hand down on the table. “Do not lie to me!” he shouted. “You know this name, this Joseph of Arimathea.”

Bryson turned white after Lavon had translated, though the archaeologist himself managed to keep his composure.

“You recognized other names, too, that you would have no reason to know if you were truly from the other side of the world — like that squalid little village we passed through on our way to the city — or, as our informants told us, the old priest Nicodemus, there in the Temple.

“You even knew of that prophet who drove out the merchants the other day. I could see it in your eyes that you did, as much as you tried to conceal it. How is this so?”

“We have not lied to you, Publius,” said Lavon. “We have indeed traveled from a far country, beyond Germania. Look at our white skins. Do we resemble anyone native to this part of the world?”

“No, but that does not answer my question.”

“We have told you nothing untrue,” said Lavon.

“Then you have left part of your story out. What have you omitted?”

Lavon, to his credit, kept his cool and looked the centurion straight in the eye. “The part you would not believe, even if we explained it to you.”

“Try,” he ordered.

Lavon gestured toward me.

“All right,” he said. “Do you recall that bandage that he used to save your soldier after the ambush on the road?”

“Yes; his recovery has been remarkable. It worked almost like magic.”

“That’s right — magic; and in seven days, it will begin to melt away. In fourteen, it will disappear of its own accord. Within a month, your man will be fit to return to full active duty. By then, his wound will have healed so completely that aside from a small scar, no one who wasn’t already aware of his injury will be able to tell that it had ever occurred.”

Publius stepped back; his face reflecting an uncharacteristic alarm.

“Are you gods?”

Lavon laughed and pointed to Markowitz, who now lay curled up in the fetal position around a bucket reeking of vomit.

“Gods. Yes, I can see how some would conclude that we are gods.”

At this, the Roman smiled and the tension started to melt away. However, his wariness did not completely vanish.

“What is it you want?” he finally asked.

“The same thing you do: to leave this place and return to our homes — after we get our woman back, of course.”

The centurion’s expression darkened. “How do you know I want to leave?”

I answered after Lavon translated.

“When I commanded soldiers, I spent a year in a country much like this one — a morass of warring tribes and religious fanatics trying to kill me and my men. All I wanted to do was finish my job and go home.”

“You did complete your duties?” asked Publius. “You followed your orders?”

“Certainly. If there is anything we soldiers know how to do, it’s to follow orders, whether they make any sense or not.”

The centurion glanced once more toward Markowitz. “Is that why you tolerated this young man?”

I nodded. “It is as we told you before: his father is rich; we serve him. He ordered us to look after him.”

“And the woman: surely she is no princess.”

“I apologize for not telling you the whole story,” said Lavon. “In truth we have no princesses. We live in a republic, but the people in the lands we passed through do not understand what that is. It is a difficult concept to explain.”

“Rome was a republic once,” said Publius.

“We did not know that at the time,” said Lavon. “Otherwise we would have told you the complete truth.”

Publius considered this for a moment.

“If you do not bring her back, your consul will be angry with you, no?”

“In such an event, our disgrace would be so complete that we could not return home at all,” said Lavon.

“Can you help us?” he added.

Publius frowned. “I am three years from retirement. I will find a wife and have my own farm. I will not stand for anyone to put this at risk.”

“We do not wish to put you in any danger,” said Lavon. “We are only seeking to reunite our party once more, so we can leave and return to our homes.”

“What about the Pyramids?”

“We can come back later, as the gods permit. If they are as big as we’ve been told, they are not going anywhere.”

Publius chuckled, which was a good sign. Then he signaled to me.

“I am invited to Herod’s palace as the prefect’s representative tonight. I will take this man as my servant.”

“He cannot talk to anyone,” said Lavon.

“This is no obstacle. Servants are not permitted to speak.”

“What will he do?”

“Stand and watch. He may learn something useful.”

“How?”

“He appears to be a resourceful man. He will think of something, and if he cannot speak, he cannot say anything dangerous, on impulse, as you could.”

Lavon nodded. “When?”

“After sunset. I will send a slave for him when I am ready to go. The rest of you must remain here.”

***

“Do you really think he’ll help us?” Bryson asked after the Roman had departed.

Lavon thought so, though he warned us to take Publius’s retirement plans seriously.

“As a centurion with a distinguished service record, he’s in line for a land grant, at the very least. Depending on where he settles, he might even wind up with a cushy posting at one of the Roman training facilities. By first century standards, he’ll have a very nice life. He can’t afford to take any chances.”

“I’ll do my best to see that he doesn’t,” I said.

“What do you expect to accomplish?” asked Bryson.

I shrugged. “A little knowledge is better than none, I suppose.”

For the next few hours, we had nothing to do but wait. We watched the priests perform the evening sacrifices as our servant brought in an oil lamp, along with more bread and wine, a plate of boiled vegetables, and a chunk of meat that looked like the breast of a duck.

The air had grown chilly, so Lavon draped another blanket over a sleeping Markowitz. Then he returned to his window and stared out toward the southwest, lost in thought.

As the twilight began to fade, he turned to us and directed our attention the same way.

“At this moment, right over there, Jesus and the disciples are getting ready for the Last Supper.”

Before Bryson or I could react, Lavon walked back to the table, took a piece of bread, tore it into three pieces, and handed one to each of us. Though he knew Bryson wasn’t a believer and probably had his doubts about me, it just seemed like the thing to do.

“On the night in which he was betrayed, he took the bread and broke it, saying ‘this is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’”

After we ate, Lavon took the wine jug and refilled our goblets.

“In the same way, he took the cup, saying ‘this cup is the new covenant, in my blood, which is poured out for you.’”

We each took a sip of our wine and stared once more to the southwest, in silence.

“I can scarcely believe this is happening,” Bryson said after a few minutes had passed. “I wish we had some way to follow him around.”

“Knowing the exact location wouldn’t help us much,” Lavon replied. “It’s not like any of the parties involved would let us stand to one side and observe.”