A Soldier’s eye view of Holy Week. Fifteen minute read
First thing Monday morning, Pontius Pilate, the Prefect of Jerusalem, had the entire garrison in The Antonia for a briefing. He didn’t look happy stomping around on his podium.
‘Someone’s for the chop, Sammy!’
‘Not us, Con. Officers were all boozed up – thought it was all a party.’
Cornelius stretched his neck and saw a notable absence. ‘Cracus, it’s Cracus – he’s a no show!’
Sammy kept his head down. He didn’t even raise his eyes to be picked out from the first shout. Cracus was their Centurion. Is he taking the rap for them?
‘Chaos! Anybody got a better word for it?’ Pilate glared across the whole assembly. ‘I damn well hope not. Complaints from all quarters – farmers got their trees stripped; inns overwhelmed; urchins run amok and pillaging from the market; locals complaining about the strangers pushing – Egyptians, Syrians, Samarians, Sodomites … drop it! … even priests bending my ear. And the litter! There’s a big clean up going on, and I have commanded 3 Company to lend a hand … ‘
Grumbles from some, audible to most, were mutterings about not joining Caesar’s army to be a road sweeper.
Pilate went on, ‘This week is the biggest of the year round. If you lot who joined the guard from Phillippi, Cyrene and Athens since this time last year, and missed our warning, take heed from now – yesterday was only the start! Your Centurions have your orders. One company has a new one. To your muster points. Dismissed.’
‘Looks like we’re for it,’ said Sammy, ‘it’s us for the new boss – with a bigger stick, I’ll be bound.’
‘Not us for road sweeping Con, anyway.’
Their company came to attention on the order, but no officer appeared. Silence.
‘Hold it!’
Slow, loud footsteps delivered a very grand sight to the podium. After a hip-held, sweeping glare across the assembly and a nod to Con to give the at ease, a smile appeared. ‘I have the honour … you have the honour, of being chosen …’ the eyes narrowed ‘… I don’t know why … to be chosen for the most important role of the week.’
There was a lot of muttering; some smiles; some frowns.
‘I … you …’ the Centurion raised a finger, ‘we! have been the cohort particularly chosen for this seemingly unusual week.’ He chewed his lip for a moment, allowing Con to relax and nudge Sammy and flick his eyebrows.
Sammy responded his confusion.
‘He’s not sure!’ Con whispered.
‘Cornelius!’
Con jumped. ‘Sir!’ He was Cracus’s Number Two, his Tribune, but didn’t think the new man would be in the know.
‘I’m given to understand that your Regulars were all here last year at this time…’
A hand went up and was given the nod. ‘Sir, we didn’t have all this fuss at the start of the week last year. All that crowd of Galileans taking over the streets…’
‘… and chucking palms all over the place!’ cut in a wag.
‘Hmm. And the Jews don’t like this Joshua chappie…’
Con was by his side and whispered in his ear. ‘King Jeshua he calls himself…’ Another, longer, whisper.
He laughed and waved a hand. ‘Whatever! Chappy’s caused such a hoo-hah, that the priests have the Prefect, who’s got onto me – that’s you and me – to sort him out.’
This brought a lot of grumbling.
Con held up a placatory hand.
‘I know, I know – Pilate himself has had us rattling their cages, well, pretty much always, so some of you need to know that that there has been a change …’ he gave a mock conspiratorial look over his shoulder ‘… and now, ahem, we, have got to – be – nice – to – the – Jews. Placatory. Get it? Get it!’
There was a roar from the floor.
‘You chaps have seen it all before…’ There was a stretching of necks and thrusting of chins. ‘… you won’t be … unnerved, shall we say, by odd requests and short notice. You, Five Company have been chosen as The Praetorian Guard of the year. I leave in the very capable hands of …’ he turned to Con … your Tribune Cornelius.’ He turned … too slowly. Checked the room across his shoulder, nodded and sidled out. An attitude Con was not familiar with, so he stood his ground for the all clear, before dismissing the men for vittles with a hearty ‘and give your cassis a bit of spit, and a shine to blind a mob!’
In quarters that evening the men got round to speculating on the significance of the Joshua chappy.
Though Cento, for it was he, their new leader, who had tried to put Pilate right, knew that Jeshua was the king referred to, was no such thing. ‘He’s a Rabbi from Galilee,’ he told them, and adopting the posh accent, continued, ‘and the hoo ha showed how his popularity has spread to the city. The Chief priests and their Sanhedrin feel threatened.’ He was pleased by the warmth his mimicry brought out in his new men. He pulled himself up to let them all know that ‘we’ would be under the very closest scrutiny – no order, no matter how trite it might seem, may be taken with any form of levity.
The long stop, for there he did stop – still, but staring – left no man in any doubt.
‘So Caiaphas has got the keys to Pilate, now,’ Con said as an opener, and it was a flood gate. The majority of the men were auxiliaries recruited locally and pleased to accept the Caesar’s shilling. Miracles, cures, exorcising of demons into pigs, great crowds pulled to his preaching all over Judea, not just Galilee – even him miraculously feeding the whole crowd. A shout of ‘just a huge picnic!’ quietened down the room.
‘Were you there? No! Well my cousin was. Bloody miracle were ’ow ’e gor all t’folk sharing theer picnics. Jeshua’s men picked up so many baskets of food it’ll keep ’em fed for a week!’
‘King!’ Shouted someone else, ‘He were riding a fuckin’ donkey.’
The first speaker bit his tongue and passed a big smile round the room.
‘But where’s he gone?’ whispered Sammy, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Everyone looked around.
‘Not under my bunk!’
After the silent repost to that, Cornelius stretched his back and lifted the invisible key, turning it said, ‘priest have got spies – even one in Jeshua’s party, I’m told.’
The next days were quiet. Rather than subdue the Barracks, this had the effect of winding up Five Company.
Con felt the tension in the extra briefing called for the first hour on Thursday. ‘You can sense it, eh?’ he started. ‘Good, because if anything is going to kick off, Passover Day is going to be the day. For all of us, we will join the observant ones among us for our Feast day meal at the sixth hour, then, we are … we are all out on patrol! Longest watch ever for any of you … until midnight at the very earliest.’ He slowly lifted up his open hand, and formed it into a fist. He addressed it. ‘Stay alert.’ He sought out Sammy. ‘Corporal! With me. Stand down, men.’
He took Sammy aside. ‘I need you to be my eyes and ears. I believe these men trust you.’
‘Thank you, Sir. Er … what are we expecting, Sir.’
The Tribune pursed his lips. ‘Mm. Expect the unexpected is the thing, Sammy. Ears first,’ he smiled at the image, ‘get the men to pick up any whispers, sights, conspiring, anywhere in the city, but not too far from base here in the Antonia. You take a look … put yourself in a useful spot, and let me know…’ He nudged his man, turned and walked away.
The Passover was quiet, too quiet all day. Everyone in the city seemed to have done all their shopping, and were indoors feasting with family and friends. Eating and drinking solemnly.
Round about sundown, Sammy sidled up to Con. ‘Nothing much on the Jeshua chappy. Is he even in town?’
‘Not sure.’ He held his stomach. ‘But this calm does not apply to my guts. There’s talk of some sort of midnight feast or something just outside the city. I think I want a platoon …’
‘A platoon!’
Cornelius bit his thumb, then nodded slowly. ‘Mm. Yes. Gather a platoon for me, split them up, send them out of different gates and settle in that square above the Garden of Gethsemane. They’ll need plenty of torches, but don’t light them. Some food and drink … like they are having their own little party – but very sober.’ He tugged his chin and looked his old friend in the eye. ‘Wait there all night if need be and you watch down the hill for me.’
‘What…’
‘Don’t ask me, Sam. You know as much as me, now.’
‘Gave you a fright, didn’t he Sammy!’
‘Cut me fucking ear off, he did.’
‘Lucky it wasn’t your cock, eh?’ said Con. ‘Let me look.’
‘Ow!’
‘What’s up, did he stick it back on?’
Sammy’s hand gingerly approached the side of his head. Pressed his ear. His jaw dropped. ‘Fuck! It’s a fuckin’ miracle that is. It wa’ proper ’angin’ off.’
Cornelius smiled, patted his loyal mate on the shoulder, then soundly on his ear.
Sammy shook his head. Looked at his palm. Wiped his shoulder expecting blood. ‘Clean? Sorry Con. So where’s he now?’
‘We escorted him with that gaggle of priests to make sure he wasn’t about to knock off their big fancy hats. Pilate’s had a look at him – scared of something.’
‘Scared? Bloke and his pals seemed like sheep to me – well, after he told them to lay off. While he inspected me ear, ’e told ’em angels were guarding him.’
Con’s look went up, and far away.
Sammy felt old air run down his back. Felt his ear again. Inspected his hand.
Con muttered something.
‘Say?’
‘I’ve left the bully boys flogging him.’
Sammy knew Sixtus and his half-dozen would savour the chance to spill some blood. ‘Flagrum? Bit heavy, isn’t it? Lead beads to lash him?
‘Priests want rid of him. They’d stone him themselves if it wasn’t their holy week. Said he had uttered the worst of blasphemies, called himself King of the Jews.’ Con corrected himself. ‘Actually he said that they called him that. Right got their dander up. Seems a real nice bloke to me.’ Sammy marvelled at the old soldier before him, as he went on, ‘Quiet. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Here let me look at your lug-hole?’ He was biting his lip as he took a close inspection. ‘It’s happened before, you didn’t tell me.’
Sammy felt it himself. ‘Doe’n’t hurt. What didn’t I…?’
‘That your ear was slashed before?’
‘What, before tonight? But it wa’n’t.’
Cornelius huffed. ‘It’s a clean white scar right down it, like it was cut off one time?’
Sammy took a very deep breath.
Cornelius likewise.
A messenger called into them. ‘Gotta take him across to the King, Sir. Said the prisoner’s from Galilee and as that’s Herod’s jurisdiction, he should sort it. Down here for the holiday, apparently.’
Cornelius shook his head at the sight before him – Jeshua hardly recognisable with blood running down his face from a crown of thorns onto a purple robe. ‘You clowns!’ He shouted. Get tidying him up and…’ shaking himself down, shouted, ‘ranks in order!’
The whole of the praetorium straightened up and marched Jeshua across the city to Herod’s Palace.
Pilate was not happy to see the whole brigade and their bedraggled prisoner, back before him before two hours were up. Cornelius himself was not happy to be presenting the usurper king back to him.
The Prefect decided on a canny ploy, a special holiday treat – to offer the mob the choice of freedom between this mild mannered young Galilean, and a notorious brigand.
It all blew up in his face, when they shouted to crucify him.
White as chalk, Pilate publicly washed his hands of the whole affair, and ordered Cornelius to do as the mob wished.
When it was all over, late Friday night, Con was stretched out of Sammy’s bunk while they drank a large and very good chalice of wine. ‘We deserve this.’
Sammy smacked his lips. ‘Better than vinegar, eh.’
Con did not appear to take the joke.
‘What’s with the toga?’
‘It was such a mess, you saw it yourself.’
‘I was well back seeing to the gawpers, but the fuss was over pretty quick and all was still, and the crowd melted back into the city.’
Con sat with the chalice to his lips, not drinking. He looked into it. ‘Blood! Good job they got his toga off before that. Beautiful bit of tailoring, well, weaving. All one piece; Galilean speciality apparently, weave goes round and round … and round. Lovely soft wool. Bit of blood on it from that stupid crown the Bully Boys put on him. I made them do the dirty work, for that…’
‘Finish of their job, eh? Was it their idea to nail him?’
‘Yes. You could taste their relish, their blood lust. I think the priests insisted too. They wouldn’t want him hanging and moaning up there over the Sabbath. Hoped the bleeding would finish him off. They were right.’
He went on reviewing the scene without Sammy interrupting. How the Bully Boys in their excitement had rushed over tying Jeshua to the cross beam before nailing. ‘Two of them hold his arm down while two others get a nail in. Starts hammering at the wrist, and blood spurts all over them. Holder shouts to stick him in the palm. What a mess.’
‘What about his Mam? I heard that. His young pal. Told him to look after his Mam for him. Treat him as her son. Proper got me.’
The Tribune looked into his friend. ‘His son? I look after you don’t I Sammy.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘The Bully Boys drained the poor fellow of all his blood. Not a drop of anything but water came out when they told me to finish him off.’
‘Who put the sign up, Con?’
‘Some Temple lawyer guy – I thought you might know him, from up your way – Arimathea, no?’ At a blank look of response, he went on, ‘brought it out and … you know Pilate wants us to do whatever the priests want … nail it up. We’d nailed laddo, so…’
‘But what’s the story? Double Damascene to me, I could only read the Jeshua Nazareth Rex Judei?’ He stared at Cornelius the battle-hardened Centurion. Was he thinking … dreaming away to Nazareth, to Galilee? Icicles ran down his spine as he heard his hero mutter, but clearly,
‘This man truly is the Son of God.’
Retwords 