He held it firmly in his grip.
It glistened in the firelight.
How well it had served him before.
How well it would serve him again.
He took a cloth to it, polishing it, smoothing it, cleaning it.
He may well need it in the morning with the way things went tonight.
What, he wondered, do these people not understand?
Can they not comprehend yet the power of the Empire?
The tip of the blade was intense.
Despite its use over and over, it seemed even more refined now then in that first thrust.
How could he not forget that glorious day?
In the camp, he remembered it was his skill with this weapon that made him the officer he is today.
There was no criminal, no enemy, no human who could not be brought to justice with this equalizer.
For no man, he believed, could escape death.
And no man could, despite his war injury, escape his one good eye.
He placed the object of his affection next to him, pulled his blanket about and felt satisfied that with a good night’s sleep and his sharpened blade beside him, he would be ready for anything the world had to offer in the morning.
He was wrong.
The day began with a most usual yet unusual show trial.
Once again, the criminal was condemned.
Once again, he took command of the execution squad.
He mounted his steed.
Black and fierce, a crowd-controller under his masterful ride.
With his cherished spear atop its 6-foot pole, the three were no match for any rabble-rouser.
It was hot and the sweat from both he and his stallion needed to be kept from damaging his pointed insurance policy.
He was glad he was on horseback; not having to climb this accursed hill in such stifling heat.
These prisoners were a sorry lot.
Perhaps, once they are hung as decreed, he could relax; even take in a game or two with his underlings.
But now the crowd seemed to grow even more vicious.
Cursing and yelling.
Just what was it with these people that were putting them into such a frenzy?
No matter. It will all be over soon and then he will disperse them to their homes.
His men were professionals.
A hundred times they had accomplished these executions.
He appreciated their skills.
Let this be another lesson to the enemies of the Empire.
The three were strung up; the crowd grew even more riotous.
With a kick of his boots, his stallion reared, forcing them back.
Yet five stayed, close to the prisoner in the middle.
He went to move them as well.
Nothing but four women and a young man.
It could not be easier.
Until he caught a glimpse of the sorrowful woman’s eyes.
They pierced him.
He felt a shutter go through his body. He could move no more.
He pulled his horse back and retreated quietly.
Later, he heard words exchanged between the woman and prisoner as the sky grew angry. He felt the earth itself shatter for a moment.
How strange, then, that at that moment, that shattering, this one was already dead.
The orders came swiftly.
Remove the bodies before sunset.
His men quickly broke the legs of the two who had stamina.
But this one, this one in the middle. Could he truly be slain?
There would be no taking of chances, for if he were not dead then his own life would be on the line.
He moved slowly, fearing to look at the woman whose eyes had pierced him.
But he knew, he had a sense that he must do what he was about to do.
Even she could not stop him.
A nervous stallion beneath him, refusing to stand still, he knew he would have to use the weapon to his advantage.
From a distance, he took his lance and plunged it into his victim to ensure he could not escape death.
Odd, his hand almost felt as if guided, breaking no bones and causing blood and water to gush forth.
Surprisingly, some of the liquid struck him.
His hand began to tremble, dropping his weapon.
He clutched his face as he dismounted in a dizzying fall.
He could sense that a cloud had been lifted from his damaged eye.
He began, for the first time in years, to see — to see beyond just the world before him and to recognize who was on that Cross.
“Truly, this was the Son of God!” he cried out [Matthew 27:54].
It was then that he again caught the woman’s eyes; piercing his heart — his very soul.
Through her, his heart felt the word “forgiveness.”
As the three men who began the burial process asked for the objects that had touched
the blood of this Crucified One, he spoke such a strange word for a centurion, as if inspired to do so.
He told the men under his command, “Do whatever they ask you.”
Staggering, he pushed his horse away, reached out and picked up his once-favored weapon, covered in the blood of a God.
He grabbed the older man, the one who seemed in charge as he once was.
With a worsening tremble overpowering him, he thrust the weapon into the old man’s hands, the last time he would feel its power again.
His helmet now beside him, his body spent, he lay up against the stone wall where they had brought the body of the One he pierced.
All was inside now.
For he could clearly see.
He could see that he once was blind.
And now his loyalty was no longer to an emperor; to an Empire.
It was to One who could heal.
Not just body, but soul.
The One who was about to prove He could escape death.
The One who is truly the Son of God.
© 2007 Agnus Dei Presents!
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