like the beach. I managed to get one opened, then the other. I saw a pair of sandals and the feet that occupied them.
“That one is alive. Look, he is moving.”
“Cross over to the other side of the road. Do not get near them. We may not touch them.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Who can they be?”
“Men foolish enough to travel this road at night, I suppose.”
I turned my attention away from those carrion crows. An arm’s length away someone lay in the ditch. I squinted through swollen eyelids at the feet, the legs, and finally the face of the murdered Roman. Barabbas had slit his throat the night before. I stared at his severed throat and the look of astonishment locked permanently on his face.
They left me naked except for the small loincloth around my waist. My Roman companion lacked even that.
Naked. No Clothes. No cloak, no tunic.
They’d stolen my clothes. A long time passed before that sank in. If they took my clothes, they also had my letters of credit and money. Everything, even my knife, the one I took from the desert man, all gone, taken by the one man I most wanted to help, the man I would have freely given them to, if asked.
I revised my opinion of Barabbas. His reputation as a liberator, a patriot, or even a nationalist needed amending. I had acquired another cause to avenge. He cared nothing about freedom. He roamed the wilderness a murderer and a thief, and the two of us lying on the road were merely his latest victims, nothing more. My eyes burned. Someone or several, I suppose, had beaten me and left me in the road to die next to this wretched soldier. Once again, just when I thought I managed to do the right thing, my resolve, like a leaf in the winter wind, blew away.
I lay on my stomach in the middle of a road somewhere, broken but alive. Barabbas did not leave me in the road, still breathing, out of any sense of mercy. Mercy could not last an hour with that man. And yet, I lived. Why? I really needed to know the answer to that question.
***
The sun came from a different angle. Not as hot as before, but I could still feel it on my back, which I knew must be badly burned. In the delirium of the moment, I turned philosophical. I knew I had been in this state before, not the first time I lost everything, and at least I was alive. With some luck and a little cunning, I could replace most of what had been taken from me. But then, the pain and urgency resurfaced. I knew that I had to get up, to stand, and leave this place.
My head ached. I lost my train of thought while I wrestled with why Barabbas did not kill me along with the Roman. Then everything went black again.
***
My mind, finally alert, brought me back and I knew why. Barabbas wanted me found with the dead soldier. He wanted the patrol or whoever monitored the road to think I had killed that miserable man. It would look like we had a fight, which ended in his death. The poor living in the wilderness often stripped corpses, which would explain why we were naked. Let stupid Judas the Red assume the blame for yet another murder. Barabbas and the Romans had more in common than either would admit.
Every bone in my body felt broken. Barabbas and his men must have beaten me for hours before they dragged us down to the road. Maybe they believed me dead after all. For a brief moment I wished it were so. I welcomed any end to the pain and humiliation I felt, even if it meant death. I staggered to my feet. I tried to run. I managed only a shuffle and careened down the road, I do not know in which direction I went. I just knew I needed to put some distance between me and that dead boy. I may have gone two hundred paces, maybe more, when everything went dark one last time.
***
I woke, staring at the ceiling of a building of some sort. I did not know what or where. A lamp burned nearby. Pain coursed through my body and I could barely lift my head or see anything except lamplight dancing on the wall. I heard men speaking quietly to one
“That one is alive. Look, he is moving.”
“Cross over to the other side of the road. Do not get near them. We may not touch them.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Who can they be?”
“Men foolish enough to travel this road at night, I suppose.”
I turned my attention away from those carrion crows. An arm’s length away someone lay in the ditch. I squinted through swollen eyelids at the feet, the legs, and finally the face of the murdered Roman. Barabbas had slit his throat the night before. I stared at his severed throat and the look of astonishment locked permanently on his face.
They left me naked except for the small loincloth around my waist. My Roman companion lacked even that.
Naked. No Clothes. No cloak, no tunic.
They’d stolen my clothes. A long time passed before that sank in. If they took my clothes, they also had my letters of credit and money. Everything, even my knife, the one I took from the desert man, all gone, taken by the one man I most wanted to help, the man I would have freely given them to, if asked.
I revised my opinion of Barabbas. His reputation as a liberator, a patriot, or even a nationalist needed amending. I had acquired another cause to avenge. He cared nothing about freedom. He roamed the wilderness a murderer and a thief, and the two of us lying on the road were merely his latest victims, nothing more. My eyes burned. Someone or several, I suppose, had beaten me and left me in the road to die next to this wretched soldier. Once again, just when I thought I managed to do the right thing, my resolve, like a leaf in the winter wind, blew away.
I lay on my stomach in the middle of a road somewhere, broken but alive. Barabbas did not leave me in the road, still breathing, out of any sense of mercy. Mercy could not last an hour with that man. And yet, I lived. Why? I really needed to know the answer to that question.
***
The sun came from a different angle. Not as hot as before, but I could still feel it on my back, which I knew must be badly burned. In the delirium of the moment, I turned philosophical. I knew I had been in this state before, not the first time I lost everything, and at least I was alive. With some luck and a little cunning, I could replace most of what had been taken from me. But then, the pain and urgency resurfaced. I knew that I had to get up, to stand, and leave this place.
My head ached. I lost my train of thought while I wrestled with why Barabbas did not kill me along with the Roman. Then everything went black again.
***
My mind, finally alert, brought me back and I knew why. Barabbas wanted me found with the dead soldier. He wanted the patrol or whoever monitored the road to think I had killed that miserable man. It would look like we had a fight, which ended in his death. The poor living in the wilderness often stripped corpses, which would explain why we were naked. Let stupid Judas the Red assume the blame for yet another murder. Barabbas and the Romans had more in common than either would admit.
Every bone in my body felt broken. Barabbas and his men must have beaten me for hours before they dragged us down to the road. Maybe they believed me dead after all. For a brief moment I wished it were so. I welcomed any end to the pain and humiliation I felt, even if it meant death. I staggered to my feet. I tried to run. I managed only a shuffle and careened down the road, I do not know in which direction I went. I just knew I needed to put some distance between me and that dead boy. I may have gone two hundred paces, maybe more, when everything went dark one last time.
***
I woke, staring at the ceiling of a building of some sort. I did not know what or where. A lamp burned nearby. Pain coursed through my body and I could barely lift my head or see anything except lamplight dancing on the wall. I heard men speaking quietly to one
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