by Andrew Crown
Instead of going inside, Leah was surprised when the centurion instructed her to walk around to the rear of the building. “There is another door around back,” he explained. Cautiously, Leah turned the corner to a quieter and more secluded area.
Leah saw there were no windows on this side of the building, which was only about a dozen feet from the base of the exterior wooden wall of the fortress. The only other human beings in sight were the sentries on top of the wall but they faced out from the fort and were several hundred feet away. An eerie motionlessness existed here which contrasted with the bustle of activity that existed almost everywhere else within the castrum. It filled Leah with dread.
She felt Bricius move behind her and his callused hands wrapped around her upper arms. She instinctively tried to wriggle free, but the centurion’s grip was like an iron vice. He pushed her up against the mud brick backside of the officer’s quarters with a dull, hard thud that sent a shooting pain through her shoulder blades. She let out a small shriek that was quickly muffled by one of the Roman’s huge hands. He held her writhing head still and she felt his hot breath as he kissed her unwilling neck. Bricius’ other hand tore at her clothing and after half a minute, he had opened up a large hole in her robes below her waist. Leah again tried to scream but it came out so muffled that only her assailant could hear her plea for help. The putrid smell of his dirty hand covering her nose and mouth made her want to vomit. Desperately, she tried biting at his fingers in an attempt to break free. In response to this resistance, Bricius ground her head harder into the brick wall and she felt blood begin to drip from the back of her head. While the Roman fumbled with his own tunic with his free hand, Leah’s eyes welled with tears as she prepared for the awful, unwelcome sensation that was about to follow. Bricius used his knees to spread Leah’s legs against the building and she let out another wild but muted cry into the Roman’s cupped palm.
He was thrusting upon her and about to penetrate when a shadow unexpectedly flickered in Leah’s peripheral vision. A fist connected with the half-naked Roman’s temple. With a groan the officer stumbled, and Leah found herself free from his clutches. Her scream was finally audible. She turned to see who the fist belonged to as it moved again toward the Roman, this time connecting with his exposed abdomen.
“Ugh!” Bricius staggered in pain from the second blow.
Her avenger turned and faced Leah. She could see that the muscular arms delivering the saving blows belonged to Dismas, who gave her a quick glance to determine that she was no longer in immediate danger. His brown eyes, almost always soft and kind as of late, burned with a fury that Leah had never seen before even during his most agitated moments.
His focus turned back to the doubled over Roman and Dismas raised his arm a third time aiming Bricius’ head but was caught by a bear hug from an out-of-breath Cassian, who threw Dismas towards the mud brick wall of the officer’s quarters. Flanking Cassian were two legionnaires and soon Dismas was enveloped by the three Romans. Two grabbed his arms while Cassian dug his shoulder into his midsection. Despite being outnumbered, Dismas was able to struggle enough to force himself and the three other men to crash to the ground in a pile of armor, helmets, and flying fists.
While the Romans worked to subdue the angry Jew, Leah and Bricius made attempts to make themselves decent, with the latter being more successful on account of his untorn clothing. The centurion soon entered the fray, stomping on parts of Dismas’ exposed body as he lay pressed down under the weight of the three other soldiers.
“Filthy Jewish pig!” an enraged Bricius yelled as his foot landed on Dismas’ shoulder, causing a howl of pain. He followed up with more stomping on whatever body part he could reach: shoulder, fingers, thigh…
Leah slumped to the ground, covering herself with her hands to the best of her ability as she looked on helplessly. More Romans came around behind the officer’s quarters, drawn by the loud commotion. These men formed a semicircle around the combatants, staring as if in a trance.
Soon another centurion appeared around the corner of the building and shouted orders in an attempt to establish control of the situation. Dismas and Bricius were separated by the fully-armed Romans. Dismas was sporting a busted lip among other injuries, and Bricius had a swollen eyelid where Dismas’ first punch had landed.
“Bring the two of them to Tribune Magnus and everyone else shall return to his post!” the centurion commanded, and the crowd began to disperse. Only then did the officer hear the sobs of a woman and looked in the shade of the building and saw the frightened Leah sitting on the ground rocking back and forth.
“We need a physician for this woman. You there!” the officer called to a sauntering legionnaire on his way back to his post, “Fetch water, blankets, and clothing for her.”
The soldier saluted and within moments, Leah was led to a medical pavilion and examined by two Roman military physicians who dressed her scrapes and cuts. Dismas had saved her from penetration and besides the bloody scrape on her head, her wounds were more mental than physical.
Meanwhile, Dismas and Bricius were led to the most elaborate building within the fort, the quarters of the highest commanding officer, Tribune Magnus. The two men were ushered inside the stone building to a large room which served as Magnus’ office, Dismas’ hands shackled in front of him with iron chains. As an added protective measure, a Roman soldier stood at Dismas’ side in full armor with his sword in his scabbard as a deterrent to any violent thoughts that might have crossed his prisoner’s mind. Bricius had no such constraints and was permitted to move about freely. However, he chose to stand still before the Tribune.
Dismas was surprised how youthful the commander appeared. He was certainly younger than Bricius and looked to be no more than a few years older than Dismas himself. He had the olive skin and jet-black hair associated those who grew up on the sunny Mediterranean shores just outside of Rome. His father was probably a wealthy Roman citizen, Dismas reasoned, and his position here was more of account of his family than of his years of service.
Magnus had in fact benefited from his father’s place in the Roman senate to attain the position of Tribune at the age of thirty-four, far faster than then men who earned it in battle on the frontiers of the empire. He was always conscious of this fact and how he might be perceived by the men he led, men who knew next to nothing about the Roman senate. Thus, Magnus had worked hard to win favor with the troops, to act fairly, and to never ask his men to perform a task that he would not do himself. It was this desire to lead by example that granted him the calm to accept his first post in Galilee without complaint. There were certainly more desirable locales, but Magnus never betrayed his duty to the empire. Because of this, he quickly established a reputation as a competent and fair commander.
The Tribune had been busy checking the scrolls that listed the inventory of supplies from his quartermaster and was irritated to be dealing with this skirmish. He was further dismayed to see that one of his officers was involved in the matter. That it was Bricius, however, was not a shock to him. He stared at both men before him. The bound Jew returned his gaze with his lip still dripping blood. There was a mixture of respect and defiance in his face. The centurion wore a look of smugness.
The Tribune cleared his throat and remained seated in his chair. “Bricius, what is it now? You’re disturbing me from carrying out what has been ordered by Caesar. Time wasted for a Tribune of Rome is time wasted for the entire empire. Speak.”
Despite his age, the Tribune possessed an air of authority that was so palpable that the three other men in the room gave him their undivided attention.
“Tribune, this man was invited into our midst to sell fish to our soldiers and attacked me unprovoked,” Bricius snarled. “He is undoubtedly a troubled instigator and a threat to the peace we work so hard to bring to this region. I recommend that at a minimum he be beaten severely as a deterrence to others that harbor similar resentment against the soldiers of Caesar’s army. Of course, a greater pu
nishment might be warranted at your discretion given the dangers he may pose.” The centurion concluded his pompous theatrics by rubbing his temple and swollen eye that were beginning to throb painfully.
Dismas did not wait to be invited to defend himself. “This man is a liar. He attempted to violate a woman who is in my company. I attacked him to defen…”
“The Jew lies, Tribune!” Bricius interrupted. “We cannot trust those that attack Roman soldiers!”
Dismas made a move towards his accuser but was restrained by the guard at his side and he wisely abandoned his attempt at a violent response to the centurion’s falsehood. Instead he said simply, “Tribune, I swear that my story is truthful.”
Bricius began to say something else but the Tribune held up his hand to silence him. He directed his next statement towards Dismas. “I will give you an opportunity to tell your side of the story.” He glanced over at Bricius. “You will not be interrupted. Are there any witnesses that can corroborate what you say? You said that there is a woman that is with you?”
“Yes, Tribune. I do not know where she is at the moment.”
“See! He lies!” Bricius triumphantly interjected.
“Silence, Bricius!” Magnus said loudly. It was the most intense sign of anger that the Tribune displayed since the men were brought in. Magnus composed himself and turned back towards Dismas, “Continue with your account.”
Dismas cleared his throat. “We were in line to sell our fish to the quartermaster when this man approached us with another officer and directed me to go with his subordinate to the barracks to sell what I had. He then took my traveling companion to a different place for payment. I was suspicious about his insistence in separating us and I see that I had good reason to be. I was on my way to the barracks when my conscience got the better of me and I doubled back, ignoring the orders from your officer. I saw the woman I was with and this man disappear behind a building and I quickened my pace. When I arrived behind the building, I saw him attempting to rape her and I immediately attacked him to get him off of her. I was then led here after being assaulted by soldiers.” Dismas gestured to his injured face with his shackled hands.
Bricius made another attempt to speak but Magnus held up his hand again and looked hard at him. The centurion returned his gaze temporarily but then looked down at the floor in shame. Dismas initially didn’t understand the significance of that look, but then the next phrase uttered by the Tribune made it clear. “Again, Bricius?”
Dismas’ heart leapt. There was hope that his story was believed. The Tribune continued, “We could definitively get to the bottom of this by simply asking the woman, whom I trust is being attended to?”
“She is, Tribune,” Dismas’ guard said.
“Very well. I get the sense that speaking to her will be a mere formality in confirming the truth. A formality that I simply don’t have the time for at the moment. Guards!”
At the shouted command, the wooden door behind Dismas opened and a group of four soldiers who were waiting outside entered. With all the Romans except the Tribune in full battle dress, the room became quite crowded.
The Tribune continued, “I cannot allow an attack on our army go unpunished any more than I can allow needless violence against the local populace. The governor Pontius Pilate from his seat in Jerusalem has ordered us to keep the peace with the Jews. A peace that you have repeatedly jeopardized, Bricius. This is not the first time we have had this discussion. This is the last time I will be lenient with you.”
The centurion began to protest, but the Tribune rose from his seat, silencing him. He then said rapidly, “Twelve lashes for the Jew for attacking an officer of the Roman army. Six lashes for Centurion Bricius for disorderly conduct. Sentence to be carried out immediately in front of the garrison. Go.”
He waved his hands and the guards proceeded to escort the two men out of the room. Bricius was mortified to have low-ranking soldiers grab his arms and steer him away. He called out in a pleading voice, “Tribune!” but it was ignored as Magnus strapped on his armor to follow the men out to the parade ground.
The two men were led to a post on the edge of an open area where the Roman troops were beginning to assemble shoulder to shoulder, their long shields in front of them giving an appearance of an iron wall. Dismas and Bricius were stripped of their top garments, so their bare backs were exposed. Then Dismas’ shackles were undone so that his chain could be threaded through an iron ring on the top of the wooden whipping post before being refastened to his wrists. Secured to the post, Dismas locked eyes on Bricius and saw a sneer of pure hatred for causing him the ignominy of facing such a punishment in front of his men. Bricius, however, would not be whipped until after Dismas, and so his attention was solely focused on Dismas while he waited.
A burly Roman that stood well over six feet with biceps as big as melons walked up behind Dismas carrying a long braided whip. He immediately raised the whip and brought it down hard on Dismas’ back. The sensation of rope hitting and then opening flesh was excruciatingly painful and Dismas let out a cry.
“One!” shouted an overseer.
Another crack, and Dismas felt he would fall, but he steadied himself against the post.
“Two!”
A third crack echoed across the parade ground and Dismas felt warm blood flow down his back.
“Three!”
Another strike caused him to sag against the post. Dismas did not want to fall and delight the Romans—especially Bricius.
“Four!”
This impact dropped him to one knee, but he quickly sprang back up. He could see droplets of blood on the dirt at his feet. The pain in his back was agonizing as each lash tore a little more flesh.
“Five!”
The next lash dropped him completely. He attempted to stand back up and was roughly assisted by two Roman soldiers on either arm.
“Six!”
The next several lashes caused Dismas to fall and the soldiers had to continue to hold him in position to prevent him from collapsing.
Finally, when the Roman overseer yelled out “Twelve!” Dismas was released by the guards and fell to the ground with a thud, his back raw and bloody. He moaned for a moment, his face buried in the dirt while his arms dangled above him, chained to the iron ring. The guards quickly unshackled him and dragged him to his feet.
“You’re free to go,” one of them said, wrapping his tunic around his shoulders and pushing him towards the front gate. Dismas wobbled for several yards, making every effort to stay on his feet. A figure rushed towards him and he instinctively fell into Leah’s outstretched arms. She held him, oblivious to the blood that was beginning to soak her hands and arms, and threw a blanket around him to cover his raw back. Dismas didn’t know where she got the blanket from and he didn’t care. Her mere presence gave him a warmth and a strength that he thought was lost at the whipping post. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but no words came, only labored breathing.
“Let’s get you home.” There was something so soothing about the way Leah said it that Dismas almost shed a tear of happiness. Yes, let’s go home, he silently thought.
“One!”
Dismas and Leah turned around and saw Bricius, brown teeth clenched, standing where Dismas had been at the whipping post. Magnus was nearby addressing the troops as the punishment was carried out.
“…conduct unbecoming of a Roman officer. Let this be an example to all men that our job is to protect the law and maintain order in this land, not contribute to the chaos.”
“Two!”
“Let every man see…” Magnus continued. “…that no man, whether officer or slave, is above the regulations of the army and the fort.”
“Three!”
Dismas’ eyes locked again on Bricius’ and saw him staring right back at him with a wrath that resembled a wild predator seeing his prey escape his clutches. Dismas stood transfixed.
“Dismas, let’s go.” Leah’s calming voice brought him back to reality
. The two turned away and walked through the gates of the castrum as another crack of the whip echoed across the parade grounds.
Chapter IX
Dismas collapsed onto his reed mat as soon as they arrived at Asher’s house. Drops of blood rolled down his back all the way down the dusty road from the fort and into the house, creating a thin crimson path. Leah washed his wounds with cool water to clean them as best she could. Dismas offered up a feeble protest but was too weak and injured to utter more than an incoherent mumble. Very gently, she wrapped fresh bandages on his tender back which quickly were stained red from the oozing blood.
“Stay on your stomach, Dismas,” Leah commanded. There was authority in her voice, but it was still laced with sweetness. “I’m going to go get some bales of straw to keep you still, my dear. I promise I will be right back.” She smiled down at him and gave his arm a tender squeeze.
Dismas was only vaguely aware of straw being slipped on either side of him. A cool sensation followed as Leah’s gentle hand wiped the dirt and dried blood from his back with a damp cloth. She then skillfully tore more strips of cloth as additional bandages and applied them on his back.
“How does that feel?” she whispered in his ear. “Better?”
He opened his eyes and looked up at her angelic face. Her dark hair falling around her shoulders made her look exquisitely beautiful. “It feels perfect,” he said with a half-smile, though his back felt raw and pain radiated all over his torso. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m alright. I’m so glad you were there…it could have been much worse,” Leah said, her voice wavering.
Dismas nodded in gratitude that she was safe and then lay his head on a small pile of straw. He was soon fast asleep.
Over the next few days, he would awaken every few hours, in a delirium of exhaustion and pain. Sometimes when he half opened his eyes in a squint, he would see Asher at his side asking him how he felt.
