by Brian Godawa
Eleazar had learned how the Israelite David rose up and slew the Philistine Goliath with a simple stone. He read that David became the Messiah king, and wiped out the last of the giants in the Valley of the Rephaim. As was always the case, some had survived, but they were not a very fertile people group. As time went on, the Rephaim giants had almost completely died out, save a few remnants scattered throughout the earth. Eleazar had heard that there were some that had escaped the Wars of Yahweh by taking ships to the far west. Just where they ended up, he did not know.
The story read to the titan Eleazar as if they were Chronicles of the Nephilim. These giants were his own kin. Goliath was his forefather. He was the Seed of the Serpent. But he never asked to be, which angered him even more. He was just as mad at the gods who birthed him as he was at the god Yahweh who cursed him. His bitterness had boiled over in him. He lashed out at everyone and every power and authority. He even rebelled against the Persian god Ahura Mazda in Parthia.
He actually attacked the divinity in the midst of an uprising and fought with him in battle. Of course he was bested and captured by the god, but Ahura Mazda was so impressed with the bravado of the Rapha, that he decided to spare him. Giants and humans did not attempt such a thing since primeval days. Archangels were the evenly matched opponents of deity. But Eleazar showed real skill when he fought Ahura Mazda. It seemed to the Persian god like a waste to destroy such a specimen. It would be better to put him on display as entertainment. Thus Eleazar’s current predicament of captivity.
Eleazar was awakened from his sleep by a group of twenty Parthian soldiers. They could never be too cautious in guarding their titanic prisoner. He was chained from his neck to his hands to his feet. They marched him across a bridge on the Euphrates river in the northern regions of the Parthian empire of Mesopotamia. This was the very bridge that Vitellius of Syria met in concert with Artabanus to negotiate peace between Rome and Parthia.
Those two powers had been in conflict for decades. The recent years of Pax Romana had brought a temporary cessation of hostilities and the cautious interchanges of diplomacy such as this very one occurring across the Euphrates.
Eleazar saw his destination, a large festive tent across the river that leaked music and loud celebration. The captive giant had to hobble slowly on his chained feet through the cold, windy evening. It felt humiliating. He looked for an opportunity to escape or strike back at his captors. He saw none.
He ducked down to go through the low entrance to the tent. As he stood back up, the festive crowd inside went silent. All eyes had turned upon him. His twenty guards surrounded him and led the way through a parted crowd, up to the front table of the tent. Naked female dancers stopped and moved out of the way.
Eleazar’s head gently brushed the top of the tent. He was used to it. Up front were two portable kingly thrones of equal height that held Vitellius and Artabanus, reposing with chalices of drink. Their advisors sat clustered around them.
Vitellius’ eyes went wide when he saw the giant. The Roman legionaries around him tightened their stances and pulled in closer to their general in protection.
A portly blob of a man stood next to the Syrian ruler’s throne. Eleazar could see by his robes he was some kind of Jewish royalty. His soft, pale flesh reminded Eleazar of a grub worm.
The Parthian king’s son, Darius, stood beside Artabanus. He was about twenty years old and looked quite glum.
Artabanus spoke out, “In addition to my son, I offer this creature as a gift to Tiberius Caesar.”
Eleazar realized the reason for Darius’ gloom. The boy was going to go live in Rome as a gesture of diplomacy between the empires.
Vitellius said, “Where did you find him? I thought the Rephaim had all died out.”
“They are a rare breed these days,” said Artabanus. “This one is quite the fighter. Believe it or not, he is a Jew. One of the lawless brigands around the Babylonian region.”
Eleazar noticed the grub worm step out in the light to get a closer look at him. It was Herod Antipas.
Artabanus continued, “Jews are the most stubborn of animals. Near impossible to tame. They are obsessed with prophecies of a coming warrior king, a new “deliverer” who they think will overthrow the powers of the earth. Thanks to your prophet Daniel who infected our Magi centuries ago.”
Eleazar saw the Parthian king look at the grub and say, “But then, I take it, Antipas, that you Herods are all too familiar with such rebellion and its religious babble.”
Antipas replied, “Indeed. It seems the only thing our many factions of outlaws have in common is their certitude of a living Messiah somewhere in the midst of Judea or Galilee.”
“Really?” said Artabanus. “Are there any prospects?”
The discussion piqued Eleazar’s attention. Living Messiah? That would be the Seed of Eve who was prophesied to crush the Seed of the Serpent. That would be Eleazar’s arch enemy, his ultimate foe.
Antipas said, “It is difficult to say. We are hunting down the brigand leaders. I don’t see any of them having sufficient forces to be of major concern to Rome.” He paused. “There is one curious fellow though. I imprisoned and executed a prophet who, according to his fanatical followers, was Elijah come back from heaven. He claimed to have anointed this one fellow, a Nazarene, itinerant rabbi. Claimed he was the Son of God. That he would inherit the earth.”
Eleazar immediately remembered a prophecy, he could not remember from where, that said of Messiah, “He shall be called a Nazarene.” He was also well acquainted with the Davidic Psalm that spoke of Yahweh having a unique Son.
“You are my Son; today I have begotten you.
Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance,
and the ends of the earth your possession.
You shall break them with a rod of iron
and dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.”
“A Nazarene?” said Artabanus. “Can anything of importance come from Nazareth, a town of such insignificance?”
Antipas said, “Oh, it is more unreasonable than that, my lord. The prophet, the one whose head I removed, he said this Nazarene was born in Bethlehem, an even more worthless backwater town.”
Eleazar shuddered. He knew all the prophecies. He had studied them. That small town cut out virtually all claimants to Messiah.
But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah,
who are too little to be among the clans of Judah,
from you shall come forth for me
one who is to be ruler in Israel,
whose coming forth is from of old,
from ancient days.
Artabanus chuckled. “It seems this Jewish god is playing a joke on your so-called liberators.”
Vitellius had nothing to add to this annoying exchange. He couldn’t wait until he could get back to his tent and get to sleep. But such banter was good diplomacy, so he tolerated it.
Antipas said, “The Jews love their mythic connections. The Son of God, a Son of David, the original Messiah king of Israel.”
Eleazer knew all too well about the promised Son of David.
“Behold, the days are coming, declares Yahweh,
when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch,
and he shall reign as king and deal wisely,
and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.
“A son of Zeus!” said an amused Artabanus.
“You jest,” said Antipas, “But you are more in on the joke than you realize.”
Antipas wanted to ingratiate himself with the foreign ruler. He kept the amusement going like a master of chorus in a Greek play.
“Rumors have been spreading that this Nazarene was born of a virgin!”
Artabanus outright laughed. “Ah ha! I was right! How entertaining. He is trying to cast himself as born of divine human copulation, like your own hero, Vitellius, what is his name again?”
“Hercules.”
“Bravo! Hercules reborn!”
Bu
t the virgin birth was no rumor or legend. Eleazar knew of the prophet Isaiah speaking seven hundred years before their own time.
Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.
“Immanuel” meant “God with us.”
“But here is the biggest joke of all,” said Antipas. “The man is a favorite of peasants and plebs. He has no armed forces, and he tells his followers to love their enemies. He is about the only one who would turn down the crown if everyone made him king!”
Artabanus clapped with glee. “Wonderful! Wonderful! It sounds like a comedy worthy of Aristophanes.” Artabanus prided himself on knowing the culture of his Greco-Roman opponents.
Antipas said, “That is not a bad idea, my lord. I will commission it and have it dedicated to your lordship.”
Eleazar was not amused. A Nazarene, born of a virgin, in the town of Bethlehem, from the tribe of Judah, a Son of David. It did not matter what these chortling fools thought, the odds on fulfilling those prophecies alone were only possible for one man: Messiah. Artabanus was right about the prophet Daniel’s influence. The story of King Nebuchadnezzar II and his dream of a mighty statue of kingdoms to come was fresh on the minds of all Jews in the region. The dream image had foretold the kingdoms of Greece, Media-Persia, and now, Rome. But what was of more interest to Eleazar was the stone that was cut from the mountain of God without human hands. It hit the last kingdom of the statue and broke them all to pieces.
And in the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed. It shall break in pieces all these kingdoms and bring them to an end, and it shall stand forever. But the stone that struck the image became a great mountain and filled the whole earth.
That stone was Messiah, the Seed of Eve, the Seed of Abraham. And the time had arrived for the visitation of God. Eleazar knelt down to one knee, cleared his throat, to get their attention, and said, “My lord Antipas, may I ask what the name of this Nazarene is?”
“Oh yes,” said Antipas, “I nearly forgot. It is Yeshua. Jesus in Greek.” Yeshua meant “Yahweh saves.” Antipas turned curious. “But what is of your concern, captive?” He gave a side glance with a smirk to Artabanus. “Did you want to join him?”
Artabanus and his surrounding officers guffawed. Even Vitellius smiled at the remark.
“No, my lord,” said Eleazar. “I want to kill him.”
The laughter went dead.
Artabanus said, “Well, giant, you certainly know how to kill the fun around here. I am glad I am getting rid of you.”
The officers brightened up a bit at the sarcasm.
Vitellius finally spoke up. He wanted to finish this juvenile bantering. “There will be no more killing for you, giant, until you reach Rome. There you can amuse Caesar and the masses with your warrior skills in the arena.”
Vitellius got up from his throne. “We leave for Antioch in the morning. From there, we ship to Rome. I bid you goodnight, King Artabanus.”
• • • • •
After several days’ march, Vitellius’ forces were halfway to the city of Antioch on the coast of Phoenicia. They camped for rest outside Berea, the largest city in Syria. Vitellius had with him a cohort of just under five hundred men. A third of them were in the city on reprieve. A third of them were on duty in camp. Herod Antipas had taken the King’s Highway back to his home in Galilee.
Eleazar knew they were two hundred miles due north of Baal-Hermon and the northernmost city of the Palestinian provinces, Caesarea Philippi. He knew Hermon was the cosmic mountain of the gods located in the land of Bashan, the place of the Serpent. If he could escape and make his way to that sacred place, he could find intelligence on the Nazarene’s whereabouts and strike with all his fury and revenge on the Messianic Seed.
After dinner, every night, he was locked up in the prison wagon, a traveling cage on wheels pulled by a team of horses. It was a cramped jail that he couldn’t even stretch out in to sleep. The Romans had freed him from his leg restraints to enable his ability to march with them during the day. They didn’t bother to replace the leg chains at night, only his hand shackles. After all, he wasn’t being marched to his death, only to Rome, where he might actually have a career, become famous, and make a lot of money; something he had not been too successful at in his Parthian rebellion.
But Eleazar didn’t care about fame or money.
He made his move in the early evening hours after dinner. Security was lax, attention was spare. There was but one guard on duty at the wagon. Eleazar looked around the wagon. They were at the edge of camp, and no one was around.
Eleazar called out quietly in a scratchy voice, “Legionary. May I have some water, please?”
The guard, an older soldier with one eye lost from a battle wound, stepped over to the wagon. He stayed just outside the reach of Eleazar’s long arms and handed a water skin to the giant using a stick for extension.
Eleazar took the skin and drank deeply.
“What is your name?”
The soldier did not respond. He knew not to interact with such wily creatures as captive giants.
Eleazar finished. “Thank you, my friend.”
The soldier growled, “I am not your friend, freak.”
Eleazar held the skin back out through the bars. He tried to hang it on the stick, but it slipped and fell to the ground by the wheel of the wagon.
“I am sorry,” said Eleazar.
The soldier was too wise for such tricks. And too wary to say anything. He glared at Eleazar, who knew what he was supposed to do.
He turned slowly around with his back to the soldier so he could not see him. He got a second look back into camp. Still no one was near them. Many were eating their meals.
Something the old soldier did not know was that giants had preternatural senses. Eleazar could see a centipede crawling at a hundred feet and hear its myriad legs moving at fifty feet.
He heard the steps of the solider in the dirt, and then his chain mail shuffle as he bent down.
Eleazar spun around and reached through the cage bars as far as he could, barely catching the old soldier by the scruff of his neck. He yanked his head into the wheel. The soldier still had his helmet on, so it made a loud clanking sound. It was enough force to stun the old codger.
Eleazar pulled him up to the bars by his throat. The soldier was dizzy. He couldn’t yell out, because his throat was clutched in the vise grip of the giant. He choked for air.
Eleazar whispered to him, “If you had been a bit more cordial, I might have let you live.”
Eleazar then squeezed his hand and crushed the soldier’s larynx. His other hand held up the Roman as he ripped out his esophagus.
He pulled the keys from the soldier’s belt. Then he dropped the body to the ground.
As he turned to open his door, he noticed some soldiers had been alerted by the sounds of struggle.
Curses, thought Eleazar. I will have to fight my way out.
He fumbled with the keys, trying to get the door open before the soldiers could arrive. There were a dozen of them.
Too late. A soldier reached the cage, wielding his gladius. Eleazar pulled his hands back inside, just avoiding the blade as it clanged against the iron where his hands had been.
The keys were still in the lock. What the soldier didn’t know was that the lock had been opened.
Eleazar kicked the door open, knocking the soldier and a newly arrived one to the ground, unconscious.
Ten other warriors came rushing up behind the first two.
The giant was fortunate. None of them had sounded the alarm. They were all responding immediately, to quench a threat before it could get out of control.
They were too late.
Eleazar’s armor and weapons were stored beneath the wagon in anticipation of his use in the Roman games. He pulled them out just as the guards reached him.
Eleazar’s sword cut the first un
lucky arrival in half with one swing. He knew he only had seconds before he would be overwhelmed. He would most likely be tortured for his attempted escape, castrated and sodomized with a lance. These could all be done without spoiling his fighting ability for Caesar.
He had to make sure this would not be a foiled attempt at escape.
He cut down four others in a flurry of swings.
One of them had a shield up. Eleazar kicked him in the shield and sent him flying through the air like a catapult, bringing down two others.
The other three he skewered with his javelin.
But the fight drew attention in the camp. Others gathered for an offensive. One sounded a horn.
Eleazar picked up his sack of armor, sheathed his sword and bolted into the darkness of night before anyone could see which way he went.
Some cavalry would chase him. But he could run as fast as a horse. He also shared the endurance of one.
He began his two hundred mile journey south to Caesarea Philippi, and the Gates of Hades.
Chapter 13
Demas and Gestas stopped from their journey to set up camp and eat a meal. It was already late in the day. They had traversed the mountain passes of the Kadesh mountain area north of Capernaum, and were now on the highway that linked Tyre on the coast with Caesarea Philippi and Damascus in the east. It was a well-traveled route for commercial trade between the three influential cities. They were on their way west toward Tyre, to track down Jesus and his band of disciples that in all likelihood included Simon the Zealot.
The sound of an approaching company made Demas run ahead and reconnoiter, to see if it was anything important. If the approachers were questionable, the brothers would hide in the bush.
Demas waved to Gestas that it was all right. When he reached his brother, he said, “I think it is them.”
“The Nazarene?” asked Gestas.
