by Andrew Crown
Bricius, who outwardly appeared to have recovered from his shock at the afternoon’s events, looked over at the struggling Dismas and the evil smile returned.
“Gladly, Tribune.” He saluted his commander.
Magnus returned Bricius’ salute. “Men, form up behind me.”
The Roman soldiers were as eager as their commander to leave the dying men and return to their barracks to drink away the strange sights they had seen. They began their march behind the mounted Magnus on their way back towards the city, leaving Bricius alone with Dismas and Gestas.
Bricius strode over to retrieve a thick wooden rod laying at the base of the center cross. It was about half the thickness of a sword and the same length. Bricius flashed his stained teeth up at Dismas as he walked slowly over to him brandishing the rod. A crack with the rod would break a man’s legs, rendering him unable to push up on the nail in his feet. Suffocation would then be inevitable in a matter of moments.
Bricius stood at the base of Dismas’ cross, patting the rod against his palm.
“When I am granted my next leave, I’m going to pay a visit to your woman and finish what I started. I just thought you should know that before you become food for the birds.”
Dismas heard these words as he looked down on him. Then in a clear voice he called out with the strength remaining in his lungs.
“Bricius, I am sorry for what I have done to wrong you. Please forgive me for my transgressions, as I have forgiven you for yours. Go in peace.”
Bricius stopped cold and stared incredulously at the bleeding man above him. He shook his head and raised the rod to strike. But then he pulled back slowly and paused to reflect on what Dismas had said. He stood there perplexed, processing the true meaning of the words he had just heard. He had just been forgiven. This thought both confused and terrified him.
Suddenly he was overcome with fear and remorse. Bricius let the wooden rod fall from his shaking hand. He had been forgiven. He took a few steps back from the cross and fixed his eyes on Dismas, who met his gaze with a calm expression that was devoid of any ill will. At this, tears formed in Bricius’ eyes as he turned and ran, as if there was an army of barbarians in rapid pursuit. He was unaccustomed to receiving unearned mercy and a growing, gnawing guilt inside of him made him flee to the familiarity and comfort of the city and the barracks. He would spend several hours wrestling over these new, strange emotions that filled his head. He did not dare look back as he sprinted, tears of remorse pouring down his cheeks.
Dismas watched Bricius’ retreat as he pulled himself up for what seemed like the hundredth time. He did not realize until that moment that he had the capacity to forgive Bricius, the man whom he hated above all else. But he had truly meant it. If Jesus could forgive all who undeservedly wronged Him, Dismas could forgive a man whom he had wronged.
Another wave of relief and peace came over Dismas. He glanced over at Gestas to see if there was any change, but Gestas still contorted his body in anguish.
Dismas felt that his life was complete now that it was drawing to a close. Except…except for Leah. He wanted to see her again. But the crowd and the soldiers were gone, leaving Gestas as his only companion, save for occasional travelers passing by on the road on their way to or from the city. These late afternoon travelers mostly shielded their eyes from the gruesomeness of the crucifixion as they hurried past. There would be no final reunion with Leah, Dismas realized with a lump in his throat. His only company in his final moments would be Gestas and the slowly descending vultures overhead.
Both men drew quiet as the sun began to sink low on the western horizon. The three crosses cast long shadows across the ground that dwarfed the proportions of their actual sizes. Dismas drifted in and out of consciousness, each time wondering if he was dead yet, and disappointed to find himself still alive.
With great effort he turned his head to the left and saw the limp figure of Gestas silently hanging from his cross. His head was slumped so Dismas could not see his face.
“G-Gestas…Gestas!” His mouth was dry and coarse, but he was able to audibly call out to his companion. There was no reply as the vultures began to circle closer and closer, inspecting the motionless body. Dismas was now truly alone.
As the sky began to blacken for the second time that day, Dismas heard the call of seagulls and the rocking of the boat. He could feel the wet rope of the net as he pulled in a haul of fish. The smell of the water and the wood of the boat filled his nostrils. Strangely, he also heard calls from his mother, a woman he had not seen in over twenty years but whose love and tenderness he now remembered as if she were here with him. He heard Leah’s laughter and could feel her embrace, the perfumed smell of her hair, and the taste of her lips.
With a start he was brought back to the cross, to the pain of the nails, the dryness of his throat, the heat of the sun, and the struggle to breathe. It was getting much harder to pull himself up now. The pain was too intense, his muscles too fatigued. He allowed himself to go without oxygen for longer periods of time.
There was an inherent spookiness to being left all alone where before there had been a great audience. His brain grew foggy as he hung low on the cross before struggling, muscles aching, to pull himself up out of it yet again and feel another rush of oxygen.
Chapter XXVI
The encroaching twilight obscured the pools of blood that coalesced beneath the crosses. Dismas’ chest heaved as he strained to taste the evening air in his lungs. His own gasping and the hoot of a distant owl were the only sounds in an otherwise serene evening.
His mind began to wander once again in a state of semi-lucid consciousness as he saw two spectral figures approaching from the road. Wrapped in robes that covered their heads as protection from the chilly night air, Dismas could not tell whether they were of this world or the next. Perhaps they were specters here to lead him to the afterlife. The figures seemed to glide closer to the cross, tentatively at first but then much more rapidly in response to his gagging gasp for air.
He merely looked at them with half closed eyes, resigned to whatever fate they ushered. One stood back respectfully while the other moved right below Dismas. With a quick movement, the figure threw off its hood. Standing there with tear-soaked cheeks was a young woman.
“L-L-Leah!” Dismas found the energy to stammer hoarsely.
“I heard rumors and I couldn’t believe them, I just couldn’t. And they were true!” She turned back towards her companion. “They were true, Father! They’re killing him! This is awful! They’re killing Dismas!” She let out a cry of despair.
Asher drew up alongside his daughter. As distraught as Leah looked, she was still as beautiful as ever. Asher, on the other hand, appeared more aged either from the journey or the stress or both. He did not say a word but bit his lip as he gazed up at Dismas with a pained expression that was still visible in the fading light.
More tears ran down Leah’s face as she said, “How could they do this to you, Dismas? What have you done to deserve such a horrible punishment? To see you like this breaks my heart!”
Dismas, at peace with his fate, responded, “My punishment is almost complete. Do not dwell on it. I am going to Paradise before this night is through. My only regret was not seeing you before I go. Now that God has granted me that one last wish…I am truly unafraid.” He let himself slump back down, hanging by the nails in his hands.
“I don’t understand how you can talk this way when you’re in such pain.” Leah ignored the stream of blood running down his legs as reached up to touch his foot.
Dismas tried to muster a smile but he could only partially manage it. “I have seen and heard things on this cross that have changed me. More so than all of the other miracles I have seen during my life. Trust me, Leah. I have no fears about leaving.”
Leah and Asher stood silently for a moment and he put his arm around her for support. She wiped her tears away and looked up into the eyes of the dying man.
“I love you, Dismas. I
love you more than you can ever know. Please don’t go, I don’t want to live in a world without you.” Her hands were covered in Dismas’ blood as she continued to touch his feet.
Dismas managed a full smile this time but the words came harder, either from emotion or a lack of air, he could not be sure. “I-l-love…I love you t-t-too, Leah.”
He pulled himself up on the nails with a moan of agony. Once it subsided, he continued, “Go into town and find the one they call Peter. He is a disciple of Jesus. The man who saved both of us. He will teach you.”
His arms and torso were shaking wildly from the effort and he was forced to drop back down again, exhausted.
“Teach me what?” She pulled away and looked up at him with bewildered eyes.
“Y-you will see. Promise me.”
“I promise, Dismas.” She grabbed his foot again tenderly. Despite the blood that stained her hands and arms, she felt the intense need to touch him.
As she caressed his foot, Asher struggled to find the words to say to the dying man nailed above him. He was only able to meet his eyes with his own. The two men looked at each other, and a silent understanding and goodbye passed between them.
Dismas glanced at Leah, who was still stroking his nailed feet with her fingers and whispering about her love for him. Smiling, Dismas closed his eyes and one final shallow exhale of breath escaped him. Then he grew still with his head slumped against his shoulder.
In the dim twilight, it took a moment for Leah to realize the change. But then she noticed how motionless he was. “Dismas? Dismas! Dismas!!!”
She shrieked so loudly that she frightened off the vultures that moved ever closer to the group of crosses. She wailed for several minutes before all of her energy and emotion were extinguished. Asher looked up at the man on the cross and said a quiet prayer, asking for a blessing for the soul of the departed. Leah and her father embraced in front of the three crosses until the last faint traces of sunlight disappeared and they were swallowed by the darkness of night.
Chapter XXVII
Barabbas slammed his empty cup down on the table and gave a loud belch. He had lost track of how much wine he had drank since returning to the comfort of his favorite brothel. Having cheated death that morning, he had thrown all moderation to the wind in his celebratory mood.
He had gone straight to the tavern as soon as he left the governor’s palace. The jubilation of the crowd had followed him all day. His afternoon of drinking and rounds with the women were generously provided by his fellow patrons in honor of what was perceived to be his defiance of the empire.
“We will regroup and raid the Romans again!” he called out to the room at large and received several cheers in response. “This time we’ll strike their homes and their families.” He gave another belch.
“Barabbas, ye best be keeping your voice down.” The big bearded tavern-keeper cautioned. “The walls have ears.”
“Nonsense! I’ve made Pilate afraid. He saw today just how much respect the people have for me.” The tavern-keeper shook his head and shuffled away to deal with another unruly patron.
Barabbas stood up and staggered back against the wall, the wine disrupting his balance. “I’m going to take a leak,” he shouted to no one in particular. His proclamation was ignored—swallowed by the rising clamor within the tavern. With great difficulty, he stumbled across the crowded room, between inebriated men and scantily clad women, and out the front door.
His movements were tracked by the eyes of man who had arrived with no fanfare and patiently sipped on a cup of wine over the last several hours. Seeing Barabbas leave, the man nimbly slipped out after him.
Barabbas wasted no time in urinating among the horses secured along the side of the brothel. I think I might ask for another go with that fair-skinned woman, he thought pleasantly to himself.
“ARGH!”
With a gasp he felt a tight pain around his neck as a rope was quickly and roughly pulled against his windpipe. His arms shot behind him as he tried to free himself, but the rope was only drawn tighter. The experienced hands of the assassin had done this deed dozens of times before. It was a necessary service on behalf of the governor for people who needed to be eliminated outside the confines of the Roman justice system.
Barabbas continued to thrash and pull, but the pressure from the rope was unrelenting. He tore wildly at his own throat to feel the cool rush of air again but the steady assassin continued to deny him. Gasping, Barabbas’ motions gradually slowed as his eyes rolled back and he fell into an eternal blackness.
“Pilate sends his regards,” the attacker whispered as he softly lowered the limp Barabbas to the ground. He set the body out of sight in a pile of hay in a dark corner of the stable, ensuring it would not be discovered until daybreak. He then put the rope back in his pocket and disappeared into the night.
*
Cassian and his contingent of Roman soldiers finished burying the bodies in a little over an hour. Dismas and Gestas were deposited in shallow graves near where they were crucified, as was the custom for most criminals. No marker signified the place and the only memory of their life was carried on by those that knew them.
Leah and Asher chose to remain in Jerusalem for a couple days. Asher had attempted to secure Dismas’ body the morning after the crucifixion so that he could bring him to be buried in the fishing village. The Roman sentry had denied him audience with either the tribune or the governor when he arrived at the palace gates. Dejected, Asher had kept this failure from Leah who would barely eat, let alone speak, in the immediate aftermath of Dismas’ death. It took a full day before she felt able to venture outside of the inn. Asher let her go out alone into the city, knowing that she had to handle her grief in her own way as he was handling his own grief with quiet reflection and prayer.
Despite the Passover feast, a melancholy hung over the city following the death of Jesus. Everywhere Leah went, people seemed to be talking about it. With a stroke of luck, it didn’t take long for her to find the whereabouts of Peter, the disciple of Jesus and the man Dismas told her to seek out with his dying breath.
On one of her walks, she overheard a man talking with a woman near the market about the underground followers of Christ, unable to proclaim their devotion publicly for fear of retribution by the Pharisees or the Romans, but who were devout to His teachings nonetheless.
Leah interrupted their conversation to ask about Peter. The man was initially alarmed that he was overheard but soon relaxed slightly once he guessed her true intentions.
“He is staying in a home near the temple,” the man told her in a whisper. “He is probably distrustful of strangers, but he may meet with you if you tell him your purpose.”
She thanked the man graciously and immediately set out towards the temple.
She found the house he had described and knocked on the door. It opened a crack and a man’s face poked out with an inquiring look. Leah cleared her throat.
“I am seeking out the one they call Peter.”
The man at the door hesitated, unsure of what to do.
Leah continued, “Two days ago, a dying man on a cross asked me to speak with him.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he shut the door. Leah could hear muffled voices before it opened again and she was permitted to enter. She stepped inside and the door was closed quickly behind her. Her eyes had to the low light of the house, which had all the windows shuttered.
It was a simple dwelling, with hardly any furniture or possessions of any kind. But it was full of people. Most of them were young, in their twenties and early thirties. They were seated on the floor around a man with a black beard who motioned her forward. Two women scooted to the side to make room for Leah to sit on a thin reed mat on the floor.
“Hello, friend! Welcome! My name is Peter.” He smiled pleasantly at Leah as she sat down. The others gave quiet greetings and nodded encouragingly.
“I was asked to find you,” Leah said as she settled in.
“
Yes, I heard. By Dismas, I assume?”
Leah nodded her head sadly. “He was a good man. He finally found what he was looking for at the end.”
Peter reached out and squeezed her hand sympathetically. “I was just explaining to everyone about one of the Teacher’s messages about unconditional love. It may offer you a small amount of comfort during this difficult time. You see, whether you are rich or poor, everyone has the capacity…”
Leah sat and listened to him all afternoon. Peter didn’t even pause for them to get food. Instead, they all ate figs and bread right there on the floor as they continued to listen. Peter recounted his travels with Jesus, the things he learned from Him, and what he had done while Jesus was being condemned.
“I failed Him,” Peter admitted with a lump in his throat. “I…I thought I was willing to die with Him, but I did not have the courage to even say that I knew Him.”
Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. “I denied that I knew Him three times that night, just as Jesus had foretold. I pray that I never have such a lapse of courage again.”
He paused for a moment and reflected quietly before continuing on with his message.
Some of these stories Leah had heard from Dismas before. But not everything Peter said made immediate sense to her.
“If Jesus had the power to bring a man back from the dead and cure my sickness from a great distance, why didn’t He come down from the cross?” she found herself asking.
“There was always a higher purpose and meaning in everything He did. After these many years following Him there are things that I still do not understand. I have learned to love and to trust. But…” Peter paused. “Jesus did not come here to demonstrate His powers. He performed just enough miracles to make people listen to His message. That message is that all who believe in Him and in God and strive to follow Him by living their lives according to His teachings will enter into eternal life. Jesus was far more than a man who performed extraordinary acts, as great as they were.”
