Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (20 page)

Here's the important part. Because weapons have been banned for so many years in the South, there's no serious need to check Kingdom subjects for guns, unless there's good suspicion to do so. According to Henrik, if I keep close to him, I'm all but assured to go unchecked. Which means no one will know that when the king bends down to kiss my hand, I'm going to blow off his head.

e rise early the next morning and begin our journey to the Holy City. It is a full day's walk if you move fast and don't stop for food. But given the enormous size of our group, the trip will take two days. The Teacher believes it's important that we move as one cohesive unit, not leaving anyone behind—a difficult task when thousands are in tow.

The debates from the night before have continued in the daylight. Some follow because they're in awe of the Teacher and expect great things to happen in the Holy City. Others are terrified of what could happen when thousands of Americans pour into the city hailing the Teacher as the messiah. The Kingdom won't take this lightly.

The Kingdom reserves its harshest brutality for men who believe they can challenge authority. There have been countless other would-be messiahs in the past, all of whom met violent deaths. It's telling that there are no old men in our midst who tell stories from days when they called themselves messiahs. A messiah either delivers his people or he's buried by his people. There's no other way.

Petra and Miles spend much of the morning in intense argument over what should be done in the Holy City. Both men show signs of cracking under the mounting stress. We're all too aware of what our journey to the Holy City represents. Out here in the countryside, we haven't yet reached the point of no return. Anyone of us could simply withdraw from the Teacher and be swallowed into the herd and be lost and gone forever. There's no one and nothing stopping us. The choice is still ours.

But should we enter the city limits with him and these people cheering for their new messiah, all bets are off. Even Petra, whom I believe doesn't experience fear as a normal man does, looks timid.

Around noon our fears are compounded. We've just climbed out of a deep valley when we come upon a mass execution. We see fifty Kingdom crosses perched atop a hill, with a dead man nailed to each one. It's an atrocious sight, and mothers work hard to cover the faces of their children, but it's impossible to shield them from the horror. The carnage is nauseating.

These poor souls have been dead for days. The scavengers of the sky already have done their work to the corpses and moved on to the next feeding ground. Eyeballs are missing from sockets. Limbs have been gnawed to the bone. One man's heart dangles from his open chest. There's so much dried blood on the men's bodies that they look like creatures from another world—a world inhabited by skinned humans.

The nails have been driven through both arms and the feet. Many of the legs are badly broken and disfigured. If a man survives long enough on the cross, the Kingdom eventually will grant him one small act of mercy by breaking his legs. That way he can no longer push himself up to take in deep breaths and will die much faster. It's the only act of generosity in what is otherwise the most torturous means of death devised by man.

Our people are tired, but we can't stop for rest in this place. We push onward and promise the younger ones food once we've moved beyond this unholy gravesite.

"It's a warning," Petra says to me, "a warning for anyone traveling into the Holy City."

Miles points to the crosses. "Challenge the Kingdom's authority, and this is what happens to you."

"Look upon your fate, boys," I say. "That's what they want for us."

Jude comes alongside us. "No man deserves to die like this. It's beyond evil."

"They're all Southerners," I say. "You men realize that, right? These are our people who died like dogs—our people who've been denied proper burials.
Our
brothers' souls that are denied a peaceful pilgrimage to the afterlife."

Petra spits on the ground. "They'll pay for this! Every last one of them will pay for their sins. I'd gladly give my own life for it."

I also spit. "As would I!"

Miles and Jude both spit too.

I take a hard look at the crosses and allow the image to singe my brain. I want it there forever. I never want to forget what the Kingdom has done to my people. "The people are right," I say. "Our ages are ending. Let's kill them all."

After our midday rest, the Teacher pulls the twelve aside, including me, and speaks some kind of gibberish. "We're going to the Holy City, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the religious authorities, and they'll condemn him to death. Then they'll hand him over to the Kingdom. They'll mock him and spit upon him and flog him and kill him. After three days he'll rise again."

The Teacher is sweating profusely and looks very tired as he speaks. He searches us with piercing eyes but we all avoid eye contact because no one has any idea what he's saying. The entire situation is awkward, uncomfortable, and frankly inappropriate. Jude was right; he's no messiah.

Finally Petra proves brave enough to break the silence. "Teacher, we want you to do something for us."

The Teacher wipes sweat from his brow. "What is it?"

"Promise us that we'll sit at your right and at your left in glory. Assure us of our seats in power, once we reach the Holy City. We need this—all of us." Petra hesitates. "We need some guarantee we'll be given authority."

The Teacher bows his head and shakes it slowly. "You don't know what you're asking. "Do you think you're able to drink from the cup from which I drink, or be baptized in the baptismal waters in which I was baptized?"

"We're able," Miles replies. "All of us. We're ready. You've prepared us for it."

"The cup from which I drink you will drink from, and in the baptismal waters in which I was baptized, you will be baptized. You can rest assured of this. But to sit at my right or at my left—that's not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared."

"He's losing it," I whisper in Jude's ear. "The strain of it all is breaking him. The man is falling apart."

Jude and I watch in silence as an argument breaks out among Petra and Miles and the nine others. Petra and Miles force the issue, wheedling the Teacher for clarification and confirmation about their coming power. Petra wants control of the army, while Miles asks to be the minister of finance. The others beg for them to stop and leave the Teacher alone.

He's had enough,
I think.
Can't they see it?

The ridiculousness goes on for another ten minutes before the Teacher exhales deeply and says, "Enough!" The men fall silent. "You know that among the Kingdom those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it isn't so among you. Whoever wishes to become great must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be the slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many."

"There you have it," I say under my breath. "The final straw. He's lost and gone forever."

Jude nods. "It's rather sad to watch a good man lose his mind. I've followed the Teacher for years, hoping he had a decent plan hidden up his sleeve. But this—to become servants? That's how he believes we'll become greater than King Charles and his mighty Kingdom? He's insane."

It's true. Even I hoped the Teacher might come around at the last hour and prove himself more useful than this. Deep down I dreamt wildly and foolishly that he might use his powers to come to our defense in battle. The man, after all, commands the wind and the sea. Imagine what he might do to the enemy, should he choose to. But no—every man has his breaking point. And it's painfully obvious the Teacher has arrived at his.

I take a long hard look at the Teacher and the men who've given up their lives to follow him. Then I take in the thousands who surround us: women, children, fathers, brothers, wives, sisters. My stomach turns sour. I say, "This man needs to travel back to Oxford to take his rest. He has no business leading a mass of sheep to slaughter."

I walk away, eager to be alone, and think of nothing but Maria's dark eyes and cocoa skin.

e reach the outskirts of the Holy City by midafternoon the following day. We're near a small mountain when the Teacher orders our group to stop walking. He sends Petra and Miles into the small village outside the Holy City with explicit instructions. "Go into the village ahead of us, and immediately when you enter it, you'll find a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it back. If anyone says, 'Why are you doing this?' just say, 'The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.'"

Petra and Miles exchange confused looks before scurrying away to do the Teacher's bidding. The rest of us use the hour to get off our feet and find shade to hide from the blazing sun.

I've just nodded off when Petra and Miles return with the colt. It's a beautiful animal; its muscles are sinewy and its mane jet black, reminding me of Maria. It's a colt without blemish, also like Maria.

During my short time with the Teacher, I've never seen him ride a colt or any other animal. He has never once elevated himself above the rest of us but has instead walked humbly among his loyal followers. But now he climbs atop this colt, says nothing of this dramatic change, and motions for us to continue our journey.

I hurry over to Petra and Miles. "What's going on?"

Miles and Petra are too transfixed on the unfolding scene to answer me. As the colt marches slowly forward, the sea of people parts in front of the Teacher, allowing him to cut down the center. Then, one by one, they bow. Men pull the clothing off their backs and lay it on the ground for the colt to trample. Others break palm branches from surrounding trees and wave them before the parade, saying, "Hosanna! Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the
Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestors! Hosanna in the highest heaven!"

I'm the only person in a throng of thousands who doesn't bow. "I don't understand," I say. "What's happening? What does this mean?"

"Bow," Jude says to me nervously, his face planted flat against the ground. "Bow before the others see you standing!"