“Where are we? What town are we in?” Michael shouted to one of the soldiers.
“Just keep moving!”
The soldiers swung the sides of their spears into his back, and Michael’s legs buckled. “Keep quiet!”
He looked around, searching for a friendly face, even someone he would recognize from the parish—perhaps his friends Tom, Karen, Anne, Dennis, or Donna from the soccer league? As he scoured the multitude of people they passed, panic set in.
He couldn’t find anyone he knew, and everyone seemed to be mocking them. Tears dripped down Elizabeth’s cheeks, which rattled him emotionally. Michael couldn’t help but cry, too.
As he tried in vain to wipe his face clean with his dusty hands, a woman in a black veil traveling in the crowd around them gave him a cloth. She looked at him quizzically, while signaling him to clean his face. “I’m so glad to see you. But why did you come back?” she whispered to him. Then she softly kissed him on the cheek.
Michael shook his head in confusion. “Who are you? What do you mean?” But there was no time to hear her answer as the soldiers dragged them on.
The crowd started to thin as the soldiers brought the bloodied man, Michael, and Elizabeth through a gate into what appeared to be a giant courtyard. There was no grass, just stones that paved the massive area. On the far end, a formidable series of steps led to a huge marble building supported by eight stanchions.
This isn’t like any building on Long Island, Michael thought. Is this a dream?
Elizabeth looked over at her dad. He could tell that she was frightened. Earlier, her desire to help the man had overshadowed any anxiety she might have felt. But now, he could see the fear in her eyes.
Prodded by the guards, the three of them climbed the marble steps. The sun was strong and Michael could feel the sweat splattered on his forehead. His sandals were filthy and the knot in his stomach was growing. He was about ten feet away from Elizabeth. He tried to reassure her.
“Relax, Elizabeth, someone will call the cops.”
She nodded and managed a slight smile.
A man clothed in a heavily embroidered robe strolled out gallantly from the building. His shoulders were lean and muscular. Another man, apparently some sort of servant, approached him with a bowl of water. He dipped his hands in it, then splashed his face.
“Your Excellence,” shouted a soldier standing next to Michael. “We have three rebels. They have committed crimes against Caesar.”
Michael was stunned. “What?” he yelled. “Caesar?”
“Silence!” bellowed the court guard.
“I won’t be silent,” Michael shouted back. “This man was being viciously beaten. All we tried to do was help him. I’ve had enough of this. Where are we?”
The man with the embroidered robe looked at Michael. “Why do you care if this man is beaten?”
“I don’t like seeing anyone being whipped or kicked or anything. It’s not right.”
“Not right?” the man responded incredulously. “Was it right that this man murdered a Roman soldier?”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “Roman soldier? What Roman soldier?” This has to be a dream. “I don’t think a murder in an Easter play is a crime,” he added sarcastically.
“Easter?”
Elizabeth broke the silence. “Easter. When Jesus rose from the dead.”
“Jesus of Nazareth?” the man asked. “Are you talking about the so-called prophet?” Turning toward his servant, he asked, “Has anyone else heard this? He’s dead?”
The servant threw his hands up in the air and shook his head.
“Of course he’s dead,” Michael said impatiently.
The man stared at him. “How dare you mock me?” He paused a moment, then continued, “So you’re one of his followers?”
Michael wasn’t sure how to answer. Then he weakly replied, “No.”
“Good.” The man nodded approvingly. “But your daughter has committed a crime.”
“No, she hasn’t!” Michael said defiantly. He turned to the crowd. “Hey, can somebody help us here? Where are the cops? We need to get this man to a hospital.”
The man in the embroidered robe looked back sternly at Michael. “Don’t you understand that the man you tried to help killed a Roman soldier?”
Again with the Roman-soldier bit, Michael thought incredulously. He looked up at the sky and realized that he hadn’t seen any airplanes, nor had he noticed or heard any cars or motorcycles, for that matter. This certainly wasn’t Main Street in Huntington. There were no shops, nor teenagers on skateboards or adults riding bikes.
Where are we?
“I don’t know anything about any killing,” Michael said desperately. “My daughter and I were only trying to help this man. We didn’t know he was a murderer.”
A soldier stepped forward. “Your Excellence, what would you like us to do with these prisoners?”
“Let us go,” Michael demanded. “We haven’t done anything.”
“Yes, you have,” the man in the elegant robes responded. “You were trying to help a murderer. You interfered with the actions of the Roman empire.” Turning his back on them, the man put his hands into the large basin of water and again splashed his face.
Michael could feel his own perspiration dripping onto his dirty sandals. He looked over at Elizabeth. She was starting to weep again and he felt powerless. She looked much smaller surrounded by as many as ten soldiers with spears.
He stared at Elizabeth until she met his eyes. I love you, Michael mouthed, causing fresh tears to roll down her face.
“Bring me Barabbas!”
Hearing the command, the soldiers dragged the bloodied man up the steps to stand in front of the man in the embroidered robes.
“Barabbas, until your fate is determined, you will remain in prison for the killing of a Roman soldier.”
“Barabbas?” Michael whispered in disbelief. “This guy’s name is Barabbas?”
Elizabeth had recognized the name, too. She stared back at her father, puzzled and horrified.
Suddenly the man in the fancy robes turned back to them. “Come here!” he ordered.
The soldiers pushed Elizabeth and Michael up the last few steps until they stood on the lip of the grand platform. The man had retreated to an area off-center from the crowd. He pulled at his heavy robes, arranging them with great care as he sat back on an ornate stone chair, raised a foot off the floor like a throne. A tufted pillow was provided for his back by a young male servant, his robe shorter than that of all others around him. The soldiers pushed Michael and Elizabeth again from behind, maneuvering them closer.
The stone walls arched over them, providing a hint of shade. A loose white cloth hung between the wall and a pillar ten feet above the man, who seemed to languish in his distance from the crowd. His gaze on them was unsettling.
“Who are you?” Michael asked, his voice barely a whisper.
The man glanced up at the cloth above him, watching it billow in the wind before glancing back at them. “The only thing you need to know is that as the high priest, Herod has given me the authority to punish you.”
“What? Herod? Punish us for what?”
“You will be punished for helping a murderer, the murderer Barabbas.” His voice was cold, yet even and measured.
Michael stepped toward him, hands clenched at his side. “I said we didn’t know that he was a murderer.”
“Please, sir, we were just trying to help,” Elizabeth pleaded, grabbing Michael by the arm.
The man turned and studied Elizabeth for a moment. His hands swept over the fine threading of his robe, smoothing it out in his lap. He cocked his head quizzically. “While your father claims he isn’t a follower of this Jesus of Nazareth, you do. Why is that?”
“I just am.”
“Silly girl, you could get yourself into a lot of trouble thinking that way.” The corners of the man’s mouth turned upward, pressing deeply into his wrinkled cheeks. “At least your father is
wiser. You should listen to him. He knows it is our imperial government that provides for you and rules over you. Not that criminal.”
“Please, sir . . . Your Excellence,” Michael interjected as he shifted his weight to the right, blocking Elizabeth behind him. “Please, she’s just a kid and doesn’t know much. Please let her go.”
The guard spoke urgently, “Your Excellency, please remember that they were trying to help a murderer, a criminal who viciously killed a Roman soldier.”
“I know what the crime is,” the high priest snapped back, clearly annoyed. Michael again scanned the crowd for help and met the eyes of the woman in the black veil. She seemed to be studying him; he caught her squinting at him, lost in concentration. She looked away immediately, as if he would recognize her.
“Who are you and your daughter staying with for the festivities?” the high priest asked, his eyebrows rising mockingly.
Michael’s eye searched the area, trying to make sense of the scene. “What festivities? Are you talking about Easter? I’m not sure . . . I don’t know where I am. What town is this?” He glanced over his shoulder at the group of people gathered by the foot of the steps. “Maybe I could call someone? I can call my sister. She can give me a ride home.”
The high priest chuckled, misunderstanding the request. He lifted his arm, indicating the crowd still watching from a distance. “Go ahead, call someone.”
Michael was even more confused. They were in a town on Long Island with no cops, no air-conditioning, no streetlights, no recognizable shops, and, apparently, no phones.
“Your Excellency!” The woman in the black veil stepped out from the massive crowd. “Forgive my insolence, but I have no other to speak for me. Your pity, please.”
The high priest looked down at her with interest. He smiled again before gesturing for her to join them.
Michael watched as she drew a breath to steady herself. Then, head down as if in penance, she moved toward the steps. When she reached the top, she paused.
“May I?” the woman asked, indicating her veil.
“You may.”
The woman pulled the veil back from her forehead, her hands trembling ever so slightly before she clasped them. She appeared prayerful, though her countenance belied any sort of peace. Her green eyes were striking, the pupils fixed in concentration. A lock of light brown hair fell forward at her temple, softening the edges of her thin, angular face. Michael realized she was much younger than her slow gait had indicated.
“Come no closer,” the high priest called out to her, his chin high and proud. He settled back into the chair. “What is it that you want?”
“My name is Leah. You asked if they had any family or friends,” the woman replied. “This is my brother and his daughter. Please let them come with me.”
The man nodded at the soldiers flanking Michael and Elizabeth before gazing back at her. “Did they know Barabbas was a murderer?”
“They are not from here,” she said. “They wouldn’t know.”
“Everyone knows Barabbas is a murderer,” the soldier on Michael’s right said with a snicker.
“Obviously, not everyone knew,” the high priest said, mocking him. Many in the crowd laughed, irritating the soldier even more. He glared at Michael, lifting his spear in a menacing way.
The high priest turned back to Michael. “You have a daughter to take care of. I have one myself. We should both shoulder our responsibilities and keep them from harm.”
Michael nodded.
“Sir, we’ll upset many in the army if we allow them both to go,” the court guard pleaded.
The high priest rose and strolled thoughtfully back and forth in front of the prisoners. He then stopped at the side of the soldier and spoke in a monotone, “How much anger do you see?”
“Sir, enough to cause a problem during the festivities.”
The high priest turned to Elizabeth. “Where is your husband?”
Elizabeth shook her head, puzzled by the question. “Husband? What?! I’m not married!”
“Perhaps it’s best you find one.”
“She will be with me,” the woman with the black veil said. “Let me bring her back to my home.”
The high priest slowly looked around. Sensing the animosity building up among the impatient soldiers, he quickly made his decision.
“You’ve disrespected me and my soldiers,” he said firmly to Michael and Elizabeth. Then he walked down a few steps and surveyed the crowd, enjoying the attention. Suddenly he spun back up the steps and faced Elizabeth and Michael again.
The high priest pointed at Leah. “Woman, take your brother’s daughter and show her the way home.” Then he turned toward Elizabeth, hissing, “Do not disrespect me again, woman. Cover your face or you’ll find a place with your father.”
Gesturing at Michael, the high priest shouted loud enough so that even those in the rear of the crowd could hear him, “Take him to the prison to await sentencing. Let it be known that if you help a murderer, we will treat you like one.”
The soldiers chuckled in agreement and the high priest seemed to revel in the moment.
“No,” screamed Elizabeth as she struggled away from the soldiers to reach her father.
Leah swiftly moved toward her and grabbed her arm. “Stop. Or you’ll get hurt.”
“I don’t care, they’re taking my father!”
Leah’s grip tightened around Elizabeth’s arm as two Roman soldiers led Michael away. He turned slightly to get a last glance of her. “Go, Elizabeth, go with the woman, get back to Northport,” he pleaded.
“Listen to him, woman!” the high priest said, gliding toward Elizabeth. “You are to go with your father’s sister and stay with her while you are here for the festivities. Do not travel at night. Not everyone will show mercy like I have today. The soldiers will remember you for what you tried to do. Next time I will not help you.” His hand slapped at the air, his palm upturned. “Go now!”
“Thank you for your mercy,” Leah said, her face turned downward. She leaned into Elizabeth, pulling her back slightly. “Come, come with me quickly,” she whispered, nodding once to Michael. “I’ll take care of her.”
Elizabeth watched as her father was led off into the courtyard below. She struggled to follow him as closely as she could, but the crowd only parted for the soldiers, trapping her behind the mob.
“Take this,” said Leah, ripping a piece of garment under her robes and then handing it to Elizabeth.
“I’m not wearing this,” said Elizabeth, giving it back.
Leah grabbed her arm and tightened her grip. Staring at Elizabeth she implored, “Do you want to die? Listen to me!”
Elizabeth remained silent, glaring, then adjusted the veil over her face.
3
A MARCH TO DEATH
The crowd started to disperse as the soldiers dragged Michael farther from the courtyard. People still lined the sides of the dusty stone road, eyeing the three of them as they walked past. Some boldly hissed and taunted the soldiers from afar, while others mocked Michael.
The noise and catcalls unnerved him briefly, but then a strange calm took over. He began to register every unusual sight and image, mentally making note of each unique landmark. He took a deep breath in an effort to shake off the fear that threatened to suffocate him.
The walk was slow and measured. The soldiers scanned the restless crowd, monitoring everyone as if a skirmish could erupt at any moment. Their path took them around the back of the courtyard, and Michael was astounded by how large the high priest’s enclave must be, given how far they had already traveled.
He hesitated slightly, wheeling back to determine if Elizabeth and the woman were following him. The road behind him appeared nearly empty. A sharp blow to his back sent a surge of pain shooting to the top of his head.
“Keep moving,” yelled the soldier on his right.
“I am!” Michael replied angrily.
The soldier on the left whipped the end of his spear i
nto Michael’s right leg, causing him to stumble in pain. The other soldier laughed menacingly.
The men on the side streets continued to yell but this time directed their jeers at the soldiers. Michael noticed that the women, all veiled, looked down as the soldiers paraded by. One of the soldiers followed his gaze. “Keep moving,” he ordered.
All the blows he had taken reminded Michael of his early childhood days when he misspoke or did something wrong. A whack on the head was sometimes the punishment, but more often than not, it was a painful hour on his knees in a corner of his bedroom with his hands folded on top of his head. In retrospect, that penance was nothing compared to this.
As they walked, Michael realized in panic that they were traveling in the opposite direction of the tunnel’s entrance. But then this thought brought him a sense of solace: he was drawing the soldiers away from the tunnel, which meant that Elizabeth would be free to go back home, where he would soon join her. If I don’t wake up first.
He tried to compose himself but an overpowering fear for Elizabeth’s safety nearly sidelined him as the soldiers turned the corner onto a new street. Before him loomed a majestic building, cut into the hillside sweeping upward behind it. Four gigantic towers, one higher than the other three, shot up into the skyline above him. He was mesmerized by how much it resembled a medieval castle. As they drew closer, Michael wondered how this could possibly be the prison.
They approached five soldiers flanking the grand entrance, around which small clusters of people huddled. Some of the soldiers, dressed in shining gold helmets and silver breastplates, held spears in their hands while others lazily swung round cement balls dangling from chains. Michael’s captors nodded their heads toward the front guards and were immediately allowed admission. Once inside, the retaining wall soared above them, and Michael was impressed by its grandeur. His gaze followed it upward for as high as he could see.
The soldier to his right cracked him on the back of the head. “Don’t worry. You’re not going there,” he chuckled.
The other soldier shoved Michael hard to the right, propelling him sideways through a small archway. The passageway was narrow and led to a dark, steep stairway. It was so tight that one soldier had to stand in front of Michael while the other held on to him from the back. Michael tried counting the steps but lost track at forty-five; the oppressive heat distracted him.
Necessary Heartbreak Page 4