Miracle at Golgotha - Augustus (best short books to read TXT) 📗

Titus of Galilee

If it had been up to him, Titus would not have killed those two men. He simply would have taken their loot and maybe bound them. What good was there in taking the lives of innocent travelers?
Dusk was quickly turning into night. His father, Dimas, and his two outlaw friends sat round the campfire in front of their countryside hut, boasting of their exploits.
“Gestas,” said Dimas, “You were in top form today. You anticipated well the Samarian’s move to attack us.”
Gestas grinned. He was a stocky man, a bit like the Roman soldiers Titus had seen marching from Jerusalem. Gestas reclined against a large stone behind him. “Some days I feel light as a feather and quick as a fox. We are fortunate. Today is one of those days.”
“You, too,” said the third man, nodding at Dimas. He was taller than Dimas and Gestas and had a long face with a full beard. Titus had seen him before but only in the city.
On the day before the Sabbath, Titus would accompany his mother to the outdoor market at the north end of the Lower City. There, she would barter for food supplies whatever items his father had stolen and brought home. Titus occasionally would see Gestas or the bearded man there stalking young women or stealing from a food vendor. They called the third man Barabbas.
Dimas smiled as he stoked the fire. Barabbas followed the glowing embers with his eyes as they floated high above.
“Yes, I suppose I did my part,” said Dimas. “I wouldn’t have hurt the man, but he left me no choice. You saw him raise the knife above his head.”
It was a declaration that sought no concurrence or approval yet both Gestas and Barabbas nodded. Titus saw his father take a long draw from a wineskin before passing it to Gestas. A drop of wine trickled down the corner of his mouth. This was their practice. They would plunder and pillage then retreat to a safe haven, usually far away from the scene of their transgressions. This evening they had chosen Titus’ home to split their loot. Dimas glanced at Titus peeking at him from the door to their home of stone and clay and gave him a wink.
“A few pieces of gold and some silver, not bad for a day’s work,” said Gestas. He took some coins from a small, leather pouch, then flipped it to Barabbas. Titus couldn’t tell whether Gestas took the gold or the silver. The bearded man took his share of the loot and handed the small bag to Dimas.
Dimas looked inside the pouch, then up at Titus. “Come here, Son.”
Titus was startled. He had been content to observe and listen from a distance. He didn’t want anything to do with what his mother called “these unsavory types.” He shuffled close to his father and accepted the bag. He could smell the strong body odor of the three men. His mother said they were drunks and thieves who left pain and misery everywhere they traveled.
Titus was no stranger to misery and hardship. He was a ten-year old child when the Roman legionnaires crushed Sepphoris, the capital of Galilee and his former home. He recalled the Roman soldiers displaying no mercy for the condemned. They erected hundreds of crosses in the streets. The stripped, crucified bodies had died a slow and agonizing death in the hot sun.
Back then, Titus was stunned, but somehow not surprised, when they came for his father, whose reputation as a thief was well-known among the Romans. He watched horror-stricken as a legionnaire burst through their door one early morning and began whipping Dimas. His mother, Leah, cried for leniency but the Roman simply shoved her away. When he did so, Dimas took advantage of the distraction. He lunged at the man and in the same motion drew a knife from the inside of his tunic. Dimas plunged a three-inch dagger once, twice, then a third time in rapid succession into the Roman’s heart. The stunned man’s eyes grew big then closed gradually as he tumbled onto the floor. He made a gurgling sound before his body went completely limp.
Dimas wiped the blood off his dagger on the soldier’s own vest. He was breathing hard as he faced his wife and put his hands on her shoulders.
“You and Titus must leave at once. Head south to Jerusalem where your sister lives.”
“And you, Dimas? Where are you going to go?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. All I know is, I can’t remain here. When they discover this man’s body, I will be in more danger than I am already.” He glanced at Titus and gave him a serious look. “Don’t tell anyone you’re my son. Say you are Titus of Galilee. Do you understand?”
Titus nodded.
“Good.” He leaned down and gave Titus a rare hug. “You’ll be seeing me again; mark my words.” He grabbed his satchel and rushed out the door. He never looked back.
After packing their essential items, Titus and his mother, Leah, joined two Jewish families also escaping the Romans’ wrath. As Titus understood, Jews were protesting against a Roman tax to be used to build an aqueduct. Rome was determined to let the Jews know that resistance would be futile. And so, by the end of that dreadful day in Galilee, Titus and his mother began their journey south as Dimas had instructed.
Titus remembered the rolling highlands of Galilee before descending into the wilderness of the Jordan River Valley. High cliffs rose on either side of the valley. He was intrigued by the ancient settlements of Ramoth, Hammath and Adam where there existed almost no Jewish culture as in Galilee.
While he and Leah were not Jewish, they had begun to undertake studies of Mosaic Law with their escapee family friends. When they passed by these villages, Leah and their Jewish friends decided to camp on the outskirts instead of remaining within the confines of a culture different than theirs.
The six day trek had been exciting for Titus. He’d seen predators like jackals and leopards crouched in the thick brush. Yet, it had been frightening at the same time, because he knew thugs like his father lurked on the trail, awaiting a chance to prey on the innocent. He still remembered huddling in their cloaks, protected only by their vigilance, their friends and their walking staffs.
The further south they traveled, the less green they saw. The surface of the dry Judean hills reminded Titus of the barren moonscape which he beheld each night before he fell asleep. It wasn’t until they were approaching Jerusalem that they came to a more developed region where the Jordan River widened and slowed. Their hundred mile journey was finally complete.
During the next three years on the south side of Jerusalem, Titus had become accustomed to living without a father and became comfortable living alone with his mother. He was too young to be left alone so he went everywhere with her. He was at her side to work in the olive orchards, to mend his own clothes, even to pray with the rabbi from the Temple. The holy men there knew of what had happened to Titus in Galilee and had taught him about hope and a better future.
Now that his father was back, things were bound to change again. Titus was hoping for good things, but Leah had warned him not to have great expectations. She knew misery somehow found its way into the lives of everyone his father touched. Men like his father were filled with animal temptations and larcenous instincts. Every night now, since his father had returned, Titus recalled the dead Roman in Galilee lying in a pool of red and prayed for no more bloodshed in his life.
“Here, take this to your mother.” Dimas handed the bag to Titus. “And tell that woman to get some food out here. We’re starving.”

Chapter 2

Titus accepted the small bag of coins from his father and took it to his mother who seemed to have anticipated his father’s request. She was a petite but very strong woman who had cared for Titus in his father’s absence. She had something boiling in a large iron pot that hung over the fire. Of the few items they brought with them from Galilee, this pot had been the most useful. Titus and his mother used it to fetch drinking water, to cook food and to irrigate the tiny garden behind their hut. He knew his father had stolen it from a rich landowner years ago. Most people could only afford a clay pot. At this moment, steam rose through the opening in the ceiling but Titus could still catch the smell of tasty meat.
“Uh, mother?”
“Don’t say it. I heard him. You can hear your father’s voice a mile away, as if he was standing right in front of you. Set that bag on the shelf and grab me those bowls, Titus.” She pointed with her chin to a set of wooden bowls on the floor.
His mother was right. When Dimas was serious, he had a low, deep voice that seemed to emphasize his sense of purpose. But his laughter carried in the air almost as much as it did rumbling through the ground.
Titus picked up the bowls and blew the dust off them before handing them to his mother. “Did you hear what father did? I mean to those two travelers.”
She stopped what she was doing and looked at him directly. “What those men and your father did is a terrible, sinful thing.” She put one hand on her hip. With the other, she raised her index finger in the air. “Remember, Titus. There is no glory is taking someone’s life. Unless those men repent, they will suffer in hell for all eternity. I know Dimas is your father but their deeds are evil and not to be admired.” She paused and gazed deeper into his eyes, as if searching his soul. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Yes, I do.” He extended his arms offering the bowls. He’d heard similar admonitions from the holy men at the temple, especially the ones preaching the word of a man named Jesus. Killing was one of the commandments he’d learned Moses had received directly from God.
His mother took each bowl and filled it with broth. She gave two of them to Titus. “Here, take these out to them and come back for this