Great Lion of God

by Taylor Caldwell

  The controlled and military voice had risen into passion. The soldier’s hands were beating his bare knees. “The curse of nations!” he almost shouted. “There is not a nation that has not been destroyed by their vilest, and there will be nations in the future who will be destroyed by them! Ah, they were there at the Place of Skulls, though this Jesus had been but a rumor to them before, a man of Galilee of little consequence, blood of their blood. But that was of no importance to them, that a Jew was to be crucified by the Romans on a Roman charge that he had been inciting his people to rebellion against Rome. It was enough that he was hated by the very authority they hated! But like all rabble—hysterical, craven, maudlin and restless—they were a fawning rabble, eager to appear and to denounce, for a smile from the oppressors. If I had my way, if I were Caesar,” said Milo, clenching his fists and striking his breast with them, “I would put such rabble to the sword, in any nation in the world, for they eat away the vitals of the people and devour their substance!”

  “Go on,” said Saul, when Milo, from excess of rage and emotion, fell silent. His own voice was faint, but cold. “I do not love the market rabble, the mobs, more than you.”

  Milo wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand, and shook his head.

  “While the people mourned the death of this Jesus, standing and weeping on the other mounts, holding up their children for a last glance of the Man, and perhaps for His blessing, the market rabble howled, as they had howled the night before, when Pontius Pilate had presented Him to them, and they screamed, ‘Crucify Him! Give us Barabbas!’ For Barabbas was a thief, and it was fitting that a thief be released to them, thieves themselves! Enough. I have told you that He was crucified between two thieves, and one adored Him and was given a promise of Paradise, but the other shrieked, ‘If you be the Messias, save Yourself and us!’ But, I have told you. The Roman soldiers were disturbed both by the aspect of Jesus and by the furious screaming mobs demanding His death, and one sought to assuage His pain but He would have it not. When the darkness fell and I the earth quaked and the terrible wind arose and the cold, the I Roman soldiers said, ‘Surely, this was a just Man!’ I was there.”

  He looked at Saul’s white and unreadable face. “At the last He said, I it is finished,’ and delivered up His spirit. Saul, was that not prophesied by David?”

  Saul averted his head and stared at the floor.

  Milo sighed. “I know Pilate well, and do not honor him, for he often tried to incite the Jews by inflicting random punishments for nothing, and having his banners lately inscribed with the heads of gods and Caesars and animals and other pictured things, and taunting the pious, and conducting mass crucifixions for no real reason at all, but ‘as a warning.’ He wished to so oppress the people that they would all, in truth, rise in one rebellion, and then he would have his excuse to massacre them. Is he a wicked man? As Joseph of Arimathaea has said, he is a bored man, and he is under private exile—for Tiberias dislikes him—and he hates Israel for it does not possess the pleasures of Rome and licentious Roman companionship. A cruel man is less to be feared than a man suffering from ennui. It was because of what Pilate has done to Israel that I was sent there by Caesar, and not only because I had my leave. I was sent to warn him, that he must not provoke the Jews any longer. Even his friend, King Herod Antipas, that red fox, that uneasy dweller between two worlds, was aghast at him, and wrote his brother-in-law Agrippa who brought the matter before Caesar.

  “I, as a guest, remained in Pilate’s house for a few days, before going to my parents’ house, and Pilate complained that he was expiring of nothingness in Israel and begged me to use my influence with Caesar to recall him. That he spoke of this Jesus, and said it had been reported to him by Roman centurion and priests alike that He was an Essene or a Zealot, and was inspiring rebellion against Rome. I was at Pilate’s side when Jesus was brought before him for questioning. It gave Pilate pleasure, in the face of the frightened priests, to balk them. He said, ‘I find no fault in this man,’ and washed his hands in public, as is customary. But still he said to me, ‘The man must die, for He is creating confusion and unrest in Israel, as did his cousin and friend, one John the Baptist, whom Herod had executed.’ Therefore Pilate gave the order for His crucifixion. Are you listening to me, Saul?”

  “I am listening,” replied Saul. It was very hot, but he found himself unaccountably shivering.

  “Pilate also told me, with a peculiar smile, that his wife had had a dream, that he must not order the execution of Jesus of Nazareth, or Yeshua, as you call him. She told him that dire events would follow, and he, Pilate, must not have this blood on his hands. Pilate, though a superstitious Roman, still ordered the execution, and after that he sacrificed to Castor and Pollux, as a precaution against the wrath of the gods, though, as he told me, he did not believe that our Roman gods were concerned with the death of this Jew. Then, suspicious of the followers of this Jesus, Pilate asked me, as a favor to him, to conduct the command of Temple guards and Roman legionnaires, at the tomb of Jesus, so that His followers could not steal away His body and proclaim, according to what He had prophesied, that He had risen from the dead on the third day.”

  “Ah,” said Saul, and it was as if his body, enclosed in icy iron, had been released, and he raised his head and almost smiled. “That was the end of it.”

  “It was the beginning,” said Milo, and again poured himself wine as if he were greatly overcome and must have refreshment. Saul watched him in bemused astonishment, and even then he uttered a passionate and tremendous denial in himself. His cousin, after all, was half a Roman, and superstition is inherent in Roman nature, and a willingness to believe in miracles from any source whatsoever. The Egyptian Serapis was now in vogue, and all Romans sacrificed in the Egyptian temples in honor of the god. Tomorrow, it would be another god, alleged to be as strong as Zeus. It could even be this Yeshua! Saul uttered a derisive sound.

  “It was the second Passover, and it was night,” said Milo, “and after I feasted with my parents I went to the tomb of Jesus. He was very poor, and so was His Mother, and his followers. They had no money for tombs. But Joseph of Arimathaea gave them a tomb, a very lavish one, outside the gates. Did you speak? No. So the women had anointed Him with oils and spices and wrapped Him in grave clothes, and had laid him within the tomb, the day before. The soldiers and the Temple guards had then rolled a mighty stone before the mouth of the tomb, so heavy and ponderous that it took several gasping men all their strength to move it. Jesus was entombed, and we were the guards. It was a warm and quiet night, aromatic and dry. The soldiers had built bonfires around the tomb and were eating and jesting and casting dice, but I would not permit them to drink much wine for fear they would fall asleep. It was not a night for sleeping. As Pilate had said, when Jesus remained within the tomb and decomposed, then that would be the end of His followers and their faith, and peace would come again to that disturbed land. As for myself,” said Milo, dropping his head meditatively, “I had witnessed the crucifixion and the events when He died, and I wished to prove the truth to myself. Therefore, I did not relax for an instant. I ate the food the soldiers prepared for me, and stood while eating, and patrolled with them around the tomb—which is in a desert place near a wild garden—and gave the homesick boys the news of Rome. I had seen the interior of the tomb before the Man was laid there. It consisted of a shelf within of light yellow marble, and nothing else, but it was large for a tomb. I even examined every outside spot on it, looking for another entrance or exit. There was none. It was solid stone.

  “The moon was yellow and low when we started our vigil. It became brighter and clear as it rose. We heard the rejoicing sounds from without the gates, and saw the reflection of fires on the mount on which the city is built, and heard cymbal and flute and harp and zither and laughter and the coming and going of people who were hurrying to other feasts, and we heard the occasional sound of trumpets from the Temple, and marching feet and challenges and drums, and tumults of h
appy voices and the cries of animals. But here where we guarded—without the gates—was silent and deserted, with not even the sound of a night owl, and only our lanterns and our fires to keep us from the darkness. Not even a follower of the dead man, not even a grieving woman, came near the tomb. I had heard that all His followers had fled the city, for fear of vengeance.

  “The guards were alert. They had slept the day, for this very vigil, so they would not be overcome by sleep, for tomorrow, it had been said, the alleged Arising from the dead would take place. The guards laughed. Some of them tried to move the stone, but it had become fixed, by its weight, into the ground. Some of them rapped on the tomb, calling, ‘Are you awake, Jesus of Nazareth? With the help of Sisyphus, will you move this stone, and have you called him from Hades to assist you?’ ‘No, he has called on Hercules!’ another soldier laughed, and others then uttered loud and threatening growls and waved their swords. Yes, it was very merry—and the merriment was tiny in that silent and desolate place—and I could see, that in spite of their laughter, the guard was uneasy. That pleased me. Uneasy men do not let down their alertness nor do they sleep.

  “The hours went on. It was past midnight. The soldiers began to sing, to add new meats to their pots, to renew the fires, to begin new games, to relate preposterous stories in the way of military men. The moon rose higher, and now it seemed to concentrate its luminous whiteness on the tomb, so that it was another moon in itself, warmly white and brilliant. And the desert place lay all about us, blanched and wan as “death under the pale light, and full of rubble. Over and over I circled the tomb, with a lantern in my hand, looking for intruders. But, there were none.

  “I had not slept the day as the other soldiers had slept,” continued Milo and he fixed his brown eyes on Saul’s pale and skeptical and waiting face. “But I knew my duty. I drank a little wine. I am accustomed to long vigils without sleep. They are nothing for a soldier. I was there, not only on duty, but—for myself. Again and again I tested the enormous stone before the entrance to the tomb. I am a I strong man but I could not stir it a fraction. And the others watched me, and jested at me under their breaths. Then one said, ‘Captain, only the gods could command that to be moved without a dozen men.’

  “The night was wearisome, and now I began to think this guard absurd, for what crucified man within, whether or not He had truly died, could remove this stone Himself and emerge? Besides, I had seen them testing Him for His death. A spear had been plunged into His side, and water and blood had emerged, sluggishly. They had not broken His legs, as was customary. He was let down into His Mother’s arms and she cradled him to her breast as one would cradle a beloved babe. I swear to you, Saul, that I could have wept, though she did not weep. She tenderly removed the thorns they had thrust on His brow, and she stroked His blood-soaked hair and kissed His cheek and held Him to her. Only two or three of His followers had remained, even in their fear, and one said to her, ‘He gave you to us as our Mother, and we must take Him away to the tomb prepared for Him, where with the other women you will anoint and wrap Him.’ And so they bore Him away and I swear that I could not bear the sight, for He who had raised Amos ben Ezekiel from the dead was dead, Himself, and speechless, and deaf and blind. I saw His glazed eyes, partly open. He was truly dead.”

  “What other did you expect, Milo, of this blasphemer and mountebank, and sorcerer!” cried Saul, and now his pallor was gone and he was exultant and smiling. He spread out his hands. “And that was all.’ A boundless relief came to him, a slackening of tension. He even laughed a little.

  But Milo did not laugh. The brown eyes regarded Saul darkly.

  “It was the beginning,” said Milo, as he had said before. After a moment’s brooding thought he continued, but it was as if he spoke to himself, in dull amazement and wonder, and chilling fear.

  “We heard the jackals howling in the wilderness. We saw the moon grow more luminescent against the black sky. The night began to slope to dawn. We awaited it as men await deliverance, for now my men were showing increasing uneasiness. The tomb glowed in white light. It appeared to me to shimmer, to wax and wane. Once I thought I heard the sound of gigantic wings. The men built their fires higher, and raised their voices against the silence, for now there was no sound, not even from the city. They stuffed bread and meat in their mouths, to warn off fright, and played games more feverishly. Some cursed the Jews for this stupid vigil, and the Temple guards glowered. Some, imbued with the religion of the Egyptians, spoke of Osiris rising from the dead, and still others coarsely laughed at them. Many rose and began to wander, scanning the opaque countryside and desert, frowning. We all looked at the sky, for the dawn.”

  For the anxious and uneasy men it appeared the dawn would never come, but at last there was a hazy rose-colored flush over the eastern mounts, the hem of Aurora’s robe trailing and blowing silently into the dark sky, and before that hem the nearer stars began to flee. Then the top of the mounts was rimmed with sudden bright gold, a brilliant tracing against the rose. The soldiers and the guards looked at it happily. Within the hour they would be at home, and free. The moon, a mere wan skull, declined and fell behind a mountain and was lost.

  Titus Milo, relieved, himself, yet strangely depressed, glanced at the tomb. Then he uttered a faint cry. For it was as if the sun itself had fallen upon that tomb of death, and it blazed in an awful whiteness. The soldiers and the guards, alarmed at Mile’s cry, turned and saw what he was seeing, and they also saw the blinding radiance that shot in rays from the tomb and illuminated the nearby desolation, so that every pebble and every stone was ignited. Those who had remained near the tomb had fallen into a swooning sleep near their fires, and their .faces quivered with scarlet, and there was no sound at all now but the crackling of burning wood and no movement but the rising of thin dark smoke:. Breastplate, scabbard, helmet—they reflected the trembling of the fire, and did not stir on the ground, and the scattered pots glimmered.

  The men with Milo uttered one fierce yell of terror, then, as if truck by lightning, they fell one by one on the earth, into a profound trancelike slumber.

  Milo stood and could not move, and he saw, through streaming eyes dazzled by the blazing of the tomb, that in that light moved tall masculine figures of even brighter light, and they were rolling the stone at the entrance as easily as children roll a ball. He saw their giant limbs, their Titan faces—beautiful as gods—their bare arms and manly shoulders, their flowing hair. And all about them the radiance palpitated, blowing with what appeared to be multitudes of white fireflies, bright and restless as stars.

  Titus Milo Platonius had never known panic or terror in his life before like this, no, not even when he had fought the Germanni and the Parthians, in his early youth, before he was a Praetorian Guard. It seemed to him, as he tried to shield his eyes from the unearthly light, that he possessed no heart any longer, that it had flowed away leaving only the most frightful fear in its place, and that his bowels had melted. The big muscles in his legs and arms shook like a palsy; there was a choking and a burning in his throat. It was as if he were being consumed by flames.

  The great figures, several of them, moving the stone, appeared to become aware of him and they turned their majestic faces to him and he saw their lambent eyes and their remote expressions—and he knew them for what they were. Though they possessed the bodies and limbs of men and the contour of men’s faces, they were not men and there was about them that aloof splendor and impassive neutrality toward him which announced their apartness from his flesh. They did not glance at the soldiers and guards on the ground. Even as they looked at Milo it was as if Olympian deities regarded him, and with as much uninterest. It was this, more even than their presence, and the tremendous light on the tomb, which made Milo’s spirit quail and sink, for his humanity was wounded and he felt reduced to less than a beast.

  He saw that the stone, moving away, had begun to reveal the black aperture to the tomb, and the terror he had felt before was as nothing to this. He
turned and let himself fall headlong on the ground, and he covered his helmeted head with his arms and waited for death, expecting he knew not what.

  He closed his eyes for very dread, but the shadow of the light wavered over his lids, even though he tried to protect them with his arms. He did not know how long a time passed, but at length, as he lay shivering and quaking, he heard a slow and monumental footstep. It came toward him, seeming to bend the dry and dusty earth under him, and then it paused beside him. He closed his eyes tighter. He feared to look, for now he remembered, from his Jewish teachings, that those who look upon things not permitted to men must die.

  But that which was near him did not go on, as he prayed incoherently in his heart. It remained. So he parted his lashes a little and saw beside him two feet of light, sandaled with gold, and sparkling like alabaster fired from the sun. Against all the screaming of his will, his desire to rise and flee, his urge to shout and roll away, he opened his eyes wider, as if forced, and they rose slowly over a robe brighter than the moon, glowing in every fold, glittering with rushing points of light that flaked and fell and blew away, and they rose to a girdle of gold, then over a breast throbbing with lucency, to a column of pale marble which was a throat.

  And then to the Face, the powerful, gentle, stern yet tender Countenance, the Face of a Man such as had never been seen before, implicit with grace, puissant and kingly.

  “He,” said Titus Milo to his cousin, Saul, “wished me to sec Him. And I saw. It is enough to last me to the very end of my life. It is more than enough.”

  Saul’s face had dwindled, became absolutely white and strained and as tight as if it had been dried and parched for days in the sun and had no juices remaining.

  He said, and he tried to smile indulgently, “Did you recognize that—Face?”

  Milo looked at him long and somberly. “I did. It was the Face of Jesus of Nazareth. I knew Him at once.” He paused. “He had died, and He had risen. He had been entombed, and angels had rolled away the stone. He had risen—from the dead.”