Read Online The Master's Quilt by Michael J. Webb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael J. Webb
Ads: Link
night.
Deucalion sat up and vomited. So much for
the lamb and dandelion wine, he thought. Rich food and fine wine
are not for the likes of this soldier’s son .
The weak attempt at humor did not ease the
pain coursing through his battered body. What hurt worse, however,
was the humiliation. And he knew that was what his attackers had
most wanted to accomplish.
Physical scarring was one of the hazards of
soldiering and was taken in stride by all who were in the Legion.
In fact, among some, it was a sign of status; the more scars, the
more one had embraced death and lived to tell of the encounter. His
assailants, however, had a more devious intent in mind. They wanted
to scar him emotionally and thought they knew him well enough to
accomplish such a purpose. The sting of the beating he had received
lay in the lack of opportunity for him to defend himself with
dignity, as befitted a member of Rome’s elite guard. Fighting one’s
opponent in a fair match was even accorded to gladiators in the
Coliseum, who were but slaves, trained to fight and die heroically
for the pleasure of Caesar and the crowd.
Well, his attackers had seriously
underestimated him. Oh, they might have known the man who had been
ordered to make sure the Galilean was dead, the same man who was
then sent out to guard his body. But what they could not know,
because he’d only just begun to realize it himself, was that he was
not the same man when he left the tomb three days later.
He’d gone to the tomb thinking only of
accomplishing an important task assigned him by Pontius Pilate.
Three days later he left the burial site thinking of nothing but
the light he had seen when there should have been no light. Light
that was brighter than fifty lanterns, yet soft and shimmering as
well. Light that had wrapped itself around him like a fine mist,
reminding him of the spray of water that surrounds a cascading
waterfall.
And the sound! There had been music. Singing! It had enveloped him in a cocoon, blanketing out
every sound but its own. The light was sound; the sound was light.
He had felt as if he were hearing the light and seeing the sound.
At first he thought he had fallen asleep and
was having a dream. Just as he was about to cry out to his men, a
voice spoke to him out of the light. It was of the same character
and quality as the music. Yet it was different . Something in
the tone set it apart from the rest of the music and singing,
almost as if sound itself had become a living entity.
“ Rejoice, for the light is come. The glory
of the lord is risen. The glory of the Lord is risen upon
you.”
And then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the
light was gone. . .The music ceased. . .The singing stopped.
There was nothing, save the eerie silence of
dawn.
He blinked several times when he realized
that the sun was only just starting to march upon the horizon. What
then had been the light he had seen? He watched in a daze as the
fibrous, yellow-red tendrils of daylight crept upward from the
purple-black horizon, seeking out the fastenings of darkness,
burning them loose and collapsing the curtain of night.
On that fateful morning, the evening play had
come to an end twice.
When he regained his senses, he looked around
at his men, curious as to whether they too had seen and heard. They
had. He could tell, because they had the same look on their faces
that he imagined he must have had on his own.
Some were rubbing their eyes. Others looked
at their companions in amazement. One asked if the sun had risen
early. Abruptly, Malkus had cried out in alarm. “Commander, over
here. . .Come quickly.”
The small contingent of soldiers gathered as
a group behind him and his second-in-command and stared at him with
questioning eyes.
The seal was broken on the tomb!
The stone had been rolled away!
There were murmurs of fear. The penalty for
falling asleep on guard duty such as this was death .
“Shall I check the body, Commander?” asked
Malkus.
He nodded
Deucalion sat up and vomited. So much for
the lamb and dandelion wine, he thought. Rich food and fine wine
are not for the likes of this soldier’s son .
The weak attempt at humor did not ease the
pain coursing through his battered body. What hurt worse, however,
was the humiliation. And he knew that was what his attackers had
most wanted to accomplish.
Physical scarring was one of the hazards of
soldiering and was taken in stride by all who were in the Legion.
In fact, among some, it was a sign of status; the more scars, the
more one had embraced death and lived to tell of the encounter. His
assailants, however, had a more devious intent in mind. They wanted
to scar him emotionally and thought they knew him well enough to
accomplish such a purpose. The sting of the beating he had received
lay in the lack of opportunity for him to defend himself with
dignity, as befitted a member of Rome’s elite guard. Fighting one’s
opponent in a fair match was even accorded to gladiators in the
Coliseum, who were but slaves, trained to fight and die heroically
for the pleasure of Caesar and the crowd.
Well, his attackers had seriously
underestimated him. Oh, they might have known the man who had been
ordered to make sure the Galilean was dead, the same man who was
then sent out to guard his body. But what they could not know,
because he’d only just begun to realize it himself, was that he was
not the same man when he left the tomb three days later.
He’d gone to the tomb thinking only of
accomplishing an important task assigned him by Pontius Pilate.
Three days later he left the burial site thinking of nothing but
the light he had seen when there should have been no light. Light
that was brighter than fifty lanterns, yet soft and shimmering as
well. Light that had wrapped itself around him like a fine mist,
reminding him of the spray of water that surrounds a cascading
waterfall.
And the sound! There had been music. Singing! It had enveloped him in a cocoon, blanketing out
every sound but its own. The light was sound; the sound was light.
He had felt as if he were hearing the light and seeing the sound.
At first he thought he had fallen asleep and
was having a dream. Just as he was about to cry out to his men, a
voice spoke to him out of the light. It was of the same character
and quality as the music. Yet it was different . Something in
the tone set it apart from the rest of the music and singing,
almost as if sound itself had become a living entity.
“ Rejoice, for the light is come. The glory
of the lord is risen. The glory of the Lord is risen upon
you.”
And then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the
light was gone. . .The music ceased. . .The singing stopped.
There was nothing, save the eerie silence of
dawn.
He blinked several times when he realized
that the sun was only just starting to march upon the horizon. What
then had been the light he had seen? He watched in a daze as the
fibrous, yellow-red tendrils of daylight crept upward from the
purple-black horizon, seeking out the fastenings of darkness,
burning them loose and collapsing the curtain of night.
On that fateful morning, the evening play had
come to an end twice.
When he regained his senses, he looked around
at his men, curious as to whether they too had seen and heard. They
had. He could tell, because they had the same look on their faces
that he imagined he must have had on his own.
Some were rubbing their eyes. Others looked
at their companions in amazement. One asked if the sun had risen
early. Abruptly, Malkus had cried out in alarm. “Commander, over
here. . .Come quickly.”
The small contingent of soldiers gathered as
a group behind him and his second-in-command and stared at him with
questioning eyes.
The seal was broken on the tomb!
The stone had been rolled away!
There were murmurs of fear. The penalty for
falling asleep on guard duty such as this was death .
“Shall I check the body, Commander?” asked
Malkus.
He nodded
Similar Books
