The Stranger of Galilee

Chapter 15 - The Good One

***

Lucius marched with the unsuccessful soldiers as far as the edge of the camp. They had not found him, nor Claudia, nor Simon, and that knowledge revived him of his pain immensely.
               Most of the Hebrews glanced over his brass helmet as he walked, but a few gasped upon recognising him. Understandably they were stunned to see their new brother rejoining his old ones, who had just beaten, pillaged and insulted their entire fellowship. And since the soldiers had not been able to find the 'traitors', they had grown harsher and harsher on their hunt. Noses were broken, women were crying, children were shoved to the ground. Lucius could not so much as bow his head in apology.
               The giant soldier Lucius had smitten in the city yesterday was amongst the troop. He marched only two rows ahead of Lucius, though thankfully he had not spotted him either. He was especially violent with the people, at first out of distaste for Jewish blood, but then he too grew harsher with every frustrating minute of not being able to find his target: and that made Lucius want to attack him all over again.
               But our Roman had restrained himself well, and now the soldiers were leaving the camp in shame. At last, he could go back to his tent and rejoice with Claudia over another successful escape -
               But something caught Lucius' eye while he began to slip into the tent. Something...damnable.
               In fact, it struck Lucius so hard that he halted entirely, mid-step, not caring that any one of the soldiers could have noticed him. Then he stared.
               Perhaps ten cubits to his left was a soldier, walking out of a tent, putting his helmet back on and adjusting his baltea. Lucius could not see his face, but he heard his smug chuckle as he rejoined the marching army.
               After twenty years in service, Lucius knew exactly what those signs meant. He knew how lowly Roman soldiers viewed Hebrew women, and sadly, he knew what they did to Hebrew women, when there was a shelter nearby enough in which to drag them. It was a terrible act of violation, and Lucius had never excused it, but knowing that it had been done to a woman from this camp - a good woman, undoubtedly - made him feel sick.
               So, forgetting the sense of victory he had felt only a second ago, Lucius charged straight towards the tent, his eyes burning red, and peeled back the front curtain. Then he stared, horrified.

Her hair was tangled. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her hands were trembling violently, trying to hold onto the front of her torn dress. She was sitting in the back corner of the tent, weakly curled up, sobbing towards her lap.
               Lucius could hardly see her face but he instantly knew who she was. His eyes welled up at the sight of her jerking feet, and gasping chest. They stung at the sound of her moaning, and the heaviness of her weeping.
               With a surge of fury Lucius threw his sword to the ground. An unwise reaction, he realised, when Martha jolted with fear. She had not seen him enter, and now, upon seeing his helmet and tunic, she was terrified again.
'P-Please, p-ple-ase, no!' she whimpered, moving further into the shadows of the tent. 'Do, do not, h-hurt, me a-again, man, please! Oh, God, h-help, m-me!'
'No, no, it, it is I, Martha! It is Lucius!' Lucius said quietly, backing away. The young woman continued to sob.
'P-Please, do not h-hurt me, p-p-please! I-I can take n-no more! God, h-hear me now!' Martha's entire face creased together in agony. Lucius felt a tear roll down his cheek, for the first time in decades.
'Dear woman, I will not hurt you.' he said as softly as he could.
'No, n-no, I can take no more!'

It was no use. Martha could see only a Roman soldier; barbaric and brutish; when she looked at Lucius, and for only the second time in his life, he did too. Suddenly he despised the uniform he wore, just as he had when he watched his brothers crucify Jesus. He despised who he had affiliated himself with for so long. He despised the actions of Rome: its beliefs and its violence and its utter savagery!
               The red of his tunic quickly began to burn his skin, and the weight of his armour almost dragged him down to hell...
               Lucius ran back out of the tent, the curtain swinging shut behind him, and wrenched his helmet off his head. It tumbled to the sandy ground with a crash, followed by his breastplate, then his baltea, and lastly, the red tunic, which he rent clean in half. With the last of his energy he screamed, 'I DEFY The Roman Empire!'
               Then he fell down, in front of the entire camp, and wept.