Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller

by Waller, Ryan Casey

  When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh,

  it was they,

  my foes and my adversaries,

  who stumbled and fell.

  Though an army should encamp against me,

  yet my heart shall not be afraid.

  And though war should rise up against me,

  yet will I put my trust in him.

  I'm singing now with the others, praying to God these words may be true in my life. I've been scared for a long time. That's the truth. And only two things have made me feel better—revenge and Maria.

  Not prayer. In fact, as the words pour out of my mouth, I realize this is the first time I've prayed since my parents' death. I don't know why that is, but I find it troubling.

  One thing I have asked of the Lord,

  one thing I seek,

  that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

  all the days of my life.

  The song ends, and the Teacher stands. The rest of us follow. The mood of the room has been transformed from when I first stumbled in. Gone is the jilted silence. In its place are joy and the deep satisfaction that only a meal with friends can provide.

  Then the Teacher speaks and ruins everything. "You'll all become deserters, for it is written, 'I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.'"

  "No," Petra says, waving his hands wildly. "No. Even if all of them become deserters, I won't."

  "Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you'll deny me three times."

  "No, Teacher!" Petra spits vehemently. "Even if I must die with you, I won't deny you." Petra looks around the room for support. "Isn't that right? Tell him, Miles! Maria, tell him! We would never betray you!"

  They all agree. Each person pledges his allegiance to the Teacher. They all swear by the one true God that they'd sooner meet death than betray the Teacher.

  I wish I could say the same.

  I honestly do.

  But I can't.

  And I won't.

  t's time to meet Jude for the betrayal. The Kingdom has given the religious authorities permission to have him arrested for his disturbance in the temple. The Kingdom cares nothing about our worship, but they do care about keeping peace when thousands of Southerners pour into the Holy City for the Great Festival. A famous holy man destroying this sacred place is an excellent way to incite a riot. The Kingdom no longer can afford to sit back and let the Teacher be free.

  His time has come.

  But I don't go to Jude. Instead I remain with Maria. I can't stop what I've put into motion; I can only hope Maria will understand why I've done it. This is my last chance to get her to see the situation from my perspective.

  After singing the hymn, the Teacher led us quietly through the outskirts of the Holy City and to a hillside where a quiet garden awaited us. He asked us to stay awake and pray for him, and then he left, climbing farther up the hill to pray alone, as is his custom.

  Maria and I are now settled together on the ground, far enough from the others that we can speak in private. The garden is supremely quiet, save for Petra's snoring. Even Alejandro rests peacefully on the ground. Everyone is exhausted from the long days of travel and the frenzied pace of ministering to thousands.

  Maria's skin once again touching mine is a pleasure so divine that it should be reserved for the afterlife. This night reminds me of our first night in the park; only this time our bond is infinitely more intense. She notices me favoring my bandaged wrist and says, "Your whole body is busted. How did this happen?"

  "Doesn't matter." I stroke her face with my good hand. "I thought I might never be with you again."

  "Where did you go, Deacon, the night before Alejandro returned? Why did you leave me?"

  I tell Maria everything.

  Almost.

  The gun.. Jude...the army...even my epic fight with Henrik. I relish every detail of my triumph over him, desperate to impress upon Maria that I'm a man fit to lead. Then, finally, slowly, I tell her what the men called me: "messiah."

  "But how can this be?" she says. "The Teacher is the messiah."

  "That's just it, my love. I used to believe there was only one way to freedom, but now I see I was wrong. The way of the Teacher is true and righteous, but..."

  "But what?"

  "But there are different roles for us all to play. He uses words; I use might. He gives the people a blessing; I give them weapons. Both are important."

  "Deacon, this isn't the way. The Teacher says we must turn the other cheek and return evil with love. He has done away with 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' You've heard his teachings, just as I have. The new age will be forged in love, not hatred. You must stop hating your enemies if you're ever to love them. Violence will only beget more violence. Don't you see? It's a vicious cycle that will never end unless we stop it ourselves."

  "I don't want to love my enemies, Maria. It's absurd. I want to kill my enemies before they kill me. I want to eradicate the Kingdom before every last one of our people has been hauled off to the north in a death train."

  Maria and I stare at each other until she understands how serious I am. Then, with great pain in her voice, says, "When is this army of yours planning to attack?"

  I check to make sure the others are still sleeping. Petra's loud snoring confirms it. "Tomorrow," I say in a hushed voice. "In the morning."

  "On the day of the Great Festival! How could you, Deacon? It's the holiest day of the year. God will never forgive it."

  "Shh! Maria, lower your voice." I check again to see if our voices have awoken anyone. "Forgive it?" I whisper. "God demands it!"

  Before she can answer, the Teacher stumbles down the hill, calling to us, "Have you all fallen asleep?" His voice is tortured, a toxic blend of anger and stress. He trips and falls to the ground.

  Maria runs to him. "Teacher!" she cries out.

  This wakes Petra and the others from their slumber.

  "I came twice before," the Teacher says heavily, "and saw that you all were sleeping."

  "Teacher," Maria says, taking his head in her arms, "what's wrong?"

  "I'm deeply grieved," he says. "I need you—all of you—to remain awake and pray."

  "We will, Teacher!" Petra says groggily, putting the heels of his hands to his eyes. "We will pray with you. You can count on us."

  "Petra, could you not keep awake one single hour?" the Teacher says. "Keep awake, and pray that you may not come into the time of trial. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." The Teacher stands and walks awkwardly back up the hill. He falls again after only a few yards. Driving his hands into the dirt, he lifts his head to the starry night sky and cries out, "Father! Father! For you all things are possible. Remove this cup from me—yet not what I want but what you want."

  He drops his head like a powerless infant and continues to pray, this time in silence.

  Then it happens. The moment I've been dreading and anticipating.

  In the distance...movement. Rustling. Voices. Dark voices. Boots shuffling. Guns bolting. Heat rising.

  Petra calls out into the darkness. "Who's there?"

  The darkness offers no reply. A falling star streaks madly across the sky, as if delivering an urgent celestial message.

  The Teacher speaks first. Rising meekly from the ground, he says, "Enough! The hour has come. The Son of Man has been betrayed into the hands of sinners." Then, looking directly at me, he says, "Get up. Let's get going. My betrayer is at hand."

  ude leads the religious authorities, and the armed guards who've accompanied them, to the Teacher. The angry mob halts their progress roughly twenty yards from the rest of us.

  Only Jude continues to walk. The religious authorities stand still, surrounded by men with guns.Jude approaches me first. In a voice I've come to distrust, he says, "You've done your very best to ruin this week. You've done everything in your power to destroy what your father prepared." He puts a hand behind his back. "I pray to the gods it's
all out of your system. This is your time, Deacon." He pokes my chest with his thin finger but keeps his other hand behind his back. "Time to wake up and look fate in the eye. Embrace the role your people have given you." He slaps my cheek entirely too hard. "May the God who formed you have mercy on your soul, should you fail to do his bidding, should you dare to reject the call of the anointed one."

  Petra charges toward Jude like a raging bull, hell-bent on a bloody goring. Miles follows closely behind. "What is this? What's going on? Jude, why have you brought these fools here?"

  I see a bulge underneath Petra's shirt. I don't know where he got it, but he has a weapon.

  Jude ignores Petra and walks toward the Teacher, who's standing next to Maria. The Teacher looks as though he's just received the worst news of his life.

  Petra raises his voice. "I'm talking to you!"

  "Petra," I say thinly. "It's...all right. Let them be."

  Petra explodes. "Let them be? Let them be? Jude has brought these vermin into our camp, and you want to let them be? Have you lost your nerve, Deacon?"

  "They're armed," I say. "You need to be careful. These men are incredibly dangerous."

  "Is that right?" Petra says.

  "It is," Miles agrees. "Listen to Deacon, Petra. Take a deep breath, old friend. I sense great danger tonight."

  "Good," Petra says. "Because I'm also a dangerous man. And it's about damn time somebody knew it."

  Petra marches toward the Teacher, and Miles tries to stop him. Petra grabs his old friend by the neck and shoves him to the ground. Wounded, Miles timidly extends a hand up to me, but I leave him where he lies.

  I sprint across the garden to find Jude and the Teacher standing face-to-face. Petra hovers directly behind Jude. The Teacher orders Petra to stay where he is. Petra is hot, but he obeys. He's like a hunting dog, desperate to spring for the chase.

  No one moves. The men with guns keep their weapons pointed at the dirt.

  I know the signal, and I'm aware it's about to happen, yet I can't bring myself to either condone or stop it. I'm as conflicted as a nation at civil war; I'm my own brother and my own enemy. I'm a soul divided and somehow already conquered.

  Petra points to the religious authorities. "I'll kill any man who lays a finger on the Teacher."

  "Teacher," Jude says.

  "Good evening, Jude."

  And there it is.

  Jude kisses his teacher.

  The tenderness on the Teacher's face will haunt me for the rest of my days. Here, in the moment of betrayal, he continues to love his students—even those of us who've become his enemies.

  The men with guns move very fast. Three of them close the gap with vicious speed. They seize the Teacher, bind his hands, and strike him across the face. Jude is pushed roughly aside. Petra pulls a knife from his waistband and lunges at one of the armed men. He cuts off his ear before a gun is shoved in his face. The man with the missing ear shrieks in pain. A thick chunk of flesh falls to the ground. Blood spews from the side of his head.

  A melee ensues. Fists fly. Boots stomp. Miles takes a hard shot to his chin and goes down. After that I don't see what happens to him. I dart straight for Maria. I don't know if these men know who I am, but I'm not about to risk an arrest.

  I snatch Maria before anyone else can and push her from the tangle of men. As we retreat from the fray, Alejandro roars to life. He storms past me, the dark fire returned to his eyes, and barrels over one of the guards, grabbing him by the throat and breaking his neck. Then, with the agility of a jungle cat, he bounds into the woods and ascends a tree. Before he disappears into the darkness, however, he stops and turns his head back toward me, a full ninety degrees. His eyes are dark-red embers. He opens his mouth and unfurls his tongue. It drops a full foot beneath his chin. With a hiss he launches himself off the tree into a thicket of branches and disappears. A cold wind whips spitefully through the garden.

  A single shot rings out loudly above our heads, and the melee grinds to a halt.

  It's the Teacher who brings order to the chaos, saying, "Petra! Put down your weapon." Blood drips from the Teacher's nose and runs into his mouth when speaks. His cheek is swollen. He cranes his heads toward the religious authorities, who stand safely behind the wall of their armed guards, and says, "Have you come out with guns to arrest me, as though I were a criminal, some kind of bandit? Day after day I was with you in the temple teaching and you didn't arrest me. But let the scriptures be fulfilled."

  Petra's face says it all. It's as though every hope and dream he's ever had has been dashed against the rocks. He's a man watching his house burn to the ground. He looks crestfallen, totally dejected. The Teacher isn't the messiah Petra desperately hoped he would be. The mighty warrior is supposed to cut off King Charles's head, not allow a few old men drag him away into night.

  In this sense I feel Jude and I have done the other students a favor. We're exposing the Teacher for who he is. He's a great and peaceful holy man—make no mistake about it. He works miracles. He gives hope to the downtrodden.

  But he isn't a messiah. He won't—and can't—deliver the people from their bondage.

  Only I can do that.

  A guard punches Petra in the stomach, and he drops the knife as he falls to his knees. The armed men laugh. Fat Belly and Gray Beard slap each other on the back. They're delighted as schoolboys on the first evening of summer.

  Maria panics as we flee the garden for the darkness of the surrounding woods. I guide her hurriedly, and we both trip and stumble over hallowed logs and knotty roots. In tears she says, "Where have they gone?"

  "I don't know. Don't worry; they won't hurt him. They promised me."

  "Not the Teacher," she says, catching herself on a tree stump.

  "Who?"

  "My brothers!"

  I stop running and peer back into the garden. I can't believe my eyes.

  As the guards drag the Teacher away from the garden and toward the Holy City, not a single student, other than Petra, remains.

  All of them, in this dark hour, have abandoned the Teacher.

  aria thrashes against my chest, begging for me to let her go. She wants to chase after the guards, to go and find where they're taking the Teacher. She swears she'll never forgive me if I let something happen to him.

  Nothing I say can make it better. But I won't release her.

  Petra picks himself up from the ground, and Maria calls to him as I drag her away. "Follow them, Petra!" she says. "Don't let them hurt him!"

  Petra points at me. "You did this, didn't you? I'll kill you, Deacon—you and Jude!" Then he turns and runs off into the night. Petra is the only student—other than Maria—brave enough to follow the Teacher toward danger.

  Maria's tears dry up.

  "Did you?" she says. Her voice is cold as ice water.

  "Did I what?" I say, leading her back into the garden, where I kneel to pick up Petra's knife. It's a switchblade, and I have no clue where he got it. I fold the blade into the sheath and slide the knife beneath the bandage on my sprained wrist. Two weapons are better than one.

  "Deacon! Did you? Answer me!"

  "What?" I repeat. As we walk, I keep my eyes peeled wide for Alejandro. He's still in these woods, watching us. I can feel it. His demons have returned. Legion is back.

  "What Petra said!" Maria cries. "Did you have something to do with this? Did you tell them where we were?"

  I know better than to immediately answer her. I decisively lead her farther into the woods. Finally, when I'm certain of what I want to say, and certain she'd be lost without me, I speak. "Don't you see, Maria? Look back into the garden. Where is everyone? Where have all the students gone? It's just you and me."

  "I don't know, and I don't care."

  "These men aren't made to fight," I say. "And that's OK. Neither is the Teacher."

  We duck under a low branch.

  "Did you betray him?"

  "Maria..."

  "Answer me. Now."

  She teet
ers on the edge; our relationship hangs in the balance. One wrong move and this woman, who's as loyal as the moon, will be gone. A deep current runs in her, and I know that if she decides to leave me, I won't be able to stop her. If she believes I've conspired against the Teacher, she'll leave me no matter what.

  "I allowed this to happen for his protection."

  Maria slaps me hard across the face.

  It stings, but I try not to show it. Tears well in the corners of my eyes. I stand firmly at attention, staring straight into her black eyes.

  She does it again.

  I flex my jaw, grimace, and absorb the pain. It feels like a match lit against my cheek. She's a surprisingly strong woman. My pain is made much worse by the fact that my face is already bruised from the beatings I've taken this past week.

  A long moment passes between us.

  Finally she says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't hit you. I shouldn't strike anyone."

  "No...it's all right. I deserve it."

  Maria pulls her hair from her face and wipes her eyes.

  "The religious authorities want him dead," I say matter-of-factly. "The spectacle at the temple was too much. He's broken nearly every law in their book. They weren't going to allow it for much longer. I know this is difficult for you to understand, but the best way to protect the Teacher was to hand him over. Were he to continue preaching tomorrow, they could have gone to the Kingdom and demanded his arrest for being a rebel. Do you have any idea what would happen if they charged him with that?"

  Maria nods sharply.

  "But do you really?" I say.

  "Yes."

  "Tell me. I want you to say the words."