by Brian Godawa
“Not before we cut him off. But if it is entanglements you are interested in, I am sure I can provide some satisfaction.”
He ignored her advances. He wanted facts. He needed something more. Some piece of information that might lead him to the actor’s whereabouts.
“What do you know of the criminal Jesus Barabbas?”
“Well, I did have a servant spy on Gestas for a short time afterward as a precaution of protection for the princess. He followed the actor to some caves southwest of Scythopolis.”
Longinus’ ears perked up. “May I speak to this servant?”
She smiled at him. “Such manners. Are you so proper in all areas of your life?” Longinus could see her breathing rate increase and her eyes turn into those of a bitch in heat. “Or do you have that little forbidden part of you, hidden from your lawful discipline, where you unleash yourself?”
He tried to dodge her advances. “You and I both know, there are some laws whose violation leads to execution for both parties involved.”
His intent had the opposite effect on her. “That sounds titillating. After the feast, I will personally bring you to him.”
This hound will not let up. Longinus knew where she really wanted to bring him: to her bedchamber. He had no desire to be pulled into such a trap.
The music ended. The filthy dance was over and the naked girl bowed to the tetrarch. When the applause died down, Antipas stood and made a proclamation that made Longinus lose even what little respect he had for the ruler.
“Magnificent!” shouted Antipas. “Absolutely magnificent! Whatever you ask of me, I will give to you.”
The girl looked confused. She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.
“I mean it, child. Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it to you, up to half of my kingdom!”
A hush went over the crowd. Then scandalous whispering broke out.
Antipas swaggered. He was drunk. And he was also clearly aroused. Longinus thought the foolish pervert should have stayed sitting down. He considered reporting Antipas to Caesar, because Herod, as a client ruler, offered what he had no legal right to do.
Salomé looked over at Herodias, who finally took her attention off of Longinus. At first, she was angry, jealous that this moron whom she had coddled, stroked and flattered, was now giving her daughter what she herself deserved. She said to Antipas, “My lord, you cannot be serious.”
“Who are you to say I am not?” crowed Antipas. “I am king here, and I have the power.” He stumbled backward a step.
Herodias’ anger then turned to realization. She immediately gestured for Salomé to follow her out of the room. Salomé obeyed. The crowd whisperings grew louder, as gossip exploded over the outrageous proposition of the king.
“Longinus!” The call came from the tipsy Antipas, who was about to fall over. “You look like you need to have some fun. Celebrate! I demand it for my birthday!”
He leaned over a pail held by a servant and stuck his finger in his mouth. He gagged and then vomited into the pail. More disgusting decadence to Longinus. Royalty would often purge their meals in this way so they could keep eating.
Antipas finished gagging. His servant wiped his mouth with a kerchief and handed him a goblet of wine. Antipas rinsed his mouth with the wine, gargled and spit it into the pail. The servant left him.
Antipas moved over to the centurion, and noticed an absence. “Where is Herodias?” He smiled devilishly, “What have you done with my wife, Longinus?” He looked around with the façade of being secretive, and semi-whispered, “Just make sure the body is cold before reporting it.” He grinned and slapped the officer on the back with a “Ha!”
Longinus knew this would not end well.
Antipas stopped and said, “I am hungry. Let us eat!”
The returning entrance of the young Salomé into the banquet room, newly clothed, snared the attention of Antipas. The girl was followed by Herodias, who reclaimed her place at the banquet table. Salomé floated up to the staring tetrarch and bowed low to the ground before him. She wore a flowing, embroidered gown, Antipas’s favorite.
“My step-father and king, I have carefully considered your offer.”
Antipas looked over at Longinus with surprise. He saw Herodias return to her seat.
“And what is your wish, my wonderful step-daughter?”
Longinus knew that Antipas was regretting his offer to this little twat. But he also realized that the returning Herodias had obviously used her daughter as a proxy, to get what she wanted. He only prayed to Mithras it had nothing to do with Longinus himself.
Salomé raised herself up and with pretentiousness announced, “I want you to give me the head of John the Baptist on a platter.”
The company around Antipas all fell silent. Longinus could see the shock in Antipas’ face, and the subtle smirk on Herodias’ lips.
Of course, he thought. I should have guessed it. This treacherous bitch was getting revenge on the one who challenged her moral behavior. No doubt how she will deal with me, if I do not get out of here tonight.
Longinus got up and knelt down by Antipas, who mused to him, “I do not want to kill the Baptizer, but I should be glad she did not ask for something injurious to my actual kingship.” Antipas turned back to the girl and said, “Granted, my precious one.”
Longinus whispered in Antipas’ ear. “You must let me see him before he is executed. It is for the procurator, remember.”
“Of course,” said Antipas. “You may do so, but quickly. I received a report that Caesar has sent Vitellius of Syria to meet with the Parthian king’s envoy up north. I have to leave immediately in the morning to join them.”
Longinus followed the guards down to the cell where the Baptizer was being held. He gestured for the guards to wait for him at the door until he was through with his interrogation.
When the door slammed shut, John looked up from his sitting position against the wall amidst a pile of straw, his only comfort. He was bedraggled and starved. His long, bushy beard made him look like a madman.
Longinus placed a plate of bread and fruit with a cup of wine at John’s feet. The mad prophet ignored it.
“I am Marcus Lucius Longinus, envoy of Pontius Pilate, the procurator of Galilee.”
“I know who that criminal is,” croaked the Baptizer.
Longinus watched him with eagle eyes. “I can help you. If you will but help me.”
John said nothing in response.
Longinus continued, “I understand you are the one to prepare the way for this ‘Messiah’ of yours. A new King of the Jews.”
The Baptizer threw an intense stare at him. Longinus was taken aback. It felt as if he was looking into his soul. Longinus was a battle hardened soldier, who had stood before Caesar as before a god. But he had never had such an experience as this. This simple madman’s stare frightened him, cut to his soul.
Longinus asked, “Is this an armed revolt? Does it have anything to do with the bandit leader, Barabbas?”
John’s solemn glare turned into a smile. He shook his head with disdain. “I know nothing of Barabbas. I anointed Jesus bar Joseph as Messiah. And as for his kingdom, well….” He paused. “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by him.”
Longinus hated prophets. They always spoke in obscure, poetic references rather than straight talk. Even those in his own religion of Mithraism, the religion of the Roman legions. So much more could be accomplished in this world if people would but be clear in their speech and intentions.
“This Jesus, he is a sorcerer? A magician?”
John ignored the question. “Tell me, centurion, I can see you are upright, a man of law.” A chill went through Longinus’ spine. How did he know?
“Will such law save your soul?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are a man of integrity. You believe in dire
ctness and you hate deception. But have you ever lied?”
Longinus did not know where this was going, so he balked at answering him.
“Even once? In your entire life?”
Still no answer from the Stoic Longinus.
John said, “Take for instance your claim to be able to ‘help me’.”
That statement shot through Longinus like a javelin of truth. How could he know such things?
“Of course I have lied. Everyone lies. I am human.”
“So, it is human to lie. But is it right?”
It was strange, the influence this strange prophet had on breaking down the barriers.
“No, it is not right.”
“Have you ever taken anything that was not yours?”
In this, Longinus was unlike most other officers and soldiers of the legions. He did not skim from war booty, he did not charge extra taxes for his own purse. But alas, he was not always so.
“When I was young, I was a delinquent and an ingrate. I had to learn the value of ownership, responsibility and integrity.”
The Baptizer gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “No doubt you have met the Herods. Does their sexual depravity disgust you?”
Longinus knew this was the accusation that had gotten this madman in trouble. He would not defend this Jew, no matter how much he may have agreed with him.
The Baptizer asked him as one might ask a child, “Have you ever lusted after a woman?”
Such questions were ridiculous. He answered, “Lust is the natural order of mankind. But character is destiny.” Longinus had read Heraclitus as well as the Stoics. But his character was in his discipline.
“So you have not lusted after women.”
“I have. But you are not here to interrogate me, Baptizer.”
“Forgive me,” said John, “I plead for your indulgence. For you know I have but little time left.”
Another chill went through Longinus’ bones. How did this flea-bitten beggar know of such hidden royal decisions? He sighed with contempt and waved his hand. “Go ahead.”
“Well, in answer to your question about Jesus; where others say we must not commit adultery, he says, that if we even look at woman with lust, we have committed adultery in our heart.”
Ridiculous, thought Longinus. Such petty scruples and semantics.
The Baptizer kept going, “You have been employed to bring murderers to justice.”
Longinus was thinking of how this was not leading him to his target, Barabbas and the two brigands.
“Well, Jesus said that everyone who is angry with his brother or hates him will meet their justice in the fires of Gehenna.”
Longinus protested such insanity, “I love my fellow Roman, but my enemies, I hate.”
John replied, “Jesus said to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. For loving those who love you,” he paused again for ironic emphasis, “is no better than what Romans do.” John broke out in a devious grin. “I was just praying for Herod Antipas when you arrived, but now I see I should pray for you as well.”
“Stop this foolishness, Baptizer. You are correct. You do not have much time. So what is your point?”
John said, “Well, centurion, you pride yourself on your righteousness. Yet you have just admitted to me that you are a lying, thieving, murderous adulterer of the heart, and you will one day stand before your Creator to face judgment for all the deeds you have done. A holy god who allows no evil, no matter how small, in his presence. Will the Law save you then? Or will it condemn you?”
“You Jews and your god,” grumbled Longinus. “I have seen your elaborate sacrifices in the temple from the Antonia.” The Antonia was a Roman fortress built along the northern wall of the Jerusalem Temple in order to allow the Romans to keep an eye on Jewish religious activities.
“This is why Jesus came,” said John. “Atonement. Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Even the sins of repentant Roman centurions.”
“I am through with your nonsense, Baptizer. If this Messiah of yours has no other secret plan than meekness, mercy, and poverty of spirit, then I fail to see how his followers think they can stand up to the might and power of Rome. You would have a better chance with the Zealots.”
And he was about to hunt down those seditious rebels and crush their hopes and dreams as well. He got up to leave.
“Centurion.”
Longinus turned.
“You will never find what you are looking for. I pray it finds you.”
More gibberish, thought Longinus. He rapped on the door and two guards opened it to let him out. They stayed inside and approached the Baptizer.
Longinus turned to watch them through the barred window. What did the Baptizer mean, I would never find what I am looking for? Did he mean Barabbas and the brothers? Or was he using that cynical trick of double meaning for his spiritual longing? It bothered Longinus. There was something about this madman prophet and his meekly Messiah that Longinus could not get out of his mind.
He watched the guards carrying in a platter with a display of lettuce, vegetables and fruit. But this was not another offer of food for the prisoner.
One of the Guards shackled the Baptizer’s hands behind him. The other got behind him and pulled out a long dagger.
Longinus swallowed. He knew what came next. He had been there when Herodias commanded the guards. She hated this harmless Baptizer with such venom that she wanted him to suffer, to really suffer. So instead of using the standard swift blade of the executioner’s axe or broadsword, this guard used a simple dagger to manually saw through the poor soul’s neck, throat and vertebrae.
It was a heinous, wicked act of cowards, and it confirmed to Longinus that he would not even return to the palace. He would set out immediately for his century out in the desert and leave for Galilee.
For the first time in his life as a soldier, he could not watch. He had overseen atrocities of every kind; the horrors of war, the slaughter of innocent men, women and children, the evisceration of barbarians, the crucifixion of criminals. But for some reason he could not comprehend, this simple, cruel beheading made him sick to his stomach.
These Herodians deserve the fires of Gehenna, he thought. But he felt almost as if he was party to it as well.
And what of me?
He walked away before he could see the climax of bizarre evil: placing the Baptist’s head on the platter of fruit and vegetables.
He tried to push the haunting experience with the Baptizer and his horrifying demise out of his mind. He set his sights on his next target: the outlaws’ hideout just outside of Scythopolis.
Chapter 12
Eleazar ben Shemuel shifted uncomfortably in his shackles. They were a bit too small for his wrists and ankles. They were made for normal prisoners. Eleazar was not normal. A Jew by birth, he had grown up in the remnant of exiled Jews still residing in Babylon. But as a giant, over ten feet tall, he was ostracized by his own people and so had led a band of outlaws in the Parthian empire east of the Euphrates River. He was currently a captive of the Parthian king Artabanus III, awaiting his transfer as a gift to Caesar.
Eleazar was the product of his Jewish mother having been raped by a Philistine Rephaim from Gath. Out of shame, she traveled from Judea to the Israelite community in Babylon. When he had his growth spurt at the age of five, she took him into the wilderness to raise him. She had told him many stories from the Torah of her people. But she had carefully left out the story of his own cursed background. It wasn’t until he had come of age and joined a band of outlaws that he learned of his true heritage.
A captured caravan had produced various scrolls on their way to the monastery of Qumran. The literature was Mesopotamian, Canaanite and Jewish holy writ. To the other bandits, these were worthless. But to Eleazar, they were a treasure trove of knowledge that filled in his own incomplete storyline. Eleazar promptly read through the Tanakh, or Hebrew Scriptures, with an increasing anger and hatred for the god of those
Scriptures, Yahweh Elohim, and his minions of evil.
He had learned of the curse on the Serpent in the Garden. How Yahweh had promised a war between the Seed of the Serpent, and the Seed of Eve, that would rage through history until a messiah king would crush the head of that Serpent.
He had learned of the origin of his identity as a giant in the primeval Nephilim of antediluvian days. Sons of God from Yahweh’s divine council had come to earth and mated with the daughters of men. This unholy mixing of Yahweh’s separated creation order earned them the name Seed of the Serpent. They were the minions of the gods who brought great violence and wickedness upon the earth. There was a rebellion of giants called the Titanomachy and War on Eden called the Gigantomachy. They were both uprisings led by Nephilim against Yahweh. Yahweh had regretted that he had made man on the earth and sent the Great Deluge. But he saved a man, Noah, and his family because Noah was uncorrupted by Nephilim blood and was righteous before Yahweh.
The Nephilim bloodline survived the Flood and most of them migrated to the land of Canaan, where they became the mighty giant clans of the Amalekites, Amorites, Emim, Zuzim, and Rephaim. The giants were nearly wiped out again in the war campaign of the Four Kings of Mesopotamia led by Chederlaomer in the days of Abraham.
Over the next four hundred years, they repopulated and filled the land of Canaan, with the Anakim becoming the mightiest of all giant clans. Their leaders, Ahiman, Sheshai, and Talmai, each ruled with a giant iron fist throughout the Cisjordan in the west, while the giant warrior king, Og of Bashan reigned over the Transjordan in the East.
Around this time, the Hebrews left four hundred years of slavery to Egypt behind in an exodus. They came to the land of Canaan to claim it as their inheritance. Their warrior general, Joshua led them to wipe out all the Rephaim and Anakim in the land in holy Wars of Yahweh to cleanse the land of their enemy. It was a penultimate climax to the War of the Seed.
But Joshua had left some Rephaim in the coastal cities of the Philistines. Those giants once again reproduced, and by the time of the monarchy of Israel, they had become a military cult dedicated to assassinating the Messiah King of Israel. They were called “The Sons of Rapha,” and they were led by a Philistine champion, a Rephaim giant, Goliath of Gath.