David Epperson - The Third Day

I reached for his tunic.

Yellow .

We peered over the rocks without seeing anything, but our respite only lasted a brief moment.

“Here they come,” said Lavon.

The black helmets edged slowly toward us once more, although this time, we could see that the guards’ demeanor had changed. They no longer appeared to be a hundred percent confident of success.

A moment later, we saw why.

Lavon gestured to our right. “Look over there,” he said.

As if to confirm Naomi’s description of the gendarmes’ unpopularity, a group of shepherd boys began to pelt our persecutors with stones. Though these served more as an irritant than any serious danger, the guards could no longer be certain that they were chasing only a handful of bedraggled foreigners.

We watched the activity for a brief moment before I concluded that we should take advantage of the interlude to buy ourselves a few more precious seconds. I hefted Bryson up by the tunic and turned him toward the next ridge, a hundred yards beyond.

“Let’s go.”

***

In hindsight, this was a mistake. Our party lost all semblance of order as we dashed up the hill in a mad scramble. Worse, toward the end of our run, Bryson stepped into a hole and twisted his ankle. Lavon and I had to drag him the rest of the way to the top.

Compounding our predicament, the ruckus caused by the stone-throwing boys had drawn the attention of a Roman patrol, which immediately wheeled around and trotted toward us at a brisk double-time pace.

The shepherd kids knew trouble when they saw it, and as the legionnaires drew closer, they scattered in all directions, leaving the soldiers’ attention focused squarely upon us.

I glanced around toward the next hill to the west, but by then, Bryson’s ankle had become painfully tender. He’d never make it, nor would we, if we tried to carry him.

I reached for the Professor’s pendant and saw that the LED still glowed with the same hideous color. This time, I ripped it from his neck and surprised even myself.

I handed the chip to Sharon and pointed to our rear.

“Go. You and Naomi might be able to make it. We’ll stay here and hold them off as long as we can.”

I knew the time would be short, but every second might count.

“We still have a chip,” I added. “Go!”

Sharon hesitated long enough for Lavon to translate what I had said to a now thoroughly bewildered Naomi, who categorically refused to leave the archaeologist’s side.

By then, Sharon, too, had determined not to budge.

She handed the chip back to Bryson. “We stay together,” she said, “to the very end.”

And this was good, for by then, the choice was no longer hers to make.

While we had debated, the Roman commander divided his forty men into three groups. He sent two on a double-time pace to circle around to our left and to our right, to cut off any possibility of escape.

Then he paused to confer with the Temple guards, to ascertain any details he might have missed.

Once again, I found myself admiring the Romans’ raw efficiency. This officer knew his business.

I instructed Markowitz and Bryson to keep their eyes on the soldiers to our rear, to warn us if they started to advance. Meanwhile, the rest of us could do nothing but observe the gathering storm to our front, as we racked our brains in search of options.

Suddenly, Lavon cried out. “That’s Decius! He’s the one in command.”

Without further discussion, the archaeologist stood up and shouted something my translation software didn’t catch.

“There’s no use trying to hide our identities,” he said as he turned back to us. “Perhaps we can stall them by negotiating long enough for our return ticket to be validated.”

This was true enough, and very smart thinking.

By now, the Romans had advanced to within a hundred feet of our position. There, they paused and lowered their shields to the ground.

While his men rested, Decius shouted back.

“Your bravery and skill are worthy of Rome. I heard the governor promise that he will spare your lives.”

Lavon translated this for us before turning back to the Roman.

“Will the governor also promise that we will not spend the rest of those lives in slavery?” he replied.

Decius paused to converse with another optio . After the second man nodded, the Roman turned his eyes back to us.

“Yes, you will be allowed to go free. We will keep you as prisoners only until the king has gone back to Galilee. Afterwards, you may depart and return to your homes.”

“Why that long?” Lavon shouted.

“We must maintain appearances,” said Decius. “Surely you understand?”

This made sense, though I didn’t relish the thought of spending one second in a Roman dungeon. Governors have been known to change their minds.

“And our women?” said Lavon. “What of them?”

“Herod has insisted upon the return of his property. But do not worry: a brave and resourceful man such as yourself will have no difficulty finding others of equal quality.”

Before Lavon could reply, Naomi leapt up and unleashed a torrent of violent abuse.

The Romans laughed, at least at first, but this time, I could detect nothing good-natured in her tone. As her tirade continued, several of the soldiers grew visibly angry.

At last, Naomi ran out of steam and slumped down, dejected, behind the cover of a pile of stones.

Decius waited for a brief moment, and then spoke, one last time.

“In recognition of your service to us, I will offer you a final opportunity to surrender peacefully. If you refuse, then my conscience is clear, and the responsibility for your deaths will rest entirely upon your own heads.”

I glanced back to Bryson’s pendant: still that nasty puke-yellow.

“Ask him if he’ll let us discuss it among ourselves,” I said. “Tell him we’re all free men, and thus each of us must choose his own individual fate.”

Lavon did so, and the Roman granted us a momentary reprieve.

My mind raced as I tried to work out which tactic would provide us with the greatest delay: whether we should demonstrate that we would resist — perhaps causing the soldiers to reconsider their battle plan — or whether we should feign cooperation.

Though we risked being separated after our capture, my inclination was to go for the latter option.

“If we fight,” I said to Lavon, “they’ll kill us in short order. You know this.”

The archaeologist reluctantly agreed, and we both rose slowly, as if to make a grand demonstration of our peaceful intent.

***

Some times in life, we get to make our own choices. On other occasions, despite our most careful calculations, our choices are made for us.

This became such a moment.

As we considered Decius’s ultimatum, Lavon and I had focused so single-mindedly on delaying the Romans long enough for the LED to turn green that neither of us recognized that Naomi had reached her final tipping point.

Before we could stand fully upright to surrender, she cut loose with an unrestrained burst of profanity, berating both the Romans and our own party with equal vigor.

Her face reflected a volatile mixture of anger and betrayal, and it was only with great difficulty that Lavon managed to prevent her from grabbing a weapon.

It suddenly dawned on me why.

“She thinks we’re selling her out!” I shouted.

She did indeed. Despite Lavon’s best efforts to persuade her to the contrary, he could do nothing but hang on for dear life to prevent her from hurting either him or herself.

Sharon ran over to help, but by this point, Decius had lost patience. Somewhat reluctantly, he signaled for the dozen men at his side to proceed ahead.