James Mace - Soldier of Rome - Journey to Judea

Justus cringed as he saw the Nazarene succumb to the weight of the crossbeam and collapse into the dirt. In truth, he was amazed that the man could walk at all, much less carry the crossbar to which he would soon be nailed. An auxilia started lashing him with a whip, but the man could only crawl at this point. A Judean in the crowd forced his way past the auxiliaries and picked up the large brace. Whether he did so because he was ordered to or of his own volition, Justus did not know. He watched as Abenader roughly dragged the Nazarene to his feet and the macabre procession started once more. The two condemned criminals that carried their crossbars behind the Nazarene were a pathetic sight. They had been spared the lash and were relatively unscathed by comparison, yet their lowly demeanor and open sense of self pity paled to the quiet dignity with which the Nazarene carried himself.

The crowds had mostly dispersed by the time they finished the long trek to Golgotha. Only a small group, including the Nazarene’s mother, was permitted to watch the execution. Watching from above were Artorius along with a group of officers and legionaries.

Justus paced around the field as the two criminals screamed piteously for mercy and then in pain as they were nailed to their crosses. He ignored the men, his eyes fixed on the Nazarene. He continued to step, never watching where he was treading; men moving out of his way as he walked past them. He cringed as a pair of auxiliaries tore the robes from the man. The scabs which stuck the robe to his skin were torn open, and his wounds bled afresh. Though he winced in pain he made not a sound. All was silent with the exception of the moans of the two criminals and the stifled sobs from the Nazarene’s mother.

Justus’ gaze was transfixed as the auxiliaries threw the Nazarene back onto the cross. They stretched his arms out so roughly that he could hear an audible pop as one shoulder was dislocated. His wrists and ankles were then tied down. Though silent up to this point, he cried out as the heavy spikes were driven into his wrists and feet. Once the cross was erected and slammed into its posthole Justus finally looked away.

“Eli Eli lama sabachthani!” the Nazarene cried out.

Justus understood his words, which said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Time passed and yet hardly a sound was made. There had been a brief commotion when the two criminals argued amongst themselves. Justus, who spoke Aramaic, thought that one was scoffing at the Nazarene while the other chastised him and said that at least their fate was deserved, that the Nazarene was blameless of any crime. The second man then implored Jesus for his pardon. Though he could not say for certain, for the response was in a low and raspy voice, Justus thought he heard the man known as Christ reply, “I promise…today you will be with me in Paradise.”

“Paradise,” a legionary, who also spoke Aramaic, scoffed. “Their corpses will be rotting in the ground or else a feast for the carrion birds.”

“Yes,” Justus concurred, though his expression betrayed his doubts. He could not fathom why he was suddenly uneasy. After all, he had crucified more than his share of condemned men during his tenure in the legions. The Nazarene, who had so recently been thought of as a possible ally, was now a wretched sight. His naked body was covered in blood from numerous lacerations wrought by the terrible scourging. The crown of thorns gouged into his scalp, blood coagulating in his matted hair. His head hung low, his left eye beaten shut, and his voice barely audible above a harsh whisper. And yet for all that, there was something more that Justus simply could not place.

A small handful of his legionaries stood clustered at the edge of the clearing. The rest of the soldiers that paced quietly were auxiliaries. The legionary who spoke Aramaic leaned against a long spear that he carried, his face wrought with boredom. The crowds that had followed the long trek to Golgotha had mostly dispersed. Huddled together near the crucifixes were a middle-aged woman, who Justus thought was the Nazarene’s mother, along with a younger woman, and a couple of men.

“I would just as soon finish the poor bastard and be done with it,” the legionary said as he spat into the dust.

“So would I,” the centurion agreed quietly.

The difference was the legionary wished to dispatch the Nazarene so he would not have to stand guard anymore. For Justus it was a rare feeling of mercy. Even if by an impossible stroke they were told to cut him down and release him, Justus knew the poor victim would never survive the fearful wounds he had already sustained. The spikes driven through his wrists and feet had smashed through bone and created gaping holes that oozing blood coagulated around; already drawing the feasting of horse flies. It was a terrible sight! Justus Longinus, the hardened centurion who had been devoid of emotion since his son was killed five years before, felt a single tear roll down his cheek.

Artorius sat with his back against a rock. He wasn’t sure how long they would have to stay there, especially since it could often take a couple days for one to die by crucifixion. He suspected that given the fearsome injuries Jesus of Nazareth had sustained already, he would last a day at the most. The sky clouded in the late afternoon, and he was thankful for the overcast reprieve from the heat.

“The lads have come back from patrol,” Magnus said as he sat next to his cohort commander. “It’s pretty quiet. I don’t think our friend from Nazareth will have any rescuers coming for him.”

“His followers are docile,” Artorius remarked. “They are not zealots. And even if they did wish to come cut him down, his wounds will let them know that he’s not long for this world anyway.”

As they sat quietly, the cloudy sky suddenly grew black. Artorius opened his eyes and was suddenly alert, as were the men around him. All were immediately on their feet as a slight tremor shook the earth beneath them.

“Earthquake,” his signifier said.

The sky grew even darker, and the trembling was now accompanied by sounds like thunder though there was no flash in the darkened sky.

“Get everyone out of there!” Artorius ordered Magnus as he stood, pointing to where Justus and his men still lingered along the three crosses.

“But the condemned…” Magnus started to say.

“Finish them!” Artorius snapped.

The Norseman nodded and signaled down to Justus as Artorius ordered his men to don their armor and make ready to move. Once the legionaries were on their feet, Artorius walked back to the ledge and gazed at the scene of chaos below. A few onlookers were fleeing in terror, and the auxiliaries had also broken and ran. Only Justus and his legionaries stood their ground, as did the Nazarene’s mother and her few companions. It was then that Artorius took a deep breath and uttered the immortal words, “Here was the Son of God.”

The signal was unmistakable, and it brought Justus a sense of relief. He was anxious to leave that cursed place and found he could no longer bear the sight of the stricken Nazarene, whose bloodied body had since grown still.

“Break their legs and then get ready to move out!” he shouted to the nearest soldier as the sounds of thunderclap grew louder.

A legionary grabbed the hammer that had been used to drive home the crucifixion stakes and quickly smashed the legs of the two criminals. The men gave renewed cries of anguish as their shin bones snapped, though their passage into oblivion would now be hastened. The soldier then rushed to the base of the Nazarene’s cross and made ready to swing when suddenly he stopped.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Justus shouted. “Finish him already!”