Read Online The Last Temple by Sigmund Brouwer, Hank Hanegraaff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sigmund Brouwer, Hank Hanegraaff
Ads: Link
the name that Joseph and Queen Bernice had supplied?
Vitas could guess at what Joseph and Bernice had conspired, for giving the governor a name solved a great many political difficulties.
As Bernice had pointed out, without someone to blame for the assassination, Julianus would have no choice but to engage in horrendous retribution. Rome was not known for mercy. When its armies surrounded a city, the citizens who surrendered were treated with decency. But those who were defiant would be slaughtered, including the women and children. It was an effective carrot-and-stick strategy, made more effective by tales that circulated ahead of the Romans.
Here, Julianus knew if there was no retribution, it would embolden the revolt. Yet killing innocent Jews would stoke the flames of revolt higher. For him, it was a difficult situation.
The solution, then, was to have a slave identify a culprit, with few other questions asked. An execution, despite the hapless man’s expected protests of innocence, would relieve Julianus of the need for wide-scale punishment. Peace, at least in Caesarea, would be kept, and a report to Rome would show that he’d taken necessary actions, which would keep his own political career secure.
What did it matter if one man died for a sin that he did not commit, when he deserved it for so many other crimes? Yet the last half of what Bernice had whispered haunted him. “Better that he die so that others may be spared.”
Because of his familiarity with the letters of the followers of the Christos, Vitas knew that nearly a generation earlier, sentiment similar to this had sent another man to the cross. This one truly innocent. Condemned by Pontius Pilate.
If Glecko Partho had not conspired to have Helva assassinated, then no matter what else he had done, in this case he was an innocent man.
Vitas knew too well what it felt like to be innocent and condemned. Could Vitas inflict that on another man? Even to save his own life?
But could Vitas allow dozens, maybe hundreds, of women and children to die by the swords of Roman soldiers by denying that the Greek had conspired?
The choices were clear cut. A man who had vilely abused the Jews would die so that Vitas and women and children could live. Or Vitas would refuse to speak, condemning himself and the innocents.
It was a mercy of sorts when he arrived at the crosses where a matter of exquisite suspense and torture compelled him to set aside the decision. For he saw a bracelet like one he had once received from Sophia.
It was hanging around the wrist of Jerome, who was unconscious and near death on the cross.
Hora Sexta
Jerome was unresponsive on the cross, but his chest still moved as he drew rasping, irregular gasps of air.
Vitas was more focused, however, on the bracelet. A bracelet freshly woven from green grass.
It had no value to anyone else, or it most certainly would have been stolen by a passerby, darting in when the soldiers were distracted.
To Vitas, however, such a bracelet had once been priceless. Sophia had woven one for him as a simple wedding present, saying her love for him would endure as long as grass grew in the fields.
He was trying to understand the message. It could not be coincidence that the grass bracelet had been placed upon Jerome. Only Sophia—as far as he knew—shared this small secret.
Vitas cursed the fact that Jerome could not speak. What secrets did Jerome hold about the grass bracelet? Or had it been placed on him while he was unconscious?
The governor’s messenger interrupted the whirlwind of thoughts that Vitas could not escape.
“Proceed as ordered,” the messenger said to the soldiers.
Three soldiers moved forward, each withdrawing a sword that flashed in the sunlight. Each moved to one of the slaves on the crosses, and each touched the tip of his sword to the sides of the condemned, to the softness of flesh just below the ribs.
“Now,” the messenger said with the officiousness of a man suddenly
Vitas could guess at what Joseph and Bernice had conspired, for giving the governor a name solved a great many political difficulties.
As Bernice had pointed out, without someone to blame for the assassination, Julianus would have no choice but to engage in horrendous retribution. Rome was not known for mercy. When its armies surrounded a city, the citizens who surrendered were treated with decency. But those who were defiant would be slaughtered, including the women and children. It was an effective carrot-and-stick strategy, made more effective by tales that circulated ahead of the Romans.
Here, Julianus knew if there was no retribution, it would embolden the revolt. Yet killing innocent Jews would stoke the flames of revolt higher. For him, it was a difficult situation.
The solution, then, was to have a slave identify a culprit, with few other questions asked. An execution, despite the hapless man’s expected protests of innocence, would relieve Julianus of the need for wide-scale punishment. Peace, at least in Caesarea, would be kept, and a report to Rome would show that he’d taken necessary actions, which would keep his own political career secure.
What did it matter if one man died for a sin that he did not commit, when he deserved it for so many other crimes? Yet the last half of what Bernice had whispered haunted him. “Better that he die so that others may be spared.”
Because of his familiarity with the letters of the followers of the Christos, Vitas knew that nearly a generation earlier, sentiment similar to this had sent another man to the cross. This one truly innocent. Condemned by Pontius Pilate.
If Glecko Partho had not conspired to have Helva assassinated, then no matter what else he had done, in this case he was an innocent man.
Vitas knew too well what it felt like to be innocent and condemned. Could Vitas inflict that on another man? Even to save his own life?
But could Vitas allow dozens, maybe hundreds, of women and children to die by the swords of Roman soldiers by denying that the Greek had conspired?
The choices were clear cut. A man who had vilely abused the Jews would die so that Vitas and women and children could live. Or Vitas would refuse to speak, condemning himself and the innocents.
It was a mercy of sorts when he arrived at the crosses where a matter of exquisite suspense and torture compelled him to set aside the decision. For he saw a bracelet like one he had once received from Sophia.
It was hanging around the wrist of Jerome, who was unconscious and near death on the cross.
Hora Sexta
Jerome was unresponsive on the cross, but his chest still moved as he drew rasping, irregular gasps of air.
Vitas was more focused, however, on the bracelet. A bracelet freshly woven from green grass.
It had no value to anyone else, or it most certainly would have been stolen by a passerby, darting in when the soldiers were distracted.
To Vitas, however, such a bracelet had once been priceless. Sophia had woven one for him as a simple wedding present, saying her love for him would endure as long as grass grew in the fields.
He was trying to understand the message. It could not be coincidence that the grass bracelet had been placed upon Jerome. Only Sophia—as far as he knew—shared this small secret.
Vitas cursed the fact that Jerome could not speak. What secrets did Jerome hold about the grass bracelet? Or had it been placed on him while he was unconscious?
The governor’s messenger interrupted the whirlwind of thoughts that Vitas could not escape.
“Proceed as ordered,” the messenger said to the soldiers.
Three soldiers moved forward, each withdrawing a sword that flashed in the sunlight. Each moved to one of the slaves on the crosses, and each touched the tip of his sword to the sides of the condemned, to the softness of flesh just below the ribs.
“Now,” the messenger said with the officiousness of a man suddenly
Similar Books
