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Time Passages: Volume 1

By C.D. Sutherland

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Ascension: by C.D. Sutherland

Born into an established Roman equites family, Regulus seemed destined for the empire’s cavalry service. A proficient horseman, even as a lad, he was taller and more robust than most men. The problem was he kept growing. In his early teens, his father joked his son looked like a boy riding a dog. However, there was nothing funny about overloading and disabling horses. Thus, his father guided Regulus to break family tradition and become a legionary, a foot soldier. Instead of riding a horse into battle, he would march, and he loved it.
Though freakishly tall and broad, Regulus was remarkably agile. So much so that he attracted the attention of certain purple-cloaked Praetorian Guard officers, who wanted him for gladiatorial competition. Before they could secure him, his politically influential father arranged with the newly appointed Prefect of Judea, Valerius Gratus, to accept Regulus into his Italian cohort. Safe from the corrupt Praetorian Guard, Regulus began his career by deploying to a faraway land.
Since Regulus couldn't remain unnoticed, he strove to excel in all legionary duties. His centurion promoted him to optio during the voyage, and he excelled at maintaining order for his centurion after they landed in Judea. As his centurion’s deputy, he was lauded for his record-keeping and ability to train the soldiers, especially the auxiliaries recruited from the local populations. His talents inspired Prefect Gratus to promote Regulus to centurion overseeing his bodyguards.
Nine years after Regulus arrived in Judea, Pontius Pilate replaced Gratus as Prefect. Pilate gave Regulus the option of returning to Rome with Gratus or remaining in Judea as Pilate’s Primo, the senior Centurion of the Italian cohort. Suspecting the Praetorian Guard would use him as a wager beast, fighting multiple opponents to generate betting revenue for themselves, until some lucky young gladiator eventually maimed or killed him. Common sense drove him to choose the position of leadership, power, and life in Caesarea.
Regulus didn’t care that Pilate sought riches to earn his way into the senatorial class from the equites class. If he could serve the empire, he was content with whoever the emperor sent to command him. Pilate invested time politicking in Jerusalem, leaving Regulus to run most of the province’s military and administrative duties. In his spare time, he studied Roman history and wrote poetry. So, it was a surprise when Centurion Cornelius and a squadron of equites stormed into Caesarea, delivering a summons from Pilate with clear directions to come immediately by horse to Jerusalem.
As Cornelius' squadron swapped fresh horses with the cohort’s stable attendants, Regulus suited up for the ride. He insisted Cornelius bring along at least two spare horses for him. It had been nearly fifteen years since he’d been in a saddle, but the memory of his father’s broken horse still haunted him. The white stallion Cornelius chose groaned as Regulus swung his leg over it. The long ride from Caesarea was rough for both man and beast.
The sun hung low, casting long shadows from the city walls onto the Mount of Olives when Regulus and his six escort riders arrived at Fortress Antonio. Centurion Cassius Longinus, several stable hands, and a young soldier wearing a purple cloak fastened at his right shoulder with a clasp met him. The purple cloak made the young soldier conspicuous as a typical soldier usually wore a less refined sagum as an outer cloak.
Cassius' eyes were like marbles of coal under his thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows. They locked onto those of the towering Regulus, causing him to do a double take.
His eyes? Different somehow.
As Regulus dismounted his weary steed, the mare sighed in relief. Regulus chuckled, which sounded like a bass-note, beastly growl. He knew the horse had been lucky to survive the hard ride.
“We’ve been expecting you,” said Cassius as the stable hands took charge of the dirty chestnut mare and the other horses of his entourage.
“Take good care of her,” Regulus told the attendants as they led the horses away. “I hope she recovers. The first animal—he didn’t make it much over halfway here.” He took a long drink from his canteen and said, “That one was the spare.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Cassius. “This is my nephew, Stephanus, recently promoted as my optio.” Regulus eyed the young soldier’s cloak. The material’s high quality was remarkably out of place. Its color made him think about the dreaded Praetorian Guard in Rome—they were the closest he’d ever come to fearing anything.
Maybe this soldier is one of them; if so, is he spying on me?
“Congratulations, Stephanus.” The towering Regulus looked down at him and touched his cloak. “Could nepotism have helped your advancement? Not that it matters if you prove yourself worthy of the position.”
Stephanus looked up at the crest of red horsehair on Regulus’ helmet. The headgear made him appear taller by an additional foot. It was typical centurion garb. Cassius wore a similar one; Rome designed them to make it easier for legionaries to rally around their centurions during the chaos of battle. Unable to find words to reply, Stephanus acknowledged the compliment with a polite nod.
“He’s my best legionary,” Cassius said.
“I’m sure he is.” Regulus wanted to hear how a simple soldier came to wear such a fine cloak, but he had a pressing appointment.
* * *
Cassius and Stephanus escorted Regulus to Pilate’s praetorium, where the Prefect consulted with Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest. Regulus respectfully removed his impressive helmet as he approached Pilate and fought against the urge to complain about being summoned so abruptly. The rough ride had cost the empire what had been a fine stallion—not that he imagined Pilate cared. Still, he hoped the mere economics of the loss would prevent Pilate from giving him such a wasteful order in the future.
“Regulus, I need your talents here more than in Caesarea.”
“As you command, Prefect.”
“You already know Caiaphas.” Regulus gave a casual nod toward the white-bearded, black-robed Pharisee. Pilate had allowed him to continue as the high priest since he arrived in Palestine. “There is a matter of great importance to Rome and Judaea. Have you heard of the man called Jesus?”
“There are many men with that name among the locals.” Regulus shrugged.
“This one was a miracle worker.” Pilate rubbed at his hands as if to clean them. “Known for healing the sick, feeding the hungry, preaching about a better life, and some say he brought the dead back to life.”
“Sounds like a pleasant enough fellow. A man with such talents would have been useful during my ride from Caesarea.”
“How’s that?”
“I lost a horse.” Regulus was pleased to have brought it to Pilate’s attention without sounding like it was a complaint. “They often collapse under my weight. Usually, they break a leg, as did my first steed on the rush to Jerusalem. We had to put it down.”
“I see. You assume this man could have healed your horse.”
“I was just building on your description of Jesus.”
“Your way with humor is well known, but this is no laughing matter.”
“Sorry. All humor aside, I’ve never heard of him.”
“Neither had I until recently.” Pilate shrugged and looked at Caiaphas as he said, “He had become something of a local celebrity. To make a long story short—we crucified him three days ago.”
“Maybe there’s some truth to the saying that no good deed goes unpunished.” Regulus fought against the urge to grin.
“Whoever said that?” Pilate locked eyes with him.
“Athena?”
“The ancient Greek goddess of wisdom and warfare.” Pilate rubbed his nose. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe it was Minerva?”
“Really?” Pilate frowned. “Minerva is the Roman goddess of wisdom and victory, a copy of Athena.”
“Maybe it was—"
“I don’t care.” Pilate lifted his hands. “Regardless of whoever said it, we discovered Jesus’ body was stolen this morning.”
“Who steals a dead man?” Regulus glanced at Caiaphas, who looked at his feet to avoid eye contact with the giant centurion, causing him to think the Pharisee was either afraid of him or lying about something.
“According to the guards,” said Pilate. “His disciples did.”
Regulus shook his head. “The grave had guards? Still, some students of a healing rabbi managed to steal the body. Tell me, how many of them did the guards kill before they were overwhelmed?”
“None, it seems.” Pilate sucked at his upper lip. “They fell asleep.”
“Roman guards slept?” Regulus looked around the room, wondering if Pilate was toying with him.
“Well, they were auxiliaries.” Pilate glanced at Caiaphas, who suspiciously nodded. “All four of them were from Syria.”
“Four! There were four guards, and they all fell asleep during one watch?” Regulus didn’t believe soldiers could be that incompetent unless drunk or bribed. He cut his eyes to Caiaphas.
Caiaphas stammered, “Yes, they’ve admitted they fell asleep. Maybe they were poor excuses for soldiers, but we have their witness that the disciples stole the body. We know who is to blame.”
Regulus slowly turned to the old priest. “How did they see anything if they were asleep?” Caiaphas’ face lost the little color it had, and then he looked away and remained silent.
“Sir,” said Regulus, turning to Pilate. “I need to talk with these soldiers, assuming you haven’t executed them yet.”
“Primo, you have full authority to talk with anyone you wish, but this matter needs to be resolved before it gets out of hand.”
“Would you define ‘gets out of hand’ for me?”
“We’re concerned about a rising rebellion against Jewish leadership or even an armed insurrection against us. If Rome gets involved, the emperor Tiberius will send his legions along with a new governor. It won’t be good for anyone.” Pilate’s voice cracked slightly. He coughed.
“Yes, sir.” Regulus knew this was serious. “I’ll need manpower. The more, the better.”
“You can have them all.” Pilate held up his hands, then stared at them for a couple of seconds.
“And some cooperation from the Sanhedrin might be useful.” Regulus turned to the old priest.
Caiaphas regained his voice. “I’ll assign Rabbi Nicodemus to advise and assist you along with as many scribes as he needs to record your efforts.”
Regulus cared mostly about Roman honor and didn’t appreciate permitting a Jewish high priest to monitor a Prefect giving orders to him—his Primo. Where was the honor in that? Rome was supposed to be strong, telling the conquered how to behave.
Pilate would blame him if he failed to resolve this case. Still, he didn’t worry because failure had never been one of his options. However, he suspected Pilate was withholding information. What was the secret deal between Pilate and Caiaphas? Even a Primo Centurion wouldn’t dare to question the orders of his Prefect, not even one whimpering like a Jewish puppet.
Pilate’s eyes were wide, like a man afraid of death. “Primo, you have all my forces at your disposal. I suggest you talk with Cassius Longinus and his men to get the details of Jesus’ death. They were the crucifixion crew. Do whatever you think you should do. Then find Jesus so we can show everyone that he’s dead.”
“If he’s in the city …” Regulus paused when Pilate winced at the conditional statement. He cleared his throat and lowered his deep voice. “We’ll find him wherever he is.”
“Good. Do it quickly.” Pilate rubbed his hands together as Regulus left the chamber.
* * *
Regulus met with his subordinate centurions, legionaries, the Pharisee Nicodemus, and several young scribes the following day. They briefed him on the details of the crucifixion, burial, and disappearance of Jesus. Regulus organized them into teams, and he set out with his team to the small town of Bethany.
Out the east gate, passing to the south of the Mount of Olives, the small town was on downward-sloping terrain. Beyond the line of olive trees, on the well-drained soil of the slope, grew a field of short, fragrant herbs. Regulus knew it was thymus serpyllum—thyme. It was often used to improve the taste of cheese or drinks and was commonly used by Romans like Regulus, who had put some under his pillow the previous night to purify his room. He picked a fistful of the purple, flowering sprigs and tucked them into his leather satchel to replenish his supply.
A woman named Mary noted for her courage in attending to Jesus during his crucifixion, was the first person he questioned in Bethany. Regulus entered the compound gate without pausing to knock or ask permission. He enjoyed seeing the fear on people’s faces. Being taller than any man they’d ever seen, his armor, especially his tall centurion helmet, inspired comparisons with a legendary giant called Goliath. Four armed soldiers and a tag-along scribe wearing a traditional priest's black robe completed the intimidation. Sometimes, men would tear up when he questioned them; women almost always did, but not Mary.
She assertively looked him in the eye, reminding him of the confidence he’d seen years ago by Julia Augusta, Emperor Tiberius’ mother. “Can I help you?”
Regulus fought against the urge to apologize for his bold entrance, reminding himself that this was not a powerful Roman woman. Instead, this Jewish woman was, at best, a potential witness or, possibly, a criminal. He coughed and said, “Are you Mary called Magdalene, who used to associate with the man Jesus?”
“I am.” Mary shifted a basket filled with grapes to her right arm. “And I still do.”
“I’m Primo Regulus, representing Prefect Pontius Pilate and Emperor Tiberius. I have a few questions for you concerning the disappearance of his body.”
“Ask what you will, and I’ll answer your questions truthfully.”
“That’s all I want.” Regulus eyed the plump grapes in the basket, thinking he’d like to taste at least one. Before reaching out to take one, he pushed that thought from his mind. He remembered the report from Cassius and Stephanus about Mary and the others being present during the execution. He took a deep breath and leaned slightly toward her and the grapes. “Were you at his crucifixion?”
“Yes, I was there.”
“Were you alone?”
“No. I was with Mary—the mother of Jesus, and her sister, Salome, the mother of James and John, who was there with us, too, and another Mary, the mother of James, the son of Alphaeus.”
“So many women named Mary in this place.” His eyes fixed on the grapes for a second too long, so when he looked back at her, he suspected she knew what he was thinking. “Did you and your friends see Jesus die?”
“We all did.” She picked a grape and offered it to him.
Taking the grape, he said, “Did you see the centurion, Cassius Longinus, drive a spear into Jesus’ body after he died?”
“I don’t know his name, but I saw a soldier stab Jesus with a spear.”
He popped the grape in his mouth—sweet and refreshing—maybe the best grape he’d ever eaten. Then he asked, “Did blood and water spill from his body?”
Mary nodded. Her eyebrows rose, and the corners of her lips pulled down.
“Did Jesus react to the spear?”
Mary gave him a blank stare. Regulus leaned toward her. “A living man will react to that much pain—he can’t help but not. As best as you could discern, was Jesus faking his death, or was he dead?”
“Oh, he was dead, all right.”
“Then what happened to his body?”
“Joseph of Arimathea took his body to a nearby garden with many herbs growing there, like the thyme in the field you must have crossed coming to Bethany. In the garden was a new tomb. Waiting for Joseph was Nicodemus with a cartload of spices. They wrapped Jesus in linen, put him in the tomb, and rolled a large stone over the entrance.”
“Did you see that, or did somebody tell you about it?”
“I was sitting opposite the grave with Mary. We saw it all.”
“Which Mary was with you?”
“Mary, the mother of James.”
“So many men named James in this land.” Regulus wished the Jews had more distinctive names. Momentarily, he grinned at the idea that Rome should name their children for them.
“He’s the son of Alphaeus. I’m sorry our names are confusing.”
“That’s not your fault,” Regulus said as he eyed Mary’s grapes again. “Are you convinced Jesus died and was buried?”
“I have no doubt that happened.”
“I’m glad we’ve established that. Here’s the part I’m having trouble with, Mary. I believe your story, but rumors say you told others that Jesus was alive. Why would anybody say that?”
“Because I know that.”
“Now I don’t get it. Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“Mary, you’ve already told me you knew he was dead, then buried, so what could convince you Jesus is alive?”
“It’s a complicated story.”
“I’ve got time. Tell me all about it.”
“Our laws restrict us during the Sabbath.”
“I know a little about that.”
“While waiting during the Sabbath, we women decided to honor Jesus with myrrh and other spices. Early on the first day of the week, we started from Bethany with our arms full of spices.”
“Were you all together?”
“At first, but in my zeal, I outwalked the older ladies and left them behind. When I crossed the Mount of Olives, the terrain blocked the rising sun, and I was in the dark again, even as I arrived near the tomb in the garden.”
“Did you see any soldiers there?”
“No. Nobody was there. Since somebody had rolled the stone away from the tomb’s entrance, I knew someone had taken the Lord’s body.”
“I see. What did you do then?”
“I ran to tell the disciples. Knowing they planned to meet in the Upper Room, I entered the Essene quarter of the city. When I arrived, a man dressed in white clothes told me the disciples were not there yet. It was too early. So, I cut through the city, heading back to Bethany.”
“That’s a long run.”
“Fortunately, as I crested the Mount of Olives and headed east, I met Simon Peter and John. I told them they had taken away the Lord, and I didn’t know where they laid him.”
“What did these men do?”
“Simon Peter ran toward the tomb. John told me to rest, as he could see I was exhausted, then he sprinted away to catch up with Simon Peter.”
“After you rested, what did you do?”
“I went back to the tomb, hoping to discover if anyone had found where they laid the Lord. When I got back there, nobody was in sight. So, I stood outside the tomb, weeping.”
“It must have been upsetting for you. Still, I don’t see how this could convince you Jesus is alive.”
“There’s more.” Mary set the basket of succulent grapes by her feet and rubbed her arm. She pulled a cluster of grapes from the basket and gave them to Regulus. Surprised at her generosity, he put the grapes in his pouch for later and nodded respectfully to Mary.
She rubbed her arm again and said, “I bent down, looked inside the tomb, and saw two angels sitting at the very place where Jesus had been lying.”
“Angels?” Regulus clicked his teeth together. “You mean bare-bottomed babies with wings and maybe a bow and arrow, like Cupid?”
“Not at all.” She held up her palms. “They were big men in dazzling white clothing.”
Regulus didn’t believe in angels. Nor did he have faith in any of the pagan gods. His trust was in his physical strength and sword to sustain him. He assumed only weak people needed imaginary supernatural forces to feel protected.
“Okay.” He sighed. “What did these angels say to you?”
“They asked why I was weeping, and I said because they have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where.”
“Did these angels tell you where?”
“No. I turned around, and a man said, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you seeking?’”
“Who was that man?”
“At first, I didn’t know who he was. I was confused and thought he was the gardener, so I told him what I’d said to the angels.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Does this gardener have a name? I need a name.”
“He was Jesus.”
“The gardener’s name is Jesus?” Regulus looked at the soldiers with him and scowled. “So many men are called Jesus around here.”
“No. He wasn’t a gardener at all. I was mistaken. The man was the Lord Jesus!”
“I don’t know about that.” Regulus patted the toe of his hobnailed caliga, standard issue marching boot, against the rocky soil.
“He called me by my name.” Mary had tears in her eyes. “It was then I knew it was him. We talked briefly, then I returned to the Upper Room, where many of the disciples and the women were arguing.”
“Which disciples? And which women?”
“Andrew, James and John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, James, the son of Alphaeus, Simon the Canaanite, Thaddeus, and a couple of other men, maybe Cleopas. Yes, he was there. The women included all of us who went to the tomb earlier that morning.”
“Quite an assembly.” Regulus took a deep breath. “What were they arguing about?”
“The angels had spoken to the women, and they had seen Jesus. So, they were telling everyone what happened, but the men didn’t believe them.” Mary frowned. “It got very emotional. After a while, Cleopas said something, and he and some others left. I believed the women and added my testimony to theirs, but the men wouldn’t believe we had seen Jesus alive. One of them told us to fetch the angels and bring them to the Upper Room—as if angels would follow our orders.” Mary put her fist on her hips and pursed her lips.
“This is indeed complicated.” Regulus took another deep breath and exhaled slowly before saying, “Let me summarize. You and these other women saw two angels and the dead Jesus, except he’s alive. Then, despite your confident testimonies, none of the men believed you. Why is that?”
“The story’s not over.” Mary clasped her hands. “While tempers were flaring, there was a knock at the door. James looked through the peephole, unlocked the door, and Simon Peter entered. He tells us he’s seen Jesus.” Mary laughed.
“Interesting.” Regulus gave a half-hearted chuckle. “How does everyone react to that?”
“We women, who have already seen the risen Lord, believed him, but all the men rejected his witness. Then, the same debate started over again. Each of us retold our experience. Simon Peter believed us because his story aligned with ours. The other men accused Peter of secretly plotting with us to make them believe a false story. Matthew kept saying, ‘It’s not funny.’ We agreed with him because it wasn’t funny—it was the truth.”
“It sounds like your story was not very convincing since the men didn’t believe you even after Simon Peter joined your side of the argument.”
“The story’s not over yet.” Mary lowered her eyebrows. “Time passed—maybe an hour went by, and there was another knock at the door. Once again, James checked the peephole, unlocked the door, and in came Cleopas. Back from Emmaus! But before he could say anything, Simon Peter told him he had seen the risen Lord. To everybody’s surprise, Cleopas said he did too!”
“Did that change any of the men’s minds? Regulus rubbed his broad chin with sausage-sized fingers.
“Not really,” Mary said with a shrug. “It became Simon Peter, Cleopas, and the women against everyone else. Then it got powerful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus appeared, saying, ‘Peace be to you.’ Matthew yelped like a little girl, several of us cried joyfully, and James checked the bolt on the door. Since it was still secure, he said Jesus must be a spirit.”
“You recognized this man who appeared as Jesus?”
“Yes.”
“Was it the same man you thought was the gardener?”
“Yes. He looked the same, but I knew it was Him right away this time.”
“How did this suspected spirit convince the disciples He was Jesus?”
“He showed everyone His hands, feet, and side, told us to touch Him, saying ‘for a spirit does not have bones and flesh.’ Then everybody got happy and said it was too good to be true, but we all knew it was true.”
“Then what?”
“He ate some broiled fish and left.”
“That’s an amazing account. So now all of you believe Jesus is alive.”
“All of us?”
“All the followers—do you all believe?”
“Mostly. Thomas is holding out, but that’s because he wasn’t there when all this happened. He is reacting like the men did before Jesus appeared to us. I suppose we can’t blame him for his doubts. After all, it’s not every day a man who died on the cross and was buried rises from the dead.”
* * *
From his command post on the top floor of the southwest tower of Antonia Fortress, Regulus watched the Jews moving about their temple. A team of black-robed men was diligently working to repair the ripped curtain, which had once concealed the area called the Holy of Holies.
“Why don’t they just build a wall?” Regulus turned toward the two young scribes assigned to record the details of the meeting. They were slumped over their worktable, taking notes with a bone stylus on waxed-surfaced tablets. Later, they would transpose the tablet notes with ink onto papyrus scrolls for submission to Pilate. Regulus suspected they’d make another copy for Caiaphas, not that it mattered to Regulus. Solving the mystery by finding the body of Jesus was his objective. The scribes didn’t answer his question about the wall.
Regulus knew their habit was to provide as little information to the Romans as required. Simultaneously, they would collect as much intelligence as possible for their high priest. It was expected, as everyone knew the Jews hated the Romans. Let them hate so long as they fear. Still, he didn’t trust them half as far as he could throw them.
Regulus’ officers had scoured the region, looking for disciples and other witnesses to question. Knowing it would be the Jews’ sabbath in a few hours, the scribes must leave soon, so they rushed to complete their notes. Still, Regulus needed more information from his officers filing into his command post.
“First things first. Did anybody find Jesus?” The officers glanced at each other during a brief silence broken by a few chuckles. Regulus shook his head and said, “We’re all familiar with the statement Pilate said the guards gave him. They fell asleep, and then the disciples stole the body. Nobody believes that. Cassius, did you get a detailed report from those guards?”
“No, sir. They’re missing. Though all four of them were Syrian auxiliaries, they were well-trained—thus without excuse. If they deserted, they could be in Syria by now. I’m setting up patrols to see if unfortunate consequences might have befallen them since last week.”
Regulus grunted. “Mary Magdalene’s statement named many people. Has any of you questioned the disciples or women?”
Centurion Cassius Longinus stood. “We found Cleopas in Emmaus. His story aligned with Magdalene’s. He said a stranger approached him and his friend on the road. As they walked, the man explained the meaning of their sacred scrolls. Later, during a meal at Cleopas’ home, the man suddenly became recognizable as Jesus—then vanished. After that, Cleopas returned to Jerusalem and joined the assembly in the Upper Room. The rest of his statement aligns with Mary’s.”
“What about this Thomas character? He may be the only honest one left in the list of suspects. Anybody talk to him?”
Cassius pointed at Stephanus, who said, “I happened upon Thomas in the Essene quarter.”
“What did he say?” Regulus still wondered about his purple robe.
A young soldier can’t afford that. The Longinus family must look after him, or he’s Praetorian.
“He refused to support their story.” Stephanus stood after Cassius nudged him, motioning for him to get up. “Thomas said the other disciples told him they had seen Jesus, but he saw nothing. Thomas seems reasonable, insisting that unless he puts his fingers in the nail imprints and his hand in the spear hole in his side, he won’t believe it’s Jesus.”
“Where did you get that purple robe?”
Stephanus was surprised by the question. He looked at it and said, “I won it by drawing lots.”
Regulus scoffed, wondering why he had been so concerned. Soldiers have collected pillage for ages—it was nothing to worry about. “What man could have survived the wounds of crucifixion?” Regulus stuck out his lower lip, pondering his question. “Nobody! Maybe Thomas will be our key in discovering whoever this imposter is that convinces people he is Jesus back from the dead. Where’s my engineer's report on the Upper Room?”
Pilate’s chief engineer, a young man named Titus, stood and reported. “The facility is typical of other larger buildings in Jerusalem. It’s a sturdy facility with a second-floor feature that has a primary entrance capable of being locked from the inside. A standard battering ram could open the door with minimal effort. While it’s a good meeting place, it is a poor tactical choice because there’s only one way into the room and thus one exit.”
“How the magician got into the room without assistance is perplexing.” Regulus looked at Cassius. “Who was the one guarding the door?”
Cassius said, “The big man called James.”
“Maybe he was in on the ruse. If James had let him in the room, he fooled everyone we’ve talked to. But then again, maybe this man who looked like Jesus was hiding under a blanket in the room before everyone arrived.”
“Not likely.” Stephanus glanced at Cassius and stood. “Because people were having encounters, believing they saw Jesus at the same time the others argued in the Upper Room.”
“Impossible unless there is more than one imposter.” Regulus slapped his leg. “Doesn’t Jesus have brothers?”
Cassius said, “Nicodemus reported Jesus has four brothers living in Galilee: James, Joses, Judas, and Simon.”
“Aren’t they among his disciples?”
“According to several people, his brothers never followed Jesus anywhere.”
“Well, now, isn’t that convenient?” Regulus smiled, thinking he had solved the mystery. “The four brothers, who probably look much like Jesus, are hiding in Galilee. Could they be so committed to launching a rebellion that they would scar up their hands, feet, and sides with wounds, then let them heal to pretend they were crucified? That would take some dedication and a crazy amount of pre-planning.”
“That would be challenging to do from Galilee,” said Stephanus.
Cassius frowned at Stephanus for making the snide remark. Regulus would let Cassius discipline his deputy for now.
“Maybe they're not there anymore.” Regulus walked close enough to the young Stephanus for him to feel his size. “We can search the city and surrounding area to find them, but we must send some equites to Galilee. As long as I’m not riding with them, their horses can get them there much quicker than the infantry can march. Cornelius, you head that up.”
Cornelius had been stoically listening from the back of the room. “I have thirty equites with me in Jerusalem, another hundred and twenty in Caesarea. We will leave in the morning, round them up, and return with them in a few days.”
“I’m troubled that if you can’t find them, it could mean they’re hiding in Jerusalem, perpetuating this fraud.” Regulus tapped his thick finger on a desktop. “Bring back as many of them as you can find.”
Regulus paced across the room, mumbling to himself. “Five look-a-like brothers—that would make it work. Still, they must be some master tricksters to pull it off.”
* * *
The next morning, Regulus pounded on the door to Nicodemus’ estate. A servant girl answered the door. Her eyes widened as they slowly traveled upward from his broad chest armor to his stern face. When her eyes met his, she gasped. Regulus fought the urge to smile, preferring she retain her fear of him to inspire her obedience.
“Bring me your master.” After nodding, she darted away without saying a word.
Nicodemus appeared, struggling to get his robe on straight while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Regulus, this is the Sabbath.”
“I won’t be long.” Uninvited, Regulus ducked under the top of the doorway, entered the house, and scanned the room. “Nice house. You Pharisees live well above the masses in this land. Don’t you feel any shame?”
“You shouldn’t be in my home, certainly not on the Sabbath. I must complain to Pilate and Caiaphas.”
“You’re probably in enough trouble with them,” said Regulus. “Tell me, where is John?”
“John, the disciple of Jesus?”
“Don’t act like an idiot.” Regulus growled and said, “John of Arimathea.”
“Oh, you must mean Joseph of Arimathea.”
“Yeah. That’s the one. So many of your Jewish names sound alike to me. Where is Joseph?”
“I assumed you’d ask about him eventually.”
“Why did Joseph convince Pilate to give him the body of Jesus?”
“He is a good and righteous man, waiting for the kingdom of God. He—we believed Jesus should have a decent burial, so he donated the tomb he had built for himself.”
“Don’t give me that.” Regulus poked him in his shoulder, causing Nicodemus to wince. “He was part of the Sanhedrin, and they insisted Pilate execute Jesus. He was in on it.”
“But Joseph dissented and was critical of that decision. For that matter, so did I.”
“That must make you unpopular with your bosses.”
“To say the least. After the body disappeared, the elders captured Joseph and locked him in prison with others. I thought they’d come for me, but that hasn’t happened, at least not yet.”
“He’s in your prison.” Regulus nodded. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him there.”
“He’s not there anymore.” Nicodemus stammered. Regulus knew he was withholding information and gave him a hard look. Then Nicodemus said, “Somehow, he escaped, and we don’t know where he is.”
“Well—that’s disappointing. I’m almost getting used to disappointments, and that’s not like me.”
“Why?” Nicodemus picked at his beard. “What else has happened?”
“I’m looking for witnesses. That Judas fellow, who led the temple guards to Jesus, we can’t find him either. Nor can I locate my four soldiers, the ones who confessed to falling asleep during guard duty and then somehow, in their sleep, became witnesses of the disciples stealing the body of Jesus. Then, a mysterious gardener was seen lingering around grave sites—not a sight of him now. There’s more, but maybe you know something about these.”
“Judas tried to return the silver coins, but Caiaphas said it was blood money, unfit for the treasury. Since Judas left it, they used the money to purchase the Potter’s field for him.”
“Potter’s field? Worthless real estate.” Regulus shook his head. “What about my missing soldiers?”
“I don’t know where they are, but rumor has it they acquired a substantial reward from Caiaphas. Maybe it was enough for them to seek life elsewhere?”
“Bribes. Hmm. Bribe takers are desperate or self-centered. Either way, they are not trustworthy. I understand why auxiliary soldiers might desert if they gained enough fortune, but why would Caiaphas pay them anything?”
“They had a wild story about angels rolling away the stone.” Nicodemus shrugged and uttered an unconvincing laugh. “Caiaphas couldn’t allow that to be circulated among the Messiah-starved people. So, he paid the soldiers to admit the more obvious—that they had fallen asleep on duty.”
“I don’t get people believing they’ve seen angels.” Regulus shook his head and growled. “And sleeping guards are worse than no guards. I don’t understand why Pilate didn’t have them executed.”
“Pilate likes silver, too.” Regulus stared at Nicodemus until his eyes dropped.
“The Prefect takes bribes?” Regulus figured as much. Fate would deal with Pilate eventually. “If so, this will be a difficult case to solve without finding Jesus.”
“I hope you find him, and I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
“You’d better.”
* * *
Regulus organized an efficient schedule of patrols that crisscrossed the city. Hoping to flush the disciples out of hiding, they knocked on doors at all hours. They pressured people for any information about the twelve men believed to be the inner circle of Jesus’ operations. Suspecting the Upper Room played a crucial role in their elusiveness, Regulus ordered his patrols to check out the surrounding streets at least once every hour. Ten days after they had crucified Jesus, Cornelius returned to Jerusalem with four prisoners. He tossed them into the dank cells beneath the Antonia Fortress.
A single torch on the wall behind Regulus allowed him to study the four men. They were young, late twenties to early thirties, maybe. Not a single nail imprint on any of their hands and feet. Three of them were bald, and two were spindly. They could never pass for Jesus, who was of average size and had lots of hair. Besides a few bruises, the brothers had not been physically mistreated—no missing fingers, no piercings, no signs of being purged. Disappointing Regulus, they had no marks to suggest they were pretending to have been crucified. Still, it was plain to see they were psychologically broken. When Regulus appeared before them, they quaked and sniffled.
Not soldier material. Whimpering shepherds, barely men at all.
Neither did they appear bold. Perhaps they were pretending to be weak cowards. If so, they were proficient actors. Regulus found it difficult to believe these pathetic men were skilled at anything.
“Which one of you is James?”
“Kind Centurion, I am James.” He was the largest of the lot, possibly the right height and build, but his features differed from the descriptions of Jesus. Of course, those people loved Jesus, so maybe they were being kind to his memory. Perhaps Jesus was as homely and clownish as James.
“Primo.” Regulus barked. “I am Primo Regulus.”
“Please forgive me,” James looked at the floor as he spoke. “It was my ignorance. I meant no disrespect, Primo Regulus.”
“You boys are in trouble with me.” Regulus paused for effect. “But, if you answer my questions truthfully, I can be easy on you.”
“Yes, Primo. We’ll be truthful.”
“Where are the weapons?”
“Weapons?”
“Yes, the so-called power from on-high you guys are waiting for. Do you have a weapons cache concealed in the mountains?”
“I know nothing about any weapons.”
“I don’t know about that,” Regulus said. “What have you done with the body of Jesus?”
“Nothing. Sir, we heard the soldiers who brought us here say his body has been stolen, but we didn’t do it.”
“Was that the first you knew about that?”
“Yes, kind Primo.”
“The news is everywhere. Where have you been?”
“Judas and I live and work in Capernaum. Joses and Simon live in Nazareth. We stay there except for coming up to the temple for festivals.”
“Do you believe Jesus is the King of the Jews?”
“Sir, our brother was living in his own world.” James grimaced. “I tried to—we tried to stop him, but he convinced so many people he was a prophet. With shame on my family, I must admit I think he believed it. Thus, he’s a lunatic.”
“Even a lunatic will rely on his family for help.”
“He said those people, the ones following him, were his family. Honestly, we feared for our lives. Mobs can become violent, so we left him to his new family. Then, he caused so much trouble for the Sanhedrin they killed him. After we heard they buried him, I thought it was finally over. But now …”
“But now, what?”
“Even beyond the grave, Jesus brings unwanted attention to our family. We did nothing. We never followed him because we didn’t believe his words. Please, let us return to our homes so we can return to our lives.”
Regulus stared at James until the other brothers fell to their knees and cried. Only James stood his ground, perhaps accepting his responsibility as the oldest surviving brother. At least he stood for something. Regulus turned to the jailer. “Release them.”
* * *
As his team filed into his fortress command post, Regulus gazed out the window wishing he could sample more of Mary’s grapes. Below him, the Jewish Temple workers had finished installing their new curtain. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why they didn’t simply build a wall. That’s what Roman architects would do, and it would be quicker to erect, cheaper to maintain, and indeed, it would last longer than a veil, no matter how thick. He shook his head at their clinging to ancient tradition. Turning away from the window, he looked up and realized his entire team was waiting patiently for his orders.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s hear your reports.”
Cornelius spoke first. “Nazareth is a wilderness—they keep their animals in their homes at night. Anyway, I brought back all four brothers. They’re in our jail.”
“They were.” Regulus smacked his lips. “I questioned them, and they denied knowing anything. They don’t believe in the message their brother preaches. I don’t think they even like Jesus. The oldest one, James, blames him for most of their troubles. I let them go. What else do we have?”
Cassius said, “We almost caught them. We heard about an assembly in the Upper Room, so I blocked off all the streets and led a team inside. Unfortunately, the only people there were a cleaning crew.”
“What did they say?”
“They reported seeing many of the twelve, but they all left minutes before we arrived. How they got past our security baffles me.”
“They can’t be that lucky. Their spy network must be massive, maybe hidden passageways.”
Stephanus said, “A few streets over, I questioned the disciple called Thomas.”
“Ah, Thomas, the only one who didn’t believe the façade about Jesus being alive. What did he say?”
“His story has changed. According to him, there was another miracle. As usual, James had locked the room’s only entrance, and just like that, Jesus showed up, complete with nail prints in his hands and a hole in his side big enough for Thomas to put his hand in—convincing him beyond any doubt that Jesus has returned from the dead.”
Regulus stared at Stephanus until he looked away. “Did Thomas say anything else?”
“He said the disciples were going back to Galilee. Evidently, Jesus told them to.”
“Back to Galilee …” Regulus put his palms together and pressed his index fingers against his lips, exhaling slowly. He searched his memory for historical examples until he found something he thought fixed the circumstance. He dropped his hands and said, “This could be a diversion, so I’ll need enough observers to watch what they’re doing.”
“What do you think they are going to do?” asked Cassius. All eyes in the room were on Regulus. None of them understood what he was telling them.
“Galilee is where he started collecting followers. Historically, rebellions begin with building an army of followers. I suspect this could be something like a Spartacus rebellion these Jews have planned. Of course, we all know how that wound up.”
Looking at their blank faces, Regulus knew they didn’t know what he was talking about. “About a hundred years ago, a charismatic man, a slave, led thousands of slaves into a violent rebellion. They managed to win some battles and kill many Roman soldiers but eventually lost the war. General Marcus Licinius Crassus crucified 6,000 captured rebels along the Appian Way as a warning to anyone who might defy Rome. Bottom line, no more slave revolts.”
“Do you think that’s where this is headed—a large-scale rebellion?”
“Could be.” Regulus shrugged and said, “If so, we want to stop it early. If they lose their first battle, it will be less popular for more people to join in the fight.” It pleased Regulus to see all the heads in the room bobbing in agreement.
“We’ll keep observers on them, so they’ll get bold enough to muster their forces. In the meanwhile, we still need to find our missing soldiers, the spy Judas, and that elusive gardener.”
* * *
Regulus pursued over a hundred leads the following month. He dispatched patrols all over Judaea while striving to keep sufficient defensive forces in Jerusalem. There were sightings of Jesus and several disciples near the Sea of Tiberias and a large gathering with hundreds of people on a mountain in Galilee.
When they found the missing soldiers, their throats were cut, and any riches they ever had were missing. Regulus suspected the Zealots but lacked evidence. One of his patrols found what was left of Judas. His hanged body fell from a tree and split open, and his bowels spilled out. Still, Regulus needed more support from Pilate, who grew impatient with his failure to find Jesus. They met in Pilate’s praetorium, with the Jewish high priest observing.
“Are you going to tell me you’ve found the dead Jesus?”
“Sir, I’m not positive he’s dead,” said Regulus.
“Of course, he’s dead,” Caiaphas interrupted. “The Roman soldiers on crucifixion duty were competent in determining whether a man was dead or not.”
“Assuming that’s true,” said Regulus. “The man on the cross was dead, but could his disciples have switched men during all the commotion of the trial?”
“His disciples?” Caiaphas scoffed. “They scattered in fear and did nothing but hide after the arrest. Besides, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus prepared the body for burial. They both knew this man well enough.” Caiaphas crossed in arms. “Certainly, they would have noticed if it hadn’t been Jesus.”
“Perhaps you’ve convinced me.” Regulus pulled his shoulders back, hoping to intimidate the priest. “Let’s assume the dead man was Jesus. How do you explain that since his death, hundreds of witnesses reported having seen him—some at the tomb, some miles away, individuals, small groups, and even large groups numbering in the hundreds?”
“How would I know that?” Caiaphas said. “Isn’t that your job to investigate?”
“I found a few answers. For example, during the first couple of days of these appearances, the witnesses say they didn’t recognize him until the visit progressed. At first, he was a stranger, and then suddenly, somehow, they were convinced it was Jesus. Now, whenever he appears, everyone insists they know him right away. Explain that.”
Caiaphas shrugged and said, “Maybe he’s a devil or a magician.”
“What do you think is going on?” asked Pilate.
“I’m not sure, but some of this reminds me of the Servile Wars.”
“That’s a bit before my tenure.” Pilate rolled his eyes and said, “Go ahead, tell me about the Servile Wars.”
“Eunus was a slave from Syria who claimed to be a prophet. He inspired a few hundred slaves to rebel. Following their initial success, their ranks increased to tens of thousands. Though it began in Sicily, it eventually inspired the Spartacus revolt. Victory inspires people to join, but history shows us that defeat is the salve for rebellion.”
“A Judaean rebellion would be a bad thing for me.” Pilate paced as he rubbed his chin. “What do we do?”
“We must learn their objectives, head them off at their initial assault, and soundly destroy them in open battle.” Regulus stiffened his back, pridefully standing a little taller than usual. “If we do that, it will be the end of it.”
“I like that.” Pilate snapped his fingers. “Such a victory could put me in the emperor’s favor. How many soldiers will this cost us?”
“We’ve already lost four.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware. Which four?”
“The sleepy men assigned to guard the tomb. We found their bodies a few miles outside of Jerusalem.”
“These grave-robbing insurrectionists are killing Roman soldiers.” Pilate nodded and tightened his lips. “That supports your theory of an emerging rebellion.”
“There’s still something I don’t quite understand,” said Regulus.
“What’s that?”
“If they planned to kill the soldiers, why didn’t they kill the guards in their sleep at the tomb?”
After a long pause, Pilate cut his eyes to Caiaphas, who lifted his bushy white eyebrows without speaking. Finally, Pilate said. “Who knows what is going through their minds? What I need to know, now that we’re on to them, is how will we trap them?”
“I have intercepted a coded message saying they will receive power from on high.”
“Coded?” Pilate frowned and said, “What does that mean?”
“I suspect they have a weapons cache hidden in the high ground near Jerusalem. There are anywhere from 70 to 120 disciples, supervised by the surviving eleven men in Jesus’ inner circle. Obviously, they are the leaders of the rebellion. If they function as centurions, commanding a hundred or more fighters each, they could muster as many as 12,000 fighters.”
“By Pollux,” said Pilate. “We need more soldiers.”
“We could bring our cohort down from Caesarea, bolstering our ranks here to nearly 1,200. Then, we can prevent them from mustering their forces if we catch them accessing their weapons cache. Without their weapons and leadership, all the potential rebels will have no choice but to return to herding goats, fishing, and paying taxes.”
“I approve that plan.” Pilate grinned broadly. “Make it so.”
* * *
The dense olive groves covering the Mount of Olives provided concealment opportunities for everyone. The band of disciples, following a man who looked a lot like Jesus, had little to no regard for the soldiers following behind them. Concerned that they planned a mad dash for cover or weapons, Regulus had deployed his second cohort in Bethany with orders to trap approaching rebels. His rapidly moving soldiers would soon close the loop around them. There was no way for them to escape.
I have them now.
Regulus hoped to capture the man pretending to be their dead leader. He didn’t know who he was but knew it wasn’t James because he and his three brothers were walking with the other disciples. Regulus assumed James must have been lying earlier about not following Jesus. He was vexed for believing him. These followers of Jesus were the most proficient liars he’d ever encountered.
They’ll soon pay the price for their deception.
While the soldiers formed a wide line between them and Bethany, the band of rebels went as far as the thyme field and stopped. Regulus wondered if they had hidden, maybe buried, weapons there because there were no buildings or caves to be seen. The man pretending to be Jesus stood amid them, and his disciples questioned him. From the tree line concealing them, Regulus could hear them.
“Lord, is it at this time You are restoring the kingdom to Israel?”
Regulus felt the excitement of victory approaching. Of course, that was their plan—a kingdom.
Then Jesus spoke, “It is not for you to know the times which the Father has fixed by his authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you shall be my witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria and even to the remotest part of the earth.”
Regulus could barely believe his ears. Did they really think they could take over the entire world? An army of shepherds and fishermen led by a rabbi couldn’t secure their freedom, much less conquer Rome. They had no idea of how ignorant they were. It had taken him a lifetime to master the art of battle. These people needed to learn the consequences of rebellion.
He drew his sword and stepped away from the concealment of the tree line. Seconds later, the entire force of 1,200 armed soldiers, most wearing red sagums over their armor, formed a complete ring around the unarmed group of men and women. Terror should have caused those rebels to collapse, but they didn’t react. It was as if they didn’t fear the Romans at all.
This will be an easy victory. They have no will to fight.
Regulus knew he had them outnumbered and in a tactical position of disadvantage. They couldn't win, escape, or even survive if he chose to press the matter. But he couldn’t do that. Pilate would need most of them to survive, so he could crucify them.
As Regulus opened his mouth to command the civilians to surrender their weapons, he realized they didn’t have any. His mouth closed with a pop of his teeth as he collected his thoughts. Even if the group of disciples were to gain weapons, they could never defeat the force surrounding them. The Romans outnumbered them ten to one. Even elite fighters didn’t stand a chance against those odds. This war was over before the battle began. Despite their obvious jeopardy, none of them were looking at Regulus, piquing his curiosity. Then he saw it.
The man who looked like Jesus lifted off the ground, leaving only a few footprints in the thyme beneath him. As he went upward, Regulus’ helmet pushed into his neck as he tried to keep an eye on him. He returned his sword to its sheath and yanked off his helmet with his left hand. Straining upward, he, along with everyone else, saw Jesus vanish into a cloud.
Astonished, Regulus looked at the Jesus followers, all of them with their heads tilted up and their eyes locked on the same cloud. The entire force of Roman soldiers was likewise staring upward. Everyone froze in place. Regulus lost track of how much time had passed. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
He reached for his canteen with his right hand. The lid proved too much for his fingers to open; instead, he dropped it near his feet. Its sound broke the silence of the moment.
Two men in brilliant white clothing stood beside the disciples. How they got inside his ring of soldiers, Regulus did not know. Each breath became an effort for him as his heart raced and his knees wobbled.
“Men of Galilee,” they said. “Why do you stand looking into the sky? This Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come in the same way you have watched Him go.”
Regulus’ helmet slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a clunk, prompting one of the dazzling men to turn and walk his way. He fought against the urge to break and run—what would his men think? The tremble in his knees moved up his body, causing Regulus to wonder if perhaps the earth was quaking as the giant moved toward him. When the tremble reached Regulus’ eyes, tears flowed uncontrollably.
The angel winked at Regulus, and a flash of lightning caused him to gasp. Requiring all his strength to remain standing, Regulus felt weak, vulnerable, and defenseless for the first time in his life. Nearly a head taller than Regulus, the angel stared down at him and said, “Regulus, there is nothing more you can do here. Dismiss your legionaries and go back to Caesarea.”

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