5YP - Y1M1 Short Story

ELEVATOR PITCH:

Betrayed by a king he swore to protect, a Roman commander wrestles with faith in a power greater than the empire killing him.

(6 - 7 minute read)

FALL OF THE THIRD WATCH

“We’re going to die, aren’t we, Captain?”

Gaius turned. His young recruit, Pontius, stood with pleading eyes and trembling hands. Cicero and Aquila leaned against the bars of the cell opposite them, watching Gaius's response closely. Even now, stripped of their ranks and bound to die, they looked to him as their leader.

Gaius placed a hand on Pontius’s shoulder. He said nothing, but his response was sure.

“But—” Pontius protested, “But there was nothing we could’ve done, sir! Nothing!”

“But someone has to pay, Pontius,” Cicero muttered. “And it isn’t going to be Herod."

“They think it was a man,” Aquila said, voice sharp and fists clenched. “They think it was a mere man who helped the prisoner escape. No, it was—”

Aquila quieted as a guard passed their chamber. Only as his footsteps faded did Aquila speak again.

“It was a god.”

“Not just a god, Aquila,” said Gaius. “The god. The same one we killed a few months back.”

Cicero looked up. “You believe the stories then? You believe he rose?”

“The prisoner did. You heard him yourself—while he was in this very cell," Gaius said. "And where is he now?”

He looked at each of his men in turn. No answer came. Gaius pressed further, though not unkindly. “Where is he now?”

“Gone, sir,” Cicero replied. “Gone.”

“Aye. But men, we know what we saw. We faced the Almighty. Maybe we should consider that we tried to stand in his way.”

Their cells fell quiet, each pondering the weight of his leader’s words.

Then Pontius asked softly, “So, what do we do, sir?”

Gaius straightened his shoulders in view of his men. “We—”

His response was cut short. A guard unlatched the doors to their cell, chain cuffs in hand, to escort them out.

The four men stood at the gallows awaiting their demise, the moment their souls would go quiet. The sky darkened slowly, as if burdened by their sentence. The shadows of torchlight, however, danced along the walls, celebrating their coming deaths. Each heart was heavy. Each neck wore a noose.

Herod reclined at his throne, sipping wine. Though outwardly stoic, his eyes spoke of an evil pleasure in ridding the world of these four men. A king’s ego is a fragile thing—a lowly Jewish prisoner escaping, even through divine intervention, was an embarrassment only blood could satiate. Herod did not believe them. He made it clear that he would never believe them.

Herod glanced at a bald scribe to his right and motioned for the man to step forward. The scribe obeyed, as all men do in the presence of a power beyond them.

The scribe cleared his throat and spoke loudly for all in the clearing to hear.

“GAIUS, CAPTAIN OF THE THIRD WATCH, AND MEMBERS OF HIS GUARD, YOU ARE HEREBY PUNISHED FOR YOUR GROSS INSUFFICIENCIES IN LETTING THE PRISONER—PETER, A FOLLOWER OF THE WAY—ESCAPE…”

The night of the escape flooded Gaius’s mind.

The light came first, but not from torches. It was the man, with no armor and no weapons. Gaius swung with shock and adrenaline coursing in his veins. Where he expected blood, the blade instead passed through the figure as if he was made of nothing but smoke—and a single touch of his hand sent Gaius crashing into the wall, wind ripping from his lungs.

All became clear to Gaius in that moment: no man, no battalion, no army could stand against this man. Because he was not a man, he was a god. He was the god. The very god who shut the skies—who brought a starless night at the sixth hour—when his son was murdered.

Roman gods amounted to nothing compared to this. They were distant. Petty. Always killing one another or arguing about trivial things. Perhaps they were not gods at all. But when Gaius tried to stand against this god—this God—he was forced into his place. There was nothing he could do to change it.

The radiant man’s voice—not loud, not angry—pressed into Gaius’s mind: Do you intend to hinder the will of God?

Gaius raised his chin as the vision faded. No, Gaius thought, no, I do not.

There, on the gallows, Gaius bowed his head in prayer. Forgive us, he said, not with his mouth but a part of him he never realized he had. And in a small sense, Gaius could tell that God heard him all the same.

“…UNDER THE SUPERVISION THAT WAS ENTRUSTED TO YOU BY OUR MOST EXCELLENT AND POWERFUL KING HEROD. YOU WILL NOW PAY FOR YOUR FAILURE.”

The scribe resumed his place at the side of Herod’s throne. Herod took a sip and set his glass down on the table. He stood before the men set to die, eyes narrowing on their leader. His lips curled into a crude smile. “Anything to say, Gaius?”

Gaius inhaled, and a boldness filled him.

“Men!” He shouted, not to the crowd but the three beside him. “It was an honor serving alongside you. We know the truth of what happened that night. We know that we have seen the Almighty. So, take heart! If we are to meet death, we will meet it with dignity. For we no longer stand in the way of God!” Gaius looked forward, standing as he would in formation. He shouted, “Ready up!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” The three shouted back in unison, each standing a little taller, heads held a little higher, chests a little prouder—just like their captain.

“What do we do, Pontius?” Gaius yelled. He saw Herod gnash his teeth and tighten his fists.

Pontius stared forward. He trembled—but only for a moment before finding the same boldness as his captain. He shouted back.

“We believe, sir!"

In that moment—the very moment that the lever was pulled, that Herod overturned his wineglass, that they began to fall to their deaths—time slowed. The sky opened above the four men. A flurry of wings spilled out, glowing with power just as the radiant man had. They heard thousands of voices, lifting high the name of God. The men saw something like that of a throne on a high expanse, riding the backs of multi-faced creatures: a throne far superior to that of Herod’s, even Caesar’s. And on the throne was the semblance of a man, his face shining with the radiance of the sun.

Each of the four men watched in awe as the ropes pulled tight.