The Guard

By: Will B
(© 2010 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

This story is dedicated to my good friend and fellow author, D.D.

Dies Solis*

“This room is more comfortable than I thought it would be, Severus,” twenty-five-year-old Marcellus said to his body servant, Severus, who was the same age as his master. Both men were about five-foot-seven, and had dark curly hair and blue eyes.

Severus didn’t answer him because he couldn’t. He had lost the power of speech ever since that day when marauding vandals had attacked his father’s villa in Northern Italy and killed his father and then raped and killed his mother and his sister.

“They tell me this tower was built by a king

to protect the city, but now we Roman soldiers are garrisoned here to keep order,” Marcellus went on. “And I’m glad to see that they’ve given you a cot instead of a pallet on the floor. The officer in charge of the garrison said a pallet was good enough for a slave, but I told them you were not a slave, but a free-born Roman citizen, and that you were my orderly.” 

‘I would be your slave gladly,’ Severus thought to himself, but he kept his eyes cast down, lest Marcellus see the love Severus felt for him.

“We’ve got several shelves for our  belongings, and hooks to hang our clothes, and my uniforms. You can put the oils you use to work the stiffness out of my joints on this shelf.” 

‘When I work my hands into your muscles, I could ask for no greater pleasure, except, perhaps, to…,’ Severus contemplated. ‘No! I mustn’t let my thoughts go in that direction!’

A noise from down in the street drew Marcellus and Severus to the window, two stories above the ground.

“There seems to be some kind of celebration, Severus. People are waving branches of greenery and some are putting their cloaks on the ground…and children are clapping and surrounding a…man…, riding on a donkey! Couldn’t he have ridden on a horse?”

Marcellus wondered what the people were shouting. Having newly arrived from Rome, he hadn’t picked up even a smattering of the language of the native people.

“Wish these people spoke Latin, like all educated people do…, excuse me Severus. I know you’re educated even though you don’t speak any language, but I’ve seen you reading Ovid’s Metamorphoses.”

Severus smiled, but as he looked at the crowd passing by, the man on the donkey looked at him. ‘He smiled at me!’ thought Severus, ‘But I think he looks sad, as if he knew something terrible was going to happen.’

The parade passed by and Marcellus and Severus went to the hall for their dinner.

The Antonia could house several hundred men, and a small army of cooks labored to prepare meals, and another army of slaves rushed about serving tables, bringing newly filled jugs of ale.

Dies Lunae**

“Severus, we are going to take a walk through the town so we can become familiar with some of the important places. I met Gaius at dinner yesterday and he is going to take us. He’s been here long enough that he’s even learned some of the language,” Marcellus said. 

Gaius was an older man, of about thirty-eight years with brown hair that was already showing streaks of gray.

Both Gaius and Marcellus were wearing white tunics, with boots that strapped around their legs, and breast-plates and leather shoulder and back panels. Their swords were sheathed but no Roman soldier would go anywhere without his sword.

As they walked out of the Fortress, Gaius told them that the Fortress had been built by Herod the Great to protect the City from attack from the North.

“This tower measures about 490 feet from east to west, and 260 feet from north to south,” Gaius told them. Its walls are about 60 to 75 feet high.”

“How high are the towers?” Marcellus asked.

“Three of the corner towers are 75 feet high, but the tower in the northwest corner, which overlooks the Temple area, is about 115 feet high,” Gaius replied.

The men walked past the Temple, and noticed that one area of the temple seemed to be some sort of market with people buying and selling lambs and birds. They went down into the city.

‘These people look at us as if they hate us,’ Severus thought. ‘Even the children look at us, and then run. Some of them even spit at us.’

“We are not popular here,” said Gaius, “But neither is their king, Herod. He is happy to have Roman soldiers in the City so we can keep order. He has told our commander that some people are expecting a new king to come and overthrow his rule.”

On their way back to the Fortress, all three noticed some kind of disturbance coming from one part of the temple.

‘It’s the man who was on the donkey,’ thought Severus. ‘He’s taking a whip and he’s beating some of the people who were selling lambs.’

“Look!” said Marcellus. “That man is overturning some of the cages and letting the pigeons go. He’s even driving some of the lambs out of the temple! Should we do something?”

“No, my friend, I think we’ll stay out of this until our commander gives us orders,” was Gaius’ laconic reply.

No sooner had Gaius and Marcellus returned to the Antonia, than they were summoned to a meeting.

When Marcellus returned to his room, he said, “Marcellus, I’d like you to rub some of your oils into my back and neck.”

As Marcellus laid out the various oils he would use, Marcellus told him what the meeting was about. “The officials at the Temple are fearful that that man who upset the tables and let the birds and animals go may be planning to cause more trouble. They have asked our commander to provide guards at all the entrances of the Temple twenty-four hours a day. Gaius and I will be on duty from midnight until dawn.”

‘I don’t think that man is capable of harming anyone,’ Severus thought to himself, as he put clean towels over the cot, and Marcellus stripped and lay down. Severus began to work the oils into his friend’s shoulders and upper back.

“Mmmm! Feels good!” Marcellus said.

‘Oh, how I wish…, I wish I could touch his lower body and work my oils into his…’ Severus thought. 

Dies Marti and Dies Mercuri

The next two days passed without further incident. The guards continued their vigilance, but the man remained in the street, talking to the people who were drawn to him, as much by his words, as by his gentle demeanor. He would pick up little children, and talk to them, and put his fingers on their foreheads and send them on their way.

Gaius and Marcellus watched all this from a distance, and while they watched, Gaius, who had been in this country longer than Marcellus, told him what he had heard. “Those people the man drove out of the temple were fleecing the people who had come to pray. It seems that if they wanted to sacrifice a dove or a sheep, it had to be a beast that was free from any blemish…and they could only pay for it with special coins, that those ‘moneylenders’ would sell them at a nice little profit for themselves.”

“That’s not fair,” Marcellus said.

“And the people,” Gaius continued, “are expecting some kind of king to come    and deliver them from the ‘tyranny of Rome,’...as if Roman justice weren’t the most perfect system of justice this world has ever seen!” Gaius spat in the dust.

Severus was also watching the man. ‘I’d like to be able to understand what he’s saying,’ Severus thought. ‘He looks so kind, and yet he still has this look of sadness about him.’

The evening of Dies Mercuri, Severus was again preparing to use his fingers and his oils to ease the tension in Marcellus’ back.

As Marcellus lay face down on the towels, and Severus was beginning to rub those oils into the skin, Marcellus was thinking, ‘What a good friend Severus has been. I’ve never felt this way about any other human—not some of the girls back in Rome my father thought I might want to marry—not the women in the brothels… I almost wish Severus and I… but that’s impossible. Severus would probably turn away in horror and disgust if I ….’

‘If only I could speak and tell him how I feel,’ Severus thought to himself.

Dies Jovis

Marcellus and Gaius were in the offices of the leaders of the temple. They watched as a man, whom Marcellus recognized as one of the followers of that man who had been preaching came into the chamber and spoke to the leader. The official gave the man a bag that had some coins in it. He could hear the contents jingle. After some more conversation the man took the bag and left, looking about him as if he did not want to be seen.

“We are to go to a place outside the city this evening and make an arrest,” Gaius told Marcellus. “Full armor, and be sure your sword is loose in its scabbard. There may be trouble,’ the older veteran told the younger soldier.

That evening Marcellus, Gaius, and two dozen other soldiers were in a beautiful garden outside the city walls. Marcellus watched as the man he had seen in the temple went up to the preacher and kiss him on the cheek. 

“That’s it. That’s the sign. Arrest the man in the white robe!” Gaius told the others.

In the shouting and violence that followed, one of the followers of the man drew a sword, and lunged at Marcellus almost cutting his ear off. The man spoke some words, and his follower sheathed his sword and retreated. Marcellus knew he had been cut and had been bleeding, but suddenly the bleeding stopped.

Returning to the city, Marcellus was ordered to report to the Temple, where he was an observer at a session of the temple leaders, officials, and scholars.

“This is the Sanhedrin,” Gaius told him, and they are not supposed to meet at night.”

Marcellus watched as the man answered their questions calmly, and after two or three hours of this, the officials shook their heads, but at one point, the man said something that caused the officials to moan and some tore their clothes and wailed in grief.

Gaius was told that he and his men were to take the man to Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of the Province.

‘Maybe I can understand what’s going on,’ Marcellus thought to himself,

 Dies Veneris 

Marcellus returned to his barracks to find Severus wracked by a violent fever.

“My friend, what’s wrong?” Marcellus asked. Severus could not answer but lay on his pallet tossing and turning.

“Physician! Physician! Come quickly! Marcellus yelled.

The physician came and examined him and said, “Marcellus, I don’t know what’s causing this fever. I can give him a draught that will help him to sleep, but that’s all I can do.”

“I have to go back to the Governor’s Palace. Please look in on him whenever you can, and if he wakes, tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

At the Governor’s Palace, Marcellus was horrified to see that the man in the white robe had been whipped and a wreath of thorns had been placed on his head.

“What’s happening, Gaius.”

“Our esteemed Governor has examined the man, and found no fault with him. He has ceremoniously washed his hands of the matter and sent him back to the religious leaders. They have determined that the man should be put to death!”

“Why? Why? He’s no revolutionary?” Marcellus demanded.

Gaius shrugged. “Who knows? Politics as usual, I guess.”

Soon a heavy wooden beam was brought and the man was ordered to carry it to the place of his execution, a hill outside the city, known as the Hill of the Skull.

Marcellus felt as if he were carrying the burden himself, and on the way, when the man stumbled, Marcellus would have stepped forward to help him, but Gaius beckoned to a man in the crowd and ordered him to help the man.

On the hill top the beam was hammered into a pole which was laying on the ground, and then the man was ordered to lie along the pole and to stretch his arms out to the cross piece.

Marcellus was ordered to nail the man’s hands to the beam. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know why they’re doing this to you, but I feel sure you are innocent of any wrong-doing,” he said. Even though the man had screamed as the nails pushed through his flesh, he looked at him with such compassion that Marcellus felt that the man had understood, and …and had forgiven him!

The pole with its horrible burden was raised and set into a hole that had been dug. The man then hung there, his weight supported by his arms. Two other wretches were being crucified that day, and they hung there, one on either side of the man.

“Pretty soon, the weight of his body will compress his internal organs and he will be unable to breathe, and then he’ll die,” Gaius told Marcellus. “I hope it will be soon. I want to get back to the Antonia before this storm breaks.” As Gaius spoke the sky was growing darker and darker.

Some of the other soldiers were gambling over the man’s garments. Marcellus said to the man who had won the white robe, “I’ll give you ten denarii for that.”

“Sure, said the soldier. That’ll keep me in drink at the tavern and get me a couple of wenches at ‘the house of joy.’” Marcellus picked up the man’s robe and folded and stuck it inside his tunic.

Several times the man spoke, sometimes to the two men on either side of him, and sometimes to the crowd. Finally he gave one last cry, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” and the man’s body hung limp.

“Well, it is finished, Marcellus,” Gaius said. “Let’s get back to the Antonia. Others will take the body down. Our work here is done.”

When Marcellus got back to his room, he found that Severus was shivering. His skin was cold to the touch. 

“Oh, Severus, don’t die. What can I do? Oh ye gods, I would do anything, make any sacrifice, if you will just save my dear friend!” As he spoke, Marcellus thought of the man he had helped to crucify and the look of compassion on his face.

“You, Sir. I don’t think you’re an ordinary mortal. If you would please…please help….” As he spoke, Marcellus drew out the man’s robe, which he had picked up at the hill. He unfolded it, and placed it over Severus’ shivering body, and the he lay down on his own cot, to try to find some rest.

Dies Saturni

“Up, Marcellus. We have new orders,” Gaius said to Marcellus.

“Huh? What?” Marcellus muttered as he slowly awoke.

“Come on, soldier. We’ve been ordered to guard a tomb.”

“All right, Gaius, I’m coming. What tomb?”

“The temple leaders are afraid his followers will steal his body and then claim he has come back from the dead! That man is more trouble dead than he ever was alive!”

“Gaius, I’m coming, but look! Severus has stopped shivering, and he’s sleeping naturally… Very well… very well. I’m ready!”

Guard duty at a tomb is not the most exciting activity for a Roman soldier, but Marcellus, Gaius and some of the other soldiers talked about the dead man, and what they knew or thought they knew, or had heard about the man in white.

“I heard he cured a man’s blindness,” said one soldier.

“And I heard that he had caused a lame man to walk,” said another.

“By great Jupiter! I don’t believe a word of it,” said Gaius.

Marcellus just kept silent, thinking of what he had seen for himself, and he thought about how Severus seemed to have gotten over his bout of fever.

“Look at that mist rising from the ground. Where did that come from?” Gaius asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m feeling tired all of a sudden.”

“No, no! Don’t fall asleep! The punishment for a guard sleeping on duty is death!” Gaius warned, but then he felt his own eyes grow heavy.

One by one all of the soldiers sat with their upper bodies against a tree or a boulder. One by one, each felt his eyes grow heavier. Soon they were asleep—all but Marcellus. He was half asleep and half awake. He saw, or did he dream that the stone in front of the tomb was moving away, and then…a flash of light burst from the tomb. And then Marcellus, too, fell asleep.

Dies Solis

“Oh, gods have mercy. I must have fallen asleep,” Gaius said as he opened his eyes. “Marcellus, all of you. Look! The tomb is open.”

Two of the soldiers looked into the tomb and reported back saying, “The body’s not there. It’s gone!”

“Marcellus, you stay here and keep watch. We’ll go back and report to headquarters.”

The others left, and Marcellus was left by himself--until a woman appeared. She was carrying jars of ointments.

“Sir, can you help me open the tomb? I’ve come to anoint the body of the man who was buried here.”

“Lady, I do not think the body is there. I don’t know what happened.  I see a gardener over through the trees. Perhaps he can tell you.”

Marcellus watched as the woman approached the gardener, said a few words, then dropped to her knees, and then got up and ran down the hill. The gardener approached Marcellus.

“Marcellus, go home,” the gardener said to him.

 “Why! You’re him. How did…? What…?”

The man just smiled at him and said, “Go, Marcellus.” Then he vanished.

Marcellus walked, and then ran down the hill to the city. He entered the Antonia and went to his room. Severus was standing with his back to the door, looking out the window.

As he heard Marcellus come into the room, he smiled and said in a strong voice, “Marcellus, something wonderful has happened, and there is something I would tell you.”

“No need to tell me, my dear Severus, I know.”

The End.

*Dies Solis: Day of the Sun; the Latin name for the day we call Sunday.

**Dies Lunae: Day of the Moon; the Latin name for the day we call Monday.

Posted: 03/12/10