Introducing “Horror in the Holy Land”

Philip stood at the window and peered out over the crowd. They mobbed the gates, crying out for blood and death. He shook his head at the spectacle.

“Barbarians,” Lucius, his second in command said, “They eat their own. It’s not the Roman way.”

“What do you know of being Roman, Lucius?” Philip asked. “Your whore of a mother just gave you that name in the hopes no one would notice you’re Syrian.”

“You’re saying it didn’t work?”

“It certainly didn’t occur to me to call you a citizen.”

The sound of footsteps in the hallway cut off any response. “Thank you, Centurion,” Pontius Pilate said in his high pitched, reedy tone, “I will no longer need your services.”

“Are you sure, Prefect?” Philip asked. “The crowd looks quite agitated.”

“I am sure my legionaries can handle this,” Pilate replied, disdain dripping from every word. “I will summon the auxiliary if the need arises. Perhaps there will not be enough slaves to clean up the trash. You will be the first I call.”

“Thank you, Prefect,” Philip said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “I will await your command.” He turned on his heel and left the chamber, Lucius following close behind.

“Damned Equestrians,” Lucius mumbled when they were out of ear shot.

“Think they own the world when all they get is backwater posts in the shittiest corners of the Empire.”

“It is unwise to criticize your Prefect, Lucius,” Philip cast his second a sidelong glance, “Even if your criticism is apt.”

Lucius chuckled. “He certainly knows nothing of matters military, either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He thinks his precious cohort of legionaries can protect him. But they can’t. You know why?”

“Why?” Philip asked, already knowing the answer.

“They’re too busy putting it in each other to practice using their fighting swords.”

“So I’ve heard. Mostly from you.”

“Of course, their First Centurion doesn’t participate, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?” Philip raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“They say he prefers those pretty Judean boys with their circumcised penises. And he likes to be on the bottom.”

They rounded a corner right as Lucius finished his little joke and found themselves face to face with Tiberius, the number three Centurion in the legionary cohort. The two auxiliaries stopped and raised their arms in salute. Tiberius raised an eyebrow, then returned the gesture.

“I would suggest,” the legionary said, “That you not pass that rumor around too far.”

“What rumor?” Lucius asked, feigning innocence.

“I shall not repeat it,” Tiberius replied, then broke in to a grin. “If the Jews find out that the first Centurion likes getting it from Jewish boys we’ll not get any peace. They’ll be lining up day and night to take their turn.”

“Perhaps that’s why they wait outside now,” Philip said.

Tiberius shook his head. “I wish that was all. Some new Messiah or holy man has the crowd riled up. Some want to make him king, but most want to kill him. We get one of these every couple months. If you ask me, the Empire would be better off leaving this place to behind and letting them argue it out for themselves.”

Realization dawned for Philip. “So that’s what we’re doing here.”

“Yes,” Tiberius nodded. “Their Sanhedrin knows your unit is still new and thinks they can push you around.”

“You’re saying they can’t?”

“You don’t have to do anything without the direct orders of the Prefect or the Tetrarch. And the Prefect can override him. Caiaphas only has his job at the pleasure of the Prefect and, to be honest, Pilate would rather fuck with that self-important ninny than help him in any way.”

“Good to know.”

“Now if you’re excuse me,” Tiberius said, “I have work to do.” He took a step, looked around the corner, and then leaned back, “I have to go rouse the First Centurion and his Judean boys from their afternoon slumber.”

Philip and Lucius laughed. “Be well, Centurion,” Philip said.

“And you, Centurion,” Tiberius replied.

The two auxiliaries headed to the front gate of the palace. Two dozen men of the Second Egyptian Auxiliary Cohort awaited them. Some were lounging; others stood and discussed the crowd pressing up against the half-dozen legionaries who stood in the main entryway. “The crowd’s gotten bigger,” Philip observed. “That’s not a good sign.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Lucius said. “But I sure don’t want to go out there, either.”

“They won’t mess with us,” Philip replied. He raised his voice to address his men. “Troop!” he barked, “Form up. Nedjah, Shebaka, you will take the lead.”

The men quickly formed in to two columns and lined up before the gate. The pair of giant Nubians Philip had singled out took the lead while Philip and Lucius mounted their horses and rode to the front of the little column.

The gateway legionaries made way for the auxiliaries. As they pulled back the crowd began to surge forward. Then the column emerged and the crowd got their first look at the mounted commanders and their two point men. They lost their nerve and pulled back.

“What did I tell you?” Philip asked. “They dare not attack fully trained Roman troops.”

“Oh, so now we’re Roman?” Lucius asked.

The crowd parted to make way for the column, but so many bodies were pressed together in the space before the Prefect’s palace that they could only move forward at a snail’s pace. Philip was still nearly within earshot, even of Pilate’s weak voice, when the Prefect emerged on to the balcony and briefly addressed the crowd. He didn’t have to wonder at the message for long, though, the message was quickly passed through the crowd.

“Not guilty,” someone shouted. “He says that he finds Yeshua not guilty.”

A response quickly started in the crowd, rumbling across the square in a disorganized tatter before surging in to a crescendo.

“Boo!” the crowd yelled as one.

The jeers continued for several minutes until someone somehow managed to calm them enough to pass another message. Pilate seemed to be offering the release of a prisoner and wanted to know which one to choose. He suggested Yeshua.

The crowd fell silent. Everything stopped.

An answer came from the back of the crowd. It started with the muffled cry of a few voices, but then was picked up by more and more of the madding crowd. The single, chanted name soon washed over the square like a wave.

“Bar-abb-as! Bar-abb-as!” the crowd screamed out.

Philip turned back towards the Prefect’s palace in time to see the legionaries part. A man, beaten and bloodied from mistreatment by his captors, was pushed out in to the crowd. Then the soldiers retreated back inside the palace. The gates swung shut with ponderous finality.

“Horror in the Holy Land” is now available as an Amazon ebook. It’s also available for the Nook. Go check it out.