Longinus laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. “You’re getting soft.” He spat at Praetorus’ feet. “You showed no sport at all in the flogging of this king of the Jews.”
When Praetorus replied, it was in a voice so deadly that it caused a chill to run up the spine of the hardened Longinus. “Touch him unnecessarily again,” Praetorus said, “and I will match that scar on your other cheek.”
Pilate stepped between them then, sensing real danger within his own men. He couldn’t have that, not today. What these two chose to do to each other later, out of sight of the mob, was one thing, but he had to take control now before things became worse. The procurator held up his hands to address the crowd.
“Behold the man,” Pilate said. “The man, I say. But I think not a king. I see no fault in this man and he has been scourged under Roman law. There is no more for us to do here.”
“Crucify him! Crucify him!” came the chant, again and again as if it had been rehearsed and staged. Pilate was furious at the manipulation of the crowd and at the position he found himself in because of it.
He put his hand on Easa as he bent to speak to him. “Listen to me, Nazarene,” he said quietly. “This is your last chance to save yourself. I ask you, are you a king of the Jews? Because if you say that you are not, I have no grounds to crucify you under Roman law. I have the power to release you.” The last sentence was said with utmost urgency.
Easa looked at Pilate for a long moment.
Say it, damn you! Say it!
It was as if Easa read the thoughts of Pontius Pilate. He replied in a whisper, “I cannot make this easier for you. Our destinies were chosen for us, but you must now choose your own master.”
The tension in the crowd was escalating as more screaming rang in Pontius Pilate’s brain. There were cries in favor of the Nazarene, many of them. But they were drowned out by the bloodthirsty shouts of the mercenaries who had been paid heartily to accomplish this task today. Pilate’s nerves were drawn as tight as a bow as he balanced his duties, his ambition, his philosophy, and his family on the shoulders of this frail Nazarene. A shout to his left startled him, and he looked up to see the envoy of Herod, the tetrarch of Galilee.
“What is it?” Pilate snapped at him.
The man handed Pilate a scroll with Herod’s seal. The procurator snapped the wax and read the scroll.
“Have done with this Nazarene matter immediately for I would set out early to Rome knowing that I may give Caesar a fine report of how you deal with threats against His Imperial Majesty.”
It was the final blow for Pontius Pilate. He read the scroll again and realized that it was covered in blood — the blood of the Nazarene, which coated Pilate’s hands. He called for a servant, and a silver basin filled with water was brought to him. Pilate submerged his hands in the water, scrubbing the stains from them, trying not to witness the water turning red with the blood of the prisoner before him.
“I wash my hands of this man’s blood!” he yelled at the crowd. “Crucify your king, if that is what you are determined to do.” He turned without another glance at Easa and stormed into the Fortress Antonia.
But it wasn’t over for Pontius Pilate. Caiaphas came to see him moments later with several men of the Temple in tow.
“Haven’t I done enough for you in one day?” Pilate shot at the priest.
“Almost, your excellency.” Caiaphas smiled smugly.
“What more do you want from me?”
“It is the tradition for a sign to hang on the cross, a title to show the world what crime the man has committed. We would have you write that he was a blasphemer.”
Pilate called for the materials to create the title for the cross. “I will write what I have sentenced him for, not what you ask of me. That is the tradition.”
And he wrote the abbreviation INRI, and under it the meaning — Easa the Nazarene, King of the Jews.
Pilate looked to his servant. “See to it that this is nailed above the prisoner on his cross. And have the scribe write the same in Hebrew and Aramaic.”
Caiaphas was taken aback. “It should not say that! If you must, write, ‘He claimed he was king of the Jews’, so the people will know that we do not honor him as such.”
Pilate was finished with this man and his manipulations, today and forever. He dripped venom in his reply. “What I have written, I have written.”
And he turned his back on Caiaphas and the others, retreating to the quiet of his quarters, where he locked himself in for the remainder of the day.
The crowd swelled and moved as a living thing, taking Mary and the children along with it. She clung to John and Tamar, one on each hand, as she struggled to move through the crowd in search of Martha. Mary was able to tell from the talk in the crowd that Easa had been sentenced and was on his way to the hill of Golgotha to be executed. Gauging the movement in the crowd, she had an idea of where Easa was in the procession that marched through the street. Desperation was growing in her. She had to find Martha, had to see her children to safety so she could spend this final time with Easa.
And then she heard it. Easa’s voice in her head as clearly as if he stood beside her. “Ask and it shall be given to you. It is so simple. We must ask the Lord our Father for what we want, and he will provide it for the children he loves.”
Mary Magdalene squeezed the hands of her children and shut her eyes. “Please dearest Lord, please help me find Martha so I may deliver my children to safety and be with my beloved Easa in his time of suffering.”
“Mary! Mary, I am here!” Martha’s voice cut through the crowd to reach her sister-in-law within seconds of the prayer. Mary opened her eyes to see Martha pushing toward her in the crowd. They threw their arms around each other in an emotional embrace. “You are wearing your red veil. It is how I found you,” Martha said.
Mary fought the tears. There was no time, but Martha’s presence was such a comfort to her. “Come, my little princess,” Martha said to her niece, scooping up Tamar. “And you too, my young man,” she said as she grabbed John’s hand.
Mary hugged each of her children tightly to her for a moment, assuring them she would meet them in Bethany as soon as possible. “Go with God, sister,” Martha whispered to Mary. “We will keep the children until you can come home to us. Be safe.” She kissed her younger sister-in-law, now a woman and a queen in her own right, and moved to fight the crowd once more, children in tow.
It had been a struggle for Mary Magdalene to make her way through the crowd. She was able to stay parallel with the surging mob, but could not get close to Easa. She saw the red veils of the Great Mary and the other Marys within the crowd and followed them on the winding path to Golgotha, trying to reach them, but she was pushed farther and farther back as the multitude surged to follow their quarry.
As the centurions reached the top of the hill known as the Place of the Skull, she saw that they were at least a hundred meters ahead of her. There was the huddled figure of Easa and the red veils of his mother and the other Marys. The crowd was still dense on the path, blocking Mary’s way. She no longer cared; there was no time to think of anything but getting to Easa. She skirted the mob, left the path, and began to climb the rocky hillside. It was jagged with sharp stones and encrusted with nettles, but none of this mattered to Mary Magdalene. Her body felt nothing as she moved with absolute determination to reach Easa.
Mary was so intent on her destination that she didn’t notice at first that the sky was growing darker. She slipped on a rock, tearing the lower portion of her veil and a large section of her leg on a thorn bush. As she fell, she heard the sound, the sickening, heart-wrenching din that would haunt her every night for the rest of her life — metal on metal, hammer striking nail. There was a shriek of agony as Mary slipped again, but it wasn’t until later that she realized the scream had emanated from her own lips.
She was so close now, she couldn’t let anything stop her. As Mary picked herself up she realized numbly that the rocks were slippery with
water. The sky had turned black, and rain trickled like divine tears on the scorched, doomed earth, where the Son of God had just been nailed to a wooden cross.
Mary Magdalene reached the foot of the cross moments later, joining her mother-in-law and the other Marys in their vigil there. There were two other men suffering on the Hill of Golgotha today on crosses that flanked Easa’s. Mary did not look at them; she could see nothing but Easa. She was determined not to look at his wounds. Instead, she focused on his face, which appeared serene and calm, eyes closed. The women stood there together, holding each other up, praying to God to release Easa from suffering. Mary looked around and realized that she knew no one else in the crowd that stood behind them — and she had seen none of the male disciples during the course of the day.
The Romans kept the crowd at large away from the execution site. Looking across at the centurions, she saw Praetorus at their head. She said a silent prayer of thanks to him — no doubt he was responsible for allowing the family this privacy at the foot of the cross.
They froze as they heard Easa attempt to speak from his place. It was difficult as the hanging weight of his body over the diaphragm made it nearly impossible to breathe and speak at once. “Mother…,” he whispered, “behold thy son.”
The women moved closer to the cross to hear his words. Blood flowed from his battered body, mixing with droplets of rain that fell on the faces of the women. “My beloved,” he said to Magdalene, “behold thy mother.”
Easa closed his eyes and said softly yet clearly, “It is finished.” Bowing his head, he grew very still.
There was silence, a perfect stillness as no one moved. The heavens grew completely black then, not the color of a rain-filled sky, but black as pitch — totally devoid of light.
The crowd on the hill began to panic; screams of confusion filled the air. But the blackness lasted only a moment, lightening to a dull gray as two soldiers approached Praetorus.
“We have orders to hasten the death of these prisoners so that their bodies may be removed before the Jew’s sabbath.”
Praetorus looked up at Easa’s body. “There is no need to break this man’s legs. He is already dead.”
“Are you certain?” asked one of the soldiers. “It normally takes men many hours to suffocate from crucifixion; sometimes it takes days.”
“This man is dead,” Praetorus growled. “You will not touch him.”
The two soldiers were astute enough to understand the threat in the tone of their leader. They took their clubs and went about the unpleasant task of breaking the legs of the other two crucified men, thus hastening the process of suffocation.
Praetorus was preoccupied with giving orders and didn’t see Longinus approach on the other side of the cross. By the time he had turned his blue-eyed gaze back to where Easa hung, it was too late. Longinus, spear in hand, shoved it into the side of the Nazarene prisoner. Mary Magdalene screamed her objection.
Longinus’ laugh in reply was hard and sadistic. “Just checking. But you’re right. He’s dead.” He turned to Praetorus, who had gone white with rage. “What are you going to do about it?”
Praetorus started to speak but then stopped himself. When he finally did, it was with great calm. “Nothing. I need do nothing. You have created your own curse by what you have done.”
“Take this man down!” Praetorus ordered.
A runner from Pilate’s fortress had come with a message to remove the Nazarene’s body and deliver it to his people for burial before the sun set. This was highly unusual as crucifixion victims were normally left to rot on their crosses as a warning to the people. But the case of Easa the Nazarene was different.
Easa’s wealthy uncle, Joseph the tin merchant, had arrived with Jairus at the Fortress Antonia and met with Claudia Procula. It was she who had obtained permission for them to remove the body immediately for burial. When Joseph reached the cross, he comforted the Great Mary as her son was removed from the instrument of his execution. Easa’s mother held out her arms as the soldiers picked up the body.
“I would hold my child one last time,” she said.
Praetorus took Easa’s body and laid it gently across the lap of the Great Mary. She held him to her then, allowing herself to weep openly for the loss of her beautiful son. Mary Magdalene came to kneel beside her, and the Great Mary held them both then, an arm around her daughter-in-law, the other cradling the head of her Easa.
They remained together in that position of mourning for a very long time.
Joseph had purchased a sepulcher for his family in a burial garden not far from Golgotha. It was here that the body of Easa was taken by the Nazarenes. Myrrh and aloes were brought to the tomb by Nicodemus, a young Nazarene employed by Joseph. The Marys began the preparation of the body for burial by positioning the burial cloth, but when it came time to anoint Easa with the myrrh, the Great Mary presented the jar to Mary Magdalene. “This honor is for you alone,” she said.
The Magdalene performed the duties of a widow in the burial ritual. She kissed Easa on the forehead and said good-bye to him as her tears mixed with the myrrh oils. As she did so, she was sure she heard his voice, faint but certain, in the sepulcher with her. “I am with you always.”
Together, the Nazarene women said their good-byes and left the inner tomb. An enormous stone slab had been selected to seal it for the protection of Easa’s remains. It took many men, aided by a pulley made of rope and planks, to secure the slab against the tomb. Once this final task was complete, the downcast group retreated to the safety of Joseph’s house. Mary Magdalene collapsed upon her arrival there, and slept well into the following day.
On Saturday afternoon, a number of the male apostles assembled at Joseph’s to meet with Magdalene and the elder Marys. They shared their stories of the previous day’s events while they mourned together and consoled each other. It was a time of despair, yet it was a time that bonded them, bringing everyone closer together. It was too early to contemplate the future of their movement, but this spirit of unity was a balm to their wounded psyches.
But Mary Magdalene was concerned. No one had seen or heard from Judas Iscariot since Easa’s arrest. Jairus came to Joseph’s home asking for word of him, explaining that Judas was in a terrible state following the arrest. He had cried to Jairus late that night, asking, “Why did he choose me for this act? Why was I the one selected to perform this crime against my people?”
While Mary explained to the inner circle of disciples that Easa had instructed Judas to turn him in to the authorities, those outside did not — and could not — know the truth. Therefore the name of Judas was becoming synonymous with the word “betrayer” throughout Jerusalem, and that word was spreading quickly. The reputation Judas had earned was another in a long line of injustices that occurred on this path of destiny and prophecy. Mary prayed that she would one day be able to restore the name of Judas. But she did not yet see how to do so.
Judas would never know if Mary would be able to return honor to his name. The disciples would discover later that it was already too late, that another tragedy had occurred on that black afternoon. Unable to accept that his name would be linked forever to the death of his lord and master, Judas Iscariot took his own life on the Day of Darkness. He was found hanging from a tree outside the walls of Jerusalem.
Mary Magdalene slept fitfully that night. There were too many images in her head, too many sounds and memories. And there was something else. It started as a feeling of uneasiness, a vague understanding that something was wrong. Mary rose from her bed and walked quietly through Joseph’s house. The sky was still dark; it was still at least a full hour before dawn. No one was awake, and there was nothing amiss in the house.
Then she knew. Mary felt that instant flash of prophecy that combines knowing with seeing. Easa. She had to get to the tomb. Something was happening where Easa was buried. Mary hesitated for a moment. Should she awaken Joseph or one of the others to accompany her? Peter, perhaps?
No! This
is for you alone.
She heard the answer in her head, yet it echoed all around her. Wrapped in her faith and a mourning veil, Mary Magdalene crept quietly to the door. Once she was out of the house, she ran quickly to the tomb.
It was still dark when Mary arrived in the garden that held the sepulcher. The sky was purple rather than black; dawn would be coming soon. There was just enough light for Mary to see that the enormous stone — the slab that had required the strength of almost a dozen men to lift — had been moved away from the tomb.
Mary raced to the open entrance, her heart pounding in fear. She lowered her head to enter the tomb and saw as she did that Easa was gone. Strangely, there was light in the sepulcher, a strange glow that illuminated the chamber. Mary clearly saw the linen burial clothes laying on the slab. An outline of Easa’s body was visible on the cloth, but that was the only evidence that he had been here.
How had this happened? Did the priests hate Easa so much that they would steal his body? Surely that wasn’t the case. Who would have done such a thing?
Gasping for air, Mary stumbled out of the tomb and into the garden. She collapsed there, weeping for what she believed was another indignity suffered by Easa. As she cried, the rays of the sun began their journey of light across the sky. The first sunbeams of a brighter morning danced across her face as she heard a man’s voice behind her.
“Woman, why weepest thou? Who is it you are looking for?”
Mary did not look up immediately. She thought perhaps a gardener had come in the early morning to tend to the grass and flowers around the tombs. Then she wondered if he had witnessed something and might help her. She spoke through her tears as she lifted her head. “Someone has taken away my lord, and I do not know where they have laid him. If you know where he is, I beg of you to tell me.”
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