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

She’d cut up some dried cheese and wheat bread and brought the food to the men. She also handed a few dried figs to Titus as a treat. She continued. “Jesus offers hope for eternal happiness in paradise. You men would do well to listen to his wisdom.”
In a rare display of civility or perhaps in an effort to get rid of her, Dimas said, “Thank you. Now, leave us. We have private matters to discuss.”
When Leah was back in their home, Dimas spoke in a soft tone. “Titus, did you learn this, this talk of one god, from that Rabbi Moshe?” He must have noticed Titus’s clenched fists and his hesitation to answer because then he added, “It’s alright. It will not upset me. I’m just interested. That’s all.”
Titus relaxed his shoulders. “Yes, father, I did.”
“Very well, then,” said Dimas. “Pray to your god that everything goes well for us tonight.”

Chapter 8

The walk to the Tower of Antonia did not take long in actual time but it seemed like an eternity for Titus. With every step, he legs felt heavier and his stomach tighter. He felt like turning around and abandoning his father’s cause.
A white tunic with a medium-length robe that hung to his low back made him feel strange, as if he was one of those Roman dignitaries he’d seen arrive through the east gate of the Temple. He felt the tunic stick to his sweating skin.
His father had been correct. There was only one guard at the north entrance. The Roman was seated on a stool, his back pressed against the wall. Dimas and Gestas walked two paces behind Titus as they came up to the legionnaire. Barabbas slithered up in the shadows of the buildings but remained at least ten meters behind. The moonlight was sufficient to provide some detail to the guard but not enough to distinguish the approaching Jews from impostors. He stood quickly and brandished his spear.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“I am Titus. I come from the Rabbi Moshe at the Temple. I am here to pick up the vestments for today’s ceremonies.”
The soldier studied Titus. “And who comes with you?”
Titus nodded toward his father and Gestas. The two men did not look the guard in the eyes. Instead, they faked a submissive posture, heads bowed, hands clasped in front. “These are workers from the Temple. They are here to assist me,” said Titus with as much calm as he could muster. He was glad the tunic covered his knees because they were shaking in fear.
“What kind of ceremonies? No one told me about any ceremonies this early.”
“Perhaps you have heard of the Jewish Passover. It’s a Jewish holiday and festival. It commemorates the story of the Exodus, in which the ancient Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt. Then there’s the celebration of the . . .”
“Stop!” interrupted the guard. “I don’t need to hear all that rubbish. Go on. Get your vestments and make it quick.”
As he and the two men passed by the guard, it dawned upon Titus that he didn’t know exactly where the vestments were located. Now he was caught in a conundrum. If he confessed his ignorance, the guard would be alerted to their conniving scheme. If he didn’t ask for directions, they’d never find the vestments.
“Excuse me, Sir?” he asked the guard.
Dimas whispered to his son. “What are you doing? Keep moving!”
“What is it now?” asked the guard.
“I’m a . . .” Titus cleared his throat. “I am here replacing my friend, Simon. He’s the one who normally returns the vestments after the ceremonies.”
The guard walked up to Titus and stood face to face with him. His breath smelled of garlic and wine. “So you’ve never been in the Tower?”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t. But I remember instructions well, if you’ll only point me in the right direction.”
“Uh huh,” said the guard. Titus stood erect, but very still as the soldier walked around him, studying his garb. “Wait here, I have to clear this with my superiors.”
“No, wait!” said Titus.
“What did you say? Are you the one to give orders now?” The guard was at least a full head taller than Titus. His look bore down on the Jewish imposters. “Those might be your vestments in there, but no one goes in or out without my say so.”
The guard pivoted on his heel and took a step toward the interior of the Tower. At almost the same time, Barabbas appeared from the shadows and wrapped his left arm around the soldier’s neck. With a smooth motion of his right hand, Barabbas slid his knife across the man’s throat.
The man crumpled onto the stone floor, making gurgling sounds. He held both his hands on the wound trying to stop the flow of blood, but he was not dead.
Gestas made sure that he was. He pulled out his own dagger, lunged at the guard and stabbed the man twice in the general area of his kidneys. With that, the guard groaned and his body went limp. The struggle was over.
Titus stared at the guard’s corpse. The dead man still had his hands on his own throat and gave the appearance of having strangled himself.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Dimas. “He’s not a danger to us anymore.” He gave Titus a reassuring pat on the back and nodded toward the corridor in the Tower. He spoke in what Titus thought was a remarkably calm voice. “Come, we must hurry.”
Titus’ knees felt weak as he led the three men. They each poked their heads into door openings and entrances to storage rooms. The hallway smelled of oil-burning torches and sweaty men. They continued until at the end of the corridor they came upon a closed, heavy wooden door. The inscription upon it read, “EBREI.”
“I think this is it,” said Titus. He tried to push the door inward. It moved only the tiniest bit, but did not open.
He turned to look back at the men and he realized that Barabbas was not in the group. Dimas and Gestas without saying a word to each other leaned toward the door and rammed it with their shoulders. The force of their weight broke the hinges and the door plunked on the tiled floor.
Titus stepped into the room behind his father. Before him, Titus saw shelves mounted on the wall upon which sat menorahs, candlesticks and incense-burning devices. Jewel-covered garments hung on the walls. Some were purple, some were red, some silky white, but all were displayed like the garments Titus had seen for sale by expensive clothiers in Jerusalem.
“Which ones do we take?” asked Dimas.
Titus looked around. He had absolutely no idea what was valuable and what was not. He pointed to the richly embroidered tunics hanging on the wall. “Take those white ones with the gold braided edges, oh, and those head coverings over there, too.”
Titus then recognized an item he’d seen the Rabbi wear. It was a richly embroidered vest or apron with two onyx stones on the shoulders, on which were engraved the names of the Tribes of Israel. Next to it was a breastplate made of pure gold and set with twelve gems, each engraved with the name of one of the Tribes of Israel. It was fastened to the embroidered vest. He began to grab the items himself but was stopped by Dimas.
“No. If you’re supposed to be our master, you can’t be carrying anything.”
Gestas chuckled. “Enjoy this moment, Boy. You may never get to order your father around again in your life.”
The smile left Dimas’ face as he shot a serious look at Gestas. “Don’t give him any ideas.”
Titus checked the corridor and when he saw no guards, he hand-signaled to the men to follow him. They walked hurriedly, retracing their steps to the north gate. They had just crossed the threshold exiting the compound when a burly voice yelled out to them.
“Hey, you with the garments, where are you going with those?”
Titus glanced to his left in the direction of the voice. It was the same spot where the first guard had been stationed. Apparently, Barabbas had moved the corpse. Walking toward Titus was a groggy-looking centurion.
Dimas spoke in a low growl to his son as he and Gestas kept walking away from the compound wall. “Ignore him, Titus. If you stop now, we’ll be discovered and you don’t want to know what they’ll do to us then. Come on!”
“I’m speaking to you, boy!” yelled the centurion.
Titus knew that he’d be in a conundrum with whatever choice he made. If he stopped to answer the guard’s questions, he’d likely be discovered, like his father said, but if he ran, surely they’d all be caught and nothing good could result from that.
“No, father. I can handle him. You two keep going. I’ll meet up with you later.”
“Fine,” said Dimas, “but be sure and call for us if he gives you any problems.”
Titus waved his father and Gestas away as if he were a master directing his slaves to carry on with their tasks. He turned and faced the Roman directly. The man with the darkest skin Titus had ever seen was clearly a foreigner serving in the Roman army. Could this be Marcus Donatus the paramour of Simon’s mother? He tried to lower his voice to sound more mature.
“I am Titus of Galilee. I work for Rabbi Moshe in the Holy Temple.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are. You need permission from me to retrieve those items and nobody told me you were coming. Where’s the guard that let you in?”
Titus looked around, trying to kill time and allow his father and Gestas to walk farther away. He shrugged. “I can’t account for your guard. He was here only a few moments ago.”
The centurion looked past Titus at the two men departing with their arms full of vestments. He, too, scanned the area. He must have seen the smears of blood on the ground. “This smells of lies and suspicion to me.” He pointed at Dimas and Gestas, now twenty paces away. “You, with the garments, stop right there!”
Titus saw